Beacons of Hope

The other evening, I took one of my dogs for a walk and it came into my head to visit the local church, St Lawrence. It lies next to an extended airport runway but when I was a girl the road led past the church instead of ending at it. The church lies in an urban area but because it is at the end of the line so to speak, it is rather quiet and even tranquil there. It looked beautiful lit up against the night sky, though it is quite a modest building. I was seeking some reassurance and I wondered why I turned to the church on this particular night as I am not a Christian.

In my early years I was brought up by my maternal Grandmother after my mother died. She was a Christian lady but quietly so. She encouraged my brother and me to say The Lord’s Prayer each night before bed. My Aunt, her other daughter, was also a woman of faith. Perhaps, therefore, you would say that my fondness for churches and my respect for Christianity emerged from those early influences; certainly I credit my grandmother for introducing me to the non-physical realms.

As an adult, however, Christianity did not answer my questions nor fulfil the spiritual hunger within me. Instead I turned to Paganism and a hotchpotch of ‘new age’ teachings. Honouring the land, the turning of the seasons and the natural world, speaks to me so deeply. I do not need a dogmatic doctrine to guide me; the divine is all around me. The earth, whilst changing superficially on the surface, is as old as time and knew the secret meaning of life, long before it was written in stone tablets and given to the people as religion.

Many churches were built on sacred sites and pagans will tell you that this was a purposeful act to stamp out our old heathen customs. Yet whether church or stone circle, these places are all portals to the ethereal worlds and in this way it matters not to me what is built on these sites; they are still the gateway to the divine. In a church the smell of incense, used to cleanse the space, fills my nostrils and the still, quiet sense of containment holds me and grounds me, whilst the soaring architecture raises my attention upward, beyond the physical.

I seek out and marvel, at the roof bosses blending pagan imagery with Christian imagery. I reflect on the esoteric skills of the masons, who Ken Follett brings to life in his book, The Pillars of Earth. I imagine them deeply absorbed in their craft, working hour after hour tirelessly, to create the most beautiful House for God. The perfection in the soaring arches, such precision in the geometry! What modern architecture compares or could even hold a votive candle to this? Who now would begin building a structure never to be completed in their lifetime?

Another great book which observes and documents the relationship between mankind and the land is Sarum by Edward Rutherford, set in and around the Salisbury landscape. I have spent many, many hours gazing in wonderment at Salisbury Cathedral and absorbing the peacefulness of the Cathedral close. It is a magical place where 5 rivers meet, where many ancient mounds, barrows, henges, white horses and crop circles abound, all acknowledging the inherent sacredness in this area of our land.

Many Christians believe that there is currently a war on their religion, a deliberate intent to invert and corrupt God’s word. This is not hard to believe when one looks at the openly satanic symbology that litters the music, film and media industry. As more of us awaken, the spiritual community is growing and many of the popular freedom fighters have rediscovered Christianity it seems. In one way I find this intriguing; after tumbling down many a conspiratorial rabbit hole, why would these truth seekers trust the word of the bible? Isn’t it obvious that these teachings have been corrupted too? Of course they must know this! What is even more concerning is that some of these new found religioso’s are beginning to condemn other spiritual views as being misguided, ill informed or downright Luciferian. It seems impossible for us flawed humans to allow each other our differences; like a needle in a groove we cannot help but take polarised positions when we do not fully align with each other.

In uncertain times we seek the familiar. I have not previously been one to look back often or to regret, yet I find in many of my recent writings that I am referring to times past or looking back to the years when the evil was more subtle and hid itself behind thick curtains. Like everything else in modern culture, it now shoves its nakedness right into your face, daily!

And so on that evening, when the yearning for safety and comfort arose in me, the church, that I have no affiliation to or relationship with, called to me; the centuries old beacon, blended with the memory of my Nanna, on an ancient sacred site which endures the weather fair or foul, decade upon decade. It spoke to me in the same language as the ancient stones, sacred springs, mountains and groves; all portals to that mystical connection with the divine, just different shaped doorways to comfort, hope and eternal peace.