Having stepped through the blue door into the office and the hub of Helping Hands, I was invited to make my way through the garden to the same porta-cabin, though upgraded from the simple room with plain wooden benches round the edge, that I recall from years past.
Still a simple white room, though now with wooden beams upon the ceiling and chairs round the edge, some with cushions, some without. A table in the middle of the room bedecked with white cloth and a small table behind with the communion elements ready. A brightly patterned rug on the floor, occupied by Joker, the elderly black and white bespeckled dog, who stayed sleeping in a patch of sunlight for a few minutes as the service began, but then left just before we shared communion together.
And so the service began, the familiarity of liturgy spoken by Brother Sam, officiating in his simple brown habit, repeated by the seven of us present. The sharing of the peace and then the breaking of bread and sharing of wine - white circular wafers and a single, silver, shared cup of wine were blessed, and offered, and received. And this service held within it the remembrance of services past: a quietness, a peace, an echo of history deep within my soul. And it was good.
I accepted an invitation to lunch and I stepped into the kitchen it held an even stronger resonance from the past. More bread was broken as we ate a meal put together by Brother Sam from donated food: a lentil dhal, a mushroom sauce and rice.
We shared memories whilst we ate and then chatted more over a hot cup of tea drunk in the warm afternoon sunshine. And a thought, shared by Brother Sam, to ponder further on: "Prayer is our principal work." Wondering what this might look for me, for us?
Thankful to reconnect with Brother Julian too after all these years and was able to apologise for thinking him 'old' when I was just 19!
This day, this precious time, was a sharing of memories, thankfulness for the Brothers' part in my journey and a blessing to me to be an encouragement to them. I left with a thankful, full, heart.
It was such a beautiful day I took a moment to take a wander past the church where I served in the nursery whilst on placement and then on to the house where I lived. As I paused outside a lady happened to leave the house and queried whether I might be lost. I said I stayed in the house in years past and it turned out that this was the very lady who I'd lived with - though both of us were changed by the passing of time - I'm no longer quite the fresh-faced 19 year old as I was back then, so whilst there was a sense of recognition, it was only as we paused to talk that we reignited a connection long since assigned to the annuls of history. This was unexpected, but felt right - a God-ordained moment, allowing me to lay down some things from that year.
The thing is, I'd be remiss to view this year of voluntary service with rose-tinted spectacles - it was a challenging, often difficult, year. However, today I chose to remember the good - most importantly that the call from God that came during this time to some kind of full-time church ministry, the hospitality displayed by the brothers, back then and now, and the development of a love for Celtic spirituality awoken by my time at the Friary. I am very grateful to God for all this day has been.
