The Pensive Pilgrim

"I'm going fishing." No, I'm not quoting Saint Peter as he and the other disciples set out on their fruitless fishing expedition shortly after Jesus' death and resurrection. I'm quoting one of my parishioners who is currently living with a life-threatening condition and having to endure some rather aggressive treatments with pretty awful side effects. I shall call him Fred, although that is not his real name. Fred is understandably prone to bouts of depression, even despair, but at other times he battles bravely and defiantly with his condition. He attends Mass regularly and would be the first to say that he's a devout (Anglo) Catholic. When Fred announced that he was going fishing, it was to account for his absence from church the following Sunday. Clearly Fred finds the peace and solitude of sitting on the riverbank somehow therapeutic, and I certainly don't begrudge him that for a second. Indeed, it's not only fishing that helps Fred, but ...

"Has that young woman fainted or what? Does she need medical attention?" asked the elderly priest standing next to me with an obvious mixture of concern and bewilderment. As I looked at the recumbent figure just a few feet away from us, her arms neatly folded across her chest and a relaxed smile on her face, I confidently responded, "She's fine; she's just resting." We were part way through the service of Reconciliation and Healing that takes place in the Shrine Church at Walsingham every Sunday afternoon. The many pilgrims present - including a party from my own benefice - had been sprinkled with water from the Holy Well and were now receiving the laying-on-of-hands and anointing with oil. I was one of four priests standing just below the High Altar offering the latter ministry. Despite that old priest's consternation, the Shrine clergy themselves were clearly unfazed by the incident, and in the sacristy afterwards I overheard only one rather snid...