MortiBlog

From the Secretariat,

One day in March of ‘94 I had an invitation
To exercise the body, soul & wit.
The mantle of Church Stewardship, this generous oblation
The question though, was “Would the mantle fit?”

I thought about it.

Ability, tranquility, gentility & charm,
The beguiling, smiling Steward has the lot.
Common-sense & eloquence, the manner to disarm,
A rounded Personality - precisely what I’m not.

I recalled last year’s AGM. The church Council needed a Secretary,
- not me, I was a new arrival on transfer from Walcott.

“Right!” said Fred, “You’re in, old man.
The job is yours for free.
The vacant chair’s still waiting there
For a brand new transferee,
Or a Walcott refugee.”

Oops!

The council met just twice a year
(The minimum permitted)
And nitty-gritty issues were
To Satellites committed

The satellite Committees :-

Family & Outreach & Worship Consultation,
Property & Finance there as well.
Pastoral & Neighbourhood made up the integration.
It all worked rather smoothly & as soundly as a bell.

And fringe bodies :-

There were Clubs & Cubs who paid their subs,
Guilds and Guides & Scouts besides,
Art Groups, House Groups, sane & MAD Groups.
Old folk by the score,
Songsters, Ramblers, Toddlers, Handlers -
Who would wish for more?

There were Cooks & Bakers, Coffee-makers,
Washers, Dryers, Deep-fat fryers,
Fixers, Menders, D.I.Y…ers,
Teachers, Preachers (clever creatures!)
Musicians beating time……..

That’s not the lot
But it’s all I’ve got,
If it has to scan or rhyme.

Constitutional Practice.

Then came the Autumn meeting
(The first since my induction)
We talked of Managerial Change
And called it Re-construction.

It was Resolved :-

Henceforward & hereafter,
Church management shall be.
A single tier arrangement,
Just one, not two, not three.
The Council handles everything,
Committees cease to be.
(And everything the Council does is written up by me).

No more these meetings twice a year,
No more that easy rhythm,
It ended just when I began
In sudden cataclysm.
The routine meetings doubled up,
4 times a year, no less,
And extra-ordinary ones
Just added their excess.
The Steward’s conclave reeled me in, to supplement the score,
And Circuit Meetings nudged it up, adding even more.

Last night

I dreamed a dream of joy serene,
Of Rev. Ann and, bless her,
She gently murmered in my ear
“Your Pathway’s rough,
You’ve had enough,
I’ll find you a Successor.”

I smiled; I laid aside my pen
And shelved my Dictionary.
With wistful look, I closed my Book
On the valedictory Minutes of a clapped-out Secretary.

Eric Pestell
31/03/1921 - 04/09/2006