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Good Morning, On Saturday I took the train to Cardiff, a ticket to the rugby match between Wales and Ireland burning in my breast pocket. The carriage was divided evenly between green and red and I found myself sat next to a man from Dublin. We discussed our respective nation’s chances and were unified in our hope that, should we fail, the Scots do us an unlikely favour and beat the English. Our conversation moved on to the serious questions facing our United and divided Kingdoms, questions of borders and politics; he reminded me that the Irish rugby team represented two nations not one. In the stadium the people from our nations gathered to yell and sing their support, to forget and settle differences in sporting combat. Just before kick-off, as the teams, both coached by New Zealanders, lined up, the 70 thousand in the stadium kept a minute’s silence for the men, women and children killed in Christchurch. We all stood, united against the deeper divisions at play in the world. When the match started, the heavens opened and rain poured down through the roof which, according to local wisdom, had been left open so that God could watch. Wales scored early and Welsh nerves - like Welsh rain, an especially bubbly brew - were quickly settled. The soaked Pilgrims started singing their hymns and arias. And for an hour or two we had enough heavenly bread to feed us till we wanted no more. At half time the Welsh were happy and the Irish graciously accepting the inevitable. In the gents someone piped up “there’s no back stop in here, boys” and the two tribes were united by laughter. Wales went on to win a Grand Slam – a sort of Holy Grail in rugby although not as rare (if you’re Welsh). The Irish, never knowingly out partied, joined in the celebrations by singing along to Land Of My Fathers. In the euphoric giddiness of it all the thought came that this spirit could unite the World. I knew this spiritedness would pass, but the feeling lasted all the way home where I was happy to accept the congratulations of my English friends and neighbours. In the end we all must return to our places, our kingdoms. It’s only sport, but the events of the day were a reminder that in this United Kingdom we have long had the capacity to hold in tension a fierce tribalism with a mutual regard. The bond expressed in games like these is stronger than the divisions of frontier, class or party that currently weigh so heavily upon us. Scripture talks about a Kingdom that contains no walls, no divisions, no winners or losers. It calls people in to a unity. And we sometimes glimpse it when people share their lives and see through and beyond their supposed differences. A wet but glorious day in Cardiff reminded me that this other Kingdom is, perhaps, nearer than we think.