Yes, I know today's Thursday - I just couldn't write about yesterday while it was still yesterday, for some reason.
Our morning service was one of those extraordinary times when you know God's doing huge things beneath the surface, but you can't see clearly what he's doing. Just huge slow upwellings of the Spirit, like the surface indications of powerful movements beneath the surface of deep water.
Reading Psalm 51 together always brings me to tears - so much so that I could hardly read the printed words, and I sat there in the choir stalls sniffing helplessly. Being such a good (read 'bald') target, I got a specially good mark of ashes, and some very funny looks on the way home... The beginnings of seasonal humility...?
I'll try and write some more tomorrow... for now I'm sort of haunted by shreds of Eliot's poem, and I find it hard to find my own words, "about the centre of the silent Word..."
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