OFFERING

The choir had just begun to sing
When I was overcome with fear
The offering envelope I had brought
Had mysteriously disappeared

I hunted jacket inside out
And trouser pockets too
I even held my nose and checked
Inside my slip-on shoe

And as collector closer came
The sweat ran down my side
Imagine the indignity
Of waving him on by

I'd be the talk of all the church
And laughing stock there too
Unless some grand excuse I'd find
To rise and leave my pew

But time passed quicker than my brain
The offering plate arrived
And then the envelope appeared
Before disbelieving eyes

I turned around with some relief
She'd had it all the while
I whispered 'Thank-you' to my wife
And she gave me a knowing smile

COUNTDOWN

Twelve disciples
Eleven good
Ten lepers
Nine rude
Eight sailing in Gopher wood
Seven days
Six used
Five smooth stones from the brook
Four Gospels
Three days
Two roads
One way

READ AND PRAY

Now I lay me down to sleep
Thank You for the food we eat
These two prayers I use each day
How can you say that I don't pray
And every Sunday from the pew
The Lord's Prayer I repeat right through

For God so loved the world , I know
Is from the New and not the Old
Abram nearly killed his son
At Jericho the walls fell down
And the birth of Jesus is quite nice
I read that every Christmas time

I know you think that I'm all wrong
Your eyes are sad and your face is long
Because my prayers are only three
And the Bible's not so clear to me
But before you start to criticise
Remember that I'm only five

GOD'S NOT DEAD

God's not dead
Just badly hurt
By all the rumours going round
That say He's finished
Soon demised
It would make anybody frown

God's not dead
Just badly hurt
By all the friends He thought He had
Who all agreed
When persecuted
It was just a passing fad

God's not dead
Just badly hurt
That we should treat His son the same
When time has passed
And wounds have healed
We'll probably do the same again

God's not dead
Just badly hurt
But no victory comes without a price
I'd rather be wounded and winning
Than making the ultimate sacrifice

THE HEART

Who lives in a heart like this
The door is open wide
The outward signs are promising
But let's take a look inside

The person who lives here would seem
To know just what he's after
No scripture texts upon the walls
And thoughts of God bring laughter

No Bible by the bedside lamp
Replaced by Sunday papers
The silver ashtray overflows
With nicotine remainders

The guest rooms are all occupied
By envy , greed and lying
But the greatest clue to who lives here
The owner's slowly dying

So there you have the evidence
But before you make decisions
Remember , Satan doesn't have to stay
He only rents accommodation

BAPTISM

Fear of the unknown is a terrible thing
That's why baptisms fill me with worry
One minute he's fast asleep in your arms
The next , he's screeching like a canary

You nervously smile and somebody smiles back
As the redness descends to your navel
And you wish you were somewhere else , not here
When he tugs at the minister's Bible

It would all have been fine but the relatives came
And took all the available seating
And if Junior is bad , I've some unmarried aunts
Who'll remind me about it all evening

I remember last time , everything's going fine
'Till the vicar decides to show 'handsome'
So off down the aisle he parades with a smile
And not even a note for the ransom

The Lord bless thee and keep thee , what a wonderful sound
The whole service had such a good spirit
Just a pity we had to give him four names
To please both sets of grandparents

MISSION

Let's have a mission
Maybe the week after next
We can print leaflets in pastel colours
And insert a well known text

I know a speaker
I'm sure he'd draw a crowd
We can line up some mouth-watering testimonies
And soloists who aren't too loud

There are plenty of Christians
Who'd love to come along all week
And if anyone else decides to appear
I'm sure we can find a few more seats

Let's have a mission
It's been far too long since the last
There's nothing like a good heart warming sermon
To make the winter evenings pass