The Diary of Father Fred Hassleton (Rtd)
(Strictly Confidential. Not for circulation at Deanery Chapter.)
EDIT: A glossary of terms is appended in the below. You're welcome.
-Judith M Crowther, Parish Administrator.

Day One – Arrival
I have arrived at Walsingham. The blessed shrine of Our Lady. England's Nazareth.
Even typing that makes my cassock sit up straighter.
The coach journey from St Faithful’s Havnot was devout, if one excludes the back row attempting the Angelus in three keys and one tempo that may have been jazz. Mrs Davenport has brought a statue of Our Lady in bubble wrap “in case the official one looks tired.”
As we entered the village, I felt that particular glow known only to clergy who believe they are finally in the theological big leagues.
Within seven minutes I had been asked:
Whether I was 'Society' or 'Forward in Faith'. (I am neither. Never been one for clubs.)
Whether I concelebrate facing East or 'liturgically'.
Whether I travel with my own biretta.
Reader, I do not own a biretta.
I have always assumed my head theology was sufficiently sound without additional millinery. And, besides, I've never been able to look at a biretta without seeing a young priest who wore it wrong, and ended up looking like he had Mickey Mouse ears.
​
Day Two – Procession
The Marian procession was magnificent. Banners snapping. Thuribles smoking. Hymns ascending with the confidence of people who have never once worried about copyright licensing.
And lace.
So much lace.
There are surplices here with sufficient yardage to curtain the nave at St Faithful’s twice over. I passed one priest whose cotta had sleeves so expansive that small mammals could plausibly have nested in them during Benediction.
And yet — and yet — it was beautiful.
The statue of Our Lady moving through the Norfolk sunlight. The hush in the Shrine. The weight of centuries of whispered prayer.
I felt unexpectedly moved.
Which was slightly undermined when Father Aloysius leaned across and murmured, “We’re going rather light on Marian maximalism this year.” I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I nodded gravely, as though maximalism is explained in the Book of Common Prayer.

Day Three – The Holy Mile
We walked the Holy Mile barefoot.
I had thought this would feel ancient and devotional.
It felt mainly like gravel.
Mrs Davenport floated ahead like a penitential gazelle. I lagged behind, wondering whether progressive clergy are constitutionally unsuited to pre-Reformation footwear policies. I'm guessing that medieval Walsingham had rather more nice soft mud, and rather less crumbling tarmac.
Halfway along I realised I was mentally drafting a safeguarding risk assessment for flint exposure and querying the insurance implications of medieval piety.
This may not be what the 14th century had in mind.

Day Four – Benediction
I like incense.
Or rather, I thought I liked incense.
There are, it transpires, competitive levels of incense.
At one point during Benediction I lost visual contact with the monstrance entirely and had a brief theological wobble about whether this was an advanced apophatic manoeuvre.
The thurifer swung with Olympic commitment. The bells rang with eschatological enthusiasm. My glasses fogged with what I can only describe as sacramental condensation.
And then — amid the splendour — something small and awkward stirred.
Not doubt.
Not cynicism.
Just… a tightening.
Over coffee I found myself in a conversation about “proper Catholic order” that appeared to involve diagrams.
Later, I slipped into a smaller gathering entitled “Mary, Mother of the Marginalised.”
It was quieter. Less certain. Diagram-free. More 'blessed are the poor', less 'blessed are the chasubles'.
And I felt oddly at home.

Day Five – A Mild Identity Crisis (With Incense)
I came to Walsingham on this first ever visit, quietly confident that I was properly Anglo-Catholic.
I leave wondering whether I am Anglo-Catholic with footnotes.
I love the beauty. The sacrament. The poetry. The unapologetic conviction that God is to be adored, not merely analysed over fair-trade coffee in the parish hall.
But I am less persuaded that holiness can be plotted on a graph of sleeve circumference.
I do not wish to abolish lace.
But neither do I wish to measure grace by it.
I love Our Lady.
But I suspect she is less anxious about sub-groupings within the Church of England than we are.
Perhaps Catholicity is not about recreating a lost golden age of striking headgear and Latin absolutions.
Perhaps it is about making space — for grace, for complexity, for the slightly unsure priest from St Faithful’s Havnot whose ecclesiology is catholic but whose conscience leans towards inclusion.
In any case, I return home with renewed devotion, marginally tougher soles, and a profound gratitude that Our Lady appears not to mind, or at least not to smite, progressive clergy.
Even the barefoot ones.

​
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Disclaimer
Pinched (with permission) from the fictional St Faithful’s is Havnot, because a number of our own St John's congregation are enjoying the stories so much ! 
Books by Canon Tom Kennar (including 'The Parish Life' – volumes 1 & 2 about St Faithful’s) are available in print and e-book. Merchandise lurks online. See https://tinyurl.com/4k9jtpbe for more details.

The name “passion flower” was given to the plant in the sixteenth century by Roman Catholic missionaries in South America, where the flower grew naturally. They noted how the flowers had particular physical features that aligned with the crucifixion. They saw it as a gift of God to help them in their work of teaching the Indians to understand the Passion of Christ and the Crucifixion and used it as a teaching aid. 
When the passion flower was brought back by them to the New World ‘the Passion of Christ’ reference stuck and the flower grew in popularity.

The Passion flower (Latin name Passiflora) belongs to a family of climbing plants of which there are numerous varieties; but the one referred to here is the common blue passion flower, although its colour may also be described as a purple/blue hue – reminiscent of the liturgical colour of Lent. Many of you may have one growing in your garden. If so, look closely at it when it flowers and see if you can identify the following symbols: 
1. The five petals and five sepals (the outer parts of the flower that enclose the flower before it blooms) together represent ten of the twelve disciples who didn’t betray or deny Jesus (as Judas and Peter had done). 
2. The three topmost stigmas (part of the plant that rises from the top of the flower and receives pollen and initiates fertilization), each with a roughly rounded head, recall the three nails that impaled Christ on the cross. 
3. The five stamen that hold the anthers (the parts of the flower where pollen is produced) together signify the five wounds (hands, feet and side) of Christ. 
4. The anthers alone represent the sponge used to moisten Jesus’ lips. 
5. The central column of the three stigmas and five anthers signify both the post on which Jesus was whipped and the cross on which he was hung; and the many slender tendrils surrounding its base are likened to the cords and whips used in the scourging. 
6. The radial corona filaments (the base of the central column holding the stigma) represent the crown of thorns. The word “corona” is actually defined as being like a crown, or in the shape of a crown of thorns. 
7. The red stain of the corona is a reminder of his blood that was shed. 
8. The leaves of the passion flower are shaped like a lance to represent the spear that pierced his side. 
9. The fruit is round and signifies the world that Jesus came to save and was crucified for. 
10. The tendrils that support the stems as they grow symbolize Jesus holding on to God’s purpose and being supported by God’s love. 
11. The fragrance of the flower represents the spices that the women brought with them to the tomb. 
12. The duration of the flower’s life is three days – the time elapsed from crucifixion to resurrection. 
Europeans soon discovered the medicinal value of the passion flower and its fruit and took up its use, especially for calming the nerves, which is thought to be yet another symbolic aspect: Like Christ who came to relieve the sufferings and anxieties of man, so this plant relieves the pains and sufferings of those who take advantage of the properties imbued in it. 
Some tenuous links maybe, but I will never look at the passion flower in the same light again without thinking of the Passion of Christ.

Holy Anointing and the Laying on of Hands at St John’s
There is a moment in our worship when words begin to give way to presence.
After Holy Communion, when we have received the sacrament, carrying Christ within us, the Church opens a quieter space. At St John’s, this is the moment when holy anointing and the laying on of hands are offered, on all Sundays except the second and the last.
If you wish to receive this ministry, you are invited to head to the left of the church after Communion, before taking your seat again.

A practice older than words
The anointing of the sick and the laying on of hands are among the most ancient actions of God’s people. In the Letter of James we hear the instruction plainly, “Are any among you sick? Let them call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord.” This is not metaphor but embodied prayer, drawing body, mind, and spirit into God’s healing presence.

Oil in Scripture is never merely practical. It heals, but it also consecrates. Kings are anointed. Prophets are anointed. The sick are anointed. The same holy sign marks vocation, authority, and vulnerability, reminding us that God meets us most powerfully where strength and weakness intertwine.​

The laying on of hands echoes throughout the Gospels and the life of the early Church. Jesus touches those others would not. The apostles lay hands on those seeking healing, blessing, or the gift of the Spirit. Theology here is not only spoken, it is enacted.

How to participate
Before heading back to your pew after receiving Communion or a Blessing, our resident Reverend Christopher Cowper will be waiting at a small table at the left side of the church. He will lay a hand often on your shoulder and pray a short prayer over you. after which, put your palms facing up infant of you and he will again pray whilst anointing your hands and your forehead with the symbol of the cross. 
​This special oil won't mark you in anyway and is clear in colour. It's been blessed specially for this purpose by our wonderful Bishop. Afterward, please head back to your seat as usual. 
It is of course entirely optional but a lovely addition to the service should you wish to take part. 

For whom is it?
This ministry is for anyone.
For those who are ill or in pain.
For those who are weary or overwhelmed.
For those facing decisions, loss, or change.
For those who simply desire prayer.
There is no need to have the right reason or the right words. The Church meets you where you are.

Our talented poet, Deborah, from St John's shares a reflection from Autumn

​The Advent wreath is said to have originated in Germany in the sixteenth century. However, the forerunner of the wreath, as we recognise it today, was invented in 1839 by a Lutheran pastor who worked with the poor in Hamburg, Germany. 
Children at the mission school he worked in would ask, each day of Advent, if it was nearly Christmas; prompting the pastor to decorate a large cartwheel with twenty-four small red candles and four large white ones. He lit one red candle on each successive day from Monday to Saturday, and one white candle on each successive Sunday during the period of advent; helping the children to see for themselves when Christmas was approaching.
The custom grew amongst Protestant churches in Germany, and gradually a smaller wreath with five candles evolved. It took almost another hundred years for the custom to spread to the Roman Catholic church and the wider world.
The circular wreath symbolises the infinite, unending love of God. Wreaths are mainly made of evergreen foliage which represents the hope of eternal life brought by Jesus Christ. The four candles (still traditionally red in most UK churches, but can be violet and rose to correspond with the liturgical colours) represent the four weeks of Advent, and symbolise the light of God coming into the world by the birth of Jesus. However, each candle specifically symbolises hope, peace, joy and love, as each is lit throughout the four weeks of Advent. 
A fifth white candle known as the ‘Christ candle’ symbolises the arrival of Christmastide and is first lit on Christmas Eve, the beginning of Christmastide, and may be lit throughout the Christmas season as well as during Epiphanytide.

On Thursday afternoon, a group of aspiring artists have been under the direction of the talented Lori Hanson (Oil Painter) 

Caroline was so inspired by Lori, the classes, Monet and her new gift of crying she travelled to Scotland. She writes 

"With fabulous patient teaching from Lori, a group of us turned a blank canvas into a Monet! 
This inspired me to visit the National Art Gallery of Scotland to look at more of Monet's paintings "