Eyes to see…
“This morning as I walked through the garden to chapel I looked afresh at the comforting wood which hems us in. The trees are tall, willowy dryads and their warm brown height protects from behind. They rise up the hill, friendly and safe. The geese crying out for breakfast in Anne and Tony’s yard remind me of neighbourly companionship, people, community. The rocky outcrops and the sheep grazing over the dry-stone-wall boundary into David’s field never cease to please me as I catch them in view walking to our holiest place.
The chapel itself is rough and icy cold. Yet the glow of orange candlelight peeping through each frosty window as I approach means life and warmth and the promise of a glimpse into another world beyond this one – the REALEST world, the one I long for and without which I cannot exist in any even vaguely meaningful way. I cannot live without God in this place. It’s stark and truer than the dogs barking way down the valley or the cows yearning to be milked next door. I cannot live without Him. I don’t want to.
Everything is stripped away here. It’s vulnerable, naked; we’re so very fragile. And God is our refuge. He’s all we have. Nowhere to run to. Just HIM. Like everything about us here, the chapel is ‘for those with eyes to see’. To some it’s a tumble-down potting shed, holes in its dry-stone walls and water pouring through the roof. To us it’s a place where we go in vulnerability and awe, where we kneel at the alter of God and where there’s nowhere to hide. It’s a place to meet God.”