Today I have been doing some writing while outside under the big oak tree. Our foster puppy has been delighting in the pile of leaves -jumping in and burrowing through. It intrigues me how these leaves year after year have brought such joy -to our pets, to our children -and even to the children at mainly music when we have transported bags and bags of these leaves to the church hall for them to play in. When the children were little we used leaves to make painted leaf prints and sprinkled them with glitter. Reuben still loves to leap from the rope swing above, into the big pile of leaves. But sometimes all I see is the work involved -this constant effort required to rake them up -so many thousands that just keep on falling, day after day. I can stand outside and literally watch them fall. The reality of life, it seems, often holds delight and work together.

Which got me thinking about liturgy –a strange leap, you may say, but perhaps not. You see, the term "liturgy" literally in Greek means "work for the people". And perhaps a better translation is "public service" or "public work" originating in the role of wealthy Greeks of ancient times, through the leitourgia, making their expensive offerings in service to the people, and thus to the state. Liturgy is the costly work of giving. Liturgy -our worship -is literally, work for the people -delight and work entwined together. We often refer to a service of worship –again entwining the work of service with the delight of praise and worship. Perhaps whatever we turn our hand to –in worship or in a pile of leaves –delight has its own work.