Alone

Greetings,

Not too long ago I arrived in church purposely early to prepare for an evening service where it is unusual to get numbers higher than single figures. The familiar noise of the lock on the huge door which gains entry to back of house delights of St Matthews Burnley is becoming more familiar as the early months of ordained life pass. My familiarity with the place doesn’t quite extend beyond the front door though and so I scramble around in the darkness and mistakenly switch on the light to the cold toilet area that is frequented by some of Lancashire’s finest spiders and a rotating hand towel. I find the correct switch and the electrical currents kick into life fighting to illuminate the fluorescent tubes and bulbs that have been idle most of the cold and autumnal day that has just passed. The light arouses unusual sounds, almost making me feel I am not alone as I enter the vestry to seek out another light which is located where you wouldn’t put a light switch in any normal light switch locating circumstances.

Thursday night is our 7 o’clock Communion service and one of my favorite times of the working week. We don’t expect huge numbers and rarely are our expectations exceeded but it doesn’t matter, I don’t think our purpose is anything other than to celebrate Mass and welcome those that choose to join us. In the ever quickening world outside this Holy building the 30 minutes of worship is as important as all the other services where numbers usually exceed our Thursday night gathering. The atmosphere the church creates particularly as the nights draw in is very special and one I find deeply spiritual.

The vestry is full of history and I’m sure the walls could tell a thousand stories and a few more. I’m unsure what colour the walls are but if I had to take a shot I’d go for ‘off’ yellow, yellow! I draw back the curtains that unveils the most extensive vestment collection I have come across in my infant years of ministry, there is more linen than a Premier Inn wash house. It is an impressive collection of outfits that would rival a night at The Palladium with Shirley Bassey. If you need it we have it, Cassocks, Stoles, Alb’s, Girdles, Copes, Dalmatics, all words and outfits that were completely alien to me just a few years ago but I now feel quite comfortable ‘dressing up’ and looking my best for worshiping God. Among the choices are Red, Purple, Black, White, Green and even salmon coloured vestments filling the long rail and eventually I come to my own little gap which I seem to have acquired for myself. Thursday night is pretty straight forward, Cassock, Alb, Stole, usually in that order and so I dig out what is required in preparation for the Eucharist. I have no need to venture into our vestment drawer which homes many more wonderful vestments and even more cotton, the vestment drawer is for another time but equally as impressive as the rail.

 As I climb into my cassock like Jenson Button getting into his racing gear the smell of the vestry is apparent, reassuringly churchy and a mixture of homeliness, similar to the warmth of an elderly relatives front room with a hint of dampness in the pantry. It’s a rather nice aroma and one that I guess has been around longer than the choir! After ’climbing in’ and ‘doing up’ the final button of the cassock a quick look in the mirror indicates all is well and off I trot to prepare things for the few that may join us on this cold October evening. As I respectfully gene flex  before the alter, I am reminded of the wear and tear a man my age suffers as I feel my back creaking as I return to the upright position.  I track down and execute the switching on of yet more lights and the darkness of the church is replaced with gentle yet effective lighting that turns the sleeping high altar into the majestic and beautiful showpiece for the evenings main attraction. I stand and stare for a moment, it looks more beautiful each time I have the privilege of getting things ready.

As I look out from the high alter, I contemplate the craftsmanship, the stonework, the windows, the joinery and consider myself very fortunate to be working in such a special environment. Just for a moment I think about all that has gone before me in this space, the congregations, the families, the weddings, the Baptisms, the thousands and thousands of people that would have received the bread and wine. And the clergy, all those reverend people who have served God at St Matthews and if I like or not I now become part of that history until the walls no longer stand. I step down from the alter and say a small prayer of thanksgiving. 

Most things have been already done for me by a loyal member of the congregation and so I am left to light the candles which I do with great care mindful of not wanting to burn the place down before anyone arrives, I stand back and again take a look, the fine-looking high alter had just got that little bit more attractive. I turn and walk away, I get an optimistic double figure number of service books from the aging book rack and place them in a suitable place in case we get a run on newcomers. I open the double side door and illuminate yet more lights to ensure people can arrive and depart in relative safety. 

That’s it all jobs done and so I wait for either the Vicar to arrive or the congregation and just double check all is well. I again approach the high altar, check all is present and turn around  once  more to look out at this partly lit church and contemplate its beauty and its purpose.
Snapping out of it, I take a few steps and choose to sit in my Curate stall and spend a few moments in silent prayer. As I sit I shudder as a cold chill grips me for a moment and then I settle down. I close my eyes to be perfectly still but this big old building offers some strange sounds placing another shred of doubt in my mind that I am not alone. 

Eventually all is quiet, and then a moment of nothingness is broken by what sounds like teenagers passing by on route to whatever the evening has in store for the youth of today. They pass quickly and before I can gather my thoughts the noise is replaced with the distant sound of an emergency service, at first far away but gradually gets closer. Rather than pass it is joined by another ‘nee, nor’ almost in perfect synchronisation yet is different to the first leading me to conclude something slightly serious may be occurring not too far away. Both sounds pass and then it is still. I close my eyes and say the Lord’s Prayer, Our Father……………… and I ask God to look after those who are driving the emergency vehicles and those who will be receiving them.

I get up walk to the front door, nobody here yet so I turn around and see the candles that are for people to light, in memory of a loved ones or an occasion.  For just a second I think of my Dad, and for the first time I light a candle in his memory. I smile as I light the tea light and I wonder what he would say to me right now. I return to my stall to wait for others to arrive, I do some essential housekeeping on my stall as I left it all rather untidy after evening prayer some ninety minutes before hand. I think, I think, I think, A new life of prayer service and worship is proving to be all I expected and more…..

The clank of the door occurs, I don’t know for certain but I am entirely accurate in my assumption it is the Vicar, It is time to do God’s work…………….

Till next time, peace and love with you all,

Alextheanglican