Just finished a great few days at Scargill House in Yorkshire. Been doing a music and movies conference with Simeon Wood. Each day we started our sessions with a time of focussed worship, as you might guess Sim started his with some songs, I started mine with some movie stuff. But on the third day Sim spotted that the mist had fallen outside and the view was breathtaking, so we disrupted the session and slipped outside. It was beautiful. Sadly I didn’t have a camera that morning so don’t have a shot of the mist shrouded morning, but here’s a couple of views from this week to give you an idea.
As we soaked up the view we stared/joked/laughed/listened/bantered/smelt the air and felt the warmth of the day. Extra sensory worship if you like. It was b-e-a-utiful. We didn’t sing, we didn’t use any liturgy or prayers, but we turned up. We were there. We came to see. We bore witness. It put me in mind of a phrase that the great Lakeland walker and writer Alfred Wainwright once used. To misquote it a little – ‘God was in his heaven that day and we were humble worshippers.’