Ascension

Until this evening, I had never clocked what was going on in the right hand window of the west wall of our church. For a start, I tend not to look at it much - it's been a while since I last processed out of the choir - and besides, it was until very recently so dirty that the subject was barely noticeable. It's the moment of Christ's Ascension - the disciples below, looking somewhat hapless as Christ, draped in a star-spangled robe, wafts heavenwards, accompanied by a pair of cherubs. Not until I zoomed in on the photo I took tonight did I see the nail prints on his feet and palms - and I don't suppose I would ever have noticed these details if I hadn't decided halfway through the sermon (thanks for pointing it out, Andrew) that this would be my blip for today.

Strange event, the Ascension - to me, the moment where faith begins. The artistic renderings of it tend to be comical, and visualising the moment is harder than grasping the emotional and spiritual truth it aims to portray. But it was a lovely mass, my first in three weeks of holidays and travelling, with delightful incense and good hymns to sing. It felt like coming home.