A book I know reasonably well, and enjoy, is "Three Men in a Boat" by Jerome K. Jerome. A whimsical account of a boat trip along the Thames, I was thinking of it (and in particular the classic section where Harris describes getting lost in the Maze) when I was close to Hampton Court a couple of weeks ago. It came to mind again on Friday and Saturday, when I visited Epworth. In particular, the section which talks of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, and how wherever people at the time seemed to go (Windsor, Hever Castle, St. Albans...) they would bump into them "just happening" to be going the same way. But why did this come to mind in Epworth?
John Wesley famously covered a lot of ground, and one sometimes gets the impression that other travelers of the time would have been hard pressed to avoid him! Back in 2022, I was contacted by someone from North Yorks Moors National Park about a stone in Kildale, bearing the inscription that says John Wesley had preached there in 1772 - could I add anything to that? While it may say something that this was a momentous enough occasion in some people's lives that they erected the stone to mark it, it doesn't even get a line in Wesley's Journal - it will have been just one of the stopping-points on his journey from Stokesley to Whitby, and given the tens of thousands of times he preached, if every one was commemorated in this way you'd think parts of the country would still be paved with them.
Epworth though is where John and Charles started their journey, and on Saturday, together with half a dozen others, I would be walking in his footsteps.
Samuel Wesley's Grave
Arriving after attending the Supers Conference in Oxford, on Friday Evening I took a turn around some of the sites: St. Andrew's Church; in its Burial Ground, the tomb of their Father, Samuel, the Rector of Epworth, from which John preached when he returned and found himself barred from the Pulpit; a stone near the main street, which looks like it should have a statue on it, but in fact just has a plaque saying that Wesley preached from it many times.
Along the road, an actual statue of Wesley. Just opposite, the wall that marks the garden of what is now a museum: Epworth Old Rectory, John and Charles' childhood home.
Epworth Old Rectory
The story is of course a famous one now. In 1709, when John was just 6, there was a fire at the Rectory - possibly deliberate, as Samuel (and indeed the Church of England as a whole) were far from popular with the locals. All the family were thought to have got out, when John appeared at an upper window, trapped by the flames; the watching crowd rallied, and with one man standing on the shoulders of others, John was pulled to safety from the window shortly before the blazing roof fell in. "A Brand plucked from the Burning", quoting Zechariah 3:2, was how he would later describe this. Samuel rebuilt in brick and stone on the same site; the family remained there until his death, and it is this building that we now see as the Old Rectory.
As I returned to the Red Lion, my accommodation for the evening, I was amused to see a plaque next to it - "John Wesley slept here many times on his visits to Epworth in his later life" - I may not quite have been sleeping in the same bed, but apparently I was at least under the same roof! It is simply impossible to be anywhere in Epworth and not feel like John Wesley has been there first! This, it seems, is Epworth: it remains proud of those famous sons and daughters, not just the Wesleys, but I'm told Ian Botham and Lesley Garrett too!
Journeying from Epworth to Haxey
This was something I was told as part of Saturday's Pilgrimage Walk, organised by a group called Journeying. They offer a programme of guided walking holidays, mostly with a Celtic Christianity influence, and, as I had found by chance, some Day Walks (free to join!) which included Epworth. One of the Walk Leaders is local to Epworth, and as we visited some of the places I had gone to the previous night, that meant that we learnt a lot more of the background. I hadn't realised for example that one of the causes of the Church of England's unpopularity in the area when Samuel arrived was that within living memory of that time, it had been the Isle of Axholme - a tract of higher ground surrounded by rivers and marshes; the locals had a very good arrangement from the Earl of Mowbray, but then in the 1620s King Charles I had persuaded him to allow a Dutch engineer to drain the land; they lost two thirds of the land that they'd had, and the fishing and catching wildfowl that had been their way of life was abruptly ended. As supporters of the King, the Church of England didn't escape their ire, and Samuel's attitude towards them in the early days didn't help!
The Fool of the Haxey Hood
Much of my walking and visiting so far has been fairly solitary, and so it was refreshing to be joining with a group of like-minded pilgrims as we walked from Epworth, past the site of a Holy Well claimed by some to be where King (later Saint) Oswald of Northumbria was killed in Battle - although most historians disagree - to our Lunch Stop at the King's Arms in Haxey. Then it was back to Epworth, passing a carving of "The Fool", part of the tradition of something called the Haxey Hood, which takes place on the 6th January each year, and seems to have some similarities to the Shrove Tuesday "Football" matches that take place in some parts of the country, as the ceremonial hood has to be moved in a scrum of bodies to one of the local pubs!
We returned to Epworth, and some of us had a brief look around the Old Rectory itself - brief, as there was a coach party that was visiting at the same time! People come from all over the world to visit the Old Rectory, and to walk around Epworth; it's a real site of Pilgrimage now for the People called Methodists. As we gradually dispersed, I was thankful for those that I had walked with; thankful for the points of prayer and reflection that had been part of it; thankful for the work of Journeying, and in particular to Jane and Jo who led us through the day.
Having also now finished Jack Hitt's "Off the Road" about his journey to Santiago de Compostela, one of the things that struck me was how important those who shared his journey had become to him; there's a feeling of loss as they disperse at the end of the pilgrimage. Those we share the journey with matter.
Even though I hadn't met any of those I shared this particular (and much shorter!) journey with before, we had quickly developed into a sort of little community as we walked, talked, prayed, and reflected together on the way. We had gathered with a shared purpose, and that I think made a real difference. You can argue that all sorts of groups have a shared purpose, shared values, whether those groups are religious or secular in nature; for me, in church, it's a reminder that whatever our differences, we share something at our core that helps bind us together - our shared belief in God the Creator, Jesus Christ the Saviour, and the Holy Spirit our constant companion and guide. I had certainly felt the Spirit as I shared in walking in and around Epworth.
Having been away for almost a full week (the Midlands, the Supers Conference in Oxford, and then Epworth), I'm having a couple of quieter days at the moment before hitting the road again - first of all to Birmingham for a day related to the Deacon that's joining the Circuit, before joining a Retreat at Wydale Hall near Pickering until Friday. Watch this space....
More than 40 years ago, this was my world. More than 40 years later, I have walked those streets again. Seen the places where I went to Nursery, and then to School; passed by where I went to Church, and Boy's Brigade - though now there is nothing there to show, as Lane Head Methodist Church closed some years ago and is now gone. But the memories remain.
The house where my Best Friend, Elliott, used to live. We moved when I was 10, and we never saw each other again; although it turned out we were both at University at the same time, the 9 year gap was too much to bridge.
What was Don's the Newsagents
The other friends and acquaintances: Bryn, who, precociously for 1982, picked "Bedser" for the name of his Cricket Team.
Suzanne, who once joined with me at a Birthday Party in a sort of crazy attempt at Ballroom Dancing as we galloped through the crowd, making them part for us as we charged with hands linked and arms out like a wedge.
Dean, whose birthday was just two days before my own, and at least once I recall a joint party.
Jonathan, who moved into the area and then also joined the BB.
Marie, who often seemed to end up as my partner when we did Scottish Country Dancing at School.
Philip, who moved up to the Midlands and had a London accent - which once, in Infants, meant that playing "I Spy" saw him choose "A" for "'Andle".
The Twins who lived just round the corner, who were part of the Short Heath Juniors football team - at one point claimed to be the worst in the country, and on TV as a result.
The house up the road where the footballer Kevin Summerfield lived for a spell after he signed for Walsall.
Martin, who lived across the road, who once told my Dad he could do magic - my Dad asked him if he could make himself disappear, and he ran back to his own house.
The Summer Day when they resurfaced all the roads by putting a layer of tar, followed by rough gravel, with what seemed like every kid in the neighbourhood following them; how it made coming off your bike a dangerous and painful experience from then on.
Don's, the Newsagents where we'd buy penny sweets and Football Stickers while my Mum settled up the Newspaper Bill as Don looked it all up in a huge ledger. Now, it's a Vape Shop - though the Chippy is still a Chippy.
Then up along the road itself, to where "our house" stood and still does. It's been smartened up; the Porch has been replaced. I doubt anyone lives on that road now that remembers us; if they do, they'd probably be thinking of how my Dad at one point had three VW Beetles - his own, on the driveway; one with a seized engine in the garage; one on the front garden, with rusting bodywork but mechanically fine that was gradually donating its parts to the one in the garage before eventual scrapping. The day after, I went to Willenhall Town Centre. My hopes of recognising much of it were low - like all places with shops, the pattern has changed. I thought I would at least find the Clock, probably the most memorable (and certainly scenic) bit of it. But then, as a I walked up, the memories began to flow again. The shape was familiar if nothing else; wasn't that where there was a Hintons (later Presto) Supermarket? Along the road - that was where we used to get off the 341 Bus. The other side - that was Sneyd's, a sort of cross between Woolworths and WH Smiths where I grew my Stamp Collection by buying packs from Stanley Gibbons - I still have the Album, though I stopped buying stamps 40 years ago. Much else has changed of course - no sign of any of the branches of Green's, the small sweet shops where it was such a treat to go and buy a quarter of Bonbons from a jar. Going into Suggitts in Great Ayton brings back the feeling, sometimes, even now.
It all seems, well, smaller. It used to feel a long way to the shops; in reality, less than five minutes walk. Going into town with my Mum on the Bus felt like an adventure; now, the main attraction is probably the large supermarket that's been built there, probably selling more lines than the rest of the shops put together.
We moved when I was 10, and it was such a wrench. I didn't want to go, cried for hours when I was told. My Dad's job was moving, so we had to move too. Seeing family became a couple of times a year thing, when it used to be pretty much weekly; no-one else spoke like me, and so my accent became, in the way of kids, that point of difference to make fun of rather than just how everyone talked. I'm naturally an introvert anyway, but I do think that helped heighten it; I never really went out much after we moved, happier to stay in with a book than knock around with friends outside. Maybe the age it happened was part of it - a year after we moved, I was starting at a Secondary School which had about 270 in my year alone. I don't think I'm in contact with anyone I went to school with, and while that's in large part down to me and my choices, I do wonder if it would have been different had we not moved when we did. But that's the way of things: this was the early 1980s, Norman Tebbit telling people to "get on their bike" to find jobs - it's just ironic that rather than moving from the North to the South, as so many did, we ended up going in the opposite direction!
Being down here for a Funeral as well maybe also affects my mood - even though it was led so well by Dee, one of the people I trained with at Luther King House more than 15 years ago.
It was my cousin's husband's funeral; I can remember, at the age of about 5, being at their wedding. This cousin taught me to tie my shoelaces! They lived round the corner from her Mum and Dad, my Dad's Brother; I can't tell you how many times I'd been at my Uncle and Aunt's house, playing in their extensive back garden; the piece of wood labelled "The Sweet", as my other cousin had been into Glam Rock and had held a party at some point. My last three trips down here have involved going to first my Uncle and then Aunt's Funeral, and now this latest one; a family meetup that's involved Bushbury Crem, and the Spread Eagle for the wake.
This isn't me going "woe is me", either. I have so much to be thankful for: my family life has been a model of stability for the most part; while we've never been rich, we've never been particularly poor either; so many, including people I know, have had much worse times of it. But maybe it helps to remember that life isn't all sunshine and roses; that the carefully curated lives that others sometimes share are not the whole of their existence. There is always light and shade; sunshine and showers.
I'm about three quarters of the way through Jack Hitt's book "Off the Road", about his secular following of a religious pilgrimage trail to Santiago de Compostela, and some of those same themes emerge. Yes, sometimes it's a scenic walk, with fellow pilgrims gathering to share a meal and that sense of togetherness and shared experience; but there are so many reminders that everyone is making this journey for their own motives, not always pure; that there are those too who will seek to gatekeep, and say what is and isn't acceptable - such as when the author, one night, stays in a Parador (a luxury hotel) rather than a Pilgrim Shelter, and discovers that for some, that means he is no longer truly a pilgrim.
Which in some ways takes me back to a place I visited on Sunday - my first Primary School. There's a bit of a vogue for "School Assembly Hymns" these days, and one of the ones I remember singing there is by Valerie Collison. Her best known song is probably "Come and join the Celebration" - but this one, maybe lesser known, goes: "The journey of life may be easy, may be hard; there'll be dangers on the way; With Christ at my side I'll do battle as I ride, 'Gainst the foe that would lead me astray."
While the imagery might be more martial than is currently in vogue, if nothing else it reminds me that through the light and shade, I do not travel alone.
As I write, I'm also packing - because the coming week will see me away until the weekend. I'm going to the West Midlands (where I will, as well as attending a family funeral, go and visit the place I first lived), then to Oxford for the Superintendent's Conference, and then to Epworth for a guided walk in the place that the Wesleys were born and raised.
Last weekend, as well as attending Bushy Parkrun, I was attending a concert at the Blackheath Halls. Not really knowing London, other than being South of the Thames, I needed to look at the map to work out where I would be, and what else might be around there. And I discovered that I would actually be within walking distance of somewhere that pretty much every Methodist Minister knows about: the Greenwich Foot Tunnel.
So, off I went, across Blackheath itself, through Greenwich Park, down to the Cutty Sark and just beyond.
As I walked, I realised how many people there were around me. Now, yes, it was a nice sunny day on a Bank Holiday Weekend, but having not lived in a City for more than a dozen years, it was a little bit of a culture shock. It did make me wonder if that's one of the reasons Londoners don't greet each other as they pass - there's so many of them, that if you stopped to nod or smile at everyone that passed, you'd never get anywhere or do anything!
I walked on, past people in their dozens, maybe hundreds, and as I got down towards the Cutty Sark maybe more than that. People whizzed past on the ubiquitous Lime Bikes. In all likelihood I had never seen any of them before, and may never see any of them again. Cities can be lonely places; had I walked the same distance around Great Ayton, or Whitchurch where I served before, I would have undoubtedly seen people I knew, who would quite possibly have stopped for a chat. How do you build community in a place as big as a city?
Eventually I reached my destination. When I say it's somewhere every Methodist Minister knows, I mean that it's a Metaphor that we're all familiar with. A few years ago now, the decision was made that all Ministers in the Active Work should have Supervision: not someone looking over your shoulder, but regular meetings with a trained Supervisor (these days usually a colleague in another Circuit), to talk through issues and move forward. It's a bit like how all Therapists are supposed to also visit a Therapist themselves.
When this was coming in, all those receiving Supervision attended training so that we'd know what to expect. And one of the things was that the "Greenwich Foot Tunnel" model was explained to us. The idea is that you start at the top; then, you start to talk about the issue you've bought to Supervision, spiralling down the staircase until you reach the tunnel itself. The tunnel slopes down gradually until the centre point - the very heart of your issue - before gradually rising to the shaft at the far end, where, hopefully with a path forward, you spiral back up to the surface and go on your way.
As a result of this training, if you say "Greenwich Foot Tunnel" to any Methodist Minister, the chances are they are not thinking of a way under the Thames, but of Supervision! I don't think it's the rule that you have to physically visit it if you're close by, but I'm far from the first to have pictures like the above on my Camera Reel... And, while there was maybe a little scepticism at first, I've found Supervision to be a valuable and helpful part of my Ministry. Sadly, my current Supervisor is about to change appointments; but Vincent asking me, during Supervision, "And what is God saying to you now" will stay with me, and be a part of my own reflective practice whoever I end up with next.
During this week, one of the things I've been doing has been listening to an Audiobook called "Off the Road" by Jack Hitt. I talked about this book a little bit some time ago - it's an account by a decidedly non-Religious American of his experiences following the traditional Pilgrimage Route to Santiago de Compostela. I'm not that far into it, but one thing that is already coming up is the physical demands of the route - he's found himself, hungry and cold, in a tent in the Pyrenees, and taking part in a discussion about blisters with some other pilgrims he's met on the way. He's mused about how the experience of walking the road is very different from those that follow it using motorised transport - which is what our world, these days, seems very much set up to prefer.
Is the physical effort and discomfort an essential part of the experience? Maybe. When you think of some of the moments that are often considered great moments in sport for example, some of the most moving ones are those where you know the person concerned has battled adversity to get where they are. It's the come from behind victory, the training that's gone in over years that's finally paying off, the sight of someone making that last effort with the final part of their endurance. Maybe that means that those who make something hard look easy don't always get the credit!
I think of Jasmine Paris, with just seconds left, completing the Barkley Marathons, collapsing with exhaustion straight after touching the yellow gate; of Derek Redmond being helped round the track by his Father after being injured at the Barcelona Olympics, but refusing to give up. I think of Sebastian Sawe, at last weekend's London Marathon, becoming the first to run under two hours in a recognised Marathon. Somehow, saying "I drove the Camino" doesn't have the same cachet as "I walked the Camino".
I drove to the outskirts of London yesterday, on my way to a hotel in Teddington. But this morning, the physical took over. I walked, about a mile and a half, into Bushy Park, where I, together with more than 1700 others, then did a 5K circuit of the park - most of them a lot faster than me! And then, I walked the mile and a half back to the hotel. I do have a blister (not a big one), and I also have completed what in some circles is called the "Bushy Pilgrimage" - I have run at the original site of Parkrun.
Bushy Parkrun started out as a Time Trial for a guy called Paul Sinton-Hewitt and some of his friends - but something about it gathered more and more attention, until now - more than 15 years later - there are events by the hundred in the UK, and others all over the world. Along the way it has developed an ethos that says "All are welcome" - you don't need to be part of a club, you don't need to be fast, you don't even need to be able to run any of it. You just need to be able to get round 5K. You pay nothing to join; your only reward is a sense of achievement, and the ability to buy a Milestone Shirt when you've completed the appropriate number - this was number 99 for me, so the 100 Shirt is within reach. Offering to help occasionally is encouraged and welcomed - the shirt in the picture is my 25 Volunteers shirt, and I'm now up to 39 - but it isn't required.
My fastest ever time, some years ago now, came at Shrewsbury and was a bit over 32 minutes; had I managed that today, there would have been about 1100 runners ahead of me. Instead, it took me about 52 minutes, a mixture of walking and jogging, and I finished in the late 1600s out of a field of about 1750. Nevertheless, no-one criticised me, no-one told me I needed to go faster; I got cheered on by the Marshalls regardless. I heard voices and accents from different places - including people from Australia and New Zealand. There was a convivial atmosphere - people offering to take photos for someone they'd never met and would probably never meet again, and that offer being gladly accepted. For some, this is their regular Parkrun; but there was no hostility towards the probably couple of hundred (or more!) of us joining them for the morning. We were travellers, joining them on this Saturday Morning pilgrimage in West London.
It's not unheard of people to say "Parkrun is my Church" - and at it's best, I can see similarities. A supportive environment, with no-one told they aren't good enough; people helping out not out of a sense of duty, but because they want it to succeed and grow; a sense of unity and purpose. And now, it's attracting Pilgrims from across the world. Where, I wonder, are the other - often secular - places of pilgrimage in our world today? And how do we, as Christians, engage with them?
It's been a relatively quiet week in some ways, and possibly has needed to be. Part of Sabbatical is supposed to be about rest and recuperation, and too packed a programme is likely to cause the odd raised eyebrow!
One of the strange things though is that stepping back from a role like mine isn't easy. I think for me that's one of the differences between a job, and a vocation - being a Minister is not my job, it's who I am, and trying to just stop doing some of those things isn't easy! It's even harder when your work space is in your home, and the place you live is also the area you Minister to - if I go out to walk the dog, you can guarantee I'll bump into people I know. Having been in Great Ayton for five years, I'm known in the community as well as in the churches.
That can make the choice of which church to attend a slightly difficult one as well. If I attend any of "my" churches, I'm to an extent on duty - it's impossible not to hear things, or be told things, about what's going on. If I choose to go to one of the other denominations - well, through involvement in Churches Together, I'm known to some extent there as well. So last Sunday I went to Nunthorpe Methodist. It's impossible to be incognito anywhere in the District to some degree - I was very soon recognised by one or two people that either have links with Ayton as well, or have seen me at events in the District. My colleague Charity was preaching, and as the Super of that Circuit also called in on his way back from another service she might have felt that she was being checked up on! It was themed around the Walk to Emmaus - the passage, set on the evening of the first Easter Day, where two followers of Jesus unknowingly walk with him as their companion as he explains to them the meaning behind all that has happened. Charity talked about journeys - the people we travel with, that Jesus is always on that journey with us, remaining with us - and that spoke into my situation. When I talk of Pilgrimage, in many ways it's really about noticing the journey, noticing the companions on the way, trying to work out what God is saying to me along the road.
Which in a way brings me to Friday, and a journey I made with some new companions. I'd noticed on one of the local Facebook Groups that someone had set up a specific Mens Walking Group - part of an organisation called Men Walking and Talking - a few weeks ago, and with it being a nice evening - and me needing the exercise - I went along. There turned out to be about ten of us, and we walked for just under an hour and a half, including up to the Bluebell Field below Roseberry Topping. The aim of the group seems to be similar in some ways to the Mens' Sheds that have sprung up in some areas - just an opportunity for men to get together around a shared activity and to promote some friendship and conversation. It can become a vexed question as to whether men-only spaces are a good thing - but this is trying to address what actually I think can be a problem, which is that us blokes aren't always good at getting together unless it's around something to do, and that can lead to some men feeling rather isolated. Women are often far more comfortable meeting up for a coffee and a chat - it's far less common amongst men, and so having something to do is the excuse to get together. I can't say that I had any deep and meaningful conversations specifically - I was too busy catching my breath after the climb up the hill - but I do think I'll be back alongside those particular companions in future weeks. Just not this one though; next Friday will see me travelling ready to take on Bushy Parkrun - completing, as the Running Challenges site puts it, the Bushy Pilgrimage. It won't be fast, and I won't look pretty - I'll probably be walking most of it and it will take close to an hour - but I'll have done it!
It's been an odd sort of week in a way, as some plans have come together but not necessarily how I expected. In particular, I now know when I will be visiting the place I first lived - the second week of May - but the thing that has meant this is that I will be travelling there for a Family Funeral. Sadly, I'm now at that point where it seems the thing that brings people together sometimes is a funeral; this particular side of my family have had quite a hard time of it over the last few years, and this is will be the third time in the last five years that I've travelled down there for this reason. I'm going to make a couple of days of it, before then moving on to the Supers Conference in Oxford.
I'm not going to do a day by day report on the week, but there are a couple of highlights. One was on Sunday, where I had offered to help out with the local Junior Parkrun at Hemlington Lake. I've done and volunteered at Parkrun quite a bit (97 runs and 37 volunteers), but this was my first experience of Juniors; this is partly because it's always on a Sunday, and for some reason I'm usually busy! Technically, I could have been helping out there before then going on to lead a service - as it's usually done and dusted well before 9:30 - but anyone who has seen me dashing in with about 10 minutes to go will know that being ready enough early enough to help is not me! Juniors was a wonderful experience though; Parkrun is about including and encouraging, and that goes double for Juniors! I enjoyed cheering on the about 20 youngsters as they came past my marshalling point, a couple of the younger ones even wanted a high five from me, and it felt well worthwhile. I'm already down to help out again, and I think I'll probably be doing a few more over the next three months.
Tuesday saw me spending most of the day sitting in front of the Computer, as there was a day of training as part of the New Supers Course; but possibly the highlight of the week was myself and Fiona going away for the night in Helmsley. With the "Children" now both officially adults (21 and 18!) we went and stayed, had a meal, and wandered around the town before returning home to the delight of the dog.
In some ways it was also an opportunity to do a little reconnaisance; starting and ending in Helmsley is the St Aelred's Pilgrim Trail, set up by the local churches. I was already aware of the trail, and someone had picked up and given me the Guidebook for Walkers and Pilgrim Passport. I now know where to find the stamp for the Passport in All Saints Helmsley, though I did resist the temptation to mark it off!
There were quite a few resources about Pilgrimage around All Saints, and the card in the picture was one that particularly spoke to me as I explore: "Finding Where We Belong". In some ways, I belong nowhere: I've lived in so many different places that I'm not sure how to answer the question "Where are you from", because in many ways it depends on what you mean! For the last five and next five years, that's the Stokesley Circuit, but it's been many other places over the years as well. I've always tried in Ministry to try and enjoy being in the place where I am; maybe that means that rather than belonging nowhere, the answer to "Where I Belong" is "Wherever I am" - or, "Wherever God places me."
Well, it's been a long time coming (seven years in fact), but the time for my Sabbatical has arrived. Officially as of Monday 13th April 2026, I will be released from my regular Ministerial Duties for three months to do... what exactly?
There are more ways of having a Sabbatical than there are people taking them, but in the Methodist Church the idea is that once every seven years you're given the opportunity to spend that time doing something different - ideally, something that will refresh you spiritually, giving you a break but also hopefully an oppourtinity to explore something different that will enrich both yourself and the churches that you will be returning to. You're not supposed to treat it as a three month holiday - although rest and recuperation is part of what it's there for.
My first Sabbatical, back in 2019, saw me looking at Cinema and Theology. So yes, in a way it was an opportunity to go to the pictures - but I did some academic reading as well, and reflected briefly on what I as a Christian Minister noticed in the films I watched. It was interesting to watch for example the Elton John film Rocket Man; he literally starts the movie checking into Rehab dressed in a Devil Costume, and ends it dressed in pure white singing "I'm Still Standing!" Or there was the Rob Brydon film "Swimming with Men" - not much remembered, hardly a classic, but enjoyable enough and with that arc of redemption in it that always takes me back to the story of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15.
So what am I doing this time?
Well, some things are still happening and need me, regardless of Sabbatical. I'm continuing with the New Superintendent's Course for example, and will be attending one of the Super's Conferences that the Methodist Church runs every year; I'll also be travelling to Queens in Birmingham to meet with them ahead of our Probationer Deacon arriving in the Circuit from September.
My main focus though is going to be about Pilgrimage. I want to engage with it, go on some Pilgrimage Trails, but also think about my own personal journey. I intend to go to places where I have lived and worked, and reflect on the places and people that have shaped me. I intend to do some reading and listening around the subject - one of the books being the one there's a picture of here, "The way under our feet" by Graham B. Usher. I also want to explore other kinds of Pilgrimage - one of them being to go to Bushy Park, the site of the original Parkrun, and take part in it - something that's described by some as doing the Bushy Pilgimage!
And there will be other things too along the way. I'm going on a Retreat at Wydale Hall. I'm intending to visit Epworth for a Guided Walk described as "The Wesley Way". And there are some other, more personal things that I'm planning to do - such as booking a day's tuition in Woodturning.
I'm intending to update this Blog once or twice a week, so if you want to keep up to date - just keep an eye on https://tellingchurchstory.blogspot.com/ and you can see how I'm getting on!
