Last week I spent another couple of days being schooled in the art of Spiritual Direction. The theme of this module was that of space and where we find it easiest to connect with God. This module is particularly timely for me as I am beginning to host more urban Petite Retreats alongside those in the rural idyll surrounded by ducks, geese and chickens. The new venue is a sumptuous gin palace, and the retreats won’t be as ‘shh’ as the more traditional Quiet Days; something for the more extravert amongst us.

We were challenged to go out into the Cathedral Close to find God, and later into the Market Place. I share here what I discovered about myself in my search for God. Stay tuned for more details about the not-so-quiet days as they fall into place.

Holy Ground

I find myself not drawn to the
heart of the ‘holy places’,

the ‘holy of holies’,

but to the edges.

The spires that can be seen for
miles around,

standing proud against the
brilliant blue sky,

pointing heavenwards.

The cloisters and walks,

the well-worn paving stones

the indented steps

the scratch dial

the boot scraper

the signs of others at prayer, over
time immemorial.

I am drawn to the street lamps, so
different in style

echoes of Narnia

and a light to lighten my
footsteps.

I am drawn to a nest in a tree

parallel to the grand cathedral

and the psalm

‘The sparrow finds a home,

And the swallow a nest for her
young,

At your altars, O Lord of Hosts’

I am reminded of how these words
meant home

when once I raised a family in a
Rectory.

I am drawn to new life shooting out
of old trees.

to toddlers chasing favourite
uncles,

and old men sitting quietly on
benches.

I am not drawn into the cathedral
itself

the myriad signs of privacy

the antithesis of holy hospitality.

I am drawn by the gift of hot
chocolate,

blue skies

warming sun

and time to skygaze.

Into the Market Place

Passing through the gates the sound changes,

Outside there are more people in a tighter space,

Traffic, music, chatter.

There is space though between the inner and outer gate

Neither inside or out

A liminal space

Once more drawn to the edges

But this time saddened.

There is an emptiness,

Closed shops

Few people

Empty square

Buskers ignored.

I search for God, for sacred spaces,

And find

Hearts.

Not just Valentine’s displays but hearts in graffiti.

A ‘halo’ in a shop window, and a ‘heaven’ on a hording.

I see the shadow of a star on a building

Cast by Christmas lights still hung,

But nothing  seems holy or sacred.

A white hart, that ephemeral creature,

Stands proud above a hotel,

The sun reflecting from it

A brilliant blue background.

Racing pigeons circle overhead

The sun catching their wings

And later a feather on the floor.

I am trying hard to find the sacred.

And then I notice for the first time

The words spelt out over the cinema

A converted timber framed building

‘Ye Hall of Loud Talk’

And I laugh

And turn to join others for tea in holy hospitality

Of friendship

And grace.

And holy ground is found.