THE humorous American poet Ogden Nash spent most of his life in Baltimore. After a brief move to New York, he wrote: “I could have loved New York, had I not loved Baltimore.” Focussing in his poems on the ordinary, he became known as the poet of the commonplace. One admirer said of him: “His achievement lies in saying nontrivial things about trivia and saying them perfectly.” Everyday happenings, getting up in the morning, commuting, arguments, the small scale crises that make up ninety percent of daily living, these were the themes of his poems, most of which were a lovely blend of seriousness and humour, About husbands he wrote:

To keep your marriage brimming,

With love in the loving cup,

Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;

Whenever you’re right, shut up.

About cows, he wrote:

The cow is of the bovine ilk,

One end is moo, the other milk.

Two thousand years before Nash, Jesus framed eternal truths in terms of ordinary everyday happenings – a woman sweeping her home, a shepherd searching the hills for a lost sheep, a father at odds with his son, a friend borrowing a loaf at midnight for unexpected guests, a widow pleading her case before a heartless judge.

Nothing is more important in the great scheme of things than doing the best we can in the service of the best we know.

Little helpful deeds and kind words are like pebbles cast into a pond. They create ripples that spread in all directions, becoming part of an ever widening circle of compassion and concern. They have reverberations which are felt far beyond our imagining. The lives we touch for good, touch other lives for good, and they in turn others. Who knows in what far places our touch will be felt. Wordsworth expressed it well.

“The best portion of a good man’s life, his little unremarkable acts of kindness and love”.

A very caring Mother Teresa likened us to little pencils in the hand of a writing God, who keeps sending love letters to the world. She knew that the love we give away is the only love we keep.

In a detective story where everybody is under suspicion, from the butler to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who happened to be spending the weekend at the scene of the murder, a frustrated detective says, “This was the perfect crime. He never left a fingerprint anywhere.” That I believe is the perfect crime against humanity – not to leave a finger-print anywhere, not to touch any life or enterprise with a kindly, caring or creative touch.

Simple words of appreciation and thanks can lift people’s spirits. What a debt the church owes those bands of ordinary folk who keep church buildings in good repair, who cut the grass and keep flower beds free from weeds, who unblock the church drains, set out tables and chairs, make the coffee. Such volunteers deserve a beatitude of their own. They save the church thousands each year. What other members do for the lonely and the bereaved in the parish is equally holy.

Recently, during a service I was conducting in my home church, I asked the congregation to sing the following in honour of our volunteers. The quality of the singing to the tune Richmond, was fortunately far better than the quality of the poetry!

O for a thousand tongues to sing

A song for people who,

Deserve our warm thanks, for all

The countless things they do.

Chorus

Come let us all our voices raise

To thank those people here

Whose quiet deeds are perfect praise,

Whose dedication clear.

Some cut the grass, some serve the teas

Some teach our young folks too

They serve their neighbours and their God

In the small deeds they do.

Chorus

For every church needs people who

Step in and play their part

Who offer time and energy

Who give with all their heart.

Chorus