There was always a gigantic slab of coal, balanced on a plank of wood suspended between the corbels of the Romanesque arch carved with Norman lattice work and leading to the chancel. On the altar, a sheaf of corn, crafted in bread by the local baker. There were real stooks of corn, gigantic potatoes, cabbages, beetroot, carrots, and whatever fruit was available at the local market. Children brought decorated shoe boxes filled with what could be spared from the family pantry. Fish featured too, songs of fishing boats and mariners braving the inhospitable North Sea, ‘to fish for you and me’. And always Michaelmas daisies.
In a rural mining village, surrounded by farms and fields, an hour from the coast, my childhood harvest celebrations were times of thanksgiving for the good things in and around our community. Harvest of the mines, harvest of the sea, harvest of the land, a gathering in of what the community and what we each could give.
Working in city schools, harvest generosity took a different form with bags of tins, cartons, socks, scarves, shower gel, destined for the local homelessness charity and latterly foodbanks, donations tripling in lock down. Harvest, a celebration, thanksgiving, and a vehicle for showing we care.
The coal was shattered, burned in grates throughout the village, the harvest bread shared at the harvest supper, the vegetables fruit and flowers distributed amongst those in need.
How can I gift in a way which will contribute and sustain? I do care, we all care about our church and the mission, tasked by St Martin, who tore his cloak those years ago, to share and see Christ afresh. What better time than harvest to face the challenge of giving to sustain the good in and around our St Martin’s community. Harvest: celebrating, thanksgiving and gathering in of what our community and we each are able share.
Mel Adams
