Today we celebrated Candlemas. As the north wind moaned outside the church, we put out all the lights and waited in the candlelight for the light which came to the aged Simeon as the Christ-child was presented in the temple. We were few in number - and that was all right. It was very, very cold - and that seemed right too. We sang wonderful hymns, ending with plainsong, and our breath rose like the incense-smoke in the cold air. It was both the end of the season of the Nativity and the prologue to the season of Lent, with all that we await then.
Our little church lacks so much - people, money, comfort, facilities - and yet on an evening such as this I wouldn't change for worlds. Music and silence, dark and light, with the smoke from the thurible swirling in the draughts round the few who came to wonder and to wait: these are the riches of our tradition, and we are blessed with them.