Outside Messy Church

Early Christians in hot climes were thrown to the lions; modern British martyrdom seems to consist of near-death by exposure. In August. In the south of England. We decided to do an outside Messy Church to advertise ourselves a bit in the neighbourhood, so set up shop on the local playing field (with the council’s permission.) Picture several acres of desolate wilderness with a Wuthering Heights-type gale whistling over it and one or two solitary dogwalkers braving the elements while everyone else sensibly stayed inside and cheered on our gold medallists in Beijing. The crepe paper blew away. The dog terrified a toddler. The senior members shivered on their collapsible chairs. The teenagers ate all the cakes. However on the bright side, one of our members revealed a hitherto unknown talent for face painting and a family her daughter invited came and stayed for quite a while.
Who knows how God will use it? But one realises why he chose to come to earth in the Mediterranean area rather than Portsmouth.