The last two years before the start of this blog

I can't believe I have a personal connection with a
globally recognised British landmark!

I got confirmed into the Church of England on Easter Saturday, March 30th 2013, at St Paul's Cathedral, London, by the Bishop of London, The Rt Revd and Rt Hon Richard Chartres. (see previous blog for my journey before then.)

In preparation for my confirmation, I didn't have the schedule to be able to fit in conventional classes with the other candidates in a regular slot each week, so I had one-on-one sessions with the rector, and she gave me the homework. Thus started my spiritual journal, a little green leather bound notebook that lives in my handbag for any moment I feel the need to put my thoughts about all things religious and spiritual onto paper.

This was another tool in my religious arsenal and is still an essential part of my relationship with God. Since the confirmation homework, I've had arguments with myself within its pages, taken notes during talks or sermons or from books, questioned God, there's a section where I clarified for myself what I thought about "Me, Christ and casual sex" - it's basically the place I can do extempore prayer. For me personally, I have to write it, rather than think or say it, otherwise I use structured prayer. But I've been historically terrible at getting into the habit of things like morning prayer as well!

After my confirmation, I carried on my involvement at my church St James' Piccadilly, helping where I could around my degree course in stage management, and in the last year, around my career as a freelance deputy stage manager.

It was easier at college, as we never worked on a Sunday, and Christmas/Easter time was school holidays. But the slow dawning of how important church was becoming to me was highlighted at Easter in my third year, a year after my confirmation.

I was invited to join my friend on his uni's Alpine Club annual trip to the Isle of Skye. I won't regret going, it was a glorious experience, with some wonderful people, and I climbed my first Munro, but it was over Holy Week. I left on the Saturday before, and returned late on Easter Saturday, so I missed Palm Sunday through the Easter Vigil, turning up exhausted for the 11am service on Easter Sunday, and got a surprise.

Easter morning is better than Christmas, it really is. The joy and excitement is just explosive; St James' decorates the beautiful wood/stone interior with greenery, and puts out its gold plate; at least three members of the congregation will be handing out small chocolate eggs; there's professional singers backing up the choir so it sounds loud and angelic; everyone is happy, wishing each other 'Happy Easter!" with hugs and grins, and every hymn and sung response feels alive.

Easter Day 2014, I just couldn't get into the spirit of things. Without the build up of Holy Week - processing around the church with a real donkey, singing 5 part harmonies for the tourists on Piccadilly on Palm Sunday; the sacred space of The Three Hours on Good Friday, noon til 3 with music, readings, meditations and silence, contemplating the Cross; going to St Paul's for the majestic evening service followed by going to St James' for supper; sleeping in the nave, taking an hour to maintain the vigil in the candlelit side chapel; waking early to go into the grey dawn garden and take the first Eucharist of Easter with bread baked the previous night; processing with song into the church to the font; crying at the beauty of the rector singing the Exsultet; walking down to Piccadilly Circus with drums and whistles and bells, handing out chocolate eggs; returning to church for a cooked breakfast and a break before choir practice - without all that as run up, I was emotionally at just another service, and could not tap into the feeling all around me.

I was gutted. As I said, I'm not going to regret going on the trip, but it taught me just how much being able to connect to my faith through church had become important to me.

I've had various other frustrations over the last year, like I couldn't go to the Three Hours again, and that was a factor is a decision I made in the summer. I had been writing in the journal whenever the moment suited me, but in a bid to always have something I felt addressed my personal faith, as well as going to church in my community faith, I set myself the challenge of writing just two of its small pages every week, collecting my thoughts about the Sunday I had had. First entry 2nd August 2015, 9th Sunday after Trinity

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But, you'll cry, you haven't mentioned your calling yet! It's there in those pages back in August - when did you get the call? Isn't that the POINT of this blog??

All will be answered in my next post! My storytelling instincts have led me to first set the scene, establish the background, the bones on which the true flesh of this project will be built. The little I know of the discernment process is that it understandably personal; the church cannot assess my calling unless they can get to know me. Who am I? Hopefully I've answered the relevant basics of that question in this and my last post, at least as in depth as necessary for this blog.

Coming next will be a meaty dissection of...THE CALL.

God bless