Holy Ground

It doesn't look like an suspicious spot: a small table outside Costa in the Stansted terminal. I slept for a couple of hours on the plane, then three more hours lying on the terminal floor with a bunch of other 'overnighters'. I'm sitting now with a cuppa while I wait for the 5.27am train. It's just gone 4.30.

And as I checked a few things on my phone and wondered what to do for the next hour I thought: why not pray? I decided to pray the Jesus Prayer for a while on my prayer rope.

Now this bit is, I swear, the unvarnished truth. As I was in the act of unwinding the rope from my wrist (which takes about 5 seconds) an elderly lady came up to the table and said, "Would you pray for me, father?"

Nora is a Catholic, on her way to Lourdes for five days. We had a delightful chat about her upcoming trip, and then I prayed a blessing for her as she travels.

This crummy corner of the airport has suddenly become a beautiful place ...

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