Category Archives: Yorkshire

Avoiding the Bulls of Bashan and other advice from the psalmist

Sometimes when you are reciting the psalms in worship like Benedictines do, you come across something odd like the Bulls of Bashan. Now I’ve no idea who or what they were but I’m pretty sure that webmaster Bob will google it quite quickly and put a footnote to inform us all.
But actually I think I may have met one today. When I say met one I actually made quite a lot of effort to avoid him. It was on the way back from Byland Abbey that the first sign on the footpath warned me of his presence. At that point he was about three fields away with his harem. The nearest I got to him was him bellowing and roaring, just like in the psalms, on the other side of the fence. I took a different path, up a hill. Turned out to be the same field, who could have guessed. Who comes around the cornerstone old grumpy and his gang. By now I was at the top of the hill and pretty soon over the handy stile.
So whoever the Bulls of Bashan are or were, my advice is, like the psalmist, to give the plenty of room.

As the Bulls of Bashan roar,
So the hare runs up hill.
Follow her!

A short time after writing this I had a fall off another stile and had to attend the Malton urgent care unit for some stitches in my left hand. Patched up now and back in Huddersfield with Bob.

In our coming and our going
The Peace of God

These stones would shout aloud

I grew up on the architecture of England. It was my father’s contribution to my general knowledge, complimenting my mother which was the common flora and fauna. As a result I can name seasonal wild flowers, birds and insects but I also know a Norman arch from a Gothic one.
Standing at Riveaulx the stones make me gasp. I saw it last summer but standing here again it was no less impressive.
It’s easy to imagine they prayed and sang in this lofty, now roofless sanctuary. I wonder what Henry VIII would have made of it all these centuries later after his greed and bad leadership laid waste to these holy houses of the North.

The trees clap their hands
But it is in the woods around Stanbrook Abbey that I find my true sanctuary. This enormous woodland cathedral, its green roof meeting across my path, letting in beams of sunlight, is a wonderfully restoring place.
A hind leaps across the path ahead of me. She also knows the value of this sanctuary. At this moment it seems to be the calmest place on earth and I know I need to store it in my core memory for later days.
Insects hum, birds sing and wild garlic makes a strong pong from ramsons deep as snow drifts. The light filters in catching small puddles and making the shine like jewels, giving the green leaves many different shades.
From time to time others pass by. Not many but a few who have also found peace here. They remark on how beautiful a place this is, a constant doxology, and walk on. The birds join in the refrain and the trees clap their hands, as the psalmist says.

DSC_0570
As the hind rests peacefully in the wood
So may I rest peacefully in God.
As the birds sing joyfully in the branches
So may I praise God daily.
As the light flickers through the leaves
So may I pass each day in the light.
As the flowers carpet the ground
So may I hold the earth gently and honour the Creator.

In our coming and our going
The Peace of God

Prayer in a meadow

Here’s a meadow, here’s a may tree
Here’s the roots, twisted, brown.
Here I sit by the may tree
Here’s the meadow, all around.
Hear the birds singing skywards,
Walking forwards in the sun,
See the blue sky stretched above us,
See the Creator’s love abound.
There’s not much signal in this meadow,
Of the sort on which we rely,
But everywhere there is a signal
Of how the love of God comes near
Touches us in dark and night.
Keep on walking across the meadow,
Keep on walking into light.

When I heard about the bomb attack in Manchester I was on Retreat at Stanbrook Abbey, Wass, North Yorkshire, where there’s not much signal. In some ways it is a world away those events. Shock and disbelief are understandable emotions: not having words to express how we feel.
Wherever we are now, keep walking in the light.

In our life and our believing
The love of God

Growing in the dark

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA


Growing in the dark
almost silently;
reaching upwards,
like fingers snatching
for the tiniest thread of light.

Nurturing in the dark
tip-toeing gently;
new growth welcomed,
caressed with worn fingers,
lit by dripping candles.

Triangle God; Creator, Son and Spirit,
We pray for Rhubarb farmers,
working in the dark:
planting, nurturing and harvesting
the ruby red stems;
lighting their way with candles
in a secret liturgy;
toiling to bring to light
the scarlet treasure.
We are amazed by the transformation
from dry root stock to tasty foodstuff.
As you transform the rhubarb,
so change us, the rhubarb eaters,
to watch and wait
for the harvest time:
when it comes it takes all stalks.

Seen on a van in Wakefield: Honk if you like Rhubarb