I had one of those moments yesterday in our morning Eucharist at Launde. We have a row of icons along the east wall featuring eight saints, some well known and others very obscure (any big St Guthlac or St Keyne fans reading this?) Until yesterday I'd always seen them as intriguing devotional representations of holy men and women: images to inspire faith. Something for us all to look at. Windows into heaven, if you like.
But yesterday that flipped, although I'm not sure why. I suddenly saw them as a row of holy saints looking out onto us, as though I was the one being seen, not the one doing the looking. I saw them as the cloud of witnesses peering through the windows to see how we were all getting along, to remind us that they're rooting for us. I realised every single one of them is painted in an attitude of prayer or blessing, and realised they were praying for us and blessing us. That the communion of saints is a two way street.
It was a beautiful experience. But not just a moment, here and gone. This morning I was still seeing that. Something shifted, and it's not shifted back. I don't think I want it to ...
When I first came to Launde I loved that an icon of St Guthlac was in the chapel. I am very fond of St Guthlac. On a circular walk from my home through woods and footpaths I reach St Guthlac’s Church after 3 miles. Nestling between farms and water mills in the village of Astwick it is thought to be the smallest parish in England. It still retains its original box pews, wooden pulpit and screen.
ReplyDeleteThe Church is normally locked, they only have one service a month, but outside there is a bench where one can rest and contemplate and pray.