That’s what my mother would say to me often when I was a child and usually with good reason as the feet in question were often covered in mud. In my adult life, being careful and deliberate about where I put my feet has always been important. When I wanted to photograph tigers, I had to set foot in India not Marwell Zoo. I need to be in the woods at dawn if I want to shoot a deer: feet in the right place at the right time. If I want to photograph a great sunset, then I need to be prepared and in the perfect position, at the perfect time with the perfect light. So it comes as no surprise to me that there are places that are better than others for prayer. People have always venerated particular places and Christians are no different. We have special places that are linked with saints (Basilica di San Francesco d’Assisi, Italy), with miracles (Lourdes, France) or with some deep tradition (Oberammergau, Germany). Pilgrimage to these places is something we do for God, a quiet retreat to such a place is something we do for ourselves. In following a path to venerate a saint, or Our Lady, or a place where a great mystery was enacted, we walk in the shoes of that person or the people of that place. We follow their example aligning ourselves more closely with them and therefore with Christ. Shrines to Our Lady were once common in Britain, more than forty are known about with at least ten currently active. The greatest of these is Walsingham in Norfolk. It was here in 1061 that Lady Richeldis de Faverches received the inspiration to build a replica of the house where the Holy Family lived in Nazareth. It was destroyed in 1538 by Henry VIII’s thugs, a destructive rampage that culminated in statues of Our Lady being ‘executed’ by burning at Lambeth.
Restrictions imposed to stop the spread of Covid-19 wrecked all my carefully laid plans for Easter 2020. In preparation for the first anniversary of my confirmation, I had undertaken a prayer rite called Total Consecration to Jesus Christ through Mary that should have reached a summit of prayer and devotion shortly before Easter. The churches were locked, services went on-line and I was left floundering and flattened. Total Consecration was to have been a celebration of my coming into the Catholic Church. The closure of the churches and the cessation of services reduced me to the role of spectator as I tried to watch Mass on television and pretend that it was the same. It was not, nor could it ever be, the same. My anger about this grew, my self-pity deepened and, as I watched the Church kneel in front of the government without much to say about either the situation or the disease, the scepticism that had robbed me of Christian faith in my twenties began to resurface. The national programme “Behold 2020”, which was meant to be a reconsecration of England as Mary’s Dowry and had included many people in the parish, had also come to a sudden halt.
I decided that I needed to get away and put my feet somewhere special and dedicated to Our Lady who would help me restore my wavering faith. The only place that could be was where I had been last summer: Walsingham. So off I went in August to complete the Total Consecration.
Part of the ruins of Walsingham Abbey in which the Holy House resided.
Pilgrimages and retreats are like blindingly bright lights. Their intensity fills your whole world; for a short time obliterating all else. As your normal life returns you are left with the dots in front of your eyes, seared on the retina of your soul. For a short time, you can put your concupiscence behind you, overcome the immediate needs of your own body and self, and concentrate on God. The intensity of this experience brings lasting effects. The few retreats and pilgrimages that I have been on in the last eighteen months have never failed to bring this permanent change. Yet each time I have a sneaking fear that it will not work, my faith’s guttering flame will not be rekindled and I will sink into tepidity and darkness.
I arrived at Walsingham on a Friday afternoon and went straight to the Slipper Chapel. This had been the final station for Medieval pilgrims who had walked from London or Canterbury, and it was deeply affecting. It is a powerful place, having been a barn and store house among other uses, it has been resurrected and become a place to find a connection with the special devotion to Mary that existed in England 500 years ago. As soon as I knelt at the little altar rail, I felt Her closeness and Her love. The following day, once more kneeling at the altar rail in the tiny Slipper Chapel, Our Lady reassured me of her empathy and compassion. She wiped away the negative feelings and thoughts that had plagued me for five months. I understood what I had been feeling and the effect it had had on me well enough that I could go and sit with a good priest and give all of it to God through confession and reconciliation.
Over the weekend, we shared morning and evening prayers with the sisters of the Community of Our Lady of Walsingham in their chapel at Dowry House, or in their courtyard garden. We shared some of our thoughts and revelations with each other and we walked the Holy Mile together, following the lane from the Slipper Chapel into Walsingham, stopping on the way to say the prayers of the Rosary.
I do not know when I will next be able to go on a pilgrimage or indulge in a retreat. If I make life a little harder for myself, if I deny myself comforts and pleasures, if I give myself challenges to meet; then I will train myself out of complacency, pride and vanity when times are good and easy, and prepare myself to be hopeful, trusting and resilient when times are hard. The more I can do that, the more I will have to offer others, but I know that I cannot do it in my kitchen. The spiritual journey that is taken alongside a visit to a special place is a way in which I can confront myself. I cannot take the “I’ll be good tomorrow” way out because my feet are in THAT place at THAT time. Pilgrimage and retreat help me find the resources within myself to drive out the things in my life that come between God and me. Even the smallest defects are worthy of consideration. I come to understand my own nature better. What comes between God and I is in me; of me. I cannot blame anyone else for inspiring these obstructions, I have to take responsibility for my own interior failings. These practices give me the time and space, and God-given grace, to delve deeply into myself in contemplative prayer. Reconciliation and confession are vital for, having scooped out the vileness from the deep sump of my self, I can give that to God, hold it up for Our Lady to pray with me; then accept His forgiveness and love.
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