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From Rev’d Richard Coles, cleric and broadcaster:Ìý

Like Anne-Marie’s character in the ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½â€™s new drama ‘From Darkness’, very looking forward to it, when I want to run away it’s to the west of Scotland I run. Kintyre for me, where escapees from Bonnie Prince Charlie to Paul McCartney have found refuge.

Mine is a place called Saddell Bay, and a corrugated iron shack on the beach, overlooked by golden eagles and a lazy heron. We just spent a fortnight there, far from the madding crowd.

Or so I thought; up at dawn on the first morning I saw a figure standing on the rocks looking out to sea.

Who’s this, I wondered, so still, so silent, so in the way? I crunched towards him as noisily as I could over the shingles with my four yapping ASBO sausage dogs - but he didn’t even turn. His gaze was fixed on the Isle of Arran across the water, as captivated by that distant sight as Sue Perkins the cloud capped peaks of the Himalayas (coming to ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ 2 soon). I'm like the Radio Times here this morning aren’t I?

I coughed, the dogs barked, but he didn’t so much as stir; it was only when I got close I discovered why. He was one of those life size figures by the sculptor Antony Gormley, positioned around the coast of Britain, looking out to sea.

I grew fond of our noiseless neighbour; good company on retreat to renew my life of prayer. ÌýMorning and evening, day by day, the priest’s job is to pray, for the church, for the world, and for those nameless, countless people who even now, still ask the parson to ‘say one for me’. I'm only too glad to, but wonder why this endures when congregations wither, faith fails, and to many prayer seems pointless?

I can’t make two plus two equal five, or bend the bullet from its target, or make your lottery numbers come up, or get the Kinks to reform.

But I can stand still and silent, at the edge of this world, and look to that far horizon and the breaking dawn, where all shall be well; and someone else may see a distant figure looking out to sea, stop for a second and wonder why.