We have reached that stage of Lent when I am just bumbling on. In case this state of affairs is unfamiliar to you, let me describe some of its main characteristics. All efforts to make good the negligences of other times, as counselled by St Benedict, seem to be fading fast. The prospect of chemotherapy later this week and a number of urgent tasks there is no one else to do is making me grumpy. ‘Fervour’ is a word I have excised from my vocabulary. Instead of a halo, I have horns. All I can do is bumble on as best I can, falling down and picking myself up again, always getting things wrong but continually trying anew. The trumpets won’t sound for us bumblers, but perhaps there may be a penny whistle as Easter approaches.
Do not underestimate bumblers or bumbling. Like the tortoise, we may last the course better than the hare. The secret of bumbling is this: to place everything in the hands of the Lord and do our best to follow wherever he leads. There is no need to look at ourselves or try to measure our own progress. We have set out on the way that leads to salvation and are content to limp into heaven if need be. It is enough.