Transience

In a little over 24 hours I'll climb onto a jet liner, leave this old, crowded island, and in next to no time I'll land back in the US.  I know the leaving is coming.
This morning I went to the sparcely attended 8 AM service in the 875 year old 'mission church' constructed by the Benedictines as they sought to evangelize this outpost of London for Christ.  Beneath a leaning brick wall is my father's grave.  This little church, is an island of Christianity in a land that seems to have forgotten the Lord. Long may the community that worships here persist.
This sense of transience, of not being here for long, and yet being part of a great movement of people and God together is reassuring, compeling, purposing.  The arrogance of dull intellectual atheism, the indifference of this sprawling city, the noise of the jets continually taking off from nearby Heathrow (the world's busiest airport), the rush of the traffic all around, familes taking their kids to Sunday soccer games, all pass by this little brick church.  Inside, the confession is made, the Lord's prayer is said together, bread is broken and wine is shared.  God quietly does his work in human hearts.
I pray for my church far away, those precious people.  I sing my favorite hymn in the car on the way home and I know I am just passing through.
"This is my Friend, in Whose sweet praise
 I all my days could gladly spend."