During the wistful first week of September, just before our youngest departed for university, we took a week’s holiday in North Cornwall, to revisit a seaside haunt much enjoyed in their childhood. The high-baked summer heat finally giving way to that more familiar British blend of showery spells and sunny intervals, we eschewed the beaches in favour of the ruined splendour of Tintagel Castle, situated on an almost-island along the headland from our cottage.
Since 2019, the legendary birthplace of King Arthur has been connected to the coast by an elegant suspension bridge, the crossing of which offers giddily magnificent views. Perhaps helpfully, pedestrians can’t see the rocks beneath them, but for a 40mm gap, halfway across. The bridge is constructed in two sections, each drilled into its own side of the yawning chasm. The inch or two between them is, I learned, both structural and symbolic - representing the space between past and present, myth and reality. A lovely touch, I thought.
As we cross the threshold into autumn, with its liturgical mood of gratitude and remembrance, let us rejoice that God bridges the ages in Jesus Christ: connecting us not only to the past events of our salvation but also the future hope of his heavenly kingdom. Whatever changes lie before us, he remains the way, the truth and the life.
Bishop Andrew
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