You can always spot my car at the prom on Rossall Beach. It’s parked with the boot towards the sea.
Everybody else, more or less, parks facing the sea. Some of them then have a nap. I guess their car is like a sun bed with wheels and a roof. Others have a drink from a flask, read their paper, listen to the radio. They are in a portable conservatory.
I park so it’s easy to leave. I’ve come to walk Bagel on the beach – or rather to taxi her to her bird-chasing exercises. I do enjoy making my way across the pebbles, jumping over puddles, passing the fishermen. I prefer to walk along the sea shore. It is what draws me. The edge of the ocean.
It is odd to come all that way and not touch the sea – just to observe it through glass, therapeutic though that may be.
Likewise with faith.
Tragic just to observe it, or simply learn about it, or appreciate it while you drink your tea. To come all that way and not meet Jesus. Not encounter the reality of God made flesh, sent to be received.