Remembering, it seems, is an unmistakable part of the Christian faith. The lectionary, for example, guides us through perplexing Old Testament readings for Morning Prayer of kings, peoples, and sometimes wayward prophets, who fail to remember God or who mis-remember their relationship with God. Whether it is remembering with gratitude God’s bounty (Harvest Festival), or the loss of loved ones (All Souls), or those who have fallen in war, remembering becomes not just what we do, but part of who we are. 

As a graduate student, I met a granny, who had started to speak to me from the pew behind at the end of a service one Sunday. She invited me to have tea with her at her residential home. I felt a bit ambushed, so I ignored the invitation for a while. Then I felt bad, so I gave her a ring. It turned out that God had a plan: that call started an almost weekly pilgrimage to have tea and fruit (I could not eat the cakes and biscuits, rather annoyingly, because of my food allergies). 

Despite totally different upbringings and backgrounds, it turned out that we had much in common: West Africa, St Andrews, London, and then Cambridge. Shelagh had lived in all the places I had either lived or studied 20 or 30 year before me, and she relived them with me in her vivid recollections. She was a wonderfully, patient listener and had a faith that seemed unshakeable. Over time, Shelagh began to repeat these stories. I soon realised that her memory was in decline. She was eventually moved into full-time supervised care, returning home to God in 2015 at the age of 91. Our weekly conversations over two years were the making of an unlikely bond that means that I now have the gift of remembering her. 

At the Eucharist we come before God to remember the sacrificial love of Christ. We are called to remember, once again, that we are invited, we are known, we are held. Always. As I leave St Mary’s, I am grateful for the opportunity to remember that, in this place, I have been brought closer to God, through the words and acts of generosity and kindness of this community. I have been reminded, in my time here, of a God, who constantly remembers us, whether we like it or not, numbering the hairs on our head and calling us by name.