The Saviour of the World

The Saviour of the World

Good Friday 2020

The above postcard shows a painting by El Greco(1541-1614) entitled The Saviour of the World.  The risen Christ has his right hand raised in the traditional sign of blessing, while his left hand rests on a globe of the world.

For the nine months in France when, aged twenty, I lived entirely alone, this postcard was precious to me.  Unable to attend any place of worship, I put it up on the wall of my living room as a focus for my Christian faith.

Why couldn't I go to church services in this little town?  St Gilles-Croix-de-Vie is situated on the Atlantic coast, halfway between Nantes and La Rochelle, in the departement (region) known as the Vendee.  It certainly had an attractive-looking church - but there was a snag!

After receiving the letter informing me of my appointment there as English language assistant, I had gone to my local library for information about the town - and discovered that it came under the heading of 'Undiscovered France'!  Not only was I ignorant about its location, but I also knew nothing of its history. (Now imagine someone from abroad arriving blithely in Northern Ireland, never having heard of 'The Troubles', and wondering why people seemed to be constantly asking which church they attended!)

In 1793, at the height of the French Revolution, the Revolutionary leaders in Paris created a completely new calendar, designed to remove all religious influences such as Christmas and Easter.  All churches were to close and public worship was prohibited.  Priests were forbidden to preach.  The Vendee was a poor region, largely consisting of small farms and fishing villages - but the people were devoutly Catholic.  In great indignation they set up a Counter-Revolutionary army, which at first fought successfully against the forces from Paris.  But then came the dreadful ten months of 'La Terreur'(The Terror), when anyone suspected of being against the Revolution was put to death. (16,000 people were guillotined).Soldiers were sent to the Vendee with the command to slaughter everyone they met: men, women and children.  Apparently some soldiers even boasted of wearing trousers made of Vendee skin...

Eventually, in 1799, Napoleon Bonaparte, the new Emperor, restored freedom of religious worship. But it takes generations to forget and - perhaps forgive - such cruelty.

 Over the years new laws were set up concerning education.  State schools were to be totally secular, open to pupils of all faiths and none, on condition that religious worship was a private affair at home.  Catholic schools ('ecoles libres') were permitted but on condition that they shared the curriculum of the state schools (ecoles laiques).  That meant that teachers in schools such as mine were not allowed to mention religion in the classroom, as I discovered to my astonishment just before Christmas.  I had taken my Bible to a class of 13 year old boys, thinking that they would find it nice and easy to understand the English version of the Christmas story.  Big Mistake!  As soon as i opened the Bible there were whoops and triumphant(!) shouts of "Mais non, Mademoiselle!  C'est interdit!" (Oh no, Miss! That's forbidden!)

Bearing in mind the 17th century religious wars in France after the Protestant Reformation, before the Revolution, I sensed that I would not be welcome in St Gilles church, so reluctantly I just had to do without Sunday worship in the company of other Christians.  It was then that I realised how much my faith meant to me - hence the painting by (Catholic) El Greco on my living room wall!

How glad I was that Easter when I attended the Scottish Church in Paris and was able to join in singing this, my favourite Easter hymn:

There is a green hill far away

Without a city wall

Where the dear Lord was crucified,

 Who died to save us all.

We do not know, we cannot tell 

What pains he had to bear.

But we believe it was for us

He hung and suffered there.

Oh dearly, dearly has he loved, 

And we must love him too.

And trust in his redeeming blood, 

And try his works to do.

Amen    Deo gratias

News from Jerusalem

News from Jerusalem

Holy Week 2020

As the time approached when he was to be taken up to heaven, he set his face resolutely towards Jerusalem.(Luke 9,v51)

Two days ago I was about to leave the living room when, passing the TV, I was stopped in my tracks.  A news item was being broadcast from Jerusalem.  First came views of the empty streets and even of the Wailing Wall, totally deserted because of the present coronavirus pandemic..  Then the presenter announced that this is a holy week for all three faiths which lay claim to Jerusalem as a special holy place: Christian (Easter), Jewish (Passover) and Muslim(Laylat al-Bara'at, a holiday which celebrates the Night Journey, both physical and spiritual, which Muhammad made to Jerusalem.)  Three religious leaders then appeared simultaneously on the screen, asking their followers to suspend all aggressive activity towards people of the other faiths, as we are all equally under threat from the virus.  (How I hope that this 'cease-fire' will have a lasting effect - but, alas, can't be over-optimistic...)

Meanwhile, this is the place I had hoped to be tonight: my church - Kingcase Church in Prestwick. (The unusual cross with the lamb refers to John the Baptist's words "Behold the Lamb of God" when he saw Jesus approaching him to be baptised in the River Jordan. John's Gospel 1, v 29)  

This year Kingcase was to host the annual Holy Week services shared by all the Prestwick churches of various denominations: Presbyterian Church of Scotland, Episcopal, Roman Catholic and Evangelical. Tonight the vicar of St Ninian's Episcopal church was to preach.  I had hoped to play for their ladies' choir, which includes members of Kingcase (Church of Scotland) and the Roman Catholic church.  For several weeks we had practised our chosen piece - the North American spiritual Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

At the choir's last rehearsal Norma, my Roman Catholic friend, gave me some photographs taken at a wedding we sang at several years ago.  Her brother Harry, a singing teacher and organist, had been asked to supply a choir for the event.  Norma asked Julie, another St Ninian's choir member, and myself to join her in the alto section.

The wedding was very unusual.  The bridal couple were lawyers from New York.  The husband-to-be had family connections with Ayrshire, so they decided to have the wedding in Scotland, and employed a wedding organiser to find "a small church with a beautiful view of the surrounding countryside!"  The organiser decided upon the R.C. chapel in Maybole, a little inland town south of Prestwick.  The bride-to-be sent Harry a list of her chosen music, some of which she wanted us to sing upon her arrival for the ceremony.   We were to sing while she and her bridesmaids stood listening in the porch before proceeding up the aisle.

We began with Durufle's beautiful Ubi caritas et amor Deus ibi est. (Wherever there is compassion and love, God is there).You can listen to that on YouTube, sung by the choir of King's College.

Today I remember these words, thinking gratefully of all the many, many compassionate people risking their own health in order to help others: doctors, nurses and all other NHS workers, carers of the vulnerable, shop assistants, supermarket suppliers and deliverers.  May God bless them and reward them for their loving care.  Amen

The Green Flash

The Green Flash

Hello again, dear reader!  Welcome to April and the lovely, comforting pleasures of Springtime – so badly needed at this difficult time of the coronavirus pandemic.  I hope that you are well and safe.


I am especially glad to be able to contact you, after more than a week without Broadband.  Nobody seemed to be able to find what the problem was, despite all the patient, gallant efforts of the friendly EE employees in Plymouth and Darlington to find out why my new router kept on flashing yellow instead of remaining a steady aqua blue!  The problem was finally solved by Lindsay, the local Openreach engineer, when he discovered that I had wonky fibre-optic ports in the green cabinet in nearby East Road.  (Have I got the correct technical terms?!) Anyway, I am so grateful to be able to send you my new blog post: The Green Flash!


                                                                      *

The question which my French friend Suzanne wrote above this photo seems relevant at this unexplored new time of the coronavirus:  'But what can I see on the horizon?'

"Well, nothing!" could be the answer at present!  How strange it is not to be able to guess what lies ahead of us, nor follow our former daily routines, nor plan ahead for social gatherings, nor even know if we will safely survive this pandemic. 

Suzanne had sent me several other photos, taken when she and her husband Raymond Claude spent a few days with me in Prestwick.  She had attached this one to the back of the envelope.  It was taken a few miles south of Prestwick, at the mouth of the River Doon where it meets the Firth of Clyde - a very popular spot for all kinds of birds, including families of swans and cygnets.  As I have my back to the sea, I was probably gazing upstream, in search of the cygnets, the resident heron or the elusive kingfishers ( my favourites.)

The little white streaks behind me are probably wisps of cloud above the south end of the island of Arran. Every summer evening when the sun is setting behind the mountainous north end of the island, people come to the seafront to watch it go down.  They leave only after the very last second, when the final vestige of the bright rays has disappeared, leaving a lovely orange-red glow.

Many years ago, when I was twenty, the tears came into my eyes at the memory of that beautiful scene.  I was standing alone on the shore of a little French fishing village on the Atlantic coast.  It was the first day of my nine-month term as English language assistant at two of the small local schools.  I had been given one of the empty houses used by summer visitors, so had to adjust to living entirely on my own.  As I stared at the empty horizon, knowing that there was no land between this shore and America, I was overcome with homesickness for the Ayrshire coast and the familiar outline of Arran!

But now, back to Suzanne's photograph...  When I tried to remove the sticky sellotape I only succeeded in making my image look very scruffy, with strange white blotches on my right arm and around my left ear.  The short sleeve of my seersucker blouse looks ragged - and as for my right elbow...! It seems to have grown a kind of brush, or, at best, to have a weird reflection!

Fortunately I have in my living room a much more respectable photograph, showing my sister Freda, brother-in-law Brian and myself in our finery! - at dinner during our cruise to the Faroe Islands.  That morning Brian had noticed a book beside one of our fellow passengers: The Green Flash by John Buchan.  When he asked what the title meant, the reader told us that it refers to a natural phenomenon.  Just as the sun is setting below the sea, the very top of its rays turns bright green, and, for only a second, gives a green flash before disappearing completely.  We were intrigued, because we had never seen this happen. I had often watched the sun setting behind Arran - but that was behind the mountains, not below the sea.

There was a porthole beside our table.  That evening Brian noticed that the sun was about to set below the horizon.  "Quick, Kathleen!" he exclaimed, "Come and look!"  I immediately got up and hurried over to stand behind him.  We gazed out over the vast expanse of water.  By this time we were on our way from Shetland to the Faroes.  No land blocked our view of the horizon.  As we watched the sun slowly sink I was suddenly aware, to my amusement, that we had been joined by several curious passengers who didn't seem to know why we were staring at the porthole, but didn't want to miss out on anything of interest! 

 Slowly, slowly the lowest rays moved down below the horizon, then suddenly, with a bright green FLASH! lasting only one second, the sun completely disappeared.  We were all thrilled to have witnessed this remarkable phenomenon, and returned happily to our dinner tables.

Now, years later, in the present strange, unwelcome circumstances, I am 'self-isolating' because of my 'advanced age'.  But a new green flash is bringing me great pleasure.  It comes whenever someone is trying to contact me on my little mobile phone! and  I thank God for all my kind family and friends. 

Deo gratias