Missing...

Oh, there were things I missed today - places, activities, involvement. This strange curse of Covid_19 has deprived us of so many of the ordinary things of life that in the past month it seems almost to be normal to walk up the stairs after dinner to attend a church service, to contact friends and family online, to have the messages delivered ...

But a day such as this, Holy Saturday, the strange hiatus between the crucifixion and the resurrection if you're a Christian, a day like this brings home what we miss. And I missed my church today: the place, the spaciousness of it, the drama, the music. We had the prayers and the companionship of online worship, we had a pretty dramatic little indoor New Fire to witness - but the other special aspects, from the cleaning of the church in the morning to the singing of the Exultet in the dark, candlelit church, to the sprinkling of holy water as we renewed our baptismal vows - these things were almost-there, almost-present, and all the more poignant for their absence.

It may have been that sense of need, or it may have been my growing desire to escape from people suddenly driven to exercise in the streets and up the glens that took me up Kilbride Road to our church grounds this afternoon. It may have been the glorious blue and green of my surroundings, the birdsong and the peace, it may have been the special calm of that numinous space on the hill above the ancient well dedicated to St Bride: whatever it was, I was there. We wandered round the churchyard, we looked at 19th century graves, we listened to the birds. This view in the photo is what you see as you round the bend in the steep drive and see the building ahead through the trees. Our outgoing bishop loves to say that it's a miracle the anyone ever comes here, because the hill is so steep and the situation remote behind the town. 

Miracle let it be.