Over and out

AFTER 290 miles of walking, 193 churches and 22 ruins visited, this is the last post… at least for now. I return to parochial ministry in North London tomorrow morning. Although the walking finished a few days ago, there has still been time for one weekend with my family in Norfolk.

On Friday evening we had dinner with James and Kate Thomson at their home in Holt. Few people can claim to have been as intimate with so many Church of England clergy as James; he was a consultant surgeon for St Luke’s Hospital for the Clergy for several decades, and served on its council. They are a formidable medical duo; Kate was a GP. In early retirement, James was Master of the Charterhouse in Clerkenwell, a community of pensioners housed in what was a Carthusian priory.

James and Kate lived in my current parish long before I was born, and James was a server there for nearly half a century. Several overlapping paths mean that we have come to know them well – very happily for us – despite the decades between our respective tenures in Winchmore Hill.

Although now in retirement proper, they do not let the grass grow under their feet. James serves at St Andrew’s, Holt, as well as becoming something of an expert in ecclesiastical stained glass. Now in his ninth decade, James was licensed as an Authorised Worship Assistant for Hindringham last year. Kate, in addition to a multitude of accomplishments, is the object of the worship of our four-year-old. For several hours on Friday evening, he was her shadow.

Saying Mass in the Shrine

YESTERDAY, the feast of St Peter and St Paul, was the fourteenth anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood. It’s always been essential for me to keep this anniversary at the altar, so we went to Walsingham, where I said a Mass in the Shrine church.

Walsingham has been an important place for me for as long as I can remember. When they replaced the Calvary in the shrine grounds a few years ago, the shrine carpenters crafted holding crosses from the old wood. My wife, Elise. bought one for me. I have had it on my person for every walk of this sabbatical. I wanted a part of Walsingham – a place where prayer has been answered and miracles wrought – literally to accompany me on all my mini-pilgrimages across the county.

Walsingham is England’s Nazareth, with the replica of the holy house of Mary, Joseph and Jesus at its heart. They make their home our home, which is particularly powerful for a family of three. Back in January 2020, we brought our five-week-old baby here to offer a Mass as a family in thanksgiving for his birth, feeling a bit like the Holy Family presenting Jesus in the temple. Little did we know then that the majority of Eucharists I would celebrate in ensuing year would be en famille at a makeshift altar in our Vicarage.

The statue of the Curé d’Ars in the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham

By providence, I was given the little chapel dedicated to one of my favourite saints, Jean Marie Vianney. The Curé d’Ars, as he is commonly known, is the patron saint of parochial clergy. ‘Priesthood,’ he wrote, ‘is the love of the heart of Jesus.’

By further providence, I arrived in the sacristy to find Bishop Robert Ladds preparing for his Chantry Mass. In his first stage of ‘retirement’ he was a colleague of mine in my title parish in Hendon, and laid hands at that ordination fourteen years ago. Now he and Roberta, of whom we are extremely fond, are in Walsingham, and Bishop Robert has responsibility for the Guild of All Souls chapel in the shrine grounds.  

One of the joys of officiating at a liturgy in Walsingham is that one rarely does so alone. Not only was Bishop Robert saying Mass next door, but there were several pilgrim groups doing the Stations of the Cross or visiting the Holy House. I was surprised to hear a male voice behind me respond with an ‘Amen’ at the end of my Eucharistic Prayer. When I turned round for the Peace a few moments later its owner had gone. Perhaps it was an angel.

I thanked God at that altar for all the mercies of the past fourteen years, and for the particular blessings of pilgrimage and family time over the last three months. I doubt very much that the Curé D’Ars ever took a sabbatical, but I hope his prayers will be efficacious as I return to parish ministry this week.

Providence tends to come in threes, and, as we left the shrine church, we stumbled upon a pilgrimage group from St Michael and All Angels, Brighton – my sponsoring parish – about to start their Stations of the Cross. Brighton is a transient place, and only two of their number were known to me, but one of them we had not seen since her husband – a devoted Walsingham pilgrim – died a couple of years ago. Sometimes a priest takes things to the altar; at other times they are already there.

Holy Communion at Thursford

I STARTED this Norfolk project on Sunday 14 April by celebrating Holy Communion at Tattersett. Today I ended it much as I had begun, this time at St Andrew, Thursford. St Andrew’s enjoys a bucolic setting at the end of a country lane, half a mile away from the noise and steam of the Thursford Collection.

The moated hall to the west end of the church was the home of the Chad family, who transformed this church in the 1860s. The family chapel, adjacent to the chancel, rises five foot above the rest of the church, like a royal box at the theatre. The family mausoleum is below. Thursford has an exceptional collection of Powell and Sons stained glass from this time. The Chads were pretty high church, and enjoyed having a saintly surname. I don’t think I’ve seen St Chad of Lichfield – to whom I have a particular affinity as an alumnus of his college in Durham – portrayed this far east.

There was also a lovely symmetry here. There are no Chads at Thursford now, but a branch of the family is still in Norfolk over at Tattersett. The eagle-eyed among you will recall that the long-serving churchwarden, who welcomed us so warmly eleven weeks ago, was Anthony Duckworth-Chad.

Until very recently, the east window of the Chad Chapel had ugly, frosted glass. Last year a new stained-glass window, portraying a ‘time capsule’ of scenes from Thursford village, was blessed by the Bishop of Lynn. It was designed and installed by Rose and Kieran Waits of Hindringham. Among the facets of village life represented is the Christmas Spectacular. Is this the only depiction of boa-feathered dancer in an English parish church?

The chancel, Thursford

THE word ‘Eucharist’ comes from the Greek verb meaning ‘to give thanks’. As my sabbatical drew to a close I came to the altar with a very thankful heart. At the risk of these last few paragraphs reading like the Acknowledgements page of a book, there are a few institutions and people I’d like to give thanks for in writing as well as prayer:

The good people of the parish of St Paul, Winchmore Hill, who have been so gracious about their vicar absenting himself for three months, and especially those who have stepped up since Easter Day to allow the parish to flourish. (I write this on the confident assumption that everything is flourishing. I will find out tomorrow!)

The Diocese of London, for granting me this period of study leave, and also Ecclesiastical Insurance’s Ministry Bursary Award Scheme and the Court of Sion College, which, together with the Diocese, have given financial support to this project.

Simon Knott and John Vigar, whose knowledge of Norfolk churches is surely unsurpassed and unsurpassable, and also the Revd Richard Woodham, for their guidance during my preparations.

The Bishop of Norwich and the Bishop of Lynn for their encouragement, and, with the clergy of the Walsingham and Burnham Deanery, for enabling me to have an altar during this time.

The people of Norfolk, for their welcome, friendliness and warmth, especially the seen and unseen army of clergy and lay people, paid and volunteer, who do such a magnificent job making these wonderful houses of prayer as accessible as possible.

And finally, and most importantly, my wife Elise and our four-year-old son, for their forbearance, patience and love.

Binham Priory

THIS blog has been written primarily for my own benefit, a sort of journal for my pilgrimage. But it has been lovely – and sometimes surprising – that people have been reading along. So, thank you too, dear readers, for your company. (If you’ve enjoyed this blog, then might I encourage you to make a donation either to the Diocese of Norwich, which supports ministry and ministry across Norfolk and Waveney, or to the Norfolk Churches Trust, which does such an amazing job supporting and conserving Norfolk’s churches.)

The last few months have been an utter joy. I have loved deepening my knowledge of Norfolk’s churches, landscape, wildlife and people, and allowing them to guide my prayers as well as my steps. My love affair with Norfolk predates this sabbatical, and it will doubtless continue. I will certainly add to this compendium from time to time, and there is a little piece about the spirituality of walking which needs to make its way from my head to the page. So be sure to subscribe below to get email notifications of posts.

The final hymn this morning was I heard the voice of Jesus say. I had, a little selfishly, chosen it as a fitting conclusion to a sabbatical. ‘I found in him a resting place, and he has made me glad.’ It meant that my final words of prayer in these weeks of walking were:

I looked to Jesus, and I found

In him my Star, my Sun;

And in that Light of life I’ll walk,

Till travelling days are done.

My final (for now) words of this blog will be to encourage you to find Jesus in the landscapes and churches of Norfolk. If you haven’t already, do go and visit as many Norfolk churches as you can. If you are able, I recommend doing so by foot. This is how these churches were designed to be approached. By travelling to a church by the slowest means possible, you receive the church differently, and you understand the natural and built environment which provides its context. You become more profoundly a pilgrim, and you interpret the church at a slower tempo. It is like tasting a wine, rather than simply drinking it.

No county in the country has as many medieval churches as Norfolk. They are a national treasure.  I pray that, as you make pilgrimage to these wonderful houses of prayer, built to the glory of God, they may raise your hearts heavenward as they have mine.