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During the seven weeks since I arrived to begin my new assignment at Madonna House in Robin Hood’s Bay, the Lord has been immersing me into an apostolate of family, hospitality, and flexibility with three wonderful sisters.
I see Cheryl Ann, Nikola, and Sara living in constant readiness to love in whatever way is needed at any particular moment.
One of my first requests was for a weekly schedule. I see now that that was a bit of a joke.
Certainly there is some semblance of a rhythm, but our director Cheryl Ann, in consultation with the rest of us, has the ongoing task of adapting the “weekly schedule” to the needs of the parish, our friends, groups on retreat, and the comings and goings of our live-in guests.
She also has to take into consideration the various activities each of us is involved in and the visits we make to friends who are sick or living alone.
In between the scheduled events or in spite of them, are the incidents of Christ, in the form of various people, arriving at our door.
Often He calls ahead, but not always. Sometimes He’s on the phone with us for a short time, sometimes much longer. Sometimes He comes in the form of a lonely person or someone in distress, sometimes in someone offering to help us out or just being a friend.
From day one, one of my great joys has been gathering in our chapel for adoration and communal prayer. There Our Lord is always present to us, and there we find our unity most deeply.
Moreover, now that there is a priest in the house, we usually have three Masses a week in our chapel and the rest in nearby towns.
The parishioners are truly delightful, and we are quite frequently involved in the lives of one or another of them and they in ours.
Only a few weeks after my arrival, our house hosted a parish fundraiser, a garden party called a “fete”, (pronounced “fate”). So I was soon working with and getting to know a number of parishioners outside of our liturgical gatherings. I also met other locals of various denominations who took part in the occasion.
While I’ve resumed meeting with some of my directees for spiritual direction by phone and email and am getting involved here in pastoral and sacramental ways, I’ve also enjoyed getting into the work that needs to be done around the house.
It has been an experience of personal growth as I am trusted with practical tasks, whether it be making some needed repair or preparing a meal.
I am even connecting with my family’s culinary roots. My mother’s maiden name is “Saucier” (maker of sauces) and Sara has shown me the basics for making sauces in infinite varieties.
Speaking of food, in my opinion the reason people rave on about the fish and chips here is that the skin is left on the fish before it is battered. So good!
I must say something about what I see as I go for walks. Either along the Cinder Trail (that was a train route until the shoreline next to part of it began eroding into the sea) or along the road to church, whether it’s sunny or foggy, I am seeing remarkable beauty.
Trees along these routes often have thistle near them, and ivy climbs high up their trunks. Holly trees dot pathways and fields, and blackberry bushes are nearly everywhere.
At this time of year (mid-October), some blackberries are still ready to pick, and others are still ripening. Some are inaccessible unless you reach way in or over the bush, getting snagged in the thorns in the process.
Close to the bay are a variety of scenic spots: the mountain cliff of Ravenscar, the valley, the moors, small farms dotted with grazing sheep and horses, and the quaintest centuries-old neighbourhood. (And it’s not a movie set. I’ve thoroughly tested it.)
The lady at the hardware store checkout, like so many others, calls you “love.” (And I blush and say, “Aw shucks!” No, I don’t really, but I smile.) Walkers often extend a friendly greeting like “Y’all right?” like they know you.
In everyday life, it’s easy to forget about how much history occurred on these Yorkshire Moors until it is made palpable when you visit such sites as the ruined but still noble Whitby Abbey.
Then you remember that so many monastic communities that had provided a prayer presence and tended to the needs of the rural poor were dissolved.
Holy people lived and were martyred in this area—such as Blessed Nicholas Postgate, who secretly celebrated the Eucharist in “Mass houses” and was martyred at age 82.
Though these and very many other events have resulted in a sad division between Catholics and Protestants, we can see results of the work the Holy Spirit has been doing to bring together his children who have been divided and isolated from one another in various ways for so long.
What I have seen here has enlivened my faith in his power to build unity through prayer and friendship.
May he continue to do so and, to use another image that brings to mind the fertile nature of this area, may it bear much fruit in this beautiful part of his vineyard.
