We gathered in the cloisters, purple-cassocked, rocheted, chimered and scarfed, waiting for the service to begin. On the way to the Cathedral we had been assailed again by a small group of Germans who, with quiet but Teutonic thoroughness, told us that we were destined for the everlasting bonfire. I asked one of them whether she described herself as a Christian. “Yes,” she replied with flinty ferocity. “So why do you feel free to abuse and insult fellow-Christians whom you do not know and have never met before?” She claimed she did not understand my question and moved on to find her next victim. All very sad.

The conversations in the cloisters were of a less extraordinary kind. We talked of this and that and how we were often surprised to find ourselves in events such as this. A sense of slight disbelief was common.

Now, lest any of those assailants should happen to read this letter, I had better explain that our unbelief was not of a theological nature but was rather to do with our sense of amazement that our vocation, experienced all those years ago, should have led us to be at a service of such grandeur and significance.

A solemn-faced verger called us to order. We were told to line up in twos and suddenly Primary School memories came flooding back. Then, with no further notice we were off. We walked in procession at that particular Anglican pace, steady, not-to-be-diverted. There were hundreds of us. It took over half an hour for all the processions to make their way through the soaring majesty of the Cathedral, a building vibrant with colour, shimmering with expectation.

We sang. We prayed. And then, to a beat of quiet drumming and the sound of bamboo pipes being played, a Melanesian group of Brothers and Sisters, wearing grass skirts, sea-shells garlanded around their wrists and ankles, carried the Gospel Book down the steps of the Quire and into the heart of the congregation in the Nave. They danced and played with rhythmic beauty, carrying aloft a small decorated canoe, in the centre of which was the Gospel Book itself. When the Gospel was read, the dancers knelt around it in silence. The reading over, they danced their way back up the steps carrying the canoe and the Gospel Book to the Archbishop, seated on the throne of St Augustine. It was a deeply moving moment.

Then came the sermon, preached by the Rt. Revd. Duleep de Chickera, Bishop of Colombo. “There are five major religions in Sri Lanka”, he explained, “Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity, Islam and cricket.”

His dark eyes flashed with humour. But this opening was followed by an immensely powerful exposition of the parable of the Wheat and the Tares and by an unflinching analysis of the difficulties facing the Anglican Communion. With grace and humility he suggested how we might move forward from our woundedness to a place where all involved might find a place of reconciliation and healing. He argued that Anglicanism embraced three important characteristics: the discipline of self-scrutiny, the ability to live with diversity-in-unity, and the capacity to raise a prophetic voice against injustice. He called us to look outwards, reminding us of William Temple’s phrase: “The Church is the one institution that does not exist for itself.”

I can not convey in words, either the force or the grace of his sermon but I suspect it is one which will help to shape us in the days that lie ahead.

The hymns rang out, the trumpets brightened the Cathedral air, anthems soared to fill the uppermost parts of the building, sun-light streamed through the stained-glass windows, and there we were, people from across the world united in our love for Christ and receiving in the bread and wine the very Body of Our Lord,

The sevice ended, we processed out into the Cathedral precincts, dis-robed and made our way back to the coaches which had brought us there. Alas, the German group waited to way-lay us and told us that we were an abomination. The glory of the day, its hope and beauty were smudged for a moment, but only for a moment and the sense of faith renewed and hope restored came flooding back. The question now, is how the truths of the service can be translated into practical action. And that is a story which is still in the making…