…seeing nothing
A few years ago, on holiday in the far North of the Cotentin Peninsula in France, the rain was hammering down and it was definitely not a day for exploring on foot. Instead, we visited Port Racine, France’s smallest harbor. After that we drove on up the coast to a headland which promised views far out to sea. Instead, the low cloud meant that we could not even see the edge of the cliff, and dared not step out of the car in case we stepped into the void. Out there was a world of beauty and possibility…but we could not see it.
Tomorrow I approach a bit of an edge myself. I shall preach my last two sermons in this church for the next three months. Out there is a sabbatical for which I have waited and prayed for a long time. Some of it is planned, some of the original plans have been abandoned, and much of it is unclear, a bit like the view from the cliff. The two books below reflect something of a theme for me:
In his book, Robert MacFarlane examines some of the oldest paths in this country, and how they reflect the spirituality, heritage and memory of those who have walked them. Walking an old path is an act of continuity with both pas and future: stepping where others have trod and thereby preserving that path for those who will do it in ages to come. Koyama, in a book I have yet to read, talks about the pace of the disciple’s walk:
God walks ‘slowly’ because he is of love. If he is not love he would have gone much faster. Love has its speed. It is an inner speed. It is a spiritual speed. It is a different kind of speed from the technological speed to which we are accustomed. It is ‘slow’ yet it is lord over all other speeds since it is the speed of love. It goes on in the depth of our life, whether we notice or not, whether we are currently hit by a storm or not, at three miles an hour. It is the speed we walk, and therefore it is the speed the love of God walks.
The view is unclear, but the onward path beckons. Care to walk with me?
