Skip to main content

The winter walker's guide to spirituality


You may be familiar with Paul's illustration of the Armour of God in his letter to the Ephesians. He lists such items as the breastplate of righteousness and the helmet of salvation, and exhorts his readers to "stand firm" against the enemy's attacks, wearing the whole armour of God.

For those original readers in Ephesus, a Roman soldier was probably an everyday sight. They would be familiar with swords and shields, and may well have owned some themselves. However, I don't come across any Roman soldiers very often. It takes me an extra imaginative leap to be able to visualise the armour, and then associate it with technical religious jargon like righteousness and faith.

Also, I've never really got on board with this spiritual warfare business. I'm sure it's down to my circumstances or temperament or spiritual immaturity or something - I don't discount the whole concept, but I can't say I've ever had a moment where I felt like I was crossing swords with the devil. So this idea that I'm dressing up for a spiritual fight doesn't quite find a foothold.


But there is a kind of protective gear that I know all about. And if you've ever had cause to tramp across a muddy British field in November, you will too. Boots. Hats, scarves, gloves, coats. Perhaps even an umbrella. And of course, a map (or modern equivalent). 

For my wet-weather gear, I have tried to avoid alliteration (oh, such a temptation to resist! A few slipped in) and religious language. The emphasis is on things which help to support my faith, which, if not attacked by the devil, is certainly assailed by the cold wind of disillusionment, and the mud of boredom, and the endless rain of unsatisfactory outcomes... Oh, is it possible to stretch an analogy too far? I'm so sorry. Let's move on to the clothes.

The Jacket of Reality

Everything else I can do without. But putting on a coat is almost always the prelude to stepping out of the front door. Thick, thin, waterproof, soft-shell - a jacket is necessary to face reality.

Going outside does feel a bit like entering real life. The air is alive; it moves around you. It smells different to indoors. There is birdsong, and traffic noise, and other living beings pursuing their own interests. The sky might be scudding with clouds, or frosted with stars, or a clear, bright, endless blue. You are reminded that you are a tiny part in all of this. Whatever is going on in your own head has to account for the sheer realness of the rest of the world. You have to let your faith rub up against reality. Put on a jacket and get out there.

The Scarf of Reassurance

When there's a cold wind blowing, a scarf, wrapped tightly around your neck and poked far down inside your coat, is a most comforting thing. There are certain things that act like scarves for my faith - little pieces of reassurance which remind me that this Christian thing is still worth believing. Bible verses (Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our iniquities...), hymns (Great is thy faithfulness, O God my Father...), prayers, places, people - they knit together to provide that safety and familiarity that we all need.

The Wellies of Perseverance

There's no getting around it. Mud is a slog. You slip and you slither, and it gets up your legs, and somehow all over your coat even when you haven't fallen over in it. It's just hard going. And sometimes life, or faith, or both, are a muddy slog too. There's not much you can do except drag on your wellies of perseverance and keep going. One day the sun will come out. Just not today.


 

The Umbrella of Clear Vision

Umbrellas have their disadvantages, of course. They are no good when it's windy, and you can't use them if you're pushing a pushchair, carrying loads of shopping, or riding a bike. But for a glasses wearer such as myself, the wonderful thing about an umbrella is that it keeps the rain off my face. I can see!

It's so nice not to have raindrops on my glasses - especially when it's that fine misty rain. I'm not exactly sure what the spiritual equivalent of drizzle is, but my idea of clear vision is partly linked to Jesus' "single eye" - a certain singleness of purpose, a determination not to get side-tracked. Also, a recognition of the essentials of faith. It's easy to get caught up in the hype of the latest trend. Reading old books can help with this, as you discover that Christians of 50, 100, or 1000 years ago worried about entirely different things, yet had recognisably the same faith.

The Woolly Hat of Warmth

Sometimes my faith just gives me a warm fuzzy feeling. I might be singing my heart out in church, or have a particularly good chat with someone, or be praying by myself. It doesn't come all the time, and it can't be manufactured. It can feel like everyone else is gloriously warm and fuzzy, and I'm out in the cold. But then something provides a moment of warmth. It's just like putting a woolly hat on.

Those moments are something to cherish. Not that they should be the aim of our faith - but if having a faith never makes you feel good, you probably aren't going to keep it very long. God, says St Teresa of Avila, graciously grants us these glimpses of himself. So accept them as a gift, and appreciate them when they arrive.

The Map of Curiosity

The great thing about a map is that it doesn't just show you where to go. If you have an app, you can follow a little arrow on a predetermined route, and get exactly where you intended to be. But a map shows you the wider area. You can detour to a cave, or a spring, or an interesting hilltop, and then figure out where you actually are, and whether you have to backtrack or take a different path.

You have probably figured out by now that I am a fan of Christianity as a wide-open map with fascinating paths to explore, rather than a set route which has to be followed whether you like it or not. Finding something new and interesting (or possibly old and interesting!) helps to keep my faith alive.

The Gloves of Generosity

Gloves are essential for me, because I get cold fingers. They go all white and numb, and I can't do much with them. Likewise, generosity, giving out, keeps the blood flowing through our faith. Faith can't be all internal, or it doesn't amount to much. I'm not very good at generosity, mind you. But it circles back to reality - whenever your faith touches reality, it demands that you do something. So, I put on my gloves of generosity and I try.

 

So, put on the jacket of reality and go out into the beautiful and terrible world. Wrap the scarf of reassurance around you, and put on the woolly hat of warmth. May the wellies of perseverance keep you from foundering in the mud. Carry the umbrella of clear vision, and the map of curiosity, to lead you ever into new mysteries. And above all these, put on the gloves of generosity, to do good in the world. And may the blessing of God almighty be around you and remain with you always. Amen.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mr White Watson of Bakewell

Once upon a time, back in 1795 or so, lived a man who was always asking questions.  The kind of questions like, "Why is glass transparent?" or "Why do fruit trees grow better in that place than in this place?" or "What does the earth look like underneath the surface?"  This last question was one that he was particularly interested in, and he went so far as to work out what the rock layers looked like where he lived, and draw little pictures of them.  Now he was a marble sculptor by trade (as well as fossil hunter, mineral seller, and a few other things) so he thought it would be even better to make his little pictures in stone.  That way he could represent the layers using the actual rocks they were composed of.  Over the course of his lifetime he made almost 100 of these tablets, as he called them. Then he died.  And no one else was quite as interested in all those rocks and minerals as he was.  His collection was sold off, bit by bit, and the table...
Post a Comment
Read more

Growing things

For those of you who are interested in my attempts at balcony gardening, I thought I'd update you a little. For those who aren't, don't skip this post. You may find something else of interest. Apart from the ever-present herbs, tomatoes and cayenne peppers are on the go this year. The peppers are really on the go - we went away for a week and came back to find them twice the size as when we left. Now they're producing fruit which is growing at a similarly rapid rate, though none has ripened to red yet. I realised I should have given you some kind of scale, so I just went out and measured. They're about 22 cm long, or 8 1/2 inches for you non-metric types. I may have to find out how to dry peppers if they all ripen at once. A couple of tomato plants are looking pretty healthy and beginning to flower. A few died; one, apparently, by being eaten whole by a bird, a trouble I've never had before. I had two seedlings left so used those as replacements, b...
2 comments
Read more

Back on the Portway: Smalley and Morley

I didn't by any means feel I had fully explored the Erewash Valley, but I had completed my planned routes and got some idea of the transport, industry, and general geography of the area. It was time to return to the Portway. There are lots of -leys around here. Smalley, Morley, Mapperley, Stanley, Horsley. The suffix means "woodland clearing", and although there are not many woods around any more, it doesn't take much imagination to think of little villages among the trees. I started in Dale Abbey (or should that be Daley Abbley?) where the monastery once dominated the surrounding area. I've been to Dale Abbey several times but never actually walked through the village before. There is a neatly trimmed pub, an old chapel, now a church known as The Gateway, and a house with an odd lumpy corner which I realised must be part of the ruined abbey. A field path led me up to the main Derby-Ilkeston road. I crossed it and followed a couple of horses along a single-track l...
Post a Comment
Read more