The end of November is frightening.
December arrives and we’re suddenly sliding inexorably towards the holidays, towards the end of term, towards rest – but also towards deadlines and cut-off dates.
These, to me, are moments of extreme stress.
Once, when I was a student, I found myself very, very lost on the wrong side of a deadline. And whilst this was not a situation wholly unknown either to me or my teachers, on this occasion I was pushing the envelope even by my own spectacular standards of lateness.
So, inevitably, the moment arrived when there was simply nowhere to run, and the only thing left to do was hide.
I don’t mean this metaphorically.
I mean, I saw my teacher walking towards me in the street and I literally hid. I dived into a doorway and performed an act of what can only be described as abject cowering, fervently hoping that he would walk past without noticing me.
He did not.
Not only did he notice me but he stopped; as I imagined, to convict me.
Except he didn’t do that either.
Instead, he asked very kindly how I was and whether there was anything he could do to help me finish my work. And please would I finish it.
It was hard to know how to respond, so I blurted out an inarticulate torrent of thanks, apology and rudimentary animal noises in a failed attempt to convey appropriate levels of gratitude, shame and relief.
I reckon every one of us knows what it is to want to run and hide from the things we have and haven’t done.
Now, Christians believe, rather terrifyingly, that no matter how far we run or where we hide, even to the ends of the earth, God will find us.
But Christians also believe that when God does find us, it is not to demand that we hand in our homework. It’s not to condemn or punish us. It is to love us. It is to carry us home. It is to make us safe.
And no matter what we believe, the truth is that when we are loved and made safe, we are better able to love and to make safe. And no one has to run and hide from that.
The image at the top is the street where I hid from my teacher, North Bailey in Durham.