By Phil Wales, Priest Vicar
Perhaps it is the ever-lengthening November evenings that have led to my looking back, somewhat wistfully, to the long, extremely hot summer days of only a few months ago. One day holds many fond memories of a happy family gathering.
The day arrived for me to set off on a long journey to a milestone celebration that had been agreed several months earlier. I had planned to drive, but, the day before I changed my mind and thought the train would be the better option. Though lateness would be forgiven it would be best to reduce the likelihood of such an eventuality as far as possible. And, I reasoned, keeping everyone up to date with the minute details of my changed travel itinerary would only become important if I was held up.
The first leg of my journey was more than pleasant, but a change of train was inevitable once I had reached the halfway point. Almost shoulder to shoulder with many other would-be travellers, we waited for a connecting service. Minutes later it arrived and as it slowed to a halt every carriage looked chock full. As the next train might be equally busy, I tried to see if there might be a minuscule prospect of a seat on this one. In the end I squeezed aboard and found somewhere to stand in one of the aisles. At the next station, some passengers made good their escape from their cramped but still airconditioned surroundings into the mid-morning sunshine.
Sitting down in one of the newly vacated seats I then reread a message. Another member of our (as yet still dispersed) party might well be travelling on the same train.
Hoping to arrange a meeting at our destination, I tried to phone them but, unsurprisingly, the signal cut out. I tried again, and this time accompanied by that oddity of behaviour which can creep up on us at times such as these. I gradually raised my voice by degrees with each ‘Hello?’. My vocal cords would, if I persisted, eventually triumph over the iffiness of the phone signal.
The answer when it came was not only astonishingly clear but accompanied by a friendly tap on my shoulder. We each burst out laughing. Not only were we on the same train, in the same carriage, but we had ended up sitting back-to-back, entirely unaware of one another’s presence until that moment. The improbability of it all made discovering one another all the more delightful: a beautiful, warm, and intimate concatenation of co-incidences.
Archbishop William Temple is often credited with the observation that when he prayed, coincidences happened, and when he did not, they did not. I have found myself wondering about that. Do coincidences really happen more often when we pray? Or, when we pray, does this make us more attentive to what is already happening around us?
I still smile when I remember that tap on my shoulder as a delightful prelude to a memorable day. And I wonder how often, in the not-so-ordinary journeys of our lives, there may be more to discover than we yet know at a time and place not of our own choosing.