We gathered on the south bank of the River Dee, near a spot where
St Ternan gathered with believers 1500 years ago. A guitarist, a few vocalists,
and a handful of worshipers, all raising our voices with the bubbling lilt of
the river, the warbling trills of the birds, and the occasional percussion of
an errant dog.
The sky was overcast, a steely ceiling sealing us in. But we
have seen worse, sometimes gathering there on Easter mornings in the snow, the
rain, or the howling gales.
Not many were there. Maybe people weren’t well, were away,
forgot, or the seasons are changing and celebrations will be marked in new
ways.
My inner vision is crowded at the moment with the images of
ancestors, whose pictures I am now arranging in a notebook to accompany the
genealogy. As I stood on the riverbank, I thought of some of those faces, and
some of my predecessors’ names, aware that in amongst them are several
ministers, and a high proportion of Christian believers.
Hebrews 12:1 reminds us
that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and on Easter
morning I could certainly imagine those I love who have gone before, as well as
many of these faces of far-off relations.
To the naked eye, we may have looked like a small number. But
in the eyes of heaven, voices blended from throughout the centuries, hosannas
ringing out to our risen Saviour.
We are not alone. We are part of that group beyond time, gathered
in gratitude and love of our Lord.
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