50ccPilgrim.uk

These are my great friends Neil and Lindsay; I hope they won't mind me posting this photo here. I've known them both for decades (Lindsay and I were students at Aberystwyth at the same time). And after Thirsk I had the chance to ride up to Darlington and the spend the night at their home.  Neil works with refugee services and Lindsay is an Anglican priest. By rights they should probably be serious and solemn people somberly working to alleviate distress and pastoral need in this troubled world or something. They're anything but. They really are the most mischievous, playful and good-humoured couple I know (who also happen to be working to alleviate distress and pastoral need in this troubled world). It was a delight to see them again, and to meet little Lilian (three days old!) along with quite a lot of the rest of their family. They're good people.  Oh, and Neil loved La Fenice and, I think, is now seriously contemplating buying himself a nice retro scooter...

Sometimes a church's open door just looks too good to resist. I rode through Thirsk, pretty but crowded, with the theme tune for the late 70s TV show All Creatures Great and Small running through my brain; James Herriot's real life veterinary practice was based here. And then I passed St Mary's and saw the open door, saw someone walking in, saw the big sign in the churchyard that said 'Welcome!' So I pulled over.  It's a lovely church, very open and light inside, and a couple of volunteers welcomed me as I came in. "You're fine to look around," one of them said, "but it might be a bit noisy because of the baby club." She gestured towards the front of the nave where a group of young mums were gathered around their prams. I sat in a back pew; I wasn't too bothered about nosing around, but just fancied a little time to pray. It was very noisy: mums chatting, toddlers zooming around and yelling, one very young newborn making h...

On the way to Ampleforth I passed through Byland, a tiny settlement with, as far as I could tell, a pub and a couple of farms. And some very impressive looking ruins. It all looked intriguing, so I made a mental note to circle back after the service in the monastery.  Well, what a revelation. Byland Abbey, a place I'd never heard of, turned out to be one of the biggest and most significant Cistercian abbeys in medieval England. At its heyday it was home to around 240 monks and lay brothers, and even though it's been a ruin since the Reformation, the remains are extensive and very evocative ... oh, and thanks to English Heritage, really well maintained and completely free to visit.  I did what I love to do around these shells of the medieval world: wandered around trying to enter into the life experience of those who'd been there at it's height. Thinking of the hardships, yes; the disease and discomforts, the cold and hunger, the troubles of incessant warfare...

This is the beautiful Ampleforth Abbey in Yorkshire, a contemporary Benedictine monastery which I realised was only a few miles from where I slept last night. That made for an easy first decision about which direction to head.  I arrived in time for the 9am Mass, sung in plainchant and we were encouraged  to join in, no matter how falteringly. Participation, not performance, was the order of the day. I stayed in the silence for some time at the end, just praying the Jesus Prayer and enjoying God's presence. And afterwards the tea room had just opened so I treated myself to a cuppa, which I've just finished. The sun is shining. What a great start to the day. ///folds.chuckling.hairspray

Towards the end of the day yesterday I was on low battery. On my phone, yes, but also in body and soul. I hadn't had much opportunity to sleep during the day, and although York Minster had been magnificent, York traffic was more ... well, trying.  I decided to head for a proper, paid campsite which came up on Google, only to find on arrival that it was a caravan site for members of a caravanning club. I rode away, discouraged and tired, down a random country road, now having no real plan. Then I remembered similar times from the last pilgrimage, and I remembered praying for help and finding just what I needed. "Do not be anxious about anything," Paul wrote to his friends in Philippi, "but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God." My friend Brian had preached about that in Billesdon Baptist church the day before I left for Assisi, and I'd carried those words around Europe with me.  Long story sho...

It's possible, of course, to get from Leicestershire to York very easily. Jump in the car, head east along the A47 towards Peterborough, and hit the A1(M) north. From my house it's about two and a half hours. So why has it taken me two days?  Because of the road in the photo, and dozens of others like it. I'm travelling slowly, never over 30mph. I'm wandering and meandering. I'm stopping all the time, to poke around and explore, to rest, to sleep (got to keep a handle on my sleep disorder, you see), and to pray. Most of the roads I'm travelling are as empty as the one in the photo. It's easy, when the journey is so quiet and slow, to journey well, to reflect and pray, to arrive at the end of the day as the right person , regardless of whether or not you end up in the right place.  I think that matters.  Robert Frost, in his famous poem , wrote about taking the road 'less travelled by' and said that this made 'all the difference'. ...

These gorgeous fellas were in the wonderful stonemason's yard at the east end of York Minster; everyone has gone home by the time I arrived, but during the day you can watch the work taking place. It's a fantastic idea. There's a fence around the yard, and at one point there's a large stone lions head pressed up against an open piece of fencing - when you peer into his gaping mouth you find a mobile phone set up to take contactless donations to the cathedrals artistic endeavours. Brilliant!  After some slightly stressful struggles to find parking (York is very busy!) I managed to get to Evensong at the cathedral. What a joy. The visiting choir (from St Peter's Church in Streatham, not a place I know) was utterly superb and produced some of the clearest, most well-paced and beautiful psalm singing I've ever heard on a cathedral. The whole service, which was packed out, was a joy.  It took me a long time to appreciate cathedral worship. It's very n...

I spent a delightful hour in Epworth Old Rectory today being shown around by the lovely Judith, one of the volunteers. For those who don't know, this is where John and Charles Wesley grew up, so it's kind of a Methodist shrine; people come from all over the world to visit and soak up the atmosphere.  John seemed to have a fascination with chairs. The one in the photo was specially designed to be used either for sitting or as an impromptu pulpit. "He took it with him everywhere he travelled," Judith told me. Another, originally his mother's, was a robust wooden armchair that could convert into a desk. "He insisted on taking it with him everywhere he went," Judith said, which made me ask how he could possibly get around on horseback with all this heavy furniture. "Ah, well he usually had something of an entourage," she explained. Pickford's van, more like.  The real revelation of the tour, though, was Susannah Wesley, John's m...

I was back at Lincoln Cathedral this morning for the 8.30am eucharist: just five of us, including the priest and verger. Really, the priest could have been a bit more friendly - no welcome, no page numbers, no guidance about whether we should sit or stand or come up for communion. But the verger made up for it afterwards by being very chatty and pleasant. If you're ever in Lincoln Cathedral, go in the Morning Chapel, look in the front left corner, and marvel at the huge, ornately gilded doors to what was probably once an aumbry. What would you imagine is inside now? I can tell you, because the verger showed me: hard hats, flower arranging supplies and old kneelers. It's the fanciest looking store cupboard in the world. And then I had a few minutes to look around and admire the place again before moving on. This soaring structure built hundreds of years ago, by hand, workers hanging off ropes or scrambling over wooden scaffolding, without any of our modern tools or k...

The view out of my front door this morning. I know wild camping isn't for everyone. I couldn't stand camping before this summer, but needed to bite the bullet to keep costs down on my Assisi trip, and was surprised to fall in love with it over the weeks of travel. And when you wake up to this ... I prayed, read, listen to the radio for a bit on my phone ( Unbelievable Truths with David Mitchell on Radio 4, if anyone's wondering). It was an idyllic start to the day. ///advice.riding.poetic

I'm catching up on posts from yesterday at the moment; once I started crossing the wide open spaces of Lincolnshire my mobile signal got very patchy.  I ended the day at Lincoln Cathedral with Evening Prayer - there weren't many of us there and it was a simple, said service in the St Hugh's Shrine at the east end. Most of the clergy community and regulars are on holiday. So it made for a quiet and intimate service which reminded me of our Chapel services at Launde.  Popped into Tesco afterwards for fuel (£6.30 to refill, after travelling around 120 miles - mopeds are very economical!) and to pick up some fruit for dinner. Then found a lovely quiet spot in some woods just outside Lincoln and set up camp.  All in all, very relaxing ... a mood expressed perfectly by the incongruous but wonderful deckchairs laid out for visitors in the cathedral cloisters ... ///basin.soon.gains

St Mary's, Bottesford, is very much a church of 'the quick and the dead'. The dead have dramatically overrun the chancel. Various local nobility (mostly Earls of Rutland and their families) have cluttered the front of the church so thoroughly with their huge stone monuments that it's no longer possible to see the altar from the main body of the church. The tombs are amazing (lots of skulls, dogs, eagles and more among the dozens of praying figures) and ridiculously badly located. The church, quite sensibly, has sorted the problem by building a wooden dais in front of the whole monumental shambles and putting in another altar that can actually be used.  Alongside the dead, the 'quick' (i.e. the living). I know this church, so I know how rich and joyous a life of prayer is lived here all through the week. But even if I'd been a total stranger it would have been obvious. The open door, the many inviting places to pray, the books and leaflets, the cl...

Stopped in the village of Scalford, largely because the church was right by the road and obviously open. I love that kind of invitation.  I want to say, right off the bat, that I went in to pray - and I did pray, and the church was quite beautiful, so that was great. I didn't go in to play , but that ended up happening too. Going into the church I was put into a playful mood at the door. 'Welcome to St Egelwin's' said the sign: not a saint I'm familiar with and, honestly, the name I'd expect a five year old to give a saint if we were making up a silly story. On the other side of the door, a scary notice informing everyone that the Bishop of Leicester is planning to group churches in the area: 'He calls it a MINSTER COMMUNITY, we call it a MONSTER COMMUNITY'. Which, I assume, is also the name of the monastery where the wild things are.  So when I found the workings of an old clock mounted on a frame in the chancel, without any explanation or,...

La Fenice is loaded up and ready to go, and we've hit the road again. And travelled about a hundred yards. And stopped for a break.  I started my other pilgrimage with Morning Prayer at my village church, St Thomas Becket in Tugby, and it seemed like the right way to start this one too. While I was praying one of the churchwardens, Philip, popped in. "I saw La Fenice outside so I thought I'd come and wish you well." A little act of gracious kindness at the very outset of the journey. Yes, this was the right place to begin.  ///adventure.spotted.coil

I'd intended to post this a few days back, but I fell ill with a deadly pestilence from which I barely recovered ... well, a terrifying bad dose of dreaded man-flu ... oh, ok, a mild cold. But it did make me feel poorly and in need of Lemsip, so I'm rating it at least a 5 for severity.  The plan for phase 2 of my summer pilgrimage(s) is: St Andrew's in Scotland, via as many English and Scottish places of beautiful prayer as I can find. Or, as my friend Brain Boley*, pastor of Billesdon Baptist, put it: another church crawl. It may sound a bit less ambitious than Assisi and back, and it is. I only have four weeks of sabbatical left so I have to cut the cloth to fit. That said, Britain is so gloriously tall and thin, the journey will actually be almost as long as the outward leg to Assisi was - so it's my chance to cover the distance of the homeward leg but on very different terrain.  And St Andrew's has three great things going for it: (1) it was one of t...