Synchronicities

It was just as well that nobody taking part in the Royal School of Music exams at the church today around noon was learning the tuba, and instead were all angelic children plonking out whatever the current version of 'Chopsticks' is, as that was when, rashly, I had chosen to revive a midweek Eucharist at Swanvale Halt, celebrating for the first time since March and at several points realising that neither I nor Rick had remembered to put out this or that bit of kit we needed. It was me, and him, and Eva, the only member of the congregation who'd taken notice of the several emails and other mentions I'd made of the change. And even she'd only seen the message an hour and a half before. The old and holy words competed with the modern and less sacred ones of a music teacher chiding his small charges in the midst of their scales. This does often happen in normal times, to be fair.

The reason Eva was especially moved to come to church today was that it was the anniversary of her confirmation, many years ago. By chance it is also an Ember Day, one of the occasions set aside by the Church to pray for the vocation of all God's people, and your confirmation is a step forward, at least, in discovering your vocation. There are all sorts of routes we do not take in our lives, identities we do not take up and possibilities we have to surrender for our genuine vocation to come to birth. Concert pianist was not one of Eva's rejected life choices. As she listened today to the students banging out scales on the practice piano before facing the ordeal itself in the church hall, she remembered, she told me, he own struggles aged eleven with exactly the same things. We prayed for the examinees in the mass. 'It was good to be part of that,' Eva said, 'and', she added definitely, 'apart from it, too.'