The image above is an offering at the Rollright Stones that were left over the last day or two. Don’t know who by.
There are some of us who hold Religion and Science as near-parallel layers in our minds – giving us alternative views on life, sometimes overlapping or interpenetrating. The either/or view of fundamentalists don’t really work for us. Like an electron flying through a diffraction grating we choose both options. And for me, the Christian religion, with its mystery and yet incarnational grounding, reflects and underpins the world we live in.
Yet for others – and understandably – Christianity is a bore, or an institution that grinds intolerance into the pattern of its life from 1,700 years of accommodation with Empire – the religion of the powerful and the oppressor, of the white and the straight and the male.
Yet they don’t necessarily – whatever some might hope – go off to a bright, sterile, godless, hygienic future. Sure, there’s wonder in science – but a hollow wonder in the end. Some of us can see the awe in it – but still want to know the awe below it, the terror behind it.
We don’t know the name or names of the god, goddess or goddesses and gods that were worshipped at the Rollrights. They sure weren’t Roman, Norse or Germanic ones – and there’s no particular reason to think they were the Celtic ones, either. They are unknown – shadows guessed at from carvings, grave goods and a dash or two of wishful thinking. But a bunch of fruit and flowers on a Cotswold hilltop tells us that, for some people, the spirit still lives in a god-forsaken age.