The patchwork quilt

I dug out an old patchwork quilt I made a long time ago, and it graces the bed again now, to keep out the winter cold. Truth to tell, I've forgotten many of the things- dresses of Mary's, tablecloths, napkins- which contributed to its squares and rectangles; and if I remember correctly, some material was bought specially for it anyway. In reds and navy- plain, patterned and checked- it adds a brightness, as well as a warmth, to the bed which was lacking before.

Odd bits, bits which might have been discarded, unimportant and forgotten, now brought together in an order and pattern. It should speak of church and how it ministers to the marginalised, but even a cursory reading of say, 1 Corinthians, shows St Paul dealing with deep dissension. And things have hardly improved in many places since.

Nevertheless, in spite of the popular perception that church is for those who have made it in one way or another, it remains a hospital for the walking wounded, myself included. And the walking wounded can be fractious.... We are all works in progress, striving to bring beauty and order and usefulness, striving to be whole, and sometimes holy, - in some ways then, like the patchwork quilt- into a world of need.