I had the privilege of being taken too for my birthday by my son to see/hear Evelyn Glennie the percussionist. Both my son and I at times attack the stretched skins. The event was at Lichfield cathedral the space I was ordained deacon. As an introduction to one of the pieces of music she told us how passionate she was of her snare drum, the one thing she would have on a desert island. Then she played. Striking the skin with the finely balanced sticks the sound came. I cannot hum the tune, la la the melody and it was not Evensong but it deeply moved my spirit. Somewhere between the erect hairs on the back of my neck, that inner tingle deep I my bowels and the silence in Moring Prayer. I am reminded my God is a shade more colourful, a tad more expressive, a little bit larger to fit in the box I keep him in at times.


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