The book of Daniel, in both Jewish and Christian scriptures, tells of a king who had a golden statue made of himself in the Middle East. Here’s the start of chapter 3:
‘King Nebuchadnezzar made an image of gold, sixty cubits high and six cubits wide, and set it up on the plain of Dura in the province of Babylon. 2 He then summoned the satraps, prefects, governors, advisers, treasurers, judges, magistrates and all the other provincial officials to come to the dedication of the image he had set up. 3 So the satraps, prefects, governors, advisers, treasurers, judges, magistrates and all the other provincial officials assembled for the dedication of the image that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up, and they stood before it.
4 Then the herald loudly proclaimed, “Nations and peoples of every language, this is what you are commanded to do: 5 As soon as you hear the sound of the horn, flute, zither, lyre, harp, pipe and all kinds of music, you must fall down and worship the image of gold that King Nebuchadnezzar has set up. 6 Whoever does not fall down and worship will immediately be thrown into a blazing furnace.”
Things did not finish well for Nebuchadnezzar. As Daniel told Belshazzar, at the feast when the writing was on the wall, “Your Majesty, the Most High God gave your father Nebuchadnezzar sovereignty and greatness and glory and splendour. Because of the high position he gave him, all the nations and peoples of every language dreaded and feared him. Those the king wanted to put to death, he put to death; those he wanted to spare, he spared; those he wanted to promote, he promoted; and those he wanted to humble, he humbled. But when his heart became arrogant and hardened with pride, he was deposed from his royal throne and stripped of his glory. He was driven away from people and given the mind of an animal; he lived with the wild donkeys and ate grass like the ox; and his body was drenched with the dew of heaven, until he acknowledged that the Most High God is sovereign over all kingdoms on earth and sets over them anyone he wishes.”
At the start of the 19th century, my 4x great-grandfather, William Cockett, was a bedstead-maker working from premises at the Shoreditch end of Bethnal Green Road. In July 1802, he suffered a burglary in which a tin ‘watering-pot’, a pair of garden shears and a stove were stolen. The culprit, William Booth, was convicted of ‘grand larceny’ at the Old Bailey, and sentenced to be transported for seven years.
At that time, convicts sentenced to transportation were being sent to Tasmania on ships like the Neptune (above) so it is likely that Booth ended up there. Having served their time, convicts wanting to return to England had to pay their own way, so most stayed, some working as prison guards.
The background to the case is a picture of how badly ex-soldiers were treated in England at the time of the Napoleonic wars. Booth had served in the British Army in Egypt, probably following Nelson’s victory at the Battle of the Nile. Having been discharged from the Army, it is likely that he had had to find his own way back to England. From his testimony, it appears that he had a wife and three young children to support, and was doing odd jobs as a porter, carrying fish and vegetables, probably around Billingsgate and Spitalfields markets. William Cockett’s workshop was close to Spitalfields and it is not hard to imagine Booth, having struggled to find enough work that day, breaking in to steal whatever he could sell to raise a few bob. To be transported to a penal colony in Australia for seven years was a harsh punishment for Booth, but the loss to his poor wife and three young children could be said to be even greater. One wonders what must have happened to them.
As for William Cockett, it seems that his fortunes were rather better. He was to make a steady living as a bedstead-maker. The furniture industry around Shoreditch, Bethnal Green and Hackney thrived in the early years of the 19th century, turning timber coming up the Lea from ships in the Thames into beds, chairs, tables and chests of drawers to be sold in the West End. At least two of William’s three adult sons went into the same trade. One of them – also called William – described himself proudly as a ‘cabinetmaker’ at the time of a daughter’s marriage, sixty years later, and both his son and his grandson were cabinetmakers, too. Young William had married a Huguenot girl, Marguerite Annereau, whose grandfather had arrived as a refugee from France. Marguerite’s father, Jean Annereau, was a professional singer at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, and the family lived in Norton Folgate, just north of Spitalfields market, and close to the French Huguenot chapels where worship continued in French for many years.
Let me start by admitting that I have worked or ministered in urban settings all my life, so that it is with all due humility that I approach writing about rural ministry. Nevertheless, sometimes it is those who are new to a setting who can see its strengths most clearly, and it is in that spirit that I am offering a few thoughts about how one church seems to be thriving in its ministry to a tiny village on Exmoor.
Timberscombe is a typical Exmoor village with a population of about 400 including the surrounding farms and hamlets, served by one shop and a pub which is currently for sale. The Church of England primary school has 27 pupils and older children have to travel to Minehead.
The parish church, St Petrock’s, is a Grade 1 listed building, parts of which date back to the 14th century, with some very early examples of woodwork, an 18th century tower and consequent maintenance costs.
Nationally, the Church of England reckons to have about 2% of the population attending our churches, which would be 8 people for Timberscombe. So, that there are normally between 16 and 36 people there on a Sunday – and 58 people there on Remembrance Sunday, just passed – means that St Petrock’s is a well-attended church for the size of the population it serves. What’s interesting is that the congregation has grown in recent years, bucking the national trend, and I want to suggest some reasons why that might be. I’m going to list them as people, welcome, facilities, links and consistency.
People: Where churches fail it is often because there simply aren’t the people to keep the show on the road. it has been said that typically you need at least six able, motivated lay people, regardless of the clergy, which is more than many rural churches can muster. St Petrock’s is blessed to have two excellent churchwardens (I’ve known a lot of churchwardens in my time as an archdeacon, and St Petrock’s are among the best I’ve encountered), supported by a former churchwarden and a more than competent treasurer. There are also two able musicians and a small team of people to provide refreshments. Finally, St Petrock’s has a faithful priest who is there every Sunday, even though she is very part-time and is a sheep farmer with all that that means in terms of time commitments, particularly during lambing.
Welcome: A quick Google search will reveal numerous books and websites about how to be a welcoming church. From trained welcoming teams to ‘onboarding’ sessions, cards to be filled out and and software suites, there is no shortage of ideas. The extraordinary thing is that St Petrock’s employs none of these, and yet it is the most welcoming church that I have ever been part of.
How has this happened? I suspect that it all started with one churchwarden some years ago. A naturally warm-hearted person, he set the tone in such a way that anyone who attended the church would feel welcomed, not just by a welcomer but by everyone. His example has been followed by others, and it works. It’s not forced, intrusive or overbearing; it just feels like coming into a family home where people are happy to see you. It’s a rare gift. But if you have naturally welcoming person in your church it’s worth recognising that gift and allowing them to set an example for others to follow.
Facilities: I have been to too many churches where I’ve finished the service gasping for a drink and needing a loo, even when I wanted to stay and talk. If that’s true for me, it’s true for a lot of people. A few years ago, the PCC at Timberscombe recognised this and did two things: Firstly, they divided the large vestry into two, creating a clean and pleasant loo. Then they installed a simple servery (see below) from which they serve excellent coffee and biscuits after services. It means that people can take part in worship knowing that there will be decent refreshments afterwards and that if they need a loo it’s there for them. The result is that more people are coming – and staying afterwards to talk to each other, too. It’s not idle chatter, either; they are building friendships, sharing each other’s joys and needs, and engaging in what, in church speak, we call ‘fellowship’. It is a joy to see and to be part of.
Links: I am amazed at the number of churches that operate in near-secrecy, such is their lack of public profile. It should be obvious that all churches need to work to make their presence known in their communities, regardless of whether we’re talking about tiny villages or big cities.
In some cases that will involve the intelligent use of social media – and not only their own feeds but also those of other community groups. That doesn’t mean that every church has to have a Facebook page or a Twitter feed. In St Petrock’s case, news about services and future events is shared very effectively through the village website (www.timberscombevillage.com) and its X feed (https://x.com/Timberscombe_V) and well as through a weekly email newsletter.
More importantly, St Petrock’s works hard at its relationship with the village school, and thereby with the families represented there. The children are used to going into ‘their’ church and see the priest most weeks. I witnessed the value of this at a recent Sunday ‘Messy Church’ service which – remarkably – was attended by the majority of the children from the school along with a good number of parents and carers. And it’s not only the school, but the local history group, the gardening group, and a number of other groups that are active in the village, formally or informally. The value of that could be seen on Remembrance Sunday, when the church was packed, and will be seen at the Christingle service where regulars from the local pub will be willing participants in an ad hoc nativity play and there won’t be an empty seat anywhere in the church.
Consistency: This isn’t easy for many churches, but there is a lot to be said for always having a service every Sunday at the same time, whatever the content. The point is that parishioners know that there is a service that Sunday, without having to check a website or a rota. And it helps worshippers to develop a consistent pattern of attendance; in St Petrock’s case, it’s Sunday at 11, every Sunday.
Not every church will have the strengths that St Petrock’s has. Many will have advantages that St Petrock’s doesn’t have – a good choir or music group, a larger population, more clergy and so on. But in this particular village a church is being quietly successful in what it does because it does these five things well: It has an effective team of people, a genuine welcome, good facilities, well-nurtured links with its community, and a consistent pattern of worship.
That, it seems to me, is not a bad model to follow.
After seventeen years as Archdeacon of West Ham, and thirty-three years since my ordination, I am retiring. What follows is the text of my sermon at a ‘farewell service’ at Chelmsford Cathedral.
As I stand here I’m looking out on so many fantastic people who are living out the call of God on their lives. So many of you have blessed me in all sorts of ways through being the people that God has called you to be – as have many others who are no longer with us but who we shall see one day in Heaven. And so many of you have, in living out your vocation, helped me to hear God’s call on my life.
I’m thinking of my parents, Methodist missionaries, who obeyed a call to go to India, where my father – a doctor – treated poor people with leprosy. And where they brought me as a child to be baptised in Medak Cathedral. I’m thinking of my father when his vocation took him to a hospital in Akosombo. In Ghana. I first went to school at the Akosombo International School. He was to die in Ghana, aged just 36, sixty years ago this month. And so we came to the East End in 1964 – my mother now a young widow with four of us children.
I’m thinking of how she followed her vocation as a mother, a teacher and a musician to enable me, remarkably, to win a place in the choir at St Paul’s Cathedral. At my very first Evensong in St Paul’s the Magnificat was the one we heard earlier – Dyson in D – and I was spellbound. It was the start of five years during which my calling as a musician and worship leader was nurtured. And during which the Word of God took root in me, both through the Bible readings and through amazing music like the anthem we have just heard that speaks of a vision of Heaven.
I’m thinking of how Sue, my wife, has faithfully supported me since we were married at the ridiculously early age of 18 – or eighteen and a half, as the vicar wrote in the register.
Vocations can take odd diversions, of course. I spent five years in the Inland Revenue as a Tax Man and although I learned a lot about finance and how not to manage people, it became very clear that being a tax man wasn’t my vocation. At which point, a role opened up at as Practice Manager at Bethnal Green Medical Mission, where I learned a whole lot more from some wonderful doctors, nurses and staff whose vocation it was to care for people in what was then a challenging place. And I give thanks for one doctor, Bill Maxwell, who was also a priest in the Church of England, and who took me aside one day and said “We love having you as our Practice Manager, but isn’t God calling you to train for ordination.”
He was right, of course, and although by now I’d got a season ticket at West Ham United and didn’t want to give it up, I went to theological college. In my first year there, I heard a speaker from Christians in Sport say as a joke that West Ham, who were doing rather badly, needed a chaplain and I wondered if God might call me to be that person. But, obediently, I accepted the Bishop of Barking’s offer of a curacy at Chadwell Heath, only to learn later that the parish included West Ham’s training ground. Within 18 months I was the club chaplain.
The rest is history, and I thank God for those at the football club – by no means all of them people of faith – who welcomed me and allowed me to do the job that God had called me to. And for the players, staff and supporters, many of whom have become lifelong friends.
I could go on all afternoon talking about West Ham, of course, but I do want to thank those people in the parishes in which I served who recognised my calling and who supported me, just as I sought to help them to recognise God’s call on their lives.
I’m thinking of the lovely people at St Paul’s, Harold Hill, who when I was struggling as a new incumbent rallied round and supported me.
I’m thinking of the fantastic people in Billericay, where I had the best possible churchwardens – men and women who, having excelled in their professions, recognised a calling to serve God and his church in that role. And not only wardens but people in all sorts of roles, together living out their calling as followers of Jesus Christ.
And of course I’m thinking of the wonderful people of the Archdeaconry of West Ham, gathered from every corner of the earth, who are a glimpse of heaven. People who know that God calls people of all races, regardless of age or gender or class, to respond to his love in Jesus Christ and to follow him. What a joy it has been to serve amongst you, brothers and sisters.
And here I want to add a warning. Responding to the call of God is no guarantee of an easy life. Both the prophet Isaiah and Matthew suffered violent deaths. So did all but one of the other apostles. Whatever God is calling you to do right now, he will equip you, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t find it hard going at times or that you won’t make mistakes or trip up, get hurt, and hurt others in the process.
I have certainly done so all too often in 17 years as an archdeacon, and I have the bruises to show for it. I am comforted that some of the best people I have come across -whether they are clergy or otherwise – are people who have failed, sometimes disastrously, but who through the grace of God have been able in his strength to pick themselves up, dust themselves off and start all over again. God is a God of second chances.
I also want to say that God’s love is bigger and broader than we often imagine. I’ve always been inspired by the story of Father Bill Shergold, a vicar who in the early 1960s felt called by God to reach out to the young bikers in greasy leather jackets who hung around cafes and coffee bars and were not welcome in most churches. He started the 59 Club as a place where they would be welcome. It was what we would later call a ‘fresh expression of church’, and through the efforts of a few good people, it became a huge success with thousands of members including Cliff Richard. And me. It still meets every week in Plaistow and I’m delighted that there are 59 club members here today, wearing their insignia.
Because God calls people of all kinds – bikers and footballers, black and white, rich and poor, married and single, gay and straight – to know him and to love him and to follow his path for their lives – and that includes you and me. For those who hear the call of Jesus there is no greater thing in life than to hear and obey it. If you think you hear the slightest hint of a whisper of what God might be saying to you then let me encourage you to talk to someone about it. It’s never too late.
My vocation lies in Somerset now. Please do pray for me and for Sue. Let me say that I am so pleased that the next Archdeacon of West Ham is my good friend, Mike Power. He is a godly man who has always been faithful in responding to God’s call. I know that the people of East London’s churches will support him just as you have supported me.
And, finally, we look forward when all this is over, to meeting each other again in Heaven where, as the words of the anthem from Revelation 21 said, God will wipe away every tear from our eyes. There will be no more death, nor mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things will have passed away.
Brothers and sisters, may God bless you richly as you respond to his call, may God bless the Archdeaconry of West Ham and its new Archdeacon, and may we all look forward to the place where there will be no more tears or crying or pain. Amen
The days of ‘no blacks, no irish’ signs are long gone, happily, but discrimination can spring up in surprising places. For that reason, it is good to remember that, as the old song goes, God has ‘the whole world in his hands’, including a lot of people who are different to us.
The Windrush generation encountered racism in many forms, most famously in housing and employment. Sadly, there were even churches where well-meaning vicars redirected new arrivals to ‘black churches’ down the road. Much has changed in the years since, not least in Newham’s churches, where people from a fantastic range of backgrounds and ethnicities worship together. It would be a brave person, nonetheless, who said that discrimination has disappeared.
There was another group in the early 1960s who were treated badly because they were different. They were the teenagers who rode motorbikes and scooters and hung around in coffee bars. Many a pub had ‘no leathers’ signs on the door, and the tabloid press played up ‘Mods and Rockers’ as the latest threat to civilisation. Ordinary people saw them as dangerous, which is why a London vicar, Rev Bill Shergold, became somewhat famous for welcoming them to his church, to what became known as ‘The 59 Club’.
The club thrived in Hackney, where visitors included celebrities like Cliff Richard. It did so because it offered a welcome to young people who were used to being shunned. They were made welcome because ‘Father Bill’ believed that God loved them as much as he loved anyone, and that God welcomed them even when others didn’t.
The 59 Club continues to meet in Plaistow and in West London, although its members are no longer the rebels and outcasts that they were once seen to be. It’s worth asking, though, who are the outcasts of today? Who are the people who we find it hardest to welcome and who encounter barriers and hostility? Because, just like Bill Shergold did in the 1960s, we need to remember that God loves them and values them as much as he loves us. And we need to act accordingly.
Percy Sillitoe’s memorial in the Crypt of St Paul’s Cathedral
What’s the link between a boy chorister at St Paul’s and James Bond? The answer lies in a quiet corner of the crypt of St Paul’s Cathedral, where a memorial can be found to Sir Percy Sillitoe, Director-General of MI5 in the early years of the Cold War.
As a boy, Sillitoe was a chorister in St Paul’s Cathedral Choir and boarded at the choir school in nearby Carter Lane. From the age of ten, he would have sung in something like nine services every week, developing the skills of concentration and precision that so many former cathedral choristers have shown in their chosen fields, from music to business and sport. Sillitoe was one of the senior choristers who sang in the memorial service for Queen Victoria in 1902, but by the end of that decade he was serving as a trooper in the British South Africa Police, transferring in 1911 to the Northern Rhodesia Police. In 1916 he became a political officer in Tanganyika before returning to the UK in 1920.
A distinguished career in policing in the country followed. n 1923 he was appointed Chief Constable of Chesterfield. He spent a year as Chief Constable of the East Riding of Yorkshire in 1925, moving in 1926 to become Chief Constable of Sheffield, where he became known for authorising his officers to use “reasonable force” to break the hold that criminal gangs had had on the city.
Moving to be the Chief Constable of Glasgow in 1931 he employed innovative methods to break the power of Glasgow’s notorious razor gangs, including the introduction of radios in police cars allowing communication between headquarters and vehicles, which previously relied completely upon the use of police phone boxes. He gave his name to the Sillitoe tartan, the black and white diced pattern on police cap bands in Scotland, originally based on that used by several Scottish regiments on the Glengarry.
Sillitoe was one of the first Chief Constables to recognise the potential of women to be effective police officers. When, in 1944, he moved to be Chief Constable of Kent there were just two policewomen in the county; within a year there were 150.
At some point, he joined the Security Service and was said to be responsible for MI5’s highly-successful ‘double cross’ operation during WW2 in which all Hitler’s spies in Britain were turned and used to send false information back to Germany about the Allies’ plans, including D-day. After the war, he became Director-General of MI5 and was in that post at the time of Burgess and Maclean’s defection to the USSR. The subsequent investigation was not kind to MI5 or to him, and he left the service in 1953.
After leaving MI5, Sillitoe was recruited by DeBeers to set up a clandestine operation employing former British intelligence agents as ‘the International Diamond Security Organisation’ – IDSO – to disrupt diamond traders in West Africa who were undermining DeBeers’ monopoly. It was a messy business in which significant numbers of poor Africans were ambushed and killed as they tried to convey diamonds out of Sierra Leone to middlemen in Liberia.
Ian Fleming later wrote a book about Sillitoe’s operation, ‘The diamond smugglers’, and it is not hard to see how the information he gained from researching that book would later be used in the James Bond fantasy, ‘Diamonds are forever’.
I’ve been watching Mae West’s 1933 film ‘I’m no angel’. It’s surprising how good it is. Writing the dialogue only a few years after ‘talkies’ started, she grasped the potential of the spoken word at a time when the art of film-makers like Charlie Chaplin was essentially visual. ‘I’m no angel’ contains many memorable lines, including the oft-quoted ‘come up and see me’ and ‘it’s not the men in your life that matters, it’s the life in your men’.
Mae’s dialogue undoubtedly profited from her many years of legitimate stage experience. Films before this had nearly always depended on visual gags to carry the humour line, as had to be the case with silent movies. Mae was in ‘talking’ pictures and she understood the one-line gag in a way that has never been equalled. Audiences too, from their own acquaintance with vaudeville, the live stage, and, to an extent, early radio, knew how to listen for a double meaning or a catch-phrase. Most of all, Mae knew audiences and how to say her lines for optimal value.
The real surprises, though, are the feminist theme and the positive portrayal of African-American women, in contrast to other films of the era. The hilarious climax of ’I’m no angel’ comes in a court scene in which Mae sends up the hypocrisy of the men who have tried unsuccessfully to sleep with her but then accuse her of being easy and unfaithful. Her two African-American maids are her co-conspirators and characters in their own right.
It’s a hilarious, beautifully-scripted romp that shows why Mae West was such a popular star in the 1930s and deserves to be known better today.
I’m in pain. Getting up in the middle of the night, in the dark, I walked into a ladder that I forgot I’d left on the landing, and I stubbed my toe, hard. It hurts. A lot. So I’m feeling even more sorry for myself than I was when England lost to Italy and the nation’s celebrations were cut short.
What’s worse is that my whole body is suffering. Ok, so it’s only my toe that really hurts, but it means that I don’t want to do anything too energetic with my foot. In fact, I don’t want to do anything at all, apart from taking painkillers and waiting for my toe to feel better.
It’s funny how, when one part of our body is suffering, the whole body suffers with it. The toe is so small and insignificant compared to other parts of the body, but if it’s in pain the whole body shares its pain.
Jesus told a story: Imagine you have a flock of a hundred sheep, but one goes missing. What do you do? You leave the ninety-nine and go looking for the one. Does that mean that the lives of the ninety-nine don’t matter? Of course not. But it’s the missing one that matters at that moment.
One of the many things that impressed me about Gareth Southgate this summer was the way in which he showed his concern for the players who didn’t play a part in England’s games, whether they were on the bench or not in the squad. Showing them that they mattered didn’t mean that he didn’t care about the successful players. It just meant that he cared about them all. The team was better-off as a result.
That’s what I understood by the England team’s insistence on ‘taking the knee’ before games. I don’t believe for one second that any of them are revolutionary Marxists or want to ‘defund the police’. What they did want to say is that racist abuse aimed at one player – or at one group of people in our nation – causes us all harm, and that we should all support those who suffer such abuse. Thanks to Southgate, Rashford, Rice and all the others, there’s no room for racism in the new England. And that, dear friends, is a real cause for celebration.
Anyone who followed West Ham United in the late 1990s will remember one particular player who was much loved for his fearsome tackling and combative nature.
I’m talking, of course, about John Moncur, who was the sort of player that every manager would want in their squad. Fiercely committed, he would keep fighting for a result when others were flagging. But he also had a bit of a temper, which got him into trouble from time to time.
In an interview with a football magazine (Four Four Two) this month, John was described as having become a Christian to help deal with his “terrible temper”, which he did not deny.
What interested me was that he quoted the example of King David, whose life story appears in the Christian, Jewish and Islamic scriptures alike. Because, apart from being a shepherd and a king and killing Goliath, David was a sinner. He had sex with another man’s wife and arranged for her husband to die, so he was really a murderer. And yet, when he later admitted what he’d done, humbled himself and sought God’s forgiveness, he was given a second chance to live the life that God had called him to.
Some of the best passages in the Bible are about the “Amazing Grace” of God in forgiving us when we have gone wrong. No wonder John Moncur said in his interview: “It inspires me and gives me hope”.
Lent – the time of year between Ash Wednesday and the days before Easter – is a time for reflection, for humbling ourselves, seeking forgiveness for those things that have hurt others, and for seeing more clearly what are the things that really matter, that should be the guiding lights of our lives.
Jimmy Carter, perhaps the greatest of former presidents of the United States as well as a humble Christian man, wrote these words recently: “What are the things that you can’t see that are important? I would say justice, truth, humility, service, compassion, love. You can’t see any of those, but they’re the guiding lights of a life.” Amen to that, President.
The Book of Daniel, in the Old Testament, written thousands of years ago, is often startlingly relevant. Here’s the bit where an all-powerful king, surrounded by sycophants and money, sees the writing on the wall:
King Belshazzar gave a great banquet for a thousand of his nobles and drank wine with them. 2 While Belshazzar was drinking his wine, he gave orders to bring in the gold and silver goblets that Nebuchadnezzar his father had taken from the temple in Jerusalem, so that the king and his nobles, his wives and his concubines might drink from them. 3 So they brought in the gold goblets that had been taken from the temple of God in Jerusalem, and the king and his nobles, his wives and his concubines drank from them. 4 As they drank the wine, they praised the gods of gold and silver, of bronze, iron, wood and stone.
5 Suddenly the fingers of a human hand appeared and wrote on the plaster of the wall, near the lampstand in the royal palace. The king watched the hand as it wrote. 6 His face turned pale and he was so frightened that his legs became weak and his knees were knocking.
7 The king summoned the enchanters, astrologers and diviners. Then he said to these wise men of Babylon, “Whoever reads this writing and tells me what it means will be clothed in purple and have a gold chain placed around his neck, and he will be made the third highest ruler in the kingdom.”
8 Then all the king’s wise men came in, but they could not read the writing or tell the king what it meant. 9 So King Belshazzar became even more terrified and his face grew more pale. His nobles were baffled.
10 The queen, hearing the voices of the king and his nobles, came into the banquet hall. “May the king live forever!” she said. “Don’t be alarmed! Don’t look so pale! 11 There is a man in your kingdom who has the spirit of the holy gods in him. In the time of your father he was found to have insight and intelligence and wisdom like that of the gods. Your father, King Nebuchadnezzar, appointed him chief of the magicians, enchanters, astrologers and diviners. 12 He did this because Daniel, whom the king called Belteshazzar, was found to have a keen mind and knowledge and understanding, and also the ability to interpret dreams, explain riddles and solve difficult problems. Call for Daniel, and he will tell you what the writing means.”
13 So Daniel was brought before the king, and the king said to him, “Are you Daniel, one of the exiles my father the king brought from Judah? 14 I have heard that the spirit of the gods is in you and that you have insight, intelligence and outstanding wisdom. 15 The wise men and enchanters were brought before me to read this writing and tell me what it means, but they could not explain it. 16 Now I have heard that you are able to give interpretations and to solve difficult problems. If you can read this writing and tell me what it means, you will be clothed in purple and have a gold chain placed around your neck, and you will be made the third highest ruler in the kingdom.”
17 Then Daniel answered the king, “You may keep your gifts for yourself and give your rewards to someone else. Nevertheless, I will read the writing for the king and tell him what it means.
18 “Your Majesty, the Most High God gave your father Nebuchadnezzar sovereignty and greatness and glory and splendor. 19 Because of the high position he gave him, all the nations and peoples of every language dreaded and feared him. Those the king wanted to put to death, he put to death; those he wanted to spare, he spared; those he wanted to promote, he promoted; and those he wanted to humble, he humbled. 20 But when his heart became arrogant and hardened with pride, he was deposed from his royal throne and stripped of his glory. 21 He was driven away from people and given the mind of an animal; he lived with the wild donkeys and ate grass like the ox; and his body was drenched with the dew of heaven, until he acknowledged that the Most High God is sovereign over all kingdoms on earth and sets over them anyone he wishes.
22 “But you, Belshazzar, his son,have not humbled yourself, though you knew all this. 23 Instead, you have set yourself up against the Lord of heaven. You had the goblets from his temple brought to you, and you and your nobles, your wives and your concubines drank wine from them. You praised the gods of silver and gold, of bronze, iron, wood and stone, which cannot see or hear or understand. But you did not honour the God who holds in his hand your life and all your ways. 24 Therefore he sent the hand that wrote the inscription.
25 “This is the inscription that was written:
mene, mene, tekel, parsin
26 “Here is what these words mean:
Mene: God has numbered the days of your reign and brought it to an end.
27 Tekel: You have been weighed on the scales and found wanting.
28 Peres: Your kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and Persians.”
29 Then at Belshazzar’s command, Daniel was clothed in purple, a gold chain was placed around his neck, and he was proclaimed the third highest ruler in the kingdom.
30 That very night Belshazzar, king of the Babylonians, was slain, 31 and Darius the Mede took over the kingdom, at the age of sixty-two.
An East Ender on Exmoor 
