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Ash Wednesday. The start of Lent.  A time of pilgrimage, prayer, fasting; of sorrow for the sufferings of our broken world and our broken selves.  A time also of anticipation and hope; of challenge – that we, in our brokenness, can become part of the solution.

At our wedding, Justin Duckworth, Bishop of Wellington, blessed us with this Franciscan blessing.  It seems a good one to adopt for this season.

As you travel the journey ahead…

May you hear the whisper of God’s Fatherly voice guiding you to hold on to the spirit of fellowship and the oneness of our family of faith.

 May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half-truths and superficial relationships, so that you will live deeply and from the heart.

May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression and the exploitation of people, so that you will work for justice, freedom and peace.

May God bless you with tears to shed for those that mourn, so that you will reach out your hand to them and turn their mourning into joy.

May God bless you with just enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in the world, so that you will do those things that others say cannot be done.

And May you know the love, joy and freedom that is your inheritance as the children of the Living God.

Amen

A wedding and a honeymoon behind me (both wonderful, inspiring, full of joy and fun), I am heading south again to Ngatiawa for two final weeks of retreat – this time on my own, and perhaps fulfilling something of my original intention for this sabbatical.

Lois has set off for three weeks in India – planned before we decided to get married, and while this may not be a typical start to married life, we seemed to abandon conventionality some time ago.  We have been so blessed to have had nearly eight weeks together to get to know each other, enjoy so much of the beauty of New Zealand, relax with friends across the country, plan a wedding, and start our married life.  It is a privilege, too, to have time – initially together, and now both of us alone, to reflect and be still. 

Psalm 12, which I read yesterday, captures this so well:

Speak to us out of your silence, O God,

our minds  purged of gossip and chatter.

For you are the fountain of all that is true,

a wellspring deep that never fails.

As our train slowly climbs beside the mighty Whakanui river, up to the central volcanic plateau of the North Island, our carriage is buzzing with life: a Kiwi mother and daughter entertaining the whole carriage with clips of songs and raucous laughter as they play an extended game of monopoly; tourists from USA, South Africa, China and elsewhere feasting, like me, on the awesome scenery surrounding us; two ladies across the aisle enjoying a quieter companionship; and a staggered flow of people wandering back and forth to the café car behind, or the open viewing car up front.  I, meanwhile, have enjoyed some quiet solitude, drinking in the countryside as I sip my glass of Brancott Estate Chardonnay.

This sabbatical, too, has been full of life – an incredible mix of chatter, companionship, and silence.  I have enjoyed the warm welcome of Lois’ family – the feelings of acceptance and love; and the joy and laughter of being with friends, old and new – our Servants’ friends up and down New Zealand, the vibrant community at Ngatiawa, and Lois’ many friends – all so pleased about our marriage.

We have just climbed the Rarimu Spiral – an amazing engineering feat the railway to climb the steep gradient up to the central plateau.  Outside our carriage the mighty rimu, totara and kahikatea trees reach skywards above the graceful black and silver tree ferns in the native rain forests that give this land so much of its beauty.  To the east, the majestic peaks of Tongariro, Ngauruhoe and Ruapehu disappear in the clouds.  I have been privileged to see the wonder of all three volcanic peaks several times on our car journeys south and north between Auckland and Ngatiawa.  There is so much beauty in this country, and I feel so privileged to have had this time to savour so much of it.

So now, as I continue my journey south, I shall gaze in renewed wonder on this incredible pinnacle of creation, savour another glass of wine, and look forward in anticipation to the pending reunion with my Ngatiawa friends and time to be at home with the Holy One in this wonderful place of peace.

How do I express the glorious beauty of these few days?  A selection of instant photographs, and a few scribbled lines in my journal cannot possibly capture the rich experience of the tramp.  To walk these paradise paths, my beloved companion by my side, drinking in the rich, untainted glory of the Marlborough Sounds – such is the fabric of treasured memories; of eager anticipation of yet more wonders to behold.  How can I be so blessed?

In the quiet shade of Mistletoe Bay I cast back in my mind over the way we had come.  The terrain and vegetation so varied: hot humid trudging through Conradesque rain forest – the deep, oppressive darkness holding hidden secrets of the cycles of life, death and rebirth; slow, laborious climbs as we will each weary leg to reach up in turn, until we finally break through into the refreshing cool breezes of the mountain tops – the Sounds stretching out to either side, rich turquoises, ceruleans and ultramarines flooding the secluded inlets below us; then gentle strolls along soft, pine-needled tracks, or through the dappled shades of beech woods in companiable silence.

Starting off at Ship Cove, it was easy to see why James Cook favoured the place as a haven for his ships in his journeys of the 1770s: sheltered, beautiful and with plenty of fresh water tumbling down the crystal streams.  We were feeling good and energetic for the steep climb up and over to Resolution bay, then a second climb over the saddle to Endeavour Inlet – getting a bit more weary by the end of the day’s tramp.  The route itself was clear and easy, through native bush, with black and silver tree ferns, mighty rimu trees, and stunning views along the Sound.  It was lovely walking with the gentle rustle of the wind in the trees and the constant chatting of cicadas in the background, occasionally rising to frenzied cacophonies of sound drowning out all else.  What a privilege to be surrounded by so much beauty, and to be able to enjoy and appreciate it, and share it with someone you love.

Day two was the most gentle of the tramp, wandering around Endeavour Inlet at sea level with no steep climbs.  The day was a sharp contrast to the 25km of day three, climbing high to the long ridge separating the Queen Charlotte and Kenepuru Sounds – on and on, past the Bay of Many Coves, Ruakaka, Tahuahua, and Kumutoto Bays, till our final long descent to Portage Bay.  And so to the fourth and final day and a shorter climb via Torea and Te Mahia Saddles, so to wait at Mistletoe Bay, enjoying the quiet shade as we waited for the water taxi to ferry us back to Picton.

A gentle tramp; a time of sharing, of reminiscing, of dreaming of the future; life lived to the full.

In his book Silence and Honey Cakes former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, speaks of the twin curses in our society of excessive individualism and pressured conformity.  In contrast, he calls us each to recognise our own unique personhood: ‘when you have a person who is wholly self-consistent, whose identity is completely bound up with the calling to live in unreserved intimacy with God as Father… [that] person has such solid reality, such distinctive and reliable identity, that it will do what is consistent with being that person’.  Williams goes on to encourage us to discover our personhood within the context of community: ‘a place for distinctive vocations to be discovered in such a way that they are a source of mutual enrichment and delight, not threat… a place where real human difference is nourished.’

One of the advantages of growing older and (hopefully) wiser is that it is perhaps easier to discover our unique personhood, and to live our lives in keeping with that, rather than from any pressure towards either individualism or conformity.  Over the past few years, Lois and I have both discovered a much deeper awareness of our own uniqueness and of just how much we are each loved by God.  It is from that place of security that we have found ourselves free to make decisions that might otherwise take a certain amount of courage.  We have both felt that, in some strange way, God has brought our paths together, and wants to bless us with this new season of togetherness, and through that, hopefully to become, together, a blessing to others.

Which is all a rather long-winded way of saying that we have decided to get married: here in New Zealand on the 21^st February.  Being free from any pressure to impress or conform means that we have been able, at short notice, to throw together a simple informal ceremony with a BBQ, swimming and games, wines from a Kumeu winery (which I can select the day before on a cellar door wine tasting), and a random passing Bishop and his wife to perform the wedding.  For some reason, Lois didn’t like the idea of inviting guests to stay for a late-night session of Settlers and whisky as a good way of rounding off a perfect day, but I guess you can’t have everything.

I’m afraid we won’t be funding flights out from the UK – sorry.  But we will be having a marriage blessing and celebration once we are both in Coventry – more details to follow.

We have been so blessed by so many people – including all those who have fallen off their chairs, grinned from ear to ear, cried, hugged us, and sent wonderful, excited emails, messages and texts, and all those who are pulling together to make the 21^st a reality.  Thank you all.  I hope that we, in turn, may bring even a little bit of sunshine and brightness into your lives.

Tonight is the anniversary of Helen’s death.  As I enter a new season of joy and peace in my life, it is with mixed emotions.  Grief changes, it doesn’t go away.  I feel blessed to be where I am, and able to walk with my grief, secure in the knowledge that I am loved.  I wrote the following in my journal yesterday.

Two years.

Two years in which I have known anguish, heartache, tears and pain.  I have cried out with the Psalmist:

I am weary with my suffering,

every night I flood my bed with tears,

I drench my couch with weeping,

my eyes waste away out of grief,

I grow weak through the weight of oppression.

I cry out to the void:

How long, O God, how long?

I have travelled with grief.  At times I have wondered whether I really had the strength to carry on – day in, day out; to put my boots on, shoulder my pack and keep tramping.

Yet now, two years further down the line, I can look back and know that I have kept walking.  I haven’t left my load behind.

The tears still come, the pain still lingers.  But grief has become a more welcome companion.  The load sits easier on my back.  And we walk together, side by side.  Down this ever new and changing path.

So many others have walked this path with me: stood alongside me, shared my tears, brought companionship, joy and laughter.  None have carried my load, but each, carrying their own, has helped me carry mine.  Walking together, my road has, with time, become brighter.  May I, in turn, walk beside others in their hours of darkness?

Two years, carrying my burden of grief, yet not alone, nor always in the dark.  I have come to experience calm.  I have found seasons of peace and rest, and ever-increasing moments of joy and hope.

And you, my beloved Helen, you also have been with me.  In my cherished memories.  Two years of grief cannot take away the beauty of twenty four shared years of love.  You remain beside me – sharing the tears and the laughter, sharing the pain and the hope.  And now, walking with me into a new season of joy, and beauty, and love.

Thank you.

Last night I woke and stood on the deck outside the chapel.

The night was still.

No sounds save the gentle Ngatiawa tumbling its way down to the Sea,

and a lonely owl haunting the quiet valley.

The night was clear.

Dark forests towered above me, silhouetted against the star-lit sky.

The half-moon, hidden beneath the Eastern hills, shone its light on a few drifting clouds.

In the North West, Orion completed his leisurely cartwheel,

leading the train of the Milky Way in its never-ending, spiralling dance.

The night was blessed.

So too, I.

Who am I that the heavens should lay on their magnificent performance just for me to see –

Unique in that moment of calm?