The best part of Holy Saturday is those glorious moments when the church, smelling of incense and with the weather battering the windows, is in darkness except for candlelight.
I can’t help thinking how wonderful it would be for the entire service to be done this way. Only the glow of the candles, the light of the world we each held. Then I thought about how it would take the collapse of the entire health and safety establishment ever to be possible.
M arrived shortly before things began and sat behind me, one of my favourite people I’ve met this past year. I tried to persuade her to come outside to see the lighting of the Paschal Candle, but she was happy to enjoy the darkness and relative warmth of the church with her husband C.
It was breezy outside. The brazier sent sparks in all directions. I closed my eyes as they came my way and wondered how flameproof Canon Ps vestments were.
The single candle he held to light the Paschal Candle never really stood a chance in the wind, so a high-visibility man of ingenuity stood nearby with a pocket blowtorch. The kind of thing you’d use to brulee a dessert.
I looked around at the people standing outside and marvelled at how many I now knew by name. People who had welcomed me a year ago with a smile and a nod. Now people who asked about me, and who I have got to know. A community I am truly blessed to be a part of.
With the candle brulee’d, we made our way back inside for the service. Not before M, the homeless man who finds comfort in our church, reached out to give me a small Easter egg.