But today is somewhat different. It is Sunday and not a single Rectory dweller has been to church. Shock, horror. I can hear my staunch protestant paternal grandmother turning in her grave, her false teeth chattering in disgust!
The reason for this is that life at Rectory Towers is not all it could be. My lovely son has had an encounter with swine flu. He was very unwell and now his father, i.e. The Vicar that lives here, has also encountered this beast of an illness. Basically we are all in quarantine. No church, no Sunday club, no nothing.
So, what have we done instead? Well, the Vicar has slept. The lovely son has lounged on the sofa still a bit washed out. The girls, all 3, went out for a run before the rain starts and the Vicar's wife read a paper, pimped up her blog and did some spontaneous housework.
I am in a dilemma though. It was lovely waking up without an alarm. It was lovely having some time to do ....nothing.
However, it just doesn't feel right. I know it's easy to say that as I have been to church virtually every Sunday of my life it's bound not to feel right. But I honestly believe that it goes deeper than that. Meeting with other Christians on Sunday is about much more than just being all together in one place. It's about the body of Christ meeting together with Him, about the togetherness of joining in worship and gathering around the communion table; a bunch of broken, fallen people, in need of each other's encouragement to carry on living in the grace that God so freely bestows on us.
So while it all feels like a bit of a luxury lying in bed and seems like a treat to read the paper I think I'd rather do it on a Saturday. Or better still a Monday!!
Please pray for the Vicar who lives here. Not seen him so rough for years. And just to say there will be some churchy work today. I'm off to sing Christmas carols with 60 Beavers. Random.
With love,
Rachel.
2 comments:
Rachel,
It would be sooooo much better if you could sign up to alerts that would tell you when a new Rachel's Ramblings is available. It's like looking forward to a parcel you're expecting and checking every time the gate creeks (we don't have a front gate, but this is a parable!) to see if the postman (ours *is* a man, so that's real life) is delivering it, when you don't even know if it's been sent or when it will/has been..... or like wondering how long a sentence can be without imploiding.... or not!
I get a Ramblings feast every so often when I catch up on news and what stage of madness you've reached. Nice, but not ideal.
J x = ; - )
Oh honey, so sorry to hear about your loved ones being so ill. Little Ryan, Claire's son had it too about a year ago and was really ill poor lamb.
Seems odd hearing and sympathising after so long, but couldn't let a major event in the Seabrook house go without comment.
Blessings,
Jack xxx
Post a Comment