It's all over, even the shouting

Today was the concluding Eucharist for Lambeth 2008.

The service itself was reason enough to weep. Intertwined amongst the foreign language parts of the liturgy were the a capella sung responses such as the alleluia which the bishops and their spouses had been doing all through the conference in their corporate worship. In the cavernous, airy, holy space of Canterbury Cathedral, the multilayered unaccompanied harmonies were quite literally spine tingling and you could sense the regret when they had to come to an end.

Rowan preached immensely, beautifully, simply. He talked about telling our stories, but in the way of stories told about the Holy Spirit, in a way which would Make Things Happen. As a writer for the church, it was inspiring. But as a communion, it was wonderful to be sent out with a task that is far less than that which was given to the apostles, and which in their time led to something so immense. What will our story telling bring?

A piece called the Compass Rose had been composed especially for the service. It transcended beautiful. It was music that bypassed your head, even your heart, and went straight through to your soul. The choir sang it, and it sounded like they sang it to their absolute limits, but in that huge space there are no limits. I couldn’t help myself – tears were running down my face and I was not the only one.

The really heart breaking part of the service was when it was all over. This was a special occasion in which the 7 Melanesian Brothers who were murdered in their attempts to secure peace in the Solomon Islands, were having their names received in to the book of martyrs, to be placed in the Martyrs Chapel in the Cathedral.

I had the privilege of interviewing Brother Richard Carter last year, an English Priest who joined the Melanesian Brothers and who stayed for seventeen years, and who worked with them as they tried to get people to disarm in the time of Harold Keke. He was there with his Brothers and Sisters today, even though he is now a priest at St Martin’s in the Fields. After the Archbishop of Canterbury had read out the names of the seven, the Brothers and Sisters sang a litany as the book was taken back to the chapel. Even though it was a litany of grief and their pain was real, it was still a song of joy. We have lot to learn from the Melanesians. (I must write about the conversation I had with Winston Halapua, Bishop of Polynesia, earlier this week!)
Then the service ended and I had to leave. There were a few bishops to say goodbye to, particularly Suheil Dawani and his beautiful wife Shafeeqa (Jerusalem) and some of my local bishops and some of the bishops I’d met and said hello to.

But then I had to say goodbye to the people who have been my friends and colleagues over the last three weeks. It was so hard. I had to swallow the lump in my throat and just give them all a quick cuddle, warn Chris (the Justin Timberlake lookalike with whom I danced all night on Thursday) to stay away from my daughters when he comes to visit me one day, and then thank the marvellous people of the C of E and Lambeth Palace who have made me so welcome as a communications person at the conference. Even though Darin from the Primate’s office is only in Brisbane, saying goodbye to him was hard too – we’ll be a long way apart but I suspect we would have a wonderful time working together.

I feel like a different person. I don’t feel up to explaining it all now, but I love my church. I really, really love it. I have so much fear and hope for it. I’m very sad to be leaving Canterbury and this amazing chapter of my life behind. I feel quite transformed