The Brief Encounter...a series.

It is 3.47am. I could not sleep. There were no bad dreams, rather I just woke up alert. The coffee is being made as I type. My eyes are not at all bleary. They are clear.

This image is the chapel of Worcester College, Oxford University. This was my place of prayer and spiritual growth for three years while a student. Every Sunday morning and evensong I would attend services. The evening service was formal. Undergraduates were required to wear subfusc.That is the University uniform. Its is comprised of: a white shirt, black bow tie,  dark suit , gown and black shoes.The choir would sing beautifully, since we had choral scholars , and the lights were low, The chapel glowed. It was High Church.

It was built in 1720. Every surface is covered with decoration using mosaic, fresco, stained glass, wood and alabaster sculpture. Each element of design is part of theological program celebrating the mighty works of God in nature and in human history.

I was christened and baptized in this chapel. I was nineteen. My spiritual journey began at age fourteen by accident. I will talk about that at some point. But, that journey led me to this 18th century chapel.

Evensong began every Sunday at 6pm. It was followed by sherry in the Chaplains rooms (his office) and one was meant to drink dry sherry. That was the 'right' thing to do. Sweet sherry was seen as very working class. However, I hate dry sherry. I hate sherry. We would then descend the wooden stairs and head to the 18 century dining hall. It had pale blue walls, white stucco columns and and long wooden tables.The don's table was at the end of the room. It was raised over looking the students beneath. Servants in white livery served food and wine. Think of Harry Potter, but without the floating candles and the universe for a ceiling, and you got the picture..

As the weeks passed in my first year , which was 1986, I noticed a little nun in blue habit sitting in a corner of the chapel each evensong. She always reminded me of a naughty white mouse. Her sparkling pale blues looked impishly around the room. She wore glasses with clear frames, so her eyes were not veiled. After a while, we made eye contact. Her eyes twinkled and she grinned. I honestly think her nose twitched. I think she was about seventy five yeas old.We then began to nod in recognition of each other.Then, one evening after chapel we were introduced at the Chaplains pre-dinner sherry.

"Hello there, yes, my name is Sister Alice, very nice to meet you", she said. She was a tiny thing with pointed features. Her eyes sparkled. What radiated them was her inquisitive nature and keen intellect. She was alive and present, not dead.

"I am Julius, I have seen you often, nice to meet you", I replied. I was intrigued.
"Where did you come from?", I asked.
"Oh, I am a nun at All Saints Convent, yes, there it is.That is where I live. Been there for years, oh yes", she chuckled.
"I've to come to this chapel every Sunday. I have been doing that for years to", she said with an impish giggle .
"I see, how interesting,' I replied.
"Well, perhaps it isn't", she said laughing. It was an awkward start and before long she left for the convent and I went into formal hall.

Time passed and many sherries later I asked Sister Alice for tea in my rooms. I lived in 14th century cottages. I had a drawing room and bedroom with gabled windows. A cleaner called Madge came every morning to make the bed and clean the room. She always came too early.

Sister Alice arrived at the appointed time. We talked about this and that. I was dealing with faith and my homosexuality. I was still a virgin at college as you might recall if you read my coming out blog.
I asked her what she thought of homosexuality.

"Oh, that", she chuckled. "Well, I don't know what all the fuss is about really. Faith is not about laws it is about a relationship with God.Religion as an institution has to define itself by laws in order to have structure. But, nothing should get in the way with your relationship with God. That would be the ultimate sin. If your conscience is clear about it, then it is clear with God. I know I should not say it, but it is also a truth. No man should ever intercede on that relationship. Anyway. I don't know why people go on about it. There are worse things in life like pride, yes, and those people, all most of all them suffer from pride. It is far greater sin then any other, yes. deadly. Ironic, yes", She chuckled and drank some tea.

I was struck by her stance on the topic and noticed she had been concentrating on a large drawing of St Paul's Cathedral I had made from conte. It hung above my oak bookcase. It depicted the aisle leading to the apse. It had black silhouettes of anonymous figures sitting pews facing the alter. Light poured through the windows like sun rays in the shrouded light.

Sister Alice was silent. She drank her tea. She studied that drawing for a while in silence. I boiled more hot water. I sat down and asked what she thought of this piece.
"Oh, I love it. It beautiful. I would love that piece. Very moving and still, " she said.

Two years passed and my time at Oxford was over. I was packing up my rooms. I was rolling up that drawing and  remembered my tea with Sister Alice. I told my mother the story of our tea two years earlier, and she had loved this drawing.
"You should give it to her, we can drive to the convent this afternoon on our way back to London", Mother said.
"Yes, that feels right. You are right. She seemed very touched by it", I said.

We  arrived at the Convent and luckily Sister Alice was there. I handed her the drawing.
"Oh, thank you , are you sure?", she said, her eyes twinkled with pleasure..
"Yes I said, you seemed to be moved by it. That is what art should do. I think you should have it",I replied
"Thank you, I will treasure this forever. I love it. Very kind, yes , very kind", she chuckled, her pale blue eyes sparkled. They were bright and clear.

I returned to Oxford many years later. For some reason I thought about Sister Alice and went to see how she was. I knew she would have to be eighty five by then. But, I was intrigued. Perhaps the drawing had created a bond between us. It marked my spiritual journey and that had passed to her in that work. The Reverend Mother came  to meet me in the lobby.
"Oh Sister Alice?, ah, she died a few years ago", she said.
"Am sorry to hear that. I was hoping to see her. What did she ever do with the drawing of St Paul's Cathedral I gave her", I asked.
"Oh you made it?.She loved it. She had it in her room for years. It was one of the few possessions she had. It was beautiful. It was also the only thing she took with her when she died", she said.
"What do you mean?", I inquired.
"Sister Alice was buried with it.She asked that it be buried with it in her arms", she said looking deeply into my eyes.

I was silent. I have no words then or now to describe the impact that made. I will not attempt it now.

You never now how you touch people in life. But, if we are blessed, we might.

peace.