Mothers’ Day, or my mum used to insist Mothering Sunday 2020 will be a day like no other. Partially. I hope many mums will receive breakfast in bed, some of which will be delicious to taste, and others will be delicious because of who made it. Mine always fell into the latter category.

I imagine flowers will still be placed in church yards and cemeteries. I will look again at some of the photos I have of my mum.

And yet, people will not travel, and usually at this time on Saturday evening, I have a number of bibles surrounding me as I wrestle with the text preparing for Sunday. I have prepared for Sunday. I have written the homily already to be sent round the email loop, put on Facebook and on this blog. It has questions to reflect upon and an activity.

Yet for the first time in a very long time I will not be going to public worship either as the leader or as a member of the congregation. Church doors will not be open. I will not be with the people who I am among to serve.

Now the Church is not a building but the people, but places are special, and in some bizarre way that I want to resist at times embraces memories of times and events.

It will be a Sunday like no other. I will endeavour to do live stuff on Facebook…. and will light a candle at 7pm placing it carefully in the window as an act of defiance against the darkness of the coronavirus. I will phone, email and message people, aware of the fact that I don’t have addresses for some of the people.

It has been hard to prepare for this Sunday. It is hard to prepare for change. Somehow Sunday has become domesticated and tame, tomorrow it will be rather wild.

See you there.