Sometimes there is an incongruity about the things we do in public. Take worship, in these times of pestilence. An edict was spread abroad some weeks ago about how to conduct public worship if a pandemic should be declared (I'm aware of writing in a cod-mediaeval style here: must be the subject-matter which has affected me) and we noted the contents, smiled and let the files languish on our hard-drives. (Nothing mediaeval about our communications, I assure you)
But of course we now have a pandemic, and Dunoon was, until very recently, a hotspot. And so it came to pass that we unearthed the prescribed precautions and applied them. Communion in one kind only, or by intinction. No physical contact during the Peace. And antibacterial handwash everywhere you turn. This morning we bowed, smiled sweetly at one another, fended off the ignorant, and obediently dipped our wafers in the proffered cup. (Incidentally, this leaves a great deal of unconsumed wine in the chalice - just as well the visiting cleric didn't have to drive afterwards)
And what made me smile was the sight of this congregation, almost all of whom are old enough to fall into the category of those who seem not to be at risk. Young people may be falling like flies, but we don't see enough of them to know. We'll go on doing as we're told, however. Peace, peace.