For two weeks in May, Sharon and I, along with some good friends, walked the Offa’s Dyke Path. It’s officially 177 miles from Chepstow to Prestatyn (although I clocked it at 195 miles, and another in our group claimed 198, so let’s just round it up and say it was nearly 200 miles), tracing the ancient border between England and Wales.
It was a holiday of the simplest kind: walking, talking, eating, sleeping. Then doing it all again the next day. No meetings, no emails, just the rhythm of one foot in front of the other, the big Welsh hills beneath our feet, and the sky above our heads.
Now, before you picture me trudging along in hefty boots with clanking metal poles, let me confess something: I wore running shoes, every day but one, and they did me proud. Light, comfortable, and dependable. When you’re walking long distances, what you wear on your feet matters. And maybe there’s a parable in that.
We climbed ridges and crossed river valleys, met sheep (lots of sheep), made friends with ponies, and carefully passed fields of cattle. We stayed in B&Bs, old inns, a memorable hotel with no hot water, and had a meal in another where a large section of the ceiling fell in.
I’ve found that walking loosens the soul. As your body settles into rhythm, your mind begins to wander, not aimlessly, but like a river finding its course. And in that wandering, God has room to speak. Not loudly, not with fanfare, but with a quiet nudge here, a birdsong there, or a moment of peace you didn’t know you needed. Walking in the great outdoors, for me, is one way of praying.
One day, we were walking along a high ridge when we saw paragliders rising on the thermals, soaring like great eagles in the sky. It was breathtaking. There was something so weightless, so free, in the way they moved. And I found myself thinking about the Spirit, who so often lifts us not by force, but by updraft, subtle, steady, strong.
Another day, we walked into a small village church where a handwritten sign welcomed weary walkers to help themselves to tea, coffee, squash, and biscuits. And I mean proper biscuits: Penguins and Wagon Wheels! A lady appeared just as we were pouring our drinks, restocking the cups and smiling as if we were long-lost friends. It was lovely.
And then there was the lectern. Carved into the shape of an angel (named Mavis, apparently), she caught my eye. I developed what can only be described as “lectern envy.” Mavis would’ve looked rather fine in one of our churches, though I fear the ethics of ecclesiastical lectern-lifting are questionable!
I thought about church as we walked, not just the buildings, though I love them, but the people. You. And how much of our faith is really about walking with each other. Through steep climbs, muddy patches, and unexpected joys. Through griefs and weddings and PCC meetings. Through silence and song. Through Ordinary Time.
Because faith isn’t something we always feel. It’s something we live out. One step at a time.
And so, as summer stretches out ahead and the pace (hopefully) slows a little, I wonder if there’s an Offa’s Dyke moment waiting for you. It might not be nearly 200 miles long. It might be sitting in the garden with a cup of tea, or watching bees in the lavender, or walking your own familiar path but seeing it afresh.
God is always speaking. We just sometimes need to walk slowly enough to notice.
Please do continue to pray as the Church discerns who will be the next Archbishop of
Canterbury. It is a significant appointment for challenging times. May God raise up someone of grace, wisdom, courage, and hope.
Wherever these summer months take you, whether home or away, I hope you find time to pause, to breathe, and to know that you are loved by God and by your Church.
Wishing you a restful and joyful summer holiday.
Darryl.