Empty-handed?
Taken by surprise in the morning, at how moved I was by the experience of sharing Cathedral prayers. The priest uses his hands in many ways, all stylised, and formal, and most of which I don't understand. But I watch them, and welcome them, as part of the dance that has been choreographed and performed over centuries and throughout the world. I feel held in the familiar togetherness of the experience. And comforted, actually. I am aware how the painted St Alban has his hand outstretched towards me throughout, as I sit and stand and kneel. And as I open my hand to receive bread. In that moment, my hand is not empty.