By 5 pm, the sermon was in peril. The pew sheet was done, music problems sorted and I had no excuse not to turn to the sermon, but the desire to do so was missing.
So, I convinced myself that it would be a good idea to plan the sermon by the river.
And even as I set out, I thought ‘well, a walk will do no harm, and when you admit you are lying to yourself, you can come home a write the sermon later…’
But it worked. The river was an excellent place to plan a sermon on offering, on David’s dancing joy, and Michal’s smouldering hatred.
I stayed so long thinking, planning, praying, rehearsing that a dog walker feared for my safety and stopped to make sure I wasn’t planning to jump. No, quite safe: I wouldn’t want to disturb the wagtails.
So, sermon ready, I came home. I went to lock the church and found flowers in a place that made me laugh out loud (just so unexpected — they’re doing so well with ‘not on the altar’ given the challenges of massive choir stalls blocking sight lines). Then, at my front door I found this.
A perfect offering.