A modern pilgrimage
by pedal not by foot.
Progressing on the path
we paused to pray in churches
long permeated with worship.
Our penance? Uphill slopes,
battling punishing winds.
But piousness brings reward:
the company of friends
along with cake and coffee.
Today I enjoyed a ride along a section of the London Walsingham Camino, catching churches between Waltham Abbey and Ware/Hertford.
(20.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
What is it that makes you think
that you can wave our flag,
and stand on behalf of us,
and shout angrily in our name?
What is it that makes you think
that we need protecting from
young children and families
who’ve fled from foreign lands?
Does it make you feel big to send
the fearful to hide in their rooms
for safety, when they came
looking for refuge here?
But even as I type
I find that I must pause,
realise my frailties,
and look beyond the waves.
Underneath perhaps the same
uncertainties play out,
as old securities
are lost and all’s at sea.
O, still, small voice of calm,
If only we could reach
beyond the rhetoric
of populist and paper.
Forgive our foolish ways.
On Friday I cycled through protests at our local asylum seeker hotel. I found myself feeling angry at what was going on, angry at the impact this would be having on the people I know there. This poem started as an angry response at those who didn’t take time to think about the humanity of those they were targeting, but was I guilty of becoming what I was accusing them of?
(17.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by balesstudio on Unsplash
Here, I’m safe to cast aside my faces,
not letting them slip, but tossing them without
a thought onto a pile heaped on the floor;
peeling off the accumulated layers,
revealing the pink and tender skin beneath,
exposing scars and fragile dreams and joys.
I wander naked and without a care,
secure that you will never laugh and point.
This is no mutually assured destruction,
love predicated on the fear of tit-
for-tat, but mutually assumed devotion.
I’ve been writing a series of devotional notes based upon the theme of rest. It struck me that you can only truly rest when you are able to relax about being yourself. It is a privilege to be able to find others with whom you can do this.
(30.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Andre Mouton on Unsplash
A late night stop at the services
having just found the M4 was closed.
‘I guess you see all sorts in here?’ I asked.
‘Yes’, replied the woman in Costa,
‘The weird and the wonderful!’ She laughed.
I left with a life saving coffee,
wondering which, if either, was me.
A long day helping my daughter decorating. Diverted on the way home.
(28.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Blake Verdoorn on Unsplash
Der Teufel prances at the roadside,
His pitchfork pricking passing cyclists,
Urging them ever onwards with
His insane eyes and inane chanting.
This Devil isn’t that of legend,
Instead an ever present fan,
Accompanied by his wild inventions
In every stage of every Tour.
And as the race comes to its end
On free TV here in the UK,
I find myself in the strange position
Of realising I’ll miss Ol’ Nick.
The Tour is so much more than just a race, for example there are many characters that make its backdrop. Didi Senft is one of them, a German who stands at the roadside each stage dressed as the Devil. Only on the Tour…
(26.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
I, Kuebi, CC BY-SA 3.0 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/, via Wikimedia Commons
A lazy afternoon, spent languidly
flinging frisbees to and fro,
dodging those relaxing on
their chairs engaged in conversation.
A family of young and old,
at peace across our differences,
united by our faith and friendship.
The only errant note? Sharp wasps
attracted by the treats we shared.
A lovely day today with the first of our church summer events, an open air service and picnic at Forty Hall. A perfect day.
(13.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Sometimes it takes a drought to value water
Poverty to recognize our wealth,
Barrenness to celebrate the harvest,
The heat to appreciate the cold.
I do not pray to be afflicted,
I can’t believe that’s how you work,
But when those times come, as they will,
I pray that I will learn and grow.
Reflections from this evening’s service.
(06.07.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Maud CORREA on Unsplash
The quiet satisfaction
Of getting to the weekend,
Resting weary feet whilst
Looking back to see
The path that we have travelled,
Surveying with satisfaction
The turnings we have taken,
And admiring once again
The views and scenery.
This may turn out to be a significant week at work.
(20.06.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ran Berkovich on Unsplash
Today like Moses I parted the sea
Only, it wasn’t water instead waves of grass
And I struck not a staff but shunted a mower
No horses drowned although grasshoppers jumped
and I didn’t reach Canaan just the end of the green
We gathered just as he had told us to.
It was nine o’clock, although you wouldn’t
know it from the crowds outside our room.
Within, rising anticipation could
be felt. We kept ourselves apart ’til ‘BOOM!’
a violent storm exploded nationhood –
look, tongues of fire descending on our heads,
folk hearing in their tongues the words we said.
‘They’re drunk!’ they cried, responding to our joy;
a joy that bubbled up from deep inside,
erupting in this giggling, gushing, noise.
At once impulsive Peter stood inspired,
declaring that it was the Spirit, employed
by Jesus Christ against whom they conspired.
His message cut them to their very hearts,
sundering Babel’s legacy apart.
It’s Pentecost today, the day the church celebrates the events of Acts 2, the giving of the Spirit and the birth of the church. Thought I’d try doing another ottava rima (see 578). Need to keep working on rhyme, it still feels contrived, but I’ll get there…
(08.06.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Cullan Smith on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 