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On silence

Posted on February 21st, 2017

I went to a Taizé service on Sunday, and these words were read. They echoed very deeply what I’ve been thinking and feeling about prayer for some time, as you’ll see from my last blog post.

“When we try to express communion with God in words, we rapidly reach the end of our capacities. But in the depths of our being Christ is praying, far more than we imagine. Compared to the immensity of that hidden prayer of Christ in us, our explicit praying dwindles to almost nothing. That is why silence is so essential in discovering the heart of prayer.

Although God never stops trying to communicate with us, God never wants to impose anything on us. Often God’s voice comes as a whisper, in a breath of silence. Remaining in silence in God’s presence, open to the Spirit, is already prayer.”

– Brother Roger of Taizé

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Some thoughts on prayer

Posted on February 9th, 2017

Since Christmas a church group I’m part of has been thinking about ‘the prayer of our lives’, which is a theme for the whole of 2017, and we’ve had some discussions about a range of topics linked to prayer. I’ve found these discussions interesting on many levels, as is often the way when people share their experiences of faith. To me, every word and feeling inside me is a prayer, whether I’m aware of them or not. I’ve been in situations where I’ve had a thought, or articulated some thoughts in my head, and then felt the desire to pray those thoughts but felt really silly. In those moments, to direct those thoughts and prayers to God would be like making a ca

ke in front of someone and then explaining what I’ve just been doing, which wouldn’t just be pointless but it would also be patronising to the observer! For me, to think of a prayer to then say aloud or silently to God is like saying the same thing twice, because God knows every prayer in our hearts.

On any given day we need different interactions and stimuli in every dimension of our lives, and I think prayer is the same. For some people, praying for the same things together is important, whereas for others a prayer can made by painting or sculpting. One of the saddest things I’ve found amongst religious people is the way some people find it hard to understand the prayers of others. For example, in the Orthodox tradition, icons are used for prayer. “The most literal translation of the word Greek: εικονογραφία (eikonographia) is “image writing,” leading many English-speaking Orthodox Christians to insist that icons are not “painted” but rather “written.” From there, further explanations are given that icons are to be understood in a manner similar to Holy Scripture—that is, they are not simply artistic compositions but rather are witnesses to the truth the way Scripture is. Far from being imaginative creations of the iconographer, they are more like scribal copies of the Bible.” However, there is a debate over whether icons break the 2nd Commandment given by God to Moses, and there is confusion amongst the use of icons in worship and the implications for belief in one God.

It may be naïve, but I have always had the view that if something helps someone feel close to God then it is not for me to judge them. What someone does is between them and God, and it’s not my business to decide how good or bad it is. I suppose that’s why I like studying other religions, because I love seeing the devotion people show for God. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable to see someone worship their God using their language or actions, but it rather makes me more determined to understand my own relationship with God.

Prayer is a tricky thing to understand, and I think that it is more often than not a tool for humans to use to feel closer to God than for any other purpose. Prayers are often a chance for us to develop ourselves, our characters and our futures. If someone chose to pray for an elderly and unwell neighbour rather than for their own happiness, that prayer has provided them the chance to become more selfless; if someone prays for their own happiness it can be a ste

p towards developing love and care for themselves, an often neglected and stigmatised concern. To pray at all gives us the opportunity to show God that we are open to receiving whatever peace, happiness or love God is willing to impart. And for me, prayer is often the opportunity to realise that nothing I can say to God is really worth saying. There have been times I’ve sat quietly to pray or gone to a chapel to spend time in prayer and found myself at a total loss of what to do or say. I often find this a difficult thing to know how to cope with, but then I remember Jesus’s words: “And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” (Matthew 6:7-8)

I suppose that is why I sing, and why I feel closer to God when I sing than at any other time, because all I have to do is open my heart to receive whatever love and peace God will bless me with. And as St. Augustine said, “To sing is to pray twice.”

I’d like to share a chant with you. It’s by a Jewish group called Temple and is the words Moses prayed to God when his sister was very ill: “אל נא רפא נא לה, el na, refa na la — please, God, heal her.” There is something I love about listening to Jewish music, knowing that it is the tradition Jesus lived in, and this prayer is so simple and beautiful. But the true beauty here for me is the repetition that chanting includes. It’s why I love Taizé chants so much; you don’t have to think of a prayer, you can turn your thoughts off and just open yourself up to singing your prayer to God.

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A random act of kindness

Posted on January 26th, 2017

Here’s the story: we had 6 old 1970s radiators taken out of our house this week, and they’ve been sitting outside the front of the house for a couple of days while we work out how to get them to the tip. This morning I decided to wander over to the builders doing an extension for our neighbours over the road and ask them if we could put them in their skip if we paid a contribution towards the skip hire. They said I’d have to ask the owners of the house, which was fair enough, so I came home again with the plan to go and ask our neighbours this evening. 4 hours passed and the doorbell rang. It was the builder I spoke to this morning, who came over to tell me that there’s a local company who’ll buy the radiators for scrap if we can get them there.

I don’t think I’ve experienced such a completely unexpected and random act of kindness for a long, long time. It’s such a simple thing, but it was so kind and considerate I was truly taken aback. I spend a lot of time reading the news and I am often overwhelmed by the negativity that surrounds us globally and locally. Today this small gesture reminded me that people are, at heart, good and kind.

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God: our rock in the seas of change

Posted on January 19th, 2017

When you stop to think about your life, how many people have you known? How many people do you miss? How many places have you been to and how many do you want to visit in the future? Everyone in our lives changes, and we ourselves change all the time. Physically we change every day and on average our bodies are completely new every 10 years, with our bones taking the longest time to regenerate. Our communities change, our houses change, our jobs change, governments change, money changes value, music changes, art changes, technology changes…we are in a constantly changing world where there is only one constant: God.

Millions and millions of people have read work by German-born author Eckhart Tolle including a book titled ‘The Power of Now’. I’ve never read the book but have friends who have, and the principle is beautifully simple: there is no past and no future, there is only the present. It’s an idea that has been presented again and again by dozens of people, and as Bill Murray says in ‘Broken Flowers’,

“Well, the past is gone, I know that. The future isn’t here yet, whatever it’s going to be. So, all there is, is this. The present. That’s it.”

Our identities are built up of the past and the future in many ways, particularly the past. The relationships we have with those around us have been formed in the past, and our feelings towards people (both positive and negative) are based purely on what has happened before. In many respects, our lives work based on remembering the past and imagining the future, and it’s rare that we truly exist in the present.

The question I have been considering today is: if our friendships and relationships are based on shared past experiences, who would we have if we had our past erased? We see it in films where characters suffer amnesia and have to build an identity from scratch, and it’s often a convenient and sometimes ridiculous storyline. However, there is something truly profound in the idea that our human relationships come from times which no longer exist, because there is one relationship that is unchanging and unending: our relationship with God.

Don’t get me wrong, my relationship with God has changed significantly throughout my life, and my belief in God has had its ups and downs like everyone else’s, but the basic human understanding of God is that God is eternal, everlasting, immutable, unchanging. And if we look in the Bible this is a theme that runs throughout both the Old and New Testaments:

  • “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” – Hebrews 13:8
  • “For I the Lord do not change.” – Malachi 3:6
  • “The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” – Isaiah 40:8
  • “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” – James 1:17
  • “Of old you laid the foundation of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands. They will perish, but you will remain; they will all wear out like a garment. You will change them like a robe, and they will pass away, but you are the same, and your years have no end.” – Psalm 102: 25-27
  • “Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable.” – Isaiah 40:28
  • “To the King of ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honour and glory forever and ever. Amen.” – 1 Timothy 1:17

As Alice Morse Earle wrote, “Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That’s why it is called the present.” Could our gift in every moment of every day be the gift of God? And if so, what gift can we give God except ourselves, our lives, our everything? And who could be more worthy of our offerings than God, because as the Prophet Jeremiah said, “There is none like you, O Lord; you are great, and your name is great in might.” (Jeremiah 10:6)

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Contemplating the role of the Church today

Posted on December 7th, 2016


Three things have happened this week that have led me to pause and think very seriously about my relationship with ‘Church’ in all its dimensions, and some of these thoughts may resonate with you. Please do comment with any reflections you have on these points. I hope this doesn’t read too much like a diary but rather allows space to think about some of the issues the modern church is facing.

On Sunday I was asked to bring my guitar along to my parish church’s communion service to lead the ever beautiful Taizé chant, Adoramus Te Domine. As always, I was humbled to find so many people I hadn’t spoken to before approaching me and wanting to talk about the chant. The power of the prayerful songs from the wonderful village of Taizé!  If you haven’t heard it, here is one recording of it.

I was asked by some of these people why they hadn’t seen me at church very often on a Sunday morning, and at last I felt I could answer that question. So often when I talk about why I sing or how I experience God I begin by talking about visiting Taizé when I was 17, and it’s because it unlocked something inside me. The simplicity of the worship, the absence of any sermon or preaching during the services, the ecumenical welcome of the community and the repetition of such beautiful words all combined to melt my heart and help me to experience God in a new way for the first time in my life. The sad realisation I had when I was talking with members of the congregation after the service this week was that the normal format of worship at church almost always leaves me feeling nothing; no closeness to God, no desire to contemplate the meaning of the scriptures, no eagerness to return. In the most extreme terms, Taizé allowed my faith to flow and most church services make me feel stifled.

This has been a devastating realisation for me to process this week, and one that I have ignored for a long time. I can remember going along to a Taizé service with one of the brothers from the community 8 or 9 years ago here in England. I spoke with him afterwards about not feeling like I fitted in with any churches I went to and I was shocked by the vehement response I got: you must be part of a church was the message. For a long, long time I have carried this with me, feeling almost like an impostor when I have felt called to attend church and feeling thoroughly out of place when chatting to the people I’ve met there. More often than not, though, I have stayed away.

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I have been to church and loved every moment of it. For example, I will never forget going along to midnight mass on my own when I was around 19 years old and having an immensely powerful experience. I had never been to that particular church before as I didn’t live in the parish, and I didn’t know anyone there. We shared communion and there was exactly enough space around the altar for every person to kneel simultaneously. When the priest said the words “we are one body because we all share in one bread” I felt totally connected to the other people I was kneeling with, more intensely than I have ever felt connected to anyone. In that moment, I felt as if we really were one body, joined by the power of our faith and the power of God’s love. It was an awesome moment, in the true sense of the word. The pattern of worship is so full of symbolism and meaning, and on that occasion this was crystal clear to me.

And yet I have never felt at home at a church. Since October I’ve been attending a course at my local church for people wanting to build their relationship with God and the Church, which has been very interesting in many ways. Last night was the final session and there was a period of reflection where our priest asked us to discuss the impact the course had had on our faith. The content of the course had not made any positive impact on me, but the sense of community had. I was able to share with the group my fear of being an outsider and not being able to benefit from the positive relationships that can be built from a foundation of faith. I almost wish I had never studied religion and theology at university, or that I hadn’t taught RE, because so many of the topics we had discussed were second nature to me. How to have meaningful conversations without reverting to being a teacher is something I still need to work on! I found myself wanting to share all those videos and quotes and books and prayers that go around my head with them, but being terribly afraid of taking over and dominating the group, and also of sharing too much and challenging some of the conventions of the church. When my students used to ask me if I was a Christian or if I believed in God I would sometimes answer, “what I believe is much too complicated to talk about now”, which is the most truthful answer I could give!

So here is my paradox: I love God, I have met with God and I long to worship God. The only way that I have ever connected with the unconditional, all-consuming love of God is when I sing songs to celebrate the Lord, which is why I recorded my CDs and why I give held concerts: I want to share this pure, unadulterated joy with others in the only way I know how. But although I have tried, I haven’t found a way to become part of the Christian family in the way that many people have been able, leaving me often alone and without friends who can understand this part of me.

But I can’t be the only person feeling like this! Today I read the news headline “Where is the world’s most ‘godless’ city?”, which actually posed some interesting questions despite the extreme title. It’s no secret that church attendance is falling all the time and as I know all too well from my RE teaching days, there’s a stigma attached to declaring you have a faith in God in many circles today. And yet at the same time ‘mindfulness’ is now a word people around the world are familiar with, ‘spiritual’ is a comfortable label for some who do not identify with organised religion, and more than 80% of the world is believed to be religious by many sources. How can these things all fit together to give a clear picture of the state of faith in our world?

How many people attend church (or other places of worship) because they relish the worship, and how many attend for other reasons? Is one motive any better than another? I can’t say I think it would be, because to me God is beyond all human understanding and however someone finds the love of God, I can’t see it being better or worse than someone else’s method! And equally, how many people are drawn to religion as an expression of their relationship with God but find that it isn’t compatible with their lives or feelings or beliefs? Could it be that in the modern world, where we can have endless choices in some aspects of our lives, that a whole body of people are missing out on the benefits of a faith community because that community doesn’t fit with them? And what of those people who love the pattern of worship they find in church every week? How can the Church reconcile their needs with the needs of other seekers, who they want to draw in and encourage to grow in the love of God?

I have always believed that God speaks to us in our own way, and it is for us to approach God on our own terms when we are ready and willing to embrace a relationship with faith. Yet I think we are suffering as a society because where the Church has traditionally given care and support, many are now turning to an overburdened NHS for help or experiencing loneliness, fear and depression alone. A friend of mine is a GP and planted this idea in my mind, giving the example of a bereavement. Where someone may have been supported by the Church both in pastoral care and in prayer, many people now turn to their doctor for support because they don’t know where else to turn. I really believe that the Church has an immensely important role to play today, as always, and a part of me wishes I could be part of it. But I also feel it is not the right place for me to develop my faith.

I’m not sure what the answer is to any of these questions, but it is something I will be praying about for some time, because fundamentally, I can sing with all my heart Adoramus te Domine with the congregation of my parish church and feel totally at peace.


Beginning again!

Posted on November 15th, 2016

Hello friends. It has been a long time since I’ve been in touch, and hard to know where to start. I think the title of this post says it all – it is time to begin again!

As you may know, I recorded ‘Still is the Word’ in 2008 and released my other albums every 3 years since then. What you may not know is that I have been a full time secondary school teacher of Religion, Philosophy and Ethics since September 2009. I have always found it hard to split myself between singing to the Lord and giving my students the focus and attention they deserve, and so this year I’ve stopped teaching. I also got married two weeks after the end of my last term as a teacher, so it is all change!

When I’ve written the songs that I’ve been blessed to write I’ve always felt that it isn’t me writing; it’s as if I am being given them to share. I so hope that God is calling me back to writing and singing songs to bring comfort to people in these troubled times, and I am looking forward to seeing what happens next. But as ever, the prayer on my lips is ‘thy will be done’. As we near the festival of Christmas I’m already unashamedly listening to Christmas carols already and loving every one of them!

Of course, if I were to plan to record a Christmas album I would love to know what carols you’d like to hear on it! Please do comment and let me know your favourites. There are so many that I love, choosing is a near impossible task!

In Christ love and service,

Kathryn x


Drawing the year to a close…

Posted on December 30th, 2012

It’s almost the end of the year, and I suppose it’s as good a time as any to reflect on the year that has been.  It’s been a busy and somewhat crazy one in many ways, but a very satisfying one, too.  I’ve sung for so many people this year and have had some great responses and I have been made so welcome by people around the country.  It’s been a year of expansion and expression of the divinity that surrounds us daily, but which we are often too busy or distracted to notice.

I saw an interesting post on Facebook earlier today.  It said the following:

‘Another year is drawing to a close, which gives an opportunity to look back and see once more what God has done for you during the last twelve months. It will amaze you just how many blessings have come your way!  At the same time it’s also good to look back over the year to consider what you have done for Him. It might amaze you how little it really is by comparison.’

I thought this was a really interesting meditation, and I have been thinking about it since.  I started to think about everything that I am grateful for this year, and so many things came to mind.  It’s so easy to be pessimistic at the moment with so many problems in the world, and especially perhaps as England has been suffering with the weather so much – we’re usually spared the up close and personal natural incidents – the mood of the world seems subdued.  But as I take some time out at the end of this year, I am full of gratitude.  For my friends, my family, for the work I am given to do, for the calling that I have, for the faith people show in me and the faith I show in them, and the little blessings that remind me that God is there, just over my shoulder.

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To become a better person. Again.

Posted on October 31st, 2012

After a conversation yesterday and watching ‘Bloody Sunday’ this evening, I’ve been prompted to meditate on this thought again.  For those who haven’t seen ‘Bloody Sunday’, it’s about the events around the deaths of 13 people in Derry, Northern Ireland in 1972.  The discomfort I felt whilst watching it (and not for the first time) made me want to make a difference, to help the world become a safer, happier place.  But yesterday I had a conversation with a friend who has just returned from visiting Auschwitz, who said that when people were stating that visiting the death camp made them want to be ‘be a better person’ he responded with scepticism  (to put it mildly).  I could really relate to both sides of that – when I visited Auschwitz two years ago I wasn’t upset as I was expecting to be, but rather determined that I didn’t want it to happen again.  I left feeling positive, that I could make a change and help the world heal and become more peaceful.  And in response to my friend’s doubts about the longevity of such a desire, I’m sad to say that I think I have failed.

As some of you will remember, I am an RE teacher as well as a singer.  People are invariably shocked when they find out that my faith is such a deep part of me as it is because I am (in their words) ‘normal’.  I’m not entirely sure how to feel about that, but it must mean that people feel they can be honest with me and talk about things which they perhaps wouldn’t discuss in front of a ‘typical’ Christian.  I’m cringing as I write this!!!  But my experience is that people will come and confide in me things which they then feel embarrassed about when they learn of my faith – and this is the best way I can describe what I mean.

I often think that I want people to know that I am a Christian by the way that I act, not by the things that I say.  Slowly I think I’m getting better at portraying myself in the way that I would like to, and I am happy enough to ask God for help with this and depend on Him.  And I think that in many ways I do help – the education I help to provide, the support I give and the guidance I can offer as a teacher as well as the peace and serenity that I try to create with the music that I sing as all ways I can measure my progress in this.  But it all seems so futile, sometimes.

This evening the wind was blowing so hard and the rain was falling so heavily that I was genuinely concerned about the future of this world that we live in.  If we in the south-west of England are feeling the effects of Hurricane Sandy’s fury then I can scarcely imagine the fear being experienced by those who are being touched directly.  We take so much for granted, and I am especially guilty of clinging onto security in whatever form it appears.  A part of me loves the idea of physical security being taken away from us so that we can become closer and closer to the pure love of God, but the larger part of me remains terrified.

I know I’ve said it before, but what if suffering exists only to give us the desire and opportunity to do good things?  Is it enough to continue with life as it is, offering each other the little kindnesses that make us smile on a daily basis and comfort us when we need to be comforted?  Or should we leave our lives and follow Jesus as he called his disciples to do?  If we were to all do that, I’m not sure how long we’d last because to do so is to rely on those who have not left everything behind to follow God.  So surely God means each of us to serve in our own way?

This makes a lot of sense to me, but then the question remains: how do you become the best person you can be in your current position?  ‘Love thy neighbour’ is the simplest commandment to understand but perhaps the hardest to follow.

And the answer to these thoughts which keeps coming back to my mind is so simple:

Stay with me, remain here with me, watch and pray.

Stay with Me

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The Miracle of Everyday Life

Posted on October 4th, 2012

Well, today was an interesting day!  I’ve got the standard ‘teacher-in-new-job’ cold and am feeling rather ropey to say the least!  But today has been one of those days to be truly thankful, for the most unexpected of reasons!  Always the best kind 🙂

So I was lucky enough to only have 3 lessons today, all at the start of the day.  Thankfully, I asked if I could leave school after teaching my lessons to have time to rest and recover from this cold.  So I happily left and walked to my car, which I saw had a flat tyre.  Not something I’ve had to deal with yet in my 8 years of driving and owning cars.  So I made it to a petrol station nearby to put air in the tyre with the hope that I’d be able to make it to a proper garage and buy a replacement tyre.  The plan was simple but effective!

Except that there was a slight hiccough – the tyre was so flat that it wouldn’t accept any air from the pump.  No problem, I think – I’ll call the breakdown people as I’ve never changed a tyre before.  Another teensy problem – I’ve forgotten to renew my breakdown cover!  Oh dear!  Things looking less good by the minute.  I spoke to a couple of breakdown people and  found it that my mistake was going to cost me over £100.  Less good had turned decidedly to ‘bad’!

So the next step was to phone the lovely Nick who’d let me leave school early and who is an all-round helpful dude!  He was due to teach a lesson so couldn’t help me, but he suggested that I ask around the garage to see if anyone could help me change the tyre.  “You do have a spare?”  he asked.  I was quiet.  “I have no idea!” I responded.  Now feeling totally idiotic for being so neglectful of my car maintenance duties!!

So I went into the petrol station and asked if anyone could help me.  To my absolute delight, the manager said yes!  So he came out to the car and discovered that I didn’t have a spare tyre!  Argh!  Just as the panic was setting in and I was beginning to berate myself for being useless, when he told me that my car came with a puncture repair kit.  Well!  Forget your bike-puncture-putting-in-water nonsense!  This stuff was AMAZING and even I can do what it needs to fix a tyre now I’ve seen it done!  Hurrah!

So, having bought the manager of the petrol station a nice bottle of wine in thanks, I started on my way to the garage to find a new tyre.  With many a prayer that I’d make it there in one piece, I drove the 15 minutes and arrived at a tyre place, only to be ushered immediately into the bay for tyre replacement.  In less than 10 minutes I had a new tyre and was safely on my way home, thanking God for the grace I had been shown today!  This had been a long series of misfortunes, many of which hadn’t been helped by my own silliness!  And yet I felt like I was looked after at every turn!

There’s a saying that keeps coming back to me by Dante Gabriel Rossetti: ‘the worst moment for the atheist is when he is really thankful, and has nobody to thank.’  I don’t want to judge people for believing or not believing in God – as far as I’m concerned their path is their own to follow and isn’t mine to judge.  But I was so grateful to see the hand of God in today, keeping me safe and shining through the hearts of those who helped me.  And grateful that I had God to thank!

Time to share the chorus of one of the songs I’ve written with you:

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El Camino de Santiago/The Way of St. James

Posted on September 16th, 2012

This morning I went to St. Peter and St. Paul in Muchelney (near Langport, Somerset) for the first time since the concert I gave there in March.  I was asked back to sing at their team service, where all the churches in the parish worship together.  It was an honour to be asked back and lovely to see so many familiar faces again!

The theme for the service was the Way of St. James, or El Camino de Santiago – the pilgrimage walked by thousands of people a year.  Funnily enough, I’d had a conversation with someone on the bus to Taizé about the film called The Waywith Martin Sheen, which is about the road to Santiago, and when I’d got home I ordered the DVD as it wasn’t the first time I’d heard good things about the film.

But the film had just been sitting there, waiting to be watched, until I got a call from the priest at Muchelney asking me to sing and explaining that three of the parishioners had recently returned from walking the Way.  The time had come to watch The Way, and it was well worth waiting for.  If you haven’t seen it, do!  It’s an incredibly beautiful and moving film.

Anyway, so the service today was about this pilgrimage (which I now want to do!).  And I think it is the first church service I’ve been in for…years, if ever…that I have felt the power of God so tangibly.  There were photographs shown from the pilgrimage undertaken by the three parishioners, who had travelled with a group from the Diocese.  There were also stories and reflections, prayers and songs.  I felt really moved to have been asked to sing many of the songs during the service.

The most poignant moment was undoubtedly during what would ordinarily have been the slot for Communion.  However, rather than sharing the bread and wine, the congregation was called to lay down their burdens.  At their entrance to the church this morning, each person was given a pebble or stone to hold, as is done when walking the road to Santiago.  The stones are then placed symbolically at one point along the pilgrimage, and this was recreated during the service.  This was where I sang several songs, and I felt so blessed to have been part of it.  The lead-in to this was a reading from the Gospel according to St. Matthew:

‘Come to me, all you who labour and are overburdened, and I will give you rest.  Shoulder my yoke and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  Yes, my yoke is easy and my burden light.’ – Matthew 11:28-30

I then sang this song:

I can’t help but think about the significance behind this act of laying down burdens.  I remembered a Good Friday service where the congregation was asked to come forward and lay a nail down at the foot of the cross, to reflect on the closeness of the crucifixion, and this stuck me as just as powerful as that experience had been.

We carry around so much unnecessary baggage and so often we ignore what we are holding onto – perhaps because someone we know is suffering and we consider their burden greater than ours, or perhaps because we find it difficult to face the difficulties we experience.

It was a great blessing to share in the experience of the pilgrims this morning.  The question I am left with now is: will I walk?  And the answer may well be yes!

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