Norfolk Pilgrim

 I have not posted much of late. I have been struggling. Between completing the pioneering work on a possible Withburga Way between Holkham and Dereham in the summer of 2022 and today my health has gone downhill in alarming way. I'll never walk the route in a couple of days, nor yet in 3.  I'll never walk it.  The rapid onset Pulmonary Fibrosis has left me struggling for breath putting my boots on let alone walking.  Yesterday, I went to St. Benet's Abbey , ate my picnic lunch in the car park and set myself the challenge of walking from the car park to the Abbey ruins. It is 0.35 miles and uphill all the way from from the Gate House to the old rugged cross that marks the site of the high altar at the summit. The hill looked quite daunting -  "Who can ascend the hill of the Lord?" I sang under by breath. Stopping often to catch my breath, slowly one foot in front of the other, I got closer to the summit. There before the cross, wind in my hair, it felt as if the b

 Well! Here am I enabling Easter Sunday at a church where 40 years ago I was rector! Quietly preparing things in church on Saturday night, I had time to reflect on the passage of time. There are a handful of people from the old days, like me older but not necessarily wiser, still part of the church community.  Not all the gaps left by those who have died have been filled. Any replacements are new arrivals in the village.  It appears that none of the baptisms or confirmations in the last 40 years have resulted in new church members.  For me, getting excited in advance of today's service,  the most shocking deficit was the lack of Easter Flowers. From forty years ago there used to be great competition between flower arrangers; and I can still tell you which was Dolly Clarke's window and that Mrs Pettit decorated the font. This Easter Sunday there are silk flowers. That's all!

 Turning left off the Hautbois Road  A path leads past Golden Gates Pond.  Ahead, the tower of  Great Hautbois Church is a silhouette glimpsed through winter trees. Beneath the tower  - Snowdrops,  Candlemas Bells.  We've come to St. Mary's Church to ponder  the Feast of the Presentation.  Did Mary travel to Jerusalem's temple to offer her own her flesh and blood, her baby Jesus to  his Heavenly Father?  Or was it to bring God to his Temple? Whatever was going on she is at the heart of the mystery. Simeon had it right.  The boy child is the light that enlightens the Gentiles but the 2 turtle doves were just a down-payment. More would be given.   Candlemas - one last look back to Christmas before turning our faces towards Passiontide and Good Friday.  And a sword certainly pieced Mary's soul when she stood by the cross.  In real time, fast military jets manoeuvre overhead and a war torn world comes into sharp focus.   "Where is God!"  We cry!   On his cross! A