I recall leaving university and realising that, as a student, I’d learned to work alone and socialise with others – whereas when I started employment, I had to adjust to working with others but, being in an unfamiliar town, spending my leisure time alone.
I’ve greatly enjoyed a summer holiday in which I got to spend a lot of time outdoors at high altitudes, with flora and fauna to match. It was a great contrast with London life which is often spent in small spaces with no grass to be seen.
It made me reflect on where we assume God dwells. The Sermon on the Mount speaks of closing the door and being with God indoors, alone. Meanwhile there’s a long tradition that the place we truly meet God is in our own hearts: Ps 46 says ‘Be still and know that I am God.’
Yet Jesus’ great gospel activities are mostly among significant numbers of people outdoors. He also went away on the hills to pray. And he had confrontations indoors, e.g. at Simon the Pharisee’s house. By contrast, our definitive way to be with God today is with a significant number of people indoors in an ornate building like St Martin’s.
As a child I loved it when we did church outdoors: I vividly remember Rogation Sunday services where we processed into the churchyard. And at St Martin’s our visits to Trafalgar Square at Christmas and Palm Sunday make a similar impression on our imaginations.
I suspect all of us have a default assumption about which of all these settings is the definitive one. And a lot of the anxiety of faith is an assumption that our own assumption is the wrong one; while a lot of domineering faith sharing is an assertion that one of these is better than others.
The notion of incarnation is that God is with us in all of these contexts – even if we may be more aware of God in some contexts than in others. A change of scenery can be good for many reasons – not least that we can be reminded that God is way bigger than any of our attempts to limit or control.
Revd Dr Sam Wells
