Methodists for gay marriage?

Apart from the link I will share in a moment, views in this post are my own - in true Methodist tradition, they may or may not reflect the official views of the Methodist church.

The response from the Methodist Church of Great Britain to the Government's proposals to allow gay marriage in church can be seen here. http://methodist.org.uk/news-and-events/news-releases/methodist-response-to-proposals-on-same-sex-marriage

Whilst I'm disappointed by most of it - it's wooly and tries to stay very firmly on the fence - the last sentence is important. Ultimate authority for this should rest with the church and the governing body of the denomination in question.

As a Methodist, this makes me think that the Methodist Church is in an interesting position. Most denominations will, I suspect, say no, either by force (as in the Church in Wales and Church of England) or by conviction.

So it's no from the Anglicans. It will also be no from the Roman Catholic church. I suspect that it will be no from the Baptists (though that is just a gut feeling, I have nothing concrete to base that on), and no from the Pentecostals and others of that particular evangelical ilk.

That doesn't leave many denominations left. The United Reformed Church will almost certainly say yes - they already agree to their premises being used for the registration of civil partnerships - and it will also be a yes from the Metropolitan Community Church, the Quakers and the Unitarians.

What about the Methodists? Well, it's not a question the church can ignore. It will have to come before Conference, and, I suspect, sooner rather than later. I would love to see it passed, but I am not holding my breath. I believe this is a great mission opportunity which could be handled in such a way as to allow those who object to not be forced to conduct such a service. This is currently the way we do things with regards the question of remarriage after divorce. It is up to the minister's own conscience. Not all will agree, that's fine, but it seems to me that what we have with the divorce / remarriage question is a good model which can be built upon and extended in other areas of church life. As I say, I hope that this is what Conference permits, but the question has been raised before with regards the blessing of civil partnerships, and the response then was a blanket no rather than allowing ministers to act according to what they thought best. It means that if a minister wishes to bless a civil partnership, s/he must go outside the church to do so, perhaps to the hotel or other venue where the civil partnership is being held, or perhaps to the couple's home. In some ways, taking ministry outside the church has a lot to commend it, but is this the best way of ensuring that? I suspect not.

I should also say that one of the churches where I am minister is shared with the Presbyterian Church of Wales. I have searched by so far failed to find any official statement from the PCW on these questions of human sexuality. If I thought that Methodism said nothing but took several paragraphs in which to say it, the silence of the PCW is positively deafening.

The Tide is High

In many ways, my time on Holy Island could be summed up in 4 words – walk, read, pray, sleep. Not necessarily in that order! There was, of course, rather more to it than that.

This was my 4^th visit to the island. It is a place I love, it is special and it has a peace about it that is hard to find elsewhere.

The Holy Island of Lindisfarne, to give it its full name is steeped in Christian history. The ruins of the abbey speak of the saints of old, Cuthbert, Aiden and others, and a number of churches and other worship centres on the island remind us that Christian life and witness continues there to this day.

The approach to Holy Island is via a causeway. This is flooded at high tide. It is stating the obvious, but if the tide tables say that it is unsafe to cross, do not try to cross. It's not just a case of driving through a bit of a flood on the road, it means that you are driving into the North Sea. If that is the case, you will not get across, you will almost certainly lose the car (try telling that one to the insurance companies!) and indeed, not wishing to over-dramatise things, but your life could be in danger as well.

When I crossed, I was aware of the tide tables, and the causeway was to close 75 minutes after I made the crossing. I was listening to Radio Newcastle at the time, and when I made it to the island, the song they played was Blondie's “The Tide is High” How appropriate!

First job was to check into the retreat house where I was staying “The Open Gate”. It is where I have always stayed when on the island, and I could hardly believe it when I was shown to the same room that I have had on the last 3 occasions. Knowing my way around there immediately gave me a sense of easy familiarity, the unpacking took next to no time, and in so many ways I felt as if I was in a home away from home.

Having a walk around the island, I noticed that there was a funeral party leaving the parish church, so I kept a respectful distance, yet had a feeling that in such a small, close-knit community as this, it would be something I would hear talked about in the days to come. Some of the mourners were heading to their cars to leave the island, it was almost the end of the safe crossing time, others were heading to the Manor House, a very nice hotel. I had looked at the possibility of staying there should the Open Gate be full, but I didn't need that plan B – quite happily as it turns out, I could see by the crowd going in that there is no way I would wish to be checking in there right now. Also, for today at least, I'd be unlikely to get much peace!

Away from the funeral party, as the tide began to cover the causeway and a peace descended on the island, I could feel myself relaxing already.

12 noon saw mid-day prayers in the chapel at the Open Gate, and this was followed by the search for somewhere to have lunch – not as easy as it sounds. In the summer, you can't move for tea shops, cafes etc, but out of season it's not so easy. Fortunately, the post office doubles up as a cafe and further doubles up as a general stores, so I was able to get a snack there. It was there that I met a few other people staying on the island. One was an Anglican vicar, also staying at the Open Gate, and the other a Catholic priest staying at the Manor House. It was quite a good conversation all told!

This is meant to be a retreat, but I decided to spend the afternoon getting some work out of the way. Quite simply, I prepared my services up to and including Epiphany. Hymns / carols, readings all sorted, it just leaves sermons to be written. It felt fantastic, but when I'd finished and shared the news on Facebook, the first comment I got back was “I want to hit you very hard” And that from a so-called friend !! :-)

There was a bit of time for rest in the later part of the afternoon before evening prayer in the parish church, St Mary's, where the funeral was held earlier. In the prayers there, I discovered that the name of the deceased was Douglas, and yes, of course he was remembered in the prayers.

If finding somewhere to have lunch was interesting, it was the same sort of problem trying to find a place for dinner. Usually I've eaten at one of the island's pubs, the Ship, but there was a notice on the door saying that it was closed until 22^nd Dec. So it had to be the Manor House, all the other pubs, restaurants etc being closed. At least there is one place open, but, of course, that is where the wake was being held after the funeral, and now, over 7 hours after the service, with the causeway re-opened, there were some who were still going strong. I understand that even the widow had departed by this point, but not all had followed her example. Some were obviously rather the worse for wear by now as well. Still, it didn't disturb my enjoyment of dinner, it was only the pouring rain which put a dampener on the evening!

Back in my room, I started one of the books I had brought “This odd and wondrous calling” in which 2 ministers tell their stories, and after night prayers at the Open Gate, I slept better than I have done in some time.

Day 2 began, not surprisingly, with breakfast. This was shared with Giles and Nathan, the 2 other guests at the Open Gate, Graham, who is the manager, for want of a better description, and Ellie, the housekeeper, again for want of a better description! It was a fascinating conversation, with Graham racking his brains trying to work out where he knows me from. It is from previous visits to the island, having met him then. Fair play, That was over 3 years ago, and he has seen a lot of guests at the Open Gate since then!

So, an attempt at a walk round the island. I say attempt, as that is all it was. The rain from last night had stopped, thank goodness, but it had been replaced by a biting cold wind. I did get a look at Cuthbert's Island though. It was tempting to go over there, but the tide was coming in, and access is even more limited than access to Holy Island via the causeway. Perhaps this time tomorrow if all goes to plan. 

The Abbey was closed (is anything open out of season?), but a walk on the tops at the Heugh does at least allow for a view into the abbey grounds.

As well as the Parish church, there is also a United Reformed Church on the island. I don't make too much of it to be honest – it was nice to have somewhere to sit quietly, but it didn't seem to have any atmosphere. It's a bit harsh to say that it's become a glorified sitting room, but that's how it felt. Sorry.

After mid-day prayers and lunch in the post-office cafe, there were 2 short walks round parts of the island this afternoon. Again, the cold prevented me from doing a full lap of the island, even though I had 4 layers on! The first was down to the castle. Guess what – it was shut! And the second to the end of the visitor's car park, to take some photos over the causeway. As the sunset was so stunning, I went back to Cuthbert's island, now completely cut off by the tide, and the light over in that direction was absolutely stunning.

After more reading, then piling the layers on again for evening prayers in the parish church, I had dinner in the Manor House again, as again, it was the only place on the island doing dinner! There were 4 of us this time, Malcolm, who is the Catholic priest I had lunch with yesterday, and Bill and David, 2 of the other guests in the hotel. We'd got talking in the bar beforehand, realised we were all there for something to eat and decided to share a table and chat as we ate. It made for a very pleasant evening and not a little ecumenical discussion thrown in for good measure! Night prayers at the Open Gate rounded off the evening before heading to bed.

Day 3, and finally the chance to get to Cuthbert's Island after breakfast. The tide was coming in, but it was a little earlier than yesterday, and hight tide would be a little later, so I realised that I had the chance to go if I went now, didn't hang about when I got there and kept a very keen eye on the tide so as not to be stranded. Happily, all went to plan. A bit more time to enjoy the peace of the island would have been nice, but, short of following in Cuthbert's footsteps and allowing myself to be stranded over there until low tide tonight, that was not an option.

As the weather was a few degrees warmer than yesterday – though hardly tropical (!) I did venture for the walk round the island at last. It was cold, but worth it. It was also pretty wet and muddy.

After mid-day prayers I was chatting to a vicar and her husband from Liverpool over lunch. No prizes for guessing where – the post-office cafe! It was a bit un-nerving to be told by the proprietor that I reminded him of someone from the telly, but he couldn't work out who. Don't say he's been watching too much “Total Wipeout!”

By now it was high tide again, and as I have never seen the causeway flooded, I had a walk to water's edge. When the warning signs tell you not to cross the causeway when there is water on the road it is for a reason. I knew that, I have mentioned it above, and now I see why. I know it is stating the obvious, but as there are still some people who have not got the message, I will say it again – for safety's sake, don't. It is not worth it.

After evening prayer, it was time for a bit of packing. Tonight one of the pubs, the Crown and Anchor, was open, so that is where I ate. It was interesting listening to a couple of the locals having a chat – apparently some people stayed in the Manor until 1AM after the funeral the other day – a total of 14 hours in the bar. I mean – why? There's so much more I could say about that, but perhaps it's best not to. Also, there are plans to develop some of the island. Now, in some ways it needs it, but as always happens, it's not gone down too well, some of the people who have not read the detailed plans are confusing one with another. Some could be for the good of the island and its community, others less so. Certainly it must not lose the special nature it has, but that needs to be mixed with the challenge of living in the 21^st century. I know that's not a matter that is exclusive to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, but it doesn't make it any easier.

As it happens, after night prayers, Graham said that a meeting which had taken place that night about this very matter was a very good and extremely productive one. Let's hope some good can come of it without losing the sense of peace and tranquility as well as the tradition of centuries of prayer and worship from the faithful.

Normally when I visit Holy Island I stay just the 2 nights. I was very glad of the 3^rd night this time. It felt just about right. I left after breakfast the following day ready for Advent and all that this season brings.

I hope that this, my 4^th visit to the island is not my last one.

A great night for sport

I'm writing this at the end of Britain's greatest day in sport ever. 6 gold medals have been won by team GB, including 3 in the Olympic stadium. No doubt as I write this others are blogging, tweeting and sharing on Facebook, but away from the limelight, it's also been an important night for sport for me as well.

To set the scene, you need to turn the clock back somewhere between 3 hours and 30 years. Earlier this evening, one of the people I follow on Twitter posted about how these Olympics are laying to rest some of the ghosts from sport in his schooldays. I replied that at school I was never any good at sport. I was hopeless at football, usually the last to be picked for the team, was even worse at cricket, and just when my hopes were raised and I thought that my talent might have been spotted in field sports, it turns out that I had totally misunderstood the games master when he said, "Fox, that javelin-throwing defies description. One more like that and it's the high-jump!"

That was then. Now, these years later, I have run 29 Marathons, my most recent being on the centenary of the 1912 Stockholm Olympic Marathon. I completed the course in 4h 36m 25s, a time which I will need to halve if I am to have any chance of Making the team GB Olympic squad.

But in the half hour after posting that, my twitter account went ballistic. The person I replied to re-tweeted it, and basically that, and his earlier post, opened the floodgates. From near and far people were replying how finding a love of sport since leaving school has helped them with issues they had at school and how they did not exactly shine on the sports field. Around this there are all sorts of issues, some to do with bullying, and many to do with self-esteem. In my case it was a combination of things, probably due to the fact that I was one of the quiet and shy members of the class, something which some translated as me being a bit soft, and also the fact that some of my classmates could see what I was trying my  damndest not to see - the fact that I was gay. (That is an entirely separate blog and a whole other issue)

When running at school, either cross-country or the 1500 meters, there was something about it which was different. I was still towards the end of the pack, but the feeling inside me was different - this was something I could do, even if I didn't excel at it. Looking back (and we can all be wise after the event) I should have had some coaching for running at school, or at least in the years which followed. Instead, I more or less neglected it, only going for a run if I was feeling particularly worried about something.

Yet when I was 26, for some reason, I wanted to put my trainers on again and get out there. I started with a 1.5 mile course, and thought that I had achieved something by completing it. I suppose I had. Soon I entered a 5-mile race, and then the distance of the races I entered increased. !0km (6.2 miles), 10 miles, half-marathon (13.1 miles) and then the big one, a full marathon, 26.2 miles, that first one being completed in 4h 34m exactly.

No-one told me that Marathon running was addictive. I knew from the moment I got my breath back that I would do another. Given half a chance I'd do another tomorrow. As mentioned above, the total is currently 29 at the last count, with a place in numbers 30 and 31, and most likely 32 as well.

Every Marathon has a story, and every Marathon has a medal and t-shirt that comes with it. That is certainly a great boost for the self-esteem. To look back to my school days, if you had told the teachers or the other pupils that one day I would be able to say that I had run 29 Marathons, they would have laughed. Well, let them laugh. The 12-year old me would laugh as well. In all this, whatever they may think now, I can tell you that no-one has had a bigger surprise then me.

So once the fuss from the twitter reaction died down, I went out for a run. I was going to do 4 miles, but the adrenaline took over and it turned into 6. I arrived home to see Mo Farah win the 10000 meters (approx 6 miles) in less than half the time it had taken me to do the same distance! It doesn't matter, I had all the stories that people had posted on Twitter going round my head, and I was very conscious that I was running surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. (Hebrews 12:1)

So now, it's late. I'm sitting here in urgent need of a bath, tears streaming down my face, grateful for the fact that I live alone - even the most understanding partner could have me sectioned for this! But there's a verse which I keep in mind before a Marathon, one which has inspired countless thousands down the ages, whether running in a physical sense or just getting over life's various hurdles.
"They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings as eagles, they shall run and not grow weary, they shall walk and not faint" (Isaiah 40:31)

To everyone struggling with issues of bullying, low self-esteem, whatever, there is a way through it. Take heart. Tonight's Twitter stories have moved me to tears, and I'm sure there must be many others where they came from.

Fifty Shades of Grey

I did not plan to buy and read this book. I don't see the need to jump on every bandwagon going. I thought that I could manage quite happily without it. Until, that is, I heard some ladies of a certain age at a church coffee morning talking about it. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Laugh at the thought of the expression on their faces when they read parts of it, or cry that the church has come to this.

Now I recognise that these ladies may well know more than they are letting on. They would have been of the generation who talked about Lady Chatterley and the furore surrounding the publication of that book. This, at least as far as English literature is concerned, would hardly be ground-breaking stuff for them.

But if they were going to talk about it, and if any of them, or anyone else for that matter, asked my opinion of it, the only way to engage in conversation and have a decent idea of what I'm talking about was to read the book.

So, what is the book about? Well, the general story-line is well-publicised elsewhere, so I'm not going to go into great detail spelling it out. Neither is this going to be a book review in the usual sense, though no doubt bits of both of the above will make an appearance in the paragraphs below.

Without wishing to sound as if I'm preparing a classic three-point sermon, whilst I did enjoy some bits of the general story-line, there were bits that had me in disbelief at being just too far-fetched for the likes of you and me ( or have I just had a very sheltered life?) there were bits, especially the “juicy bits” where I was bored – once you've read an account of a sex-scene you've read them all, and there were other areas where I was looking for, and in a number of cases finding, theological reflection.

Christian Grey seems to have it all – successful business, millions in the bank, chauffeur, housekeeper, private jet, you name it, he's got it. He's also pretty good in bed. Is this just an attempt to get men to feel inadequate, or for women to think that their men are inadequate? Perhaps those who don't keep in mind the fact that this is fiction might think so!

Yet underneath that exterior, there are ghosts from his past which haunt his present. The way he was treated has turned into the way he treats others. You get glimpses of his past in the book. I for one was feeling that I wanted to know more, but no huge revelations were forthcoming. Towards the end of the book there was a bit of a hint that he might find redemption. I won't give the ending away, but that bit had my interest.

So, having read it, what do I make of it? Well, it's certainly not the best book I've ever read. Sorry, but it isn't. It is the most graphic I've ever read, and I don't say that with any degree of pride. It's a piece of fiction and belongs firmly in that genre. There are 2 other books in the series. I haven't read them, but I suspect that they are largely more of the same. Will there be redemption at the end of the 3^rd book? I don't know. (And if you know, please don't spoil it, I may read them one day if I've nothing better to do!)

But basically what it all boils down to is the fact that there are many other books that I would prefer to be having a discussion about at a church coffee morning. I'm not going to become one of the kind of ministers who says it should be banned, don't read it, etc, but there have been other novels which have held my attention better and other books which have been better for my general well-being.

I suppose at the end of the day it's a matter of personal taste, but this wasn't to mine.

Now, do I donate the book to the next church fayre?

Pull over at Cardigan

With my heels red raw (but mercifully, not bleeding) from the boots rubbing against them yesterday, I couldn't face the boots again, and, making sure my heels had good plasters covering them, dug out the trainers and decided to see how it goes with them.

I had a false start initially trying to get out of New Quay – I had tried to join the path a little too low down, but that was easily rectified by going up to the next street. For a short while I seemed to be going back on myself, but then, just as the path changed, so did the headland, and not for the first time on this walk, I had the sea on both sides of me.

The first 4 miles to Cwn Tydi presented no major problem. However, going up the other side of the valley, a sign recommended a detour on minor roads due to steep cliffs and narrow paths. As yesterday, I was happy to follow the detour, but somehow took a wrong turn. I wasn't horribly lost, but things felt a bit like an episode of Fawlty Towers - “You can see the sea if you look out there and strain to the right”. As I realised that I was heading in the right general direction, I pressed on, and by the time I reached Penmorfa I decided that it was easier to continue by road to Tresaith and then on to then Aberporth.

Aberporth is a nice village and was the setting for a fish and chip lunch. However, due to time constraints and an eye on the bus timetable, I needed to press on to Cardigan.

The weather today was a sight better than had been forecast. The rain stayed away, at least it did until the walk was over and I was back in shelter much later in the day, but it was cooler and I was glad of jumper. I'm just grateful that it stayed dry.

As with yesterday's walk, this stretch of the Ceredigion heritage coast is quiet with glorious views . Like some of the beaches on the Lleyn Peninsula, it is an overlooked bit of coast. But don't tell everyone. That'd spoil it !

And so to Cardigan. Hopefully more about that in my next blog when I've had a proper chance to look round the town. As I was preaching in Lampeter the next day, I wanted to get the bus back to New Quay so that I wouldn't be too late arriving at mine hosts for the evening.

Keep yer Aberaeron

The original plan was to go camping. It seemed like such a good idea at the time – late June, the longest day of the year. Lovely summer evenings, what could be better?

The great British summer was a washout! Nothing would have been worse than trying to put a tent up in a field in these conditions, being soaked before the start, and putting up with wet and miserable conditions afterwards, no thanks!

So, rather than look for a campsite, I found a room and based myself in New Quay for the next 2 nights.

My walk to date had previously taken me to Aberystwyth, and during my university days< I had walked from Aberystwyth to Llanrhystud, so that was where I decided to pick up the walk again. I knew that I had reached Llanrhystud and then taken the road to Lampeter, so I went to the bus-stop just before that turning, knowing that I was repeating my steps if I took it from here.

The first task was to don the waterproofs. It was wet, having been raining solidly for over 12 hours by this point. As I headed to the beach for the coast path, I met a chap walking the dog coming off the beach who told me to be prepared to be blown away. Wow, was he right. This bit of the coast was hard-going. Mainly because of the wind. Walking into a strong headwind is not easy, and with the rain lashing as well, it threatened to be a pretty miserable day all told. As it happens, it got better, but it was still a pretty miserable start.

As if that wasn't bad enough, there was something seriously wrong with my boots. They were hurting the backs of my heels and felt like lead weights with every step. Surprising, given that I have had them for so long and walked so many miles in them. Oh well, perhaps they are now on their last legs in more ways than one !

It wasn't the easiest of days for navigating either. Yes, the old maxim “Keep the sea on your right” still applied, but for these 15 miles or so, I needed no fewer than 3 different OS maps. One to get out of Llanrhystud, one briefly featuring the coast either side of Aberaeron and one for the final approach to New Quay.

The first port of call, if you can call it that was Llansantfraid – a very nice church and some houses around it, but really, that is just a suburb (and that is a very grand term here!) for the village of Llanon. I didn't stop there, but pressed on through Aberarth to Aberaeron. Which made a nice spot for lunch.

After a sandwich, the rain had stopped, and I could dispense with some of the waterproofs. The coast path at this point is beautiful. The stunning scenery, hills, cliffs and the sea all ask why it's necessary to go abroad for holidays. The grey clouds and occasional spots of rain unfortunately provided the answer.

The only person I passed that afternoon was a man walking his dog. He said that the path was quiet, and that I was the first person he had seen since leaving New Quay. Indeed, he was the only person I saw all afternoon until I reached Llanina on the final approach to New Quay.

There's a lovely church at Llanina,

 Back on the path, a sign is giving a walk along the road given as alternative given that the beach is impassable at high tide. I decided to play safe as I didn't know the tide times and didn't want to get stuck!

Finally, I found myself on the outskirts of New Quay where it was easy to find the hotel and recover. The irony is, after finding the room last night, this would be a rather nice night for camping after all !

We'll kiss away each hour of hiraeth

Fewer showers they said. Drier they said ("They" being the BBC weather forecasters). So why was I rained on the whole time of the latest stage of the Welsh coastal walk?

The last stage of the walk ended in Machynlleth. As I have already (20 years ago!) walked from there to the coast and down to Llanrhystud, there is an argument to say that I could skip the next 30 miles and pick up on the way to Aberaeron, New Quay and Cardigan. Perhaps. And I have missed a good bit out this time, but, were I to head straight back to Llanrhystud, I would miss out the second-longest promenade in Wales (I have already come across the longest in Llandudno), and not only that, but I would totally miss out on the town that was my home for 4 years 1988-1992. I couldn't miss that out, so, after a week of non-stop rain, I got off the train in Borth to be greeted by wet and miserable weather.

Not to worry, I have good waterproofs, so on they went, and off I went, along the sea-front in Borth and along the cliffs to Clarach Bay and beyond.

Perhaps surprisingly, I was not the only fool out for a walk today. The first people I met asked me if they could get a bus back to Borth when they got to Clarach. I replied that the last time I lived here you could, but that was 20 years ago and I couldn't guarantee what it was like today. There were others out as well who said a quick hello in passing, but the cliff path wasn't at its busiest!

As I was walking up and along the cliffs, memories started coming back to me. This is where I would occasionally walk with some friends from college - it wasn't a regular occurrence, but it happened every now and again. Indeed, at one point there was talk of a college walking club. Our first, and as far as I know only outing was from Clarach to Borth. There was talk that we might do several Welsh walks. There was talk that we might do Snowdon. We did Clarach to Borth! Yet as I retraced these steps these years later, I could again see all my college friends in my minds eye, and couldn't help but wonder where they are now. I know where some of them are, but others do seem to have disappeared off the radar.

The walk to Clarach was pretty speedy - with the weather I didn't stop to take in the view which is what I would have done on nicer days, but on the approach to Clarach, I did have to stop and gasp when I saw beyond the bay to a headland containing a war memorial and castle. I knew that I was getting close to home now.

The original plan had been to stop in Clarach and have a cuppa and / or sandwich, but there was no-where open, and I didn't feel like sitting at a picnic table in the rain, so I pressed on, grateful that I only had one more hill and just over one more mile to go today.

This last hill is Constitution Hill, or "Consty" as it's known locally. If I have memories of the walk to Borth, I have many more of this hill. I'd trudge up it in all weathers just to get away from college, perhaps just to clear the head after finishing an essay, perhaps to have a walk and chat with friends away from walls which have ears, perhaps just to enjoy it as a walk and admire the view in its own right. Today, I noticed that there was a new path leading up from Clarach. I'm quite pleased about that actually - the last one was deteriorating, and whilst I think that health and safety has gone mad in some instances, to see a new, tarmacked path slightly further away from the cliff edge did make sense to me, especially in the rain, given that on a couple of occasions in the walk I had been losing my footing slightly - not seriously, I wasn't in danger of making any nasty tumbles, but all the same, better safe than sorry.

As I neared the top of the hill, my heart was pounding, not only because of the effort of walking up the hill, but because I was now on such familiar ground. When I saw the tower on the top of the next hill, Pen-dinas, I knew that it was now only a couple more steps, and.....   Yes ! I was looking down at the town, the town which had been my home for 4 years. After an absence of just over 10 years (almost unforgivable!) to see it from the top of Consty was definitely the best way ever. As I stood there, with the rain beating down on me, a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes, at that moment I realised I knew the true meaning of the Welsh word "Hiraeth". It's not a word you translate (though some have tried to do so with "homesickness" or "longing") which are on the right sort of lines but don't quite get there. It's an emotion, an emotion I was now feeling. For I was home. My walk along the Welsh coast had brought me to Aberystwyth.

I could have run down the other side of Consty. I didn't, but there was a sure spring in my step. At the bottom, the first thing I had to do was kick the bar - an Aberystwyth custom, usually after a walk along the prom, but for me today it was at the start of the walk along the prom, but what's that between friends! As I kicked it, I yelled out "Yes" rejoicing at being home again after far too long. A women looked at me as if I was mad - she was probably right, but I didn't care a bit!

I'll not share my memories of Aberystwyth c1990 and compare and contrast them with what I saw today in this entry of the blog - though I do think there's another entry there. Suffice to say, each hour of hiraeth was well and truly kissed away, and although I only met one person I knew, and although the time for the train home came round all too soon, it was good to be back. I promise myself that it will not be another 10 years before I return.

I am not a pushover

I'm just back from Spring Harvest. I usually like to get away for a few days after Easter, I call it "The week for clapped-out clergy" Usually I go away to some large Christian gathering, it was "Easter People" for many years, and when that ceased, I transferred my allegiance to "Spring Harvest"

In many ways I come away quite enthused, with ideas to bring back to circuit, and plans to work on in the future. This year was no exception. The create zone was fantastic. Even though I am no artist by any stretch of the imagination, I got a lot out of making things (garlands, sketch maps of my locality etc) and not only the making, but the thoughts and prayers behind it, eg in your locality are there any "no-go" areas? Mark them on the map and pray for these places. It was very meaningful.

Some of the seminars in the afternoons were also useful for training and ideas. One, "The church after Google" was very informative about church life, and in particular church advertising in a digital media age.

But where I have more of a problem is with the worship held every evening in the Big Top. Usually I've looked for an alternative celebration, but as there weren't that many on offer this year (I did go to one called Fusion aimed at 18-30s, and whilst I was welcomed, being the other side of 40, I felt old enough to be their dad - probably because I am !)

I don't know of it's an age thing or what, but this next comment is going to make me sound like a grumpy old man - and it's something I never thought I'd hear myself say!

Can we please have some music we know ??

Now I know that is a not infrequent comment after I have led a service, but at least when I introduce new hymns, it is only one or two out of a total of 5. In the big top worship there's barely a hymn / worship song I'm even halfway familiar with. Then they get sung over and over again, which I suppose does mean that if you are listening and trying to join in then there's half a chance you might get familiar with the music by the time it's finished - but I'm sorry, quarter of an hour or so of 2 or 3 like that is just too much for me. I usually end up seated by the time they're finished, and I'm not the only one. Indeed, I discovered that some people watch from the chalets - something I've known about all along. This may be for various reasons, perhaps babysitting or simply having the chance to have a night in as a family. Or perhaps it's also that others find the big top too big and too loud.

Then there's the preaching. Now, all the talks / sermons / addresses that I've heard have contained some good stuff. But in many cases it's been spoiled by shouting. The first night I was in the big top was one such occasion. I was getting quite into what the preacher had to say, I'm sure there were many who could relate to her, but then she started shouting, and although she'd have continued to have my attention meaning that I'd pay attention to the good points she was making had she been a bit quieter, shouting at the top of her voice wrecked it for me, and, I later learnt, for at least one other. We can hear you, there are microphones, there's no need to shout.

But perhaps where I have the most problems is with the response. Now I accept that there is a response to worship - it means that we have to do something to say "Here I am, Lord" and there is a place for that. But please don't become manipulative about it.

My second night in the Big Top, there was a call to come forward. Some did to become Christians and make a commitment for the first time. That was fantastic to see and very encouraging. Then there was a call for those to come forward if they wanted prayer for another touch from the Holy Spirit. As I had been feeling pretty flat and not totally able to engage with the worship for the reasons mentioned above, perhaps against my better judgement, I went forward at that stage.

I'm not against receiving prayer but I was concerned when the speaker placed his hand on the top of my chest almost as an attempt to push me over.

I am not opposed to God knocking people flat if that is how He chooses to move in a person's life, but I do object to someone trying to give a gentle push to give the impression that this is what God is doing.

Some months ago now, Derren Brown, an atheist did the church an enormous favour when he exposed faith healers and other preachers of this ilk and showed that what they are doing can be explained by manipulation. It was a fantastic programme, which those who are genuinely seeking to follow Christ have nothing to be alarmed about.

When I perceived happening at Spring Harvest that night was not far short of that.

By all means pray for people. By all means pray for healing. By all means, pray that they will be filled with the Spirit. But don't try to manipulate them. I am not a pushover.

Much as I like Spring Harvest and am already planning to go to Minehead week 3 next year, I do not see myself being part of the main celebration in the Big Top again.

Machynlleth

Today's stage of the walk was functional rather than anything else. It had to be done, but I was unhappy with it for a number of reasons. They all revolve around that fact that it took me away from the coast, and there was very little in the way of sea view to speak of here.

The plan was to walk from Tywyn to Machynlleth. why Machynlleth, a town the best part of 20 miles from the coast? Where does that come into the picture? Well, it may be inland, but it is the place nearest the coast where I can cross the Dovey estuary (apart from a railway bridge which is railway only and has no public right of way)

Ironically, as I started to head inland, just after Tywyn, the signs I needed to follow were for "Happy valley" - I was anything but! As if the feeling that I was going off course wasn't bad enough, conditions underfoot were far from ideal. The weather was biting cold, and there was ice in places. I slipped but stayed upright a couple of times - thankfully nothing serious.

There were some good points, though, and these also deserve a mention. Firstly, on approaching the village of Cwrt, the views were stunning. Not coast as such, but views over the estuary, as the hills on my right finally gave way and allowed a look at what lies beyond them. Also, in Pennal, the delightful church of St Peter ad vincula is well worth a visit. It dates back to the 6th century, has links with Owain Glyndwr, yet embraces the modern as well as the ancient.

Meeting up with the A487 for the final push into Machynlleth brought me back onto the route I used for the Bangor to Cardiff walk over 20 years ago. It is a long time since I have been to Machynlleth, and most of my visits then were to change trains at the station. I had a good hour and a bit before a train back to Barmouth (where I had left the car) so it was a chance to walk round the small town and jog some memories of yesteryear. Although it's a long time since I visited, this is now very familiar territory, and I am looking forward to the next stage immensely.

Update 2 - leaving Barmouth

West Wales in January. Biting cold, but glorious sunshine. A beautiful day for a walk.

Leaving Barmouth is an experience. The route takes you over the Mawddach estuary via a rail and foot bridge. It looks a rickety old thing, but as it carries a passenger train every hour, it must be safe enough. The wind howled, I needed 4 layers on as well as hat, gloves etc, but it was wonderful. The scenery over the estuary is breathtaking, and it was a wonderful way to start the day.

Once over the bridge, it's on the path to Fairbourne, following a sea wall and the Fairbourne railway, which, being a school day in January, was not running. This is another of the many Welsh seaside resorts which looks as if it could be very pleasant in season, but looks deserted the rest of the time. Not that I'm here for a day at the beach. Well, I am in a way, but not in that sense. There are other resorts which are calling.

Much as I hate doing so, I had to follow the road for a while. Fortunately it's a pretty quiet road, and as the sea wall seems to peter out into the sea, it was definitely the best decision! However, it does go uphill. Never let anyone tell you that the coast of Wales is flat. Whilst it was by no means the steepest section of the coast - I had that joy on the Lleyn peninsula on a baking hot day last August - it's a climb all the same. However, as with all climbs, it is worth it for the view out to sea.

Other than the view, there isn't that much of interest for the next step, though eventually you do come to the village of Rhoslefain. Whilst this is a very small place - maybe village is a bit of an over-grand description, there is at least a place to sit, check the map, pour a coffee and realise that at last there is a way forward that involves only minor roads, so that was where to head next.

So it was along that minor road and over a field to rejoin the main road (which to be honest was so wide at this stage that it looked like Brands Hatch - but without the traffic) before turning off it again to cross the old Dysynni Bridge (pedestrians only these days), which is the place closest to the coast where to cross the Dysynni river. After that, it was a 2-mile walk on the path alongside the main road to head into the resort of Tywyn.

To look at the map, the logical thing would be to continue down the coast to Aberdovey then head along the Dovey estuary to Machynlleth. However, to do that would require about 20 miles of walking on main roads. No thanks. There is another option which goes on quieter roads inland to Machynlleth, and logic dictates that to be the path to follow. That's for the next section though, so today's walk ends in Tywyn, with very familiar ground tantalisingly close.

The Welsh walk - an update

Quite a few months have passed since I last blogged about the walk round the Welsh coast. Going by this blog alone, you could be forgiven for thinking that I am still a man of Harlech, whereas the truth is that I have now reached Machynlleth. So, what's been happening between the two, other than a lot of walking?

I left Harlech last November. In many ways it was a typical November day - cloudy and dull, and whereas even in the height of summer it had been difficult to see some of the tourist areas in full flow, there was a distinct impression of things shutting up for the winter.

This is another stage of the walk where it is necessary to head inland. Not for a vast distance, but in order to avoid a disused airfield and a tidal causeway leading to Shell Island, it is necessary to head into the hills a little way. The first hill, heading out of Harlech itself means that the view of the castle quickly disappears. For all its association with Welsh history, it's necessary to look forward and move ahead.

Despite moving forward, at times, the way seems to be leading back on itself. Indeed, there was a point where the sea was on my left. Had I not been able to see the road swing round again in the distance, I would have thought I was wrong, keep the sea on the right is the most basic navigation method for the whole of the walk. Sure, I've got maps and the like to give me a bit more idea of my bearings, but the basic rule of thumb had an exception to it here!

Once in the hills, the view is stunning. The route goes through the village of Llanbedr, where I stopped for a coffee from my flask, and it struck me that this is the second time this flask has accompanied me on the walk across Wales. I had originally bought it for the Bangor to Cardiff trek back in 1989-90. Some things have changed since those days, but some are reassuringly familiar still.

Lunch was a bowl of soup in a cafe near Dyffryn Ardudwy from where it's a case of follow the main road (fortunately well-pavemented) along the coast, drop down onto the sea wall shortly after Llanaber and make the final approach into Barmouth from there.

Barmough in November looks closed. It's a shame, it's a nice place, with a lot going for it, but on a dull day, with the light starting to fade, people were shutting up shop as early as they could get away with.

I'd been hoping to reach Harlech by Christmas - to get to Barmouth was a bonus, but, given the time of year and the shortening of the days, it is probably time to pause here and resume in 2012.

Happy New Year

A Happy new year to all readers.

"New Years Eve" is a film in cinemas at the moment - indeed, it has been out for a few weeks now. I won't spoil it for anyone who may be interested in seeing it, but here's a bit of a review.

In some ways, it's a bit like "Love Actually" in so far as the film features a number of characters, and as the film goes on, you see how their lives interweave with each other.

It actually took some getting into, but I managed that by about the 2nd hour of the film. Before then, I was rather unimpressed, but it got better. I have a feeling that I could come into it half way through and still pick up the plot without having missed too much.

But it's worth sticking with to see how the various scenarios work out. 3/5