A Presence that never fades

There are some fascinating places to visit between southern Edinburgh and St Andrew's. But when I woke early this morning it was raining again, and I decided I'd prefer to make good time today on my trip and visit some of those places on the way back. It was a good decision, and the longer ride north was surprisingly enjoyable. 

And now I'm here, in St Andrew's, at the site of the medieval cathedral as I write (sitting, in fact, in one of the monk's stalls in the Chapter House). The outward leg of this second pilgrimage is complete. 

I found the arrival very moving. I parked La Fenice in the middle of town and walked the last half mile. When I arrived at the ruins I went around to the west door and walked slowly along the length of the cathedral, trying to imagine it at its medieval height. I pictured the colours, the stonework, the glass that might have been visible. I thought of the living, prayerful community who'd worshipped here for centuries. I could almost smell the incense and hear the voices of the brothers murmuring their prayers. 

When I got to the stone platform on which the altar would have stood I closed my eyes and began to pray. And felt myself held there for quite some time; I don't know how else to describe it. I felt caught up in the ages-old presence of God still woven into the place and couldn't - didn't want to - step away. I think I was stood there for maybe half an hour. 

When the feeling subsided I realised the chatter of other visitors around me seemed to have subsided. I turned around and found a small ring of people, scattered in groups of two or three, standing at a distance around the altar dais and just watching quietly. One of them smiled. I slipped off into the Chapter House ruins and slowly the little circle melted away, the chatter beginning again. 

Maybe I wasn't the only one being held. 

///reshape.behalf.vacancies