Povey Prattle

I always enjoy watching the flight path of aero planes as they pass overhead on their way to Sarasota Airport  (SRQ).  It’s a seven mile road drive from chez moi to the airport -  but  it is  probably about four miles “as the jet flies”. The dip of the wing; the height of the plane; the line of approach - all these vary from plane to plane, depending I suppose on such factors as the prevailing winds; the origin of the flight; the type and weight of the plane etc., etc. But it is always a lovely sight.  And as I look up I still ask myself “how the heck do these behemoths get off the ground!”.  There is a wonder in airplane flight. As I rubber-necked at some in-coming flights today my memory bank was triggered. 1. I clearly remember that as a little boy I was at the intersection of Johnson’s Road and Johnson’s Lane, just a quarter of a mile from my home, in the district of Whitehall in Bristol, U.K.  I am sure that I remember the sight of many planes flying above.  Many planes.

Mary C. is a parishioner at St. James’s Episcopal Church in Cambridge, MA.  I grew to respect and admire her during my tenure there (2000-2006).  Mary’s parents live in Redington Beach, FL - a 60 minute drive from my home in Sarasota. Mary came to visit her parents the other day. She got in touch with me on Thursday evening via Skype. Thus it was that I was able to hook up with Mary and her mother (Sally) today. The three of us gathered at the Salvador Dali Museum at its new building in St. Petersburg, FL.    See http://www.salvadordalimuseum.org/ It’s a fabulous museum in a gorgeous new building.  Salvador Dali was a Spanish artist. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salvador_Dal%C3%AD I think of him as a mystic.  Thanks to a fabulous head-set and player I was able to listen to some fabulous recorded commentary about his major works. This commentary helped me to perceive and begin to understand the deeper “meaning” of Dali’s work.  It reminded me that that deeper ta

There used to be a desk plaque which one might see in the office of a priest or pastor.  It read  “God so loved the world that he didn’t send a committee” . AMEN to that! Ah those committees - the bane of the life of many a leader. “Let’s form a committee”  -  words which strike terror into the heart of a good pastor. You may be gathering that I am no great fan of committees .  So much so that when I retired I said,  “no more committees for me!”. I suppose that Committees  have their place.  It is hard to imagine that the U.S. Congress or the U.K. Parliament would “work” without the many and sundry committees which do the leg work before the matter (whatever it may be) is brought before the body as a whole.  But doubtless there are too many of these legislative committees , and to be sure they provide useful “cover” for lazy or stupid Representatives, Senators and Member of Parliament. I am less certain that they are useful in enhancing the life of a local congregation. I

.....here's a cartoon via my colleague Bob Ginn  

Vultures are so very beautiful when they are on the wing.  I watched a pair this afternoon as they soared and glided in the powder blue sky.  It was a lovely sight. And we need them!  Without vultures (and crows, and ants, and insects) our woodlands would be filled with rotting animal corpses. Vultures identify their carrion by smell.  From way up in the sky they can detect gases from decaying animals, gases which we mere humans could not even detect. The following pictures are not mine -  I lifted them from Google images.

It was near to The Revd. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr  Day  (never  “M.L.K. DAY  please!) back in say 1988 that I took myself to Temple Anshe Amunim in Pittsfield, MA for an inter-faith service to honour Dr. King. It was, after all, “the right thing to do”. The attendance was poor; the content of service was a bit pretentious; and due to poor communication on the part of the sponsors of the service, the Black Church gospel choir which was to have led our singing was not present. We were enjoined to sing a song.  I did not know it.  The pianist was unfamiliar with it.  The singing was dismal. I fulminated and muttered: “who in the world chose this awful song?” Even now, some 23 years later, I blush at the memory of my arrogance.   For the song was the great “Lift every voice and sing”.    It is a powerful text rooted deeply in the biblical call to justice.  It is known as the “Negro National Anthem”.   I am ashamed and embarrassed that I once “dissed” this song.  We sang it a