It's a tiny little cross and the letter g. I've been wearing these for ages and never noticed that my derriere was advocating Christianity. You on the other hand may have spotted it weeks ago... in which case, stop ogling!
In the same way that I've never seen the back of my own head except when my barber Alan shows me (and I'm a bit shruggy on those occasions because haircuts are about feeling comfortable underneath them, not impressing anyone else), I've never actually taken notice of the seat of my pants.
I finally noticed it because I had a bit longer to get dressed today - less deadlines, even if there are more people to stay in touch with.
And it threw my mind back to Sunday, when St Luke's was open for the last time for quite a while. It was an odd feeling. Half a dozen people came in to pray, and when everyone had gone, I took out my phone and took some photos.
Here, then, to tide us over until we can reopen, are some of my pictures of St Luke's.
On Sunday it wasn't rushed or pressured. Everyone went home and I started exploring it from other perspectives: sunlight on the parquet, a fly on a pew, daylight turning the sanctuary light into a gyroscope of brilliant curves of chromatic colour. Jesus from below, and best of all the underside of the pews. What a space! What alternative viewpoints had I missed by being a busy vicar!
Even dust is sensational.
That brings me back to our present circumstances, locked down to help preserve the vulnerable. It's a noble task, staying in (unless you're a key worker, in which case it's a noble task, going out). So far I'm feeling it as an anxious event but with sunshine and neighbours I can wave to (hello Betty!). It has something of the Sabbath about it - that's less good when you're not being paid for anything.
It has the possibilities of cabin fever and climbing the walls, or simple loneliness.
But if a close examination of my trousers and a fresh exploration of church have taught me anything, it's that there are new ways to see even the most familiar. There are simple things to love, simple things that I've been waaaaaay too busy to notice. Sunlight through bedroom curtains, trees and birds, beads of water on the glass in the shower, the way the sinews in my forearm play below the skin, the movement of clouds and - at some point - the thrumming of mighty rain on our window panes.
Beautiful.
Basically, have a go at looking at things differently. This whole lockdown thing is - let's admit it - a mighty faff and a lot of worry about loved ones and huge concern about the lives of the self-employed. Let's never diminish that. It's also a bit of a blow for those of us whose mental health isn't the pinnacle of perfection.
But God still works in all things, and if he works in all those motes of dust in a ray of sunlight, or in the clouds over the moon, or tonight's sunset (looking good), in marvelling at things we've seen a thousand times but never really seen properly, then he can see us through this curious Sabbath (curious seven-day week) with reasonable mental health and eyes opened to new things.
Hamlet, suitably amazed by life.
Hamlet (indecisive Dane) declared that he "could be bounded in a nutshell and yet count himself a king of infinite space" - and okay, that was the Bard of Shakespeare (or something). But God made this world more beautiful, more intricate than we can ever guess, and one thing we can do is to find wonder in everything, and also in closing our eyes and letting the invisible God show us things about him/herself that we hadn't had time to spot.
So hold on. And expect new insights as you ask God to brighten and amaze you every day...
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