I haven’t blogged much for two reasons. First, nothing much really happens here. Guests come, guests go, it rains, it’s sunny. We pray, we eat, we work, we pray, etc., etc., etc. The other reason is that it’s ALWAYS busy here. I fall into bed at 8.30 most nights, completely exhausted, usually in a good way. This is the busy season (May – September), and we usually have between 25 -50 guests here at any one time.

I had to pretend to be Margo (aka Queen of Everything) for a week, as she was off sick, and that was good training for now, when she’s on a well-deserved two-week vacation. But that is only the 9 – 5 office work. My day starts much earlier, with porridge making and cat feeding at 7ish, and ends much later. Sometimes I’m in the kitchen til 8.45 pm.

One of the cats (Skittles) is very holy and likes to come in the chapel at every opportunity. I had to wrangle her out during communion today. I would have left her alone, but we have a rather elderly group in at the moment, and I was afraid someone would trip on her. The only reason she doesn’t completely hate me is that I also feed them.

Our current group are Scouses; that is, they’re from Liverpool. I’m very glad they are not the first group I encountered here, because I think they would have been my last. They have done nothing but complain since they arrived. They have been coming for 30 years, and apparently they ALWAYS complain! Most of them are not here for a retreat as such, but rather for a cheap vacation. They started coming when many of them had young families, and couldn’t afford a decent vacation. So their expectations, participation and attitude are very different from that of most of our retreatants. They are also very vocal and rough in their criticisms. I am happy that they are the exception and not the rule! Let me just say that they are not the best advertisement for their region…

Overlapping that group was a lovely group of 25 singers from Holland, who come every year to spend a week singing together. They were a nice antidote to the other group, and gave us a nice concert on Sunday.

I’ll be going to the Bakers’ for our 6^th annual “Recite –All” this weekend. Everyone brings a dish and a song or poem to share. John Baker and I will do a few songs and then open up the floor for others. It’s always a blast. This year’s theme is “Great British Poets”, so I’ll be doing a few Shakespeare songs, a Tennyson, a Browning, and one by the greatest poet of all: Anonymous.

I have no idea yet whether or not I’ll come back here for good. I hoped I’d know by the end of the summer, but I’m not there yet. I will definitely come back here next summer, but I’m not sure about beyond that. I’m still not sure that the community is sustainable, unless they shake things up a little, and I’m not sure that the will is there to do that.

Time will tell!

Yikes! Another 10 days have gone by without a blog post…

A lot has happened, and yet not much really. Pavan and Tina have gone back to India to renew their visas. Fr. Aloyce came back from two months’ home leave in Tanzania, but almost immediately got sick and is now in the hospital, not sure yet what is wrong.

We continue to buzz along here. With Tina gone, I’m now in charge of feeding the cats and making the community porridge in the morning, which is a task that cannot be done without full mindfulness, hence the title of this post. It’s such a great metaphor for my time here: one minute I’m stirring porridge, the next I’m leading community prayers, the next I’m welcoming unexpected guests. Each task has to be done with the same amount of loving attention. As the 17th century Welsh poet George Herbert said in his poem “The Elixir”:

Teach me, my God and King, 
         In all things Thee to see, 
And what I do in anything 
         To do it as for Thee. 

         Not rudely, as a beast, 
         To run into an action; 
But still to make Thee prepossest, 
         And give it his perfection. 

         A man that looks on glass, 
         On it may stay his eye; 
Or if he pleaseth, through it pass, 
         And then the heav’n espy. 

         All may of Thee partake: 
         Nothing can be so mean, 
Which with his tincture—”for Thy sake”— 
         Will not grow bright and clean. 

         A servant with this clause 
         Makes drudgery divine: 
Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws, 
         Makes that and th’ action fine. 

         This is the famous stone 
         That turneth all to gold; 
For that which God doth touch and own 
         Cannot for less be told.

The elixir: that magical essence which changes everything. We had no guests in over the weekend, so I cooked for the community. I made moussaka (one vegetarian, one meat version); curry (again, one veg, one meat); and a roast dinner for Sunday (chicken for the carnivores and nut roast for the plant-based eaters). It was fun, but not something I’d like to do full-time! You end up spending too much time thinking about how to simultaneously tickle the palates and keep it simple — no small feat.

We had a great event here last Friday. Margaret O’Brien, the chef of 22 years, finally hung up her apron, and we had a cèilidh in her honor. Well, first we had a mass, and then a potluck supper for 75, and then the dancing began. It was a very good sendoff! Margaret is a terrific folk singer and Morris dancer. She would often sing for the retreatants, and she led us all in a lovely folksong to finish up the supper. There was not a dry eye in the place, until the dancing started.

It has been consistently cool and rainy here — it hasn’t even approached 70 degrees, but “they” are saying it will be over 70 on Saturday. I’ll believe it when I see it. I love this weather, but I seem to be in a minority. People are complaining about having to wear sweaters at the end of June.

And meantime the world continue to go to hell in a hand-basket. This is not a cloister, so we have radio and TV, and we sometimes watch the news for half an hour between supper and meditation, and then we go off to pray for all the division and violence that we’ve seen.

There’s always more to say, but I have to go off to a meeting. More later — I can’t promise when!

I can’t believe it’s been 10 days since I posted something. Well, maybe I can. Two days were completely lost to a bad cold – I spent them in bed, only emerging for cups of tea.

In the meantime, retreatants have come and gone, it has rained and rained and rained. However, I don’t want you to think that it rains here all the time, so here are a couple of pictures to prove that occasionally the sun does shine. This field of wild poppies is just outside Corbridge, about 10 minutes from here.

Selfie with poppies: Pavan and Tina Kaviraj and me.

The pictures don’t do it justice. It was eye-popping!

Tina and Pavan will be leaving on Monday after six months here. They need to go home to Himal Pradesh to renew their visas. They hope to be back in late summer or early fall. They were media stars last week. Margo Mooney, 0ur Retreat Manager (aka the Queen of EVERYTHING) is married to a BBC meteorologist, who sponsors a monthly photo contest. Pavan and Tina were this year’s guest judges — but I think Pavan’s pictures would have won, if he had been a contestant.

On Sunday Tynedale Horticultural Services had the official opening of their new space, including Pimm’s and cream teas on the lawn. THS is a service for developmentally disabled men (about a dozen) who work here four days a week, caring for this beautiful property. They are part of the outreach arm of Minsteracres. They are sometimes assisted by “Free the Way”, a group of men in recovery from alcohol and substance abuse, who come for a few days each month. In a different part of the property, another group has a sheltered workshop in the Peace Garden.

I caught this wretched cold last Friday on a very wet drive over the moors to see my godson Martin Baker, who has just finished an MA in special education. He is severely dyslexic himself, and now works as a career counselor with young people in similar situations. It was great to see him, even briefly. We went to a string quartet concert in a gorgeous church in Grinton, North Yorkshire. On top of the pub in which we had supper was this “ewe-phonium”. From the Grinton website:

††The first known reference to Grinton is in 1086.

It is on the south bank of the River Swale, reputedly the fastest flowing river in England.*1

It was at the first place above Richmond where the river could usually be forded.

This crossing place was vital for the transport of lead by pony from the many mines & mills in Swaledale.

The Mother Church of St Andrew, ‘The Cathedral of the Dale’ was built at this crossing point.

*1 References vary: fastest flowing or fastest rising or second fastest, but, unhelpfully, without stating whether flowing or rising or which other river is the fastest!

I just couldn’t resist that bit of trivia!

More soon…

The days seem to rush together in a happy blur. The rhythm of the days is broken by very small crises and celebrations. It was Jeroen’s 50^th birthday Friday. Visitors who came in by the front door were greeted with this image:

Apparently it’s a Dutch tradition when someone reaches 50 to say that “he’s so old, he’s been around since the time of Abraham.” Jeroen’s mother, brother, sister and nephew came over from Holland for a week to celebrate with him.

In and around that celebration, I took 24 hours off to go to see my lovely friends John and Liz Baker. They live in a ridiculously picturesque place called Tricklebrook Cottage (yes, it has a brook), just outside the village of Crook. The place names around here are quite unusual. Yesterday I was talking with someone from Muggleside, and the day before that, someone from Hairy Side. (I am not making these up.) There’s also Once Brewed (which of course has a pub called the Twice Brewed) and the illustrious (not) village of Pity Me, to which no one seems to know the etymology. “The Oxford Dictionary of British Place Names reckons it is a ‘a whimsical name bestowed in the 19th century on a place considered desolate, exposed or difficult to cultivate’. Others say it could refer to a local legend about St Cuthbert, who cried “Pity me!” when monks accidentally dropped his coffin at the settlement on the way to Durham; or to a geographical feature, such as a lake (petite mer).

There’s a classical music festival in the north Yorkshire valley of Swaledale that runs for about a month, so we went from Crook to Bishop Auckland down into Richmond to a place that used to be a cinema but is now a church. Go figure. We heard an amazing piano concert by a 17-year-old by the name of Lauren Zhang, who was the 2018 BBC Young Musician of the Year. She played two hours of fireworks. I don’t think she was aware of anyone else being in the room while she was playing. When she finished a piece, she would stand up and bow — but not smile — and it was as though she were just waiting for us to finish clapping so that she could start playing again. Apparently she attends the same school in Birmingham as Malala Yousafzai. Can you imagine teaching at that school? Talk about intimidating! Sheesh.

The next day we went out for a walk near Bollihope Burn at Harehope Quarry. If I can manage it, I may bring back a very small piece of Frosterley marble, which isn’t marble at all, but rather limestone that contains a huge number of fossilized coral. About 325 million years ago, the whole valley was covered by a shallow tropical sea. Many churches throughout the area, including Durham Cathedral, have pillars and baptismal fonts made of polished Frosterley marble.

Liz and John were next-farm-over neighbors when I lived in Kent. They moved up here in 2011. Liz is an osteopath, and John is a retired pianist and music teacher. More about them in later posts, I’m sure. I’ll be seeing them again this weekend. Their youngest son, Martin, is my godson; he’s coming up from Canterbury for a week.

It’s f..f..freezing here! A high of 50 yesterday and today, and raw and drizzly. I actually might put socks on.

But inside it’s cozy. I can’t believe I’ve been here two weeks. Is it only two weeks? Is it already two weeks? Yikes!

I’m leading the prayers this week, which is kind of fun. I thought I’d use this post to talk about the rhythm of our day, so here goes.

First, of course, I have to feed the two cats, Skittles and Lollipop. First things first. Skittles is the black and white one. They have their own room, called “the Cat Parlour”.

After that important business is concluded, the first “office” or service of the day is Morning Prayer, at the very civilized hour of 8.10 am. Most people get there around 7.30, and we sit in silent meditation. Morning Prayer consists of a few psalms, a couple of hymns, and some prayers, which we say antiphonally (one side of the chapel, then the other). It takes about 20 minutes. We have Mass right after that, at 8.30.

Mass here is really nice, maybe mostly because it’s much more participatory than in most churches. At the consecration we all stand in a circle around the altar, and then we administer communion to each other. So depending on who is here and who I’ve sat next to, I might be giving communion to a priest, rather than the (usual) other way around. It’s all very non-hierarchical here, no titles, no labels, we’re all just people.

From mass we go in to have breakfast together, which is usually porridge, toast and fruit. Then we all participate in doing the dishes, and it really is a case of many hands making light work — that and an industrial dishwasher which runs for about 3 minutes at a time. If there are one or two retreat guests, they eat in the community dining room, but if there are groups, they eat in the main dining room, and they might have a fancier breakfast. We don’t have meals in silence; we’re all pretty chatty!

By 9.45 we all disperse to whatever we’re doing for the morning. We reconvene at 1 pm for lunch. Then we work again from 2 – 6 pm. At 6 pm we have Evening Prayer (same set up as Morning Prayer). Then at 6.30 we have supper (followed, of course, by more washing up).

From 7.30 – 8 pm we have silent meditation again in the chapel, followed by Compline, or Night Prayer. By 8.15 people are dispersed again. There’s no official “lights out” time, but generally the house is quiet until mass the next morning. On Thursday evenings and Sunday evenings, the community hangs out together after Compline.

So that’s the way life here is structured — on paper. Of course stuff happens, and we have to be flexible to accommodate to the needs of people on retreat. But that is the overall shape of the days here.

Today we had yet another funeral, this time a long-time friend and parishioner. Since I didn’t know this person, I staffed the office so that everybody else could go to the funeral, which was here, as was the reception afterwards for about 50 people. Which would have been fine except that there had been a bit of a miscommunication, so a dozen walkers turned up wanting tea and scones and a tour of the house. Plus we have a group of a dozen women here for a week. So it was a good experience in juggling people and spaces and don’t forget the undertakers need to have a cup of tea while they’re waiting for the funeral to be over.

I had about as much fun as it’s possible to have during a funeral. All the work I did in Oxford all those summers has come in very handy here! I love the challenge of making all these different people welcome.

I’d say more, but I have to go lead Evening Prayer. More soon!

It occurs to me that I haven’t said anything about the people who live here. There are two Passionist priests, and this place is a registered charity sponsored by the Passionists. The “charism” (the special flavor or emphasis) of the Passionists is “prayer, poverty and solitude” and their mission is to provide hospitality for people to spend time in prayer (i.e., retreats). This place was built in the 1750s by a Catholic coal-mine owning family, the Silvertops, who sold it to the Passionists in the 1950s.  The last of the Silvertops, Diana, is still a parishioner here. From the 1950s to the 1980s it was a seminary for Passionist priests.

One of the two resident Passionists has been here for 50 years. Mark is now 93 years old, and is a real character. He’s Irish. The rector of the community is from Holland. He was here as a seminarian, and came back to run the retreat center about 15 years ago. It’ll be his 50^th birthday next Friday. He’s about 6’5” – hard to lose in a crowd. He is a wonderful pianist, organist, and preacher. Very gentle.

Elisabeth van Dijl is a part-time community member, also from Holland. She splits her time between here and Holland (a 2 hour flight from here), and has been coming here for about five years. She is instrumental in planning and organizing the retreats.

Pavan and Tina Kaviraj have been here trying out community life for the past six months. They are originally from Daramshala in northern India (where the Dalai Lama lives), and have spent the last 20 years teaching ESL in Thailand. We LOVE THEM, and are missing them already…they had a six-month visa, and will go back to India to think about applying for long-term visas.

Lya Vollering lives in the 2 ½ acre walled garden at the bottom of the property, which has a small cottage built into the wall. She is also Dutch (a lifelong friend of Jeroen’s), and has a passion for the environment. Her domain includes a greenhouse and polytunnel and way more plants than anyone should have to care for.

Fr. Aloyse Babene (another Passionist) will be returning from Tanzania the same day that Pavan and Tina leave, and another Passionist will be coming from Kerala, southern India in June, as soon as his visa is sorted out.

There are a couple of other people who are either here every day (for prayers, mass, and breakfast) or who are part-timers, who live here on alternate weeks. We really need some BRITISH people to live in – Americans, Dutch, and Indians are all very well, but this place needs some local folk. The board is entirely made up of local people, but there are currently no indigenous members of the residential community.

They are definitely looking for new members, so if you’ve ever thought about it, let’s talk! The rhythm of community life is never boring. I’ll talk more about our daily schedule in a future post.

I’m reading a terrific book by an English Benedictine, Cyprian Smith. Here’s something that struck me the other day. (Apologies for the gendered language; it was written in 1987.)

The sublime and glorious reality which we call ‘God’, is to be sought first and foremost in the human heart. If we do not find him there, we shall not find him anywhere else. If we do find him there, we can never lose him again; wherever we turn, we shall see his face. (from The Way of Paradox: Spiritual Life as Taught by Meister Eckhart)

Isn’t that beautiful?

I haven’t been good about keeping up with the blog the past few days, and as I feared, stuff tends to blur together.

Thursday was a day of contrasts. In the afternoon, another funeral, this time of a long-term staff member and parishioner, Theresa Wall, who had the great nickname “Fluff”. I met her on my previous two visits, and she was very much the salt of the earth. She had worked in the kitchen for more than 12 years, and is sorely missed. She’s buried in the cemetery here. The church was packed — about half a dozen members of her birth family, and the rest from her Minsteracres family.

Then in the evening, I jumped in one of the community cars and drove (on the correct side of the road!) to a rehearsal for an upcoming parish production of Gilbert and Sullivan’s Trial by Jury. It’s always fun to watch British people let their hair down and ham it up. I’m jumping in with only four rehearsals left, but as I’m only in the chorus, it’ll be fine. The stuff basically sings itself.

Yesterday was another gorgeous day, and four of us headed out for a walk on the moors. The injection I had just before I left has finally kicked in (it took two weeks and two days to work, and I had pretty much given up), and it felt great to stretch my legs. We went to a little village (when I say little, I mean, like 30 houses) which is often used for filming period dramas, because nothing much has changed there for about 300 years. The church dates back to 1165, and the pub from about the same era. We wanted to have lunch in the pub, but they were hosting a wedding, so we had to settle for the tea room. We will DEFINITELY be going back to that pub.

It hasn’t rained for about a week, so now everyone is getting twitchy and worrying about drought. Since it’s a bank holiday (a Monday holiday), it’s bound to rain on Monday…

About a hundred years ago, when I was studying at Clark and Holy Cross, I remember going in to my religious studies advisor and telling him that I had decided I was going to celebrate something different every day. He looked at me kinda funny. He wasn’t a Catholic (he was a hippy, but I don’t know what religious persuasion he was; some sort of Protestant). He then told me that my bright idea had been part of Church tradition for several hundred years; every day we commemorate a different saint (or two, or six).

Today is the feast day (but only in this diocese) of Saint Godric of Finchale (prounounced ‘Finkle’). I feel a certain kinship with this guy. He lived from about 1070 – 1170. For the first 40 years of his life, he was a wandering merchant/sailor (Some sources say he was a pirate). At one point he went to Lindisfarne (not far from here). While there, he had a vision of Saint Cuthbert. For the next several years he carried on wandering, but this time as a pilgrim, traveling to Rome, Spain, and Jerusalem. Eventually he came back to England. Having spent the first half of his life roaming around the world, he then became a hermit, and spent the next 60 years of his very long life in Finchale, on the banks of the River Wear, just outside of Durham. About a century later, Finchale Priory was founded as a Benedictine monastery on the site. You can still visit the ruins there.

There are many stories about St Godric’s love for animals; some more believable than others. I’m not so sure about the one where he lets the snakes come in and warm themselves by the fire in winter…Last night a few of us took a walk around the grounds – the two cats, Skittles and Lollipop, accompanied us the whole way, and were quite patient when we decided to sit and chat for a while. I miss my kitties!

Godric seemed to have more than his fair share of visions. (I would be happy to have just one.) The music and words of four songs that he ‘received’ in a vision from Mary were recorded by a contemporary, and are the oldest in English with surviving music.

So there you go. There’s a soundtrack. Now go celebrate something.

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Minsteracres runs a series of retreats throughout the year for anyone from local parishes on a given theme. This year’s theme is “Daring Disciples”. People arrive on Friday evening and leave after lunch on Sunday. In between, several sessions are led by different team members. It’s beautifully paced, with plenty of time in between sessions for individual prayer, relaxation and socializing. Oh, and excellent food. The cook, Margaret, is completely unflappable, and rules her domain with an iron fist. She is also a fantastic folk singer, and will often serenade the guests with a Northumbrian folksong.

Have I told you about the volunteers? People often ask me what makes this place special, and for me, a large part of that answer is the volunteers. There are over 100 of them. They usually come for the weekend, but they may just come in for the day. While they’re here, they work like dogs! Usually in and around the kitchen, setting up, serving meals and clearing up for three cooked meals a day for 30+ retreatants. These are people who have been here on retreat and want to give back. I asked Gerard last night why he does it. He said, “the minute I pull into the drive, all my stress just melts away. I know going to be helping someone have a fantastic experience.” He asked me how long I was going to be here. “Mid-August,” I replied. “Ooh, you’ll be able to soak up a lot of peace by then,” he said, and headed back into the dishes.

Yesterday, we had two paid staff in the kitchen and two volunteers (the rest of the community helps with the washing-up too, we all pitch in). Then, because it was Saturday, we had one paid staff and one volunteer in the office.

The retreats are so well organized that theoretically any one of the team can lead any session. Obviously a huge amount of planning goes into making this possible, and everyone puts their own stamp on a particular session. For example, David, who is a deacon and a self-professed math geek, opened his session with a number of math/logic puzzles to get people thinking – obviously something I would never do!

I had a blast yesterday. Which may seem a weird choice of words once I tell you what I was doing, but true nonetheless. After sessions on the meanings of discipleship and what we see as discipleship in our own lives, the late afternoon session opened with a meditation and readings about what blocks us from following God more closely. In the hour and a half that followed, people had a choice of staying in the chapel for silent meditation, going to confession, or speaking individually with a team member. I was one of the designated listeners. Obviously I can’t give details of what I heard, but as with any counseling session, I was completely blown away by the trust people are willing to bestow on a perfect stranger, which is an honor and a privilege, and by the desperate need we all have to unburden ourselves and be heard. That is exactly the kind of thing that I have been hoping to do here. The Geordie (Newcastle) accent takes a little getting used to! If you’ve ever seen the film or stage play Billy Elliot, you’ll know what I mean.

OH! And I heard the first cuckoo of Spring on Friday!

…I’ve had a stained glass window in the shower. It’s only slightly creepy to have him watching. This fella is Saint Laurence, a deacon who was martyred in AD 258. He’s usually depicted with or on something that looks like a vegetable basket for grilling or barbecuing.. The person he had ticked off wanted him to die slowly, so he was roasted over an open fire. The legend says that he was so full of joy that he joked with his persecutors, telling them to turn him over. He is, among other things, the patron saint of cooks and comedians.This implement looks more like a ladder to me, but the name at the top is clearly St. Laurence. The window is from the 17th century. Fortunately the shower is newer.

And here is the view from across the hall, looking into one of the courtyards.