Cast a Long Shadow

A few times this week in the mid afternoon the sun has cast a long and liquid golden light over the fields. It is about the only time my otherwise filthy dog can look sweet and fluffy. But this amazing light doesn’t just bathe the autumn leaves in a burnished beauty, it also stretches out our shadows far and long.

The phrase ‘cast a long shadow’ if often used to speak of something with foreboding, maybe like grief. But if you think about it- the size of the shadow at this time of year is an indication of the angle of the sun, not the size of the obstacle. The clear autumn sun, on the rare moments it comes, picks up colours beautifully and actually transforms us little people and animals into long legged giants with tiny heads!

The gaze of God, should change how we see ourselves. The ‘light of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ’ casts one of these low long shadows - we are both made bigger, able to be not just a random person living in suburbia, but sons and daughters of the living God, but part of us is made smaller - it is a good thing for our heads to shrink!! Pride - being big headed- gives way to humility if we truly recognise the magnificence of God in worship.

And when we stand in the light of God, it can make even the dullest day seem gilded.

What a challenge to worship when singing out loud as a group is now banned again. One alternative is to sing alone, outside on a walk. I did this one afternoon this week - as I traced the prayer walk at Stampwell farm and sat on the installation of Jacobs ladder, only to catch in that beautiful moment an owl returning home, and the birds singing so beautifully. Hope you enjoy the poem.

Slanted viridian

Streak of auburn

Slash of gold

Unfettered cobalt hue

Frame the chirruping ensemble

The choral song of feathered ones

This is my cathedral, home

And the forest floor His marble throne

My soul in silence sings

Acompaniment to wild, wings

Fellowship of leaves, fallen

Joy of early afternoon

Gathered under boughs

See languid return of owls

And spiders threads

Shine, unruly connectors

Of weathered limbs

There is life amongst these ruined things

Such colour in acorns, bracken stalks, cherry bark pewter

And the burnished bronze of dusk

And before these shadows

Snuff unshuttered sun

She shiningly lays

her blanketful of hospitality