To Be A Pilgrim

 

I was surprised a few days ago when I suddenly had a burst of energy that made me want to join the folks at Marvel Comics. I felt I could, if I wanted, to run, or fly, or stretch myself into odd and effective shapes, helping the human race to survive. Someone like Scarlett Johansson! She clearly does not need my help, but I felt she might like it if she only knew.

I'm thankful for this small energetic blessing because my husband and I did something difficult today; something I needed all that energy for. We walked St Michael's Way. Can you believe it? 11 miles. Such a walk had been in our minds and hearts for years, probably 7 years, and yesterday we decided now was the time. We ran our eyes over the Apple Maps info as best we could (not always perfect), went to the Library, and bought their little booklet. It wasn't perfect either. But we headed out anyway, each carrying a Cornish pasty and a couple of chocolate Hazelnut flutes.

This walk is linked to the Santiago de Compastela, in Spain, and is a sort of sister to it. Pilgrims have walked this path for their own reasons, centered upon giving their lives to Jesus, to repent, and devote themselves to Him. Here in Cornwall many people have walked the 10 miles between Carbis Bay/Knill's Monument and Marazion. In Spain the trek is much much longer, and requires more from its Pilgrims. 

John Bunyon (1628-1688) wrote his famous poem, 'To Be A Pilgrim', that has inspired me along many of my walks. I did not know that it appeared in the second part of The Pilgrim's Progress, until yesterday. 

He who would valiant be,

'Gainst all disaster;

let him in constancy,

follow the Master.

There’s no discouragement

shall make him once relent

his first avowed intent

to be a pilgrim.

Whoso beset him round

with dismal stories,

do but themselves confound;

his strength the more is.

No foes shall stay his might,

though he with giants fight,

he will make good his right

to be a pilgrim.

It is a hymn now, a famous one sung by choirs and individuals in good times and in hard. Yesterday had its moments - rocky paths, steep climbs, mud up to the ankles (ew) cows galore, and...bulls.

Once in a while we would spill out into a lovely great pasture, literally filled to the brim with cows. Which is actually encouraging, because England seems to be doing quite well in the areas of milk and hamburgers. They were chewing, mostly; their cud. Whatever that is. And then I would hear my husband say, "Bull". 

"Oh dear.." I would mutter, glancing around for the offending creature. And there one would be. "Don't run," was the best advice ever. But they were much more interested in their 'cud' than they were in us, and we were left to step the Pilgrim's path, finally climbing an enormous stile to escape.

We had done this once before, I think 7 years before, and we remembered stopping for our lunch pasties upon a wooden stile. So we walked until we found it again. My goodness, did those pasties ever taste GOOD! And the Hazelnut flutes! The last word in Hazelnut flutes. 

We were just finishing our flutes when along came a man and woman who were also on the Pilgrim's path. We chatted a little minute, and off they went again. 

You know that Pilgrims have a habit of helping each other out, right? These two kept appearing along our way, being helpful with information when we (I) had lost the way. It turned out that my husband had been right, and I, not. Haha! There were good reasons for both ways. When our helpful couple came along, they knew and confirmed HIS was correct. Of course - he is a navigator and has a sense for these things.

Before the journey's end, the woman came back and handed us an OS map she thought might help us if we needed it. Then at the journey's end, they appeared again and shared bus information that wasn't quite so welcome BECAUSE THERE ARE NO BUSES FROM MARAZION TO PENZANCE ANYMORE. We had walked too far already, and must turn around to Long Rock for a bus. More miles, again! Being a Pilgrim sometimes means backtracking, just when you least want to.

But we did backtrack and came upon The Mexico Inn, a pub that served us an enormous Coke. That Coke was about the best thing since sliced bread, dear Readers! I had been drinking water along the way, but THIS? This was Ambrosia. We drank it, and then crossed the street to the bus stop. The bus lumbered forward, and we climbed aboard. The jolly greeting of our British driver perked us up a little, and I think we (I) might have fallen asleep, weary but thankful; thankful for miles, for repentance, for pasties, for St Michael's Mount off in the distance, and for John Bunyan's words that encourage us all, to Follow the Master.

Since, Lord, thou dost defend

us with thy spirit:

we know we at the end

shall life inherit.

Then fancies flee away,

I’ll fear not what men say,

I’ll labour night and day

to be a pilgrim.

John Bunyan (1628-1688)

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady