DECEMBER months in Salcombe seldom hold snow, but nevertheless, silver hues and low suns hang over the harbour, the sparsely populated beaches marking out Nature’s quieting of the seasons. Most yawls and yachts are back in boatyards, leaving the waters vacant for hardy surfers and persevering fishermen. Striking seascapes and close-knit communities make winter and especially Christmas in south Devon a glorious place to be.
A solitary habit of mine is to rise early with a giant mug of tea and sit in our sea facing verandah to say the Psalms. With good timing, I can catch the winter sun breaking the horizon. Avoiding social media, opening emails, taking calls—before porridge and toast and even sorting out teenagers—this has to be the first duty of the day. If I forget or get distracted, then I generally feel out of kilter or overwhelmed with the subsequent pastoral duties and church busyness. I commence my Matins ritual by repeating the Easter proclamation and responses: ‘ Christ is Risen, He is risen indeed!’ This is my daily one-line bespoke sermon to myself.
It is my standing joke with parishioners at Midnight Mass to wish them a Happy Easter from the high altar as part of the final benediction. Tongue in cheek, before the sacred liturgy concludes with a rousing congregational H ark the Herald Angels Sing, I underline that we might all spice up our perfunctory greetings of ‘ Merry Christmas’ with Easter acclamations. Faith informs us that every day is Easter and all Holy Communions, even a Midnight Mass, proclaim the empty tomb as much if not more than the birth at Bethlehem.
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