On Saturday, 12th June 2010, we joined eight other Christians for a prayer walk at Spurn Point.   The day was fine although at the beginning of the afternoon a large and heavy black cloud threatened to reverse our fortunes!

For a variety of reasons but mainly because of pressures of time and other engagements in the morning we were unable to join the party at the beginning of the walk from Kilnsea.   Instead we drove down the peninsula and joined them at the car park.   They were already there, enjoying a break and a drink, when we arrived.   We set off towards the point pausing at the lifeboat station for our first prayer and reading.   We prayed for all those who worked to save the lives of others, sometimes in difficult and dangerous situations.

From there we proceeded up over the dunes to the old wartime bunkers where we pause for more prayer recognising how nature in her own time reclaims territory previously occupied by man.   The continuation of the divine creative process was everywhere to be seen.

Then we moved onwards to a high point where we had views over the sea and beach.   A hawk flew into the wind soaring with  its straight tale and wide pinions.   We later confirmed our identification of it as a marsh harrier.

Another stopping place was in a quiet glade amongst the shrubs and undergrowth.   For a few moments we enjoyed the complete silence which only allowed gentle bird song, the soothing movement of the sea on the beach and the calm sound of the breeze in the branches.   Somehow the divine presence seemed very obvious at this moment confirming the mystical experience of inner silence experienced by contemplatives.

As we moved northwards up the sea side beach we spotted a seal in the water and were able to enjoy its inquisitive looking from side to side as if to determine what these invaders of its territory were up to.   By the lighthouse we paused for further prayer.   Before we came together, however, we were much taken by moth caterpillars which invade the point at this time each year, infesting the buck thorn and other plants and some of which were sunning themselves on the lighthouse walls.   These caterpillars can be dangerous to humans causing rashes, allergies and breathing problems.   They are best completely avoided!

Next we found a quiet and relatively sheltered spot on the river side for a break and food, recalling how, after his resurrection the Lord shared bread and fish with His disciples on the shores of Lake Galilee.   Unfortunately as we ate and later prayed the tide was coming in.   By the time we finished we found we were cut off by the waters.   Undaunted we scrambled on to the sea wall, helping each other according to our relative mobility or otherwise.   A walk along the wall soon brought us back to the car park.   By this time we were well into the evening but the sun still had plenty of heat in it.

As we drove back up the road to Kilnsea we spotted a fox crossing the road.   It paused briefly to look at the car displaying the bird it was holding in its jaws - we were not able to identify what kind of a bird it was.   Then the animal slipped away into the bushes and we could see it no more.

Back to Kilnsea then where we used the toilets in the Crown and Anchor hostelry before having a welcome cold drink sitting outside, watching the activity  in the estuary.   Finally we arrived home at about eight o'clock tired but exhilarated by a time with fellow Christians, friends old and new, and with God.   We felt He had rewarded us with some wonderful sightings of wildlife and a real sense of His presence in creation.

Gaudete Deum, apud omnibus creatoribus!

There is a sound...

There is a sound, a sound of gentleness,
From breathy flute and gently plucked harp strings;
There is a voice, a voice of peacefulness
Which, in the silence of my heart, now sings.

There is a touch, a healing touch I sense
Upon my heart, within my soul as well;
A hand divine, forgiving all my sins
And reaching out to guide me from my hell.

There is a cross, of punishment and shame,
The shame is mine, not His; He dies for me.
He hangs in anguish as He bears my blame
And with His blood spilt here, He's paid my fee.

There is a prayer within my silent heart,
A prayer of Hope, a song of praise and love;
In that same silence I have found my part,
As now He leads me to my home above.

Morning moment (in the grounds of Newman College, Birmingham)

At last, touched by the sun, departs the night,
Easing her soft shade into glowing light;
Waking and stretching comes the promised day,
Heralded by the chorus roundelay.

The trees reflect the scurrying clouds, with leaves
Which rustle gently in the cooling wind
And break to myriad dancing thieves,
To steal my concentration and my mind.

I'm lost, gone to far lands of faery fame,
Where dreamy creatures carry forth the day.
Now nothing that I dreamt can be the same,
And all reality has changed to fay.

MORNING PRAYER

Dear Lord, forgive a wandering errant mind,
Which dwells on nature's wealth, not its creator.
Help me in all the wonders I now find,
To see Your hand, Your love for every creature.

Be with me through the day I have to face.
Whatever comes I know you're always there,
To strengthen, guide, inspire and heal, in case
I feel myself descending to despair.

Crucifixion

Good Friday

A wooden cross leads on to death.

There is no height, nor depth

Past which it will not reach;

For it will breach the very doors of death

Itself, and lead on to eternal life.

The eternal God cries out Himself

In manhood’s self gained agony.

There is no loss of life in death –

Not in this agonising final breath

Which He is breathing out for me.

This cross will bring us in the end

To a moment of eternity

Wherein the world, and all it is, will die.

Die? Yes! But then He’ll rise again

And reach divine hands out to me.

God grant that as I stand and watch

I’ll feel the hurt and know the pain.

Grant, in this moment, I might catch

A glimpse of where His suffering leads:

May I, through His death, new life gain.

Via Crucis

Via Crucis

Weep now, my soul, for shortly comes the hour

When earth and heaven meet and die,

When creation’s blood is giv’n to pour

In answer to our last despairing cry.

Judge not, lest you are judged; but judged he is

And sentenced to a cruel death on wood,

Wood he must carry to a bitter hill

On which he’s nailed and fastened for our good.

Who greets him on his way or shares his grief?

Simon, Veronica, his mother, all are there.

Women mourn as it is their belief,

“Weep for yourselves,” he says, “your own despair.”

He falls but dragged upright he stays his course –

The soldiers will not let him die too soon.

Simon bears the wood, as soldiers force

Strong shoulders on this Friday afternoon.

He hangs three hours and sometimes speaks a word:

“Take this my mother, John and be her son.”

“Join me in paradise,” the good thief heard;

“I thirst,” he breathes then gasps and cries, “It’s done!”

His body hangs on this foul gibbet cross

Until it is allowed it shall be taken

To Mary, who, mourning her bitter loss

Yet knows the tortured world is not forsaken.

Of all of us, she lives and trusts in God,

Your father; she knows not quite how or when

But only that his hand fulfils the deed;

And that you’ll live and love and heal again.

Feast of Love

The feast of Love

The cross weeps freely with Love’s holy blood;

Extended arms in violent agonies

Writhe in the anguished pains of death,

Their gift of Love.

A stone stands rolled, unsealing death;

For death is dead and Love at last lives on

To share across the ages God’s new gift,

The gift of Love.

“This is my body, given now in Love;

My blood which wept in death in Love;

My spirit, risen for my Father’s Love,

My shared Love.”

“So share with me, serving each one in Love;

Receive me and I’ll live in you in Love;

Creation will sing out with you and Me

My song of Love.”

Oh would I were a little child

Oh would I were a little child.

Oh, would I were a little child

To see the splendour of the field

And wonder at the flowers wild.

Oh, would I had a simple view

Of every tiny thing that grew

And gathered in the morning dew.

Oh, would I had the greatest trust

In God’s provision from the dust

Of all I need – such things I must.

I must respond in prayer to Him

Who lights my darkest corners, dim

With all my fears. My heart would brim

With greater love and joy and peace.

I’d walk with Him and never cease

To thank my God for my release.

Please, Lord, make me a little child

In heart and soul. Thus may I yield

A greater harvest from life’s field!

Peter J Ainscough

Rising of the day

The rising of the day

Each day rises to itself, the same,

Yet different than the one that rose before

And passed, now set in stone for evermore.

The day that rises is the gift of God

For us to use in any way we would.

God grant we only use it for the good.

The beauty of the day we can behold:

The birds, the flowers, the heat, and cold,

Create a glorious story to be told.

We rise and work and play and rest, then sleep,

As night bedecked by stars curtains the deep

Of space. May God our sleeping spirits keep.

\

Peter J Ainscough

Gull's flight

Gull’s flight

Spread, spread your wings across the sky,
Across the wind, the breath of God, and fly,
Fly where I cannot go. Where no soul waits,
Nor can they recognise your God and mine.
Sing your prayer, praise on the wind’s clear song,
Unknowing and uncaring of a world gone wrong,
A world awry, a world intent on nothing more
Than it’s own self. Yet you know so much more:
The wind’s aria, the wave’s praise, the sun’s ‘Gloria.’
You know and feel the nature of the universe.
Fly on, away, uncaring; your prayer is greater
Than mine can ever be, buried in my doubts and fears.
I find it hard to pray, to reach into eternity
As you so freely do. Go, spread your wings in prayer
For me, my friend – and for the universe we share.