Weaving connections: the surprises of St Pancras

And in the shadowless, unclouded glare
Deep blue above us fades to whiteness where
A misty sea-line meets the wash of air.

John Betjeman "Cornish cliffs"

St Pancras is a surprising station. For a start, there is good coffee to be had while waiting for the train. Second, there are no rubbish bins to dispose of the empty cups! And surprisingly there is no litter. Apparently London has embraced the reality of living in a post-terrorist bombing society and adjusted accordingly.

But the bigger surprise is the artwork to be found on the upper concourse. Down below the crowds scurry on their way to somewhere important, but up above it is much calmer, almost peaceful. There are two notable statues which draw the attention of passersby; one is of Sir John Betjeman, the renowned poet and benefactor of St Pancras Station. The other is "The meeting place" by Paul Day. It's a modern piece, completed in 2008, and it tells an interesting story. The two central figures embrace as they are drawn together: the meeting. Below, running right around the plinth, is an intriguing and mysterious series of other meetings, other gatherings of humanity in all its rawness and vitality.

I know that others have reflected upon this slightly mysterious but engaging artwork, but there is so much that captures my imagination. Significantly, the reliefs are not romanticised. My personal favourite is another embrace: in a crowded carriage, a woman wraps her arms around her lover, but over his shoulder her concentration is on her mobile phone. What a marvellous metaphor for our age! So often we are present to one another, but only partially present. So much else clutches at our sleeves, demanding our attention. I wonder at the difference between the two embraces: in one, attention to the other is total; in the second, questions immediately arise about fidelity.

Surely our Christian vocation is to give ourselves completely to the other.* I know how difficult I find this to do, but my experience of God nevertheless asks it of me. The other is created in the image and likeness of God. There is no one who is not worthy of our undivided attention. Of course, the problem is not the worthiness or otherwise of the other, but my own limited attention span.

And if we embrace the truth contained in the lovers' embrace, that the other requires our presence, then there are so many ways we are called to respond. Further along from the mobile phone woman is another figure: isolated at the foot of a staircase, a dog her only companion, she appears to be a "bag lady". But she too is a child of God. It may be so much easier to give our complete attention to someone young and beautiful but our God is not so easily distracted from the serious business of love.

Andrew Mawson might ask, "What opportunities are we given?" It's a good question, in part because it recognises that we are dependent upon the gift of opportunities.

John Betjeman stands a little distance away. Head thrown back, he gazes into... What? Into the future, perhaps? What opportunities does the future hold for us as people who believe in the God of surprises?


* I know I'm supposed to say, "give ourselves completely to God", but I'm thinking specifically here about our this-worldly encounters where God is present in the other.