Emboldened by the tales of high strangeness posted on this blog, a reader shares a remarkable personal experience.
I had a different kind of chill and encounter about a year ago. We took a long-planned and long-delayed trip to Scotland, which included a day trip to the Isle of Islay in the west. I sampled some nice whiskey and we learned a lot about the Lord of the Isles, but the most interesting part was our final stop to see the Kildalton High Cross, at the unroofed church of that name.
Being unroofed, the old church was not in regular use, but the grounds inside the enclosure were still in use for Catholic and Christian burials. I stepped into the old church for a look, but stepped out quickly. I took off my hat and re-entered more politely, because I had a quick feeling of “mind your manners!” the first time. That was not a perfunctory bow toward the old altar and tabernacle location. For lack of a better word, the church felt like it was sleeping, with a drowsy sense of Presence waiting to wake up fully again. The church and the church yard within the enclosure wall had a definite feeling of sanctuary, and still being guarded from evil. Closed or de-sacralized churches have a very different and empty feeling; this one felt like it was resting and waiting. Why it was waiting, or what it was waiting for, gave me a slow chill, and much to think and pray about later. At that moment, I was glad that I hadn’t gained the attention of an awakened Presence, or His attendant angels, about the disturbance.
May the same Presence awaken in every heart in the West.
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