Yesterday was Ascension Day. In the evening I drove out into flat lands for an eclectic service at a lonely Methodist chapel - one of those mysterious chapels you see in the middle of nowhere (railings and a tiny space of gravel, a row of purple irises, two mature poplar trees providing shadows in the warm breeze). The evening sunshine was tremendous, beaconing across the flat landscape in vast billowing shafts of creamy coloured light.
The building was 1930s gothic. Inside was a carpeted hall painted in pastel colours, big displays of spring flowers, gothic windows filled with clear leaded glass (with some bits of coloured art deco). The wooden chairs were modern and comfortable, facing towards the polished dark wood of the gothic podium.
About thirty people were present.
The service was led by an Anglican nun from the Sisters of Mercy (located on a remote island community about five hundred miles away - reference was made to the long journey she had made to get to the service). "Heaven is all around us" she said. "The life of Heaven is going on here and now, in the Church and within ourselves, and there is no separation between Earth and Heaven - we can reach out and touch Heaven now..."
Talks, meditations, contemplation of the Early Desert Fathers.
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