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To Redditch . .
These are the words of him who is the First and the Last, who died and came to life
again: ‘I know your afflictions and your poverty-
'Redditch will no longer be a town where people come and get lost -
Redditch
a Smyrna kind of town
(see the Pray for Redditch Blog)
2014 -
These photographs appeared in the Redditch Indicator on May 8th 1970. They depict the dedication Service held outdoors at the Woodrow precinct on Sunday 3rd May 1970.
Woodrow was the first of the new town ‘beads’ to be completed and it lay wholly within the parish of St. Peter, Ipsley.
Andrew Hall, Steven Hall, Wendy, Mary and Johnathan presented some ‘folk style’ worship. There were contributions from Redditch new Town Band and some of the Sunday School Children.
Rev. Fred Foreman, Rector of Ipsley (below), said that despite the unusual surroundings the service was a completely normal part of Church contribution to family and community life.
Woodrow Shopping Centre
Dedication Service
Our Mission
(Andrew J Hall )
The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
because the LORD has anointed me to:
bring good news to the poor, healing to the sore, and the raw: the aflicted.
To show mercy to the wrong, the hurtful, the convicted.
To speak peace to the out-
To bind up the wounded with care and attention.
To be more than a token of love to the broken.
To bring truth to those caught up in delusion and fiction.
To bring freedom to the captives of lust and addiction and those chained in darkness by their thoughts and their actions.
To bring hope to the scheming, the screaming the sick and the sighing.
To bring comfort to the sad, the bereaved and the dying.
To stand: not fearing those who are feared. or scandalising the weird.
Proclaiming the year of the LORD's bounty.
Replacing their ashes with crowns of beauty.
Revealing God's grace, His favour and mercy for the people:
people like me
and you.
This poem is rubbish
(Andrew Hall )
Don’t let me put you off.
I’m rubbish,
He’s not.
He’s superb,
Perfect, if you like.
Yet,
He takes my filthy clothes
and wears them.
He gives to me
His pin-
(Robes of righteousness, they say).
He picks up the litter I’ve strewn
from the cross that was hewn
from the timber of selfish hearts.
He has a big stash
of my broken-
hidden in the black bag
of forgiveness.
You can look at me if you like;
but all you will see
is a man who was freed
by the grace and the love
of a man who was
hung up
on a point of law:
refusing to allow
the refuse of man
be landfill any longer
for the prince of the air.
