It is nearly 7.15 pm, and darkness has not quite fallen. The blackbird is trilling. The deer are grazing on the lawn, and I think I’ve just seen a bat swoop by. All of which is made more precious by the knowledge that by tomorrow, this will be happening at 8.15 pm.
UK readers: don’t forget to spring forward. (America, as always, is ahead of us already.)
I’ve just spent the morning with the organist of Holy Trinity, trying to work through Holy Week and Easter. It’s such a delight to have someone to plan with — and someone who will share my excitement at the thought of dark churches filled with plainsong and gospel readings proclaimed with Alleluias. (Just wait– we’ll get the psalms back yet…)
Liturgy should be exciting. And never more so than in tense unfolding of Holy Week. The challenge is in breaking through the assumption that one can skip blithely from Palm Sunday to Easter morning and never miss a thing.
As the clergy of Argyll gathered this week, we were asked to think about the distinctiveness of the spiritual tradition in this part of the world. Our guide asked us to ponder the future role of our church by looking to the past: to the spirituality of St Columba and the nature of a church based on monastic communities rather than ‘parish’ systems. He also shared with us some of his own hopes for a Christian Heritage centre in Argyll, and a well mapped well advertised pilgrimage route following Columba through Ireland, across the sea to Kintyre and then to Iona — a route meant to rival the Camino de Santiago.
That may indeed be a good an worthwhile project, but all week I had a nagging question: what will have have to offer those who come?
It seems to me that pilgrims come, if they come at all, hoping to experience something of God: beauty, mystery, presence, peace. Some of that rests in the land — in the sheer glory of waves and rock and hills. But beyond that, there must be people who pray. People who connect what is given in the land with what is given in Christ.
It seems to me that that would be a better project for the church than creating heritage sites. Though if the tourist board wants to help open a route for potential pilgrims, so much the better.
Swan Lake came to Dunoon tonight, courtesy of the Moscow Ballet.
In some circles, much has been made of the theology of the musical. I have never been convinced. But ballet seems more promising: pain transformed into beauty out of sheer love and a thousand dreams of transcendence as little girls in best-dresses go pirouetting home.
wonderful exchange 