Povey Prattle

From 2 Kings 18:27  (in the Authorised [or King James] version of the bible). But Rabshakeh said unto them, Hath my master sent me to thy master, and to thee, to speak these words? hath he not sent me to the men which sit on the wall, that they may eat their own dung, and drink their own piss with you? I quote this verse to assert that the bible is unafraid of “earthy language”.  This gives me leave to utter the occasional “oh shit”. I have previously introduced you to a great woman who lives in a neighbouring community. Her name is Betty M.  We meet as I walk my dog. Betty is an octogenarian ex-Marine.  She is feisty and funny. She is a widow. One of her sons Steve M. moved in with her about two years ago.  Steve is a wee bit younger than I.  He was a Methodist minister, but following a sad divorce he skated into a new career as a care-giver in a local Nursing Home. He and I have enjoyed some lovely chats.  He is a gentle soul. We both agree that his mother is “the tops”. Ste

“Grief is like one of those roller towels in public lavatories. Shared with too many people, it gets soiled and worn out.” (Joyce Carol Oates, “Missing Mum” p 345 ecco books 2005)

The Revd J. Michael Povey at St. Boniface Church, Siesta Key, FL I preached this sermon at St. Boniface on Thanksgiving two years ago.  I forgot what I said, and so did you.  So here it is again. How would you define an Englishman?  Try this: “An Englishman is a self made man, who worships his creator.” I can tell you that one liner in good heart, for I am English born and raised.  There is more than enough truth in the joke. We are surrounded by “self-made” citizens who proudly affirm “I got all I have by good old fashioned hard work and no one is going to take it away from me”.  There is a common belief that good old fashioned hard work is a sign of virtue, and that virtue is rewarded by wealth. Somewhere, deep in the secret part of my heart I believe that too. That belief flies in the face of the facts . First: There are millions of good hard working Americans, many of whom have two or three jobs, who are barely scraping by.  And there are other millions who w

By the President of the United States of America. A Proclamation. The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the f

My favourite local supermarket is not the dominant and ubiquitous “Publix”  (high prices and crummy produce). It is “SweetBay” a part of the Hannaford Group. There I was this afternoon to get some red potatoes and brussels sprouts to cook and eat for dinner with some homemade meat loaf. My cashier/clerk was a young woman.  At her till was a large sign which read “my belt is broken” – meaning that the moving belt which transports purchases towards the cash register would not work. Being a very “male” male I immediately checked the belt on my trousers, and assured her that my own belt was O.K. She grinned and said “it’s only the men who make jokes about this, the women never do”. Ooops!  I apologised, and then asked her age. She told me that she is 18 years old. She is an adult. I responded by saying: “Let me tell you something which you will soon discover. Men’s brains are not in their heads, they are below their belts”. “I already know that” she countered “that’s why I prefer w

I've had such an exciting day! Here is one of my cats, Ada,  as she slept. Here is the other cat Adelaide (also sleeping) Wow!  They are both so full of life! The thrill of watching Penne eat her mid-day meal A tiny Anole Lizard (yes they are "Anoles"[not Geckos]) crept into the house. Cat Adelaide sprang into action and played with this little Anole.  (She later decapitated it, but I spare you a photo' of a headless lizard)

1.   The first scripture reading at the St. Boniface 10:00 a.m. Eucharist this morning was from the Old Testament book of Ezekiel (Ch 34 v 11-16 and 20-24). I made certain to seek out the Lector (reader) right after the service to thank her.  She had read the passage so beautifully, with perfect intonation, tone and pace. Her reading made the scripture “come alive”. 2.   The hymn before the reading of the Gospel was “King of Glory, King of peace”.  This was written not as a hymn but as a poem, by the fabulous Welsh poet George Herbert (1593-1633). George Herbert was from a prosperous family in what used to be the County of Montgomeryshire in Wales (now part of the Welsh region called Powys).   He had been a Member of Parliament from the County Town, but in about 1630 he was ordained as a priest in the Church of England, and became the Rector of Bemerton (near Salisbury, Wiltshire, England).   There he blossomed as a poet.  But it was a brief flowering.  For George Herbert was suff