Way, way back, when I was learning, and subsequently teaching, practical theology, one of the recurrent themes was that, if you look hard enough, you can find ways of reflecting theologically with or on any experience.

On Easter Sunday morning, the early open air service focused on John 20: 10 - 20, where Jesus appears to Mary Magdalene and she is told not to cling on to him, but to go and tell his followers what is happening.  The 'apostle to the apostles', sent to tell those who are chosen and sent to be and speak the Good News to the world.  The minister's reflection covered familiar, and timeless ideas... this is a moment of passing on the work to the followers, if they don't let Jesus go, the movement will simply fizzle out and die with the last of them.  Whilst the minister focussed on evangelism (personal conversation), I'd say it was more evangelisation (making the world gospel shaped). If Mary truly loves Jesus, if the disicples really love Jesus, they will let him go, and they will carry on the work, fulfilling his final charge in John's gospel to 'love as I have loved you'

So what, you ask, has this to do with Hermes the Hyndland Station Cat?

Yesterday the twitterverse, or at least the part I inhabit, was shocked by news that Hermes is leaving Hyndland for a new life in the countryside.  After this week, his Twitter account will cease to be updated (though his ghost-writer assures us not deleted) and he will be gone from our eyes.

Now, to be very clear, Hermes is not Jesus.  He's a very lovable, if a little bit naughty, cat.  But, at the same time, he leaves his followers the opportunity to continue with the love he inspired...

• He has inspired a fan to create and sell a charity calendar raising thousands of pounds in the process
• He has shared news of lost and found cats, helping them to be find their homes (and when he was lost, he sparked an international wave of love and concern until he was found)
• He has brought smiles to the faces of commuters, hospital patients and staff alike
• He has always given me a leg rub and was up for cuddles when we met
• He has inspired love and generosity and made Hyndland a kinder place.

I was, genuinely, really sad to read the news that he is leaving - but to cling to him, to want him to stay here would not be to love him.  Rather, to love him is to let him go to his 'heaven' of the Scottish countryside, and to continue the work he began in showing love to those he met in his everyday.

Farewell, Hermes, the Clepto-Kitties and I will always love you.  And we will do our best to live your legacy - just as I will do my best to live the Good news of the Christ of God, whose love continues to transform the world, if only we will learn to love too, and join in.

For those who are following the 'sertaline withdrawal' journey, today phase 2 begins, with a shift to one 50mg tablet every third day for three weeks (I started from 50mg daily, so a low start dose to wean from).

The night sweats are currently horrendous - sometimes one every five minutes when I'm awake - the day the flushes are also the most intense they've been for a couple of years.  The sertaline dreams continue to be nightmarish and vivid but knowing the end of this path is in sight certainly helps.

This journey is teaching me a lot abouy myself and about the challenges so many people live with, and never speak of.

If the ugly Menopausal Monster shows her ugly face, feel free to tell me - and if you know hormone and herbal free wyas of reducing flushes/sweats I'd love to hear them!

From Glasgow, from Orkney, from England, from Nigeria - visitors who added the gift of their presence to our gathering this morning.

From toddlers to nonagenarians and everywhere in between - regular worshippers who came together from the diverse circumstances of their own lives to share together.

Beautiful choral singing, a guest trumpeter, young women taking part 'up front' either in co-leading commuinion or in serving, some fascinating art works to ponder, and prayers with flowers... dressing the cross, which we then took and displayed outside our own (currently closed) building.

I really appreciated the willingness of people to engage with the service - which certainly wasn't everyone's natural preference of style - and felt that it had been well received.

Thanks especially to H for ideas and input, and to B for this photo of the cross in its final position.

Altars in cathedrals laid bare

Tabernacles flung wide and empty

No Mass spoken

We must enter the emptiness

Must ache

And ache

And ache...

Must weep

If we dare

If we will

If we can...

Must unknow what we think we know

Must forget what we have been told before

Must feel the pain of lost hope

Must ache with the guilt of words spoken or unspoken

Must wish for one more chance to express our love

Must feel,

Really feel,

Bereaved

With Mary

With the Beloved Disicple

With Peter

With Judas

With those whose names we will never know and whose stories will never be told...

Holy Saturday

Empty

Aching

Painful

So, my small contribution to this afternoon's service was this:

I Thirst

Jesus, knowing that all was now complete said, in order to fulfil the scripture, ‘I Thirst’

Can we, in our imagination stand alongside Mary, at the foot of the cross, looking up at her son, unable to reach out and comfort him in his suffering…

He is exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually…

Dehydrated by blood loss and the exertion of carrying the cross out of the city and up the hill…

His mouth and throat dry, incapable of forming spittle, he peels his tongue free from his teeth and utters the words: I thirst.

Of course he does.  Who wouldn’t?

Perhaps he drifts in and out of consciousness; maybe there are dreams or hallucinations… I wonder: does he recall – or dream about - another day when he experienced thirst and had no means to obtain refreshment?

Another day when, followers having gone to a nearby town to buy provisions, he sat alone, and strangely powerless beside a well, unable to draw water because he had no bucket…

In the heat of the day, his mouth dry and sticky…

A woman approached, and he asked, “will you give me a drink”

And the barrier between men and woman crumbled to dust…

She said, “But you are a Jew, and I am a Samaritan”

And the barrier between races and nations crumbled to dust…

He said, “Go and fetch your husband”; She said, “I have no husband”

And the stigma of divorce or widowhood, indeed of all martial status or none, crumbled to dust…

She said, “I see you are a prophet… and when Messiah comes he will explain all ”

He said, “I am he”

And the barrier between earth and heaven, time and eternity crumbled to dust…

And out of the dryness tiny bubbles of water began to emerge

And the bubbles became a trickle,

And the trickle became a fountain

And the woman and the man danced together in the living water…

Waking, regaining consciousness, emerging from a reverie,

A thirsty, dying man, hung on a cross, opens his mouth to speak

And the barrier between ‘now’ and ‘not yet’ crumbled to dust…

Yet still his cry is heard, echoing through history: “I thirst.”