The last hour

The church is bare, decorated only by sunlight. The wooden cross is almost large enough to take a body, and its roughness is startling. In the silence, we can hear birdsong from the trees around the church, but here, between the words, it is so quiet I can hear my breathing. As we stand around the cross to receive the sacrament consecrated at the Maundy Eucharist, I realise that for me this is the most significant communion I could possibly make, whatever theological disputes surround the practice.

As three o'clock brings the service to a close, an intense peace descends. It is finished.