There is something alarmingly early 20th century about going to church in the snow. But there is also something primitive about it, something, as I hinted at in the last post, of the grace of quietness about it. These pictures are of St Lawrence’s Bradwell, which gained its final form by the end of the 16th century, but would doubtless be recognisable by folk from the 1200s. It is our local church, a good place to worship, and a place of peace.
Eugene Peterson talks about worship and church attendance as being “present to the presence” – as created beings we stand before the King of Kings, and give him the praise due to him. The presence of snow on the journey there, I suppose, reminds us of our indebted createdness, and softens our hearts by the quietness that the snow brings as it absorbs sound. As the act of worship need not really be dependent on our feelings, but just on the worth of a great God, then the softening of the edges of the landscape by snow, just as the brightening of all things in high summer, is one of the ways that God will draw us to worship, even when we would prefer not to go.