For the first time in about 6 months, I went to church this morning together with Freda; it seemed an appropriate day to do so. Being the Good Friday service, it was quieter than a normal all-ages service; more subdued. It started with “There Is A Green Hill Far Away”, and ended in silence.
Then Simon, the rector, Ken the curate and one of the youth leaders all took up a hammer and a nail each, and approached a large wooden cross that lay on the floor of the sanctuary before the altar. The sound of their hammers as they drove the nails into the arms and foot of the cross were shockingly, disturbingly loud in the silence; sharp and harsh, leaving brittle echoes in their wake.
It was an unnerving and haunting end to the short service; an uneasy note of finality.