Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: cistercian way, pilgrimage, the cistercian way, wales, walking
Waking around sunrise, warmed by coffee and porridge cooked on our stoves, we began. Water bottles refilled from the taps behind chapels, climbing up and down as we made our way through valleys. As always, the second day was hard; the initial energy spent; fitness building up. A day of stops, tucking out of sight, brewing tea. Pubs closed down.
We headed for Llanllyr, the site of a community in Cistercian sisters, arriving mid afternoon. Searching for the site, we wandered first into the water bottling factory, where we were able to quench thirst.
We were very generously shown around the fine gardens. There is little or nothing left of the abbey. This fine carved stone commemorates the gift of a plot of land to an Irish follower of St David.
The fact that the women left so little in terms of material traces interests me. One of the benefits of this ongoing pilgrimage is a friendship with the sisters at Holy Cross, Whitland, which has become one of the places I go for retreat. There is something important for me about the simplicity and humility of the life, that – in the words of RS Thomas,
they wrote
On men’s hearts and in the minds
Of young children sublime words
Too soon forgotten. God in his time
Or out of time will correct this.
written on the hearts of people rather than in huge stone works.
We were given kind permission to camp in a field nearby. It was very moving to spend time quietly on this site.
I needed rest. We cooked a meal of luminous tinned curry (it was filling; we were hungry; I would recommend something else if you have a choice). I sat or lay, watching red kites glide.
Camping with permission meant a slightly later start in the morning, but heavy rain was forecast, so we set off. We made our way climbing through the villages along the Aeron Valley. Our diet improved with hard boiled eggs and cucumbers bought from stalls outside small holdings, glimpsing ancient church towers, passing historic ruined chapels. Llangeitho has a handy village shop and café, from where we turned east, crossing the Roman Road of Sarn Helen. Tregaron was first town of any size since Carmarthen – with the first open pub. We drank an expensive pint, listening to confident and classed English voices, before resupplying with food.
And a climb. Away from the rolling hills and pastures we had been walking through onto the beginnings of the Cambrians – proper hills. The plan had been to make Strata Florida before the end of the day, but the rain closed in and was heavy, and we had booked into the pub at Pontrhydfendigaid for the night. The weather and the prospect of a hot shower, dry clothes and a decent meal, called us off the hill in late afternoon.
Filed under: estate ministry, estates ministry, Uncategorized | Tags: after the fire, alan everett, estate churches, estate ministry, estates ministry, grenfell tower, national estate churches network, necn
After the Fire by Alan Everett is a profound meditation on the role of the Church in the wake of the Grenfell Tower disaster by the parish priest of St Clement’s, Notting Dale. I would recommend this book as essential reading for all engaged in estates ministry.
Laurie Green has asked that NECN share the review by Hugh Beaven below:
Filed under: pilgrimage, Uncategorized, walking | Tags: cistercian way, pilgrimage, the cistercian way, wales, walking
Readers who have bourne this blog for a while will know that I have – slowly and gradually – been walking a pilgrimage along the Cistercian Way in Wales.
I had planned to walk it in an autumn a couple of years ago, but a damaged knee meant I had to miss a month. I am slowly filling the gaps (click here to read previous posts). It is interesting to remember different parts walked in different seasons and years, and good to have a chunk of this pilgrimage still to walk.
At the end of August, I set out again, in the good company of Roland, to walk from Carmarthen to Machynlleth. I’d originally planned to start slightly further west in Whitland (it was here that the Cistercian Sisters examined my knee and said very firmly “Fr Andy, you cannot walk further. We will put you on the train home tomorrow.”) But it is good to listen to local suggestions, and Roland said, if we head north from Carmarthen, we can visit Skanda Vale. This seemed right.
So, we got the bus to Carmarthen and, after a visit to the Roman amphitheatre, began climbing the narrow roads. Through Llanpumsaint, where in a slightly surreal conversation, we were told about the local holy wells (on private land, and no chance of visiting them unless we went with the annual parish pilgrimage) and that there are no footpaths in Carmarthenshire (I have walked on some).
As we neared the ashram, we were passed by cars full of Tamil faces and we passed roadsigns.
We had walked fast that first morning, to try to arrive in time for Puja. We dumped our packs, took off our boots, and sat on the floor of the temple, listening to the chants and bhajans, receiving the sacred fire, welcomed as pilgrims. It was a festival; the ashram was full of people who had driven for hours.
Thoroughly blessed, we slipped away, climbing through the complex and exploring the temples. At the top was the enclosure for Valli, the elephant presented to the ashram by the Sri Lankan Government. We were lucky enough to see her, and to have a long chat with one of her keepers, a man who had left the urban West Midlands firmly in the past.
All in a normal day’s walk in rural Carmarthenshire.
We walked on through a muggy, warm, unfolding landscape. Tracing our way to Pencader (useful shop) and Llanfihangel-ar-arth, talking with people on the way – who were clearly unused to walkers or pilgrims.
My knees were fine, but I use two walking poles now. Roland was concerned that my technique was not right. I tried hard to do it properly but was losing the ability to walk. He cheered me up by playing me Matt McGinn’s The Wee Kircudbright Centipede. I went back to walking badly but semi-effectively.
In order to make the pilgrimage affordable (and to enjoy the freedom) we were carrying bivvy bags and tents. The forecast was good for the night. The map showed promising small areas of woodland in the rough vicinity of Capel Dewi. Heading for one of them, just before dusk, we struck one of those wonderful small slices of wood between road and field boundaries which we could tuck into well out of sight, put out our bivvies and, leaving no trace, sleep the night with no one knowing we had been there.
It had been a long day. I slept until dawn, waking occasionally as light rain fell on my face.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Rather stunned after spending time with Banu Cennetoglu’s piece at the Liverpool Biennial.
The names of 13,824 asylum seekers, refugees and migrants who have died trying to reach Fortress Europe.
As Pope Francis says, migration is the significant unacknowledged crisis facing humanity.
Let us not turn our backs or our gaze.
