Orlagh in the cityOde to Orlagh in the City
It takes many boxes, stored under the stairs, from my Father’s house, to create our sacred space;
a few tables, with sticky biscuits, tea and coffee, cement together our healing walls of compsssion, love and hope.
We are a broad church of divergent singing theologies and a cacophony of chaotic spiritualities.
We gather every Sunday, inspired by our ancestors, from the upper room, for our festive meal of thanksgiving with the Risen Christ, our Lord and Saviour, the Word made Flesh, Our Alpha and Omega.
Comforted in our convergences and ruefully indulgent of our divergences, we rub along together like stones in the River Jordan,
smoothing our sharp edges through forgiveness
while polishing up the crystals at the core of our being through our love for each, other, humanity and creation.
In our fragile stable on the margins, in that liminal place, where Christianity still thrives, we are an ordinary miracle,
an ephemeral quark in the Cosmic Mystery that is Reality.
Patricia Devlin
It takes many boxes, stored under the stairs, from my Father’s house, to create our sacred space;
a few tables, with sticky biscuits, tea and coffee, cement together our healing walls of compsssion, love and hope.
We are a broad church of divergent singing theologies and a cacophony of chaotic spiritualities.
We gather every Sunday, inspired by our ancestors, from the upper room, for our festive meal of thanksgiving with the Risen Christ, our Lord and Saviour, the Word made Flesh, Our Alpha and Omega.
Comforted in our convergences and ruefully indulgent of our divergences, we rub along together like stones in the River Jordan,
smoothing our sharp edges through forgiveness
while polishing up the crystals at the core of our being through our love for each, other, humanity and creation.
In our fragile stable on the margins, in that liminal place, where Christianity still thrives, we are an ordinary miracle,
an ephemeral quark in the Cosmic Mystery that is Reality.
Patricia Devlin
