Lost at Sea?

Lost at sea?

Lost at Sea is the name of a stage play which my daughter Sally and I saw in Perth earlier this year.  Written by Morna Young whose father, a fisherman, drowned when she was only five years old, it uses drama, songs, poetry, fiddle music and true stories, related in the Doric dialect by fisherfolk of the north-east of Scotland, to create a sense of what it is like to live in a close-knit fishing community.  The audience is given a powerful impression of how completely the villagers rely on one another – the men on their physical strength when their boats are storm-tossed, the women on mutual support when, in rough weather, they fear for their husbands’ lives.  We are shown a family’s anguish when a loved one’s body can never be recovered from the sea, with the result that there can be no sense of closure.


Alas, fishermen are not the only ones at risk of being lost at sea.  In the past few years more and more desperate immigrants have been drowned when attempting to cross the sea in small boats as they flee from oppression and violence.  And now we are also having to come to terms with the realisation that, through ignorance, laziness and greed, we have polluted all the seas of our planet – with terrible consequences for innocent sea creatures.

So much depressing news on television and in our newspapers!  When the present political chaos is added to all that, it is no wonder that we feel totally confused and “all at sea”.

                 

And yet, and yet…  There is still a source of hope to be found.

Down the North Sea coast from the Aberdeenshire fishing villages is the town of St Andrews.  It was there that I had an unusual experience which cheers me up whenever I feel “at sea”.  This is what happened.


I was attending a weekend conference of the Churches’ Fellowship for Psychical and Spiritual Studies (CFPSS).  On the Saturday afternoon we had some free time, so I headed for the shops in the town centre.  On my way back I suddenly heard a wonderful sound: church bells playing a wedding hymn!  I stopped in my tracks, then turned and, irresistibly drawn by the peal of the bells, ran back towards it, determined to reach the bell-ringers before they stopped.  A few months earlier, on a visit to my cousin in London, I had seen a group of campanologists practising at her church and had been very impressed by how they managed to pull the bell ropes at a steady pace and in rhythm.  Now I wanted to witness that again here in St Andrews!


Following the sound of the bells, I caught sight of the belfry, and soon discovered that it belonged to Holy Trinity Church.  At the main entrance stood the minister with the wedding party, about to have their photographs taken.  While the photographer was setting up his equipment, I approached the minister and asked if I could please see the bell-ringers.  “Just go up there,” he said, pointing to a narrow stone staircase.  Up I rushed until I came to an open door on my left. 


Peering in, I saw to my astonishment that there was no sign of any campanologists – only a solitary lady wearing a headscarf and with a large shopping bag beside her, banging out the hymn tune on a strange kind of keyboard!  I watched her in amazement until the end of the hymn.  Then she turned and smiled at me.              
“Is this the first time you’ve seen a carillon?” she asked.  “Each note on the keyboard is linked to a bell in the belfry above.” 


(Here are two photos of this carillon, kindly provided by the current player, Callum MacLeod.) 

“Would you like to have a turn on it?”  the lady asked.  I hastily declined with thanks, horrified at the thought of sending my mistakes all over the town!


“Well then,” said the lady, “I know what we’ll do.  This year marks the centenary of the Boys Brigade, so let’s have their signature hymn.”  With clenched fists she began to hammer out Will your anchor hold?  How marvellous it was to hear the loud bells sounding out this special hymn all over St Andrews!


Now, years later, I still smile at the memory – and still find the hymn’s words a comfort and inspiration for action whenever I begin to feel “lost at sea”.  I hope that you will too!

Will your anchor hold in the storms of life, when the clouds unfold their wings of strife?

When the strong tides lift, and the cables strain, will your anchor drift or firm remain?           

We have an anchor that keeps the soul steadfast and sure when the billows roll;       Fastened to the Rock which cannot move, grounded firm and deep in the Saviour’s love!

Deo gratias