Word in the Hand

My parish church.  Something of a landmark, it's pyramid structure exhibits the imaginative design of churches built on the cusp of Vatican II. The church won an architectural merit award in 1965 and remains a listed building; occasioning the odd knock on the presbytery door and a group of architecture aficionados asking for a look around. The church itself is a wonderful space - managing to be theatrically expansive and intimate as required. A lot is achieved in the lighting.  We do hold many services by candlelight and appreciate the shadows and warmth reflected in the wooden panelling of the roof. The architect, with a sincere respect for the symbolism of church architecture, followed the traditions of space and form to create a contemporary place of worship suitable for large congregations (it holds 700+) and smaller services. But sometimes we have very small groups and individuals seeking a quiet space of their own. In a side porch we have created t...

Lindisfarne Having just come back from a retreat where the group was invited to make a commitment to several hours of silence and realising how unique and demanding an experience this became for some; I have spent some time thinking about what it was we were asking. Paradoxically, we hear a lot about silence these days. In a world full of multi-sensory experiences, both actual and virtual, silence has become something of a panacea for the over-stressed and often overwhelmed psyche. Courses, classes, retreat centres even tv programmes promise silence as a cure for the busy-ness of life. People seek the perfect silence –but our own physical presence creates sound – heartbeat, breath, blood rushing through veins. Noise, it seems, is part of the human condition; proof of life. If noise is the human condition does this make silence divine? Is this why we regard it as something outside our natural abilities, that, in some way it is accepted as an ‘unreachable star’? Is this why w...