From Pelagius to St Augustine

Friday 19th February, 2021

It was raining when I woke. It was raining at midday after I had written some letters which I wanted to post. So I decided to get my car going. It would be a way of charging the battery. So I drove to the nearest post box and then decided to head over to the shop which sells my favourite coffee. I have nearly run out so over the Tay Bridge to Lockee. I left the car running outside the shop, popped in and bought three bags of coffee. Very few people were about and I was through speedily picking up some chorizo on the way. Back across the bridge and home in about twenty minutes.

I decided to have lunch of chorizo and a bread bun left from yesterday. Letters had arrived and one contained a Lenten retreat talk by a monk of Ampleforth Abbey in Yorkshire. Entitled ' A change in life...from Pelagius to St Augustine' by Edward Corbould. Excellent. He spoke of how we move from moral infallibility as youths to recognising we are sinners. How as the young we are indomitable yet via suffering how we come to acceptance. As to faith we move from the youthful demand for certainty to accepting the limitations of our mind and on to trust, a trust which accepts our own inadequacy. The talk resonated.

Then I was sent a link to a BBC Television series featuring John Betjeman and the Norfolk Churches. Made around the 1960s it featured the most magnificent of churches and their history and the quirky places they were built. It featured shots of the villagers of those times and the attendance and happenings of the church communities as centres of social and moral life. A bygone era yet one that makes me feel we have lost our Christian centre, almost the soul of our lives. No longer the church, the pub, the post office and the police station in each village. We have moved on via Shopping Malls to online shopping, online banking, online postal services. I am of the age and grumpiness to miss what was. Yes there are marvellous and valuable developments yet I miss the togetherness and communality of what once was.

Much to think of. I read Eliot's Four Quartets again and wondered. I read Mingyur Rinpoche and his pilgrimage and wondered. It has been a feast day of meditation today.

It stopped raining at 16.00 so I decided to walk but without my litter grabber. I shot off at a goodly speed and did half my usual circuit when it began to rain again. So home I went. I saw none of my usual acquaintanceships as I walked. Please tomorrow may it be dry.

I will however accept as I have learned the humility to know that I do not control the weather. In fact I am not sure what I control, "not even my bowels" as my Grand Father, a vicar, used to sigh in his old age. God help us.