On Wednesday I spent one of those rare, precious, no-agenda days at a retreat house. Dodging the rain showers, after lunch I followed one of the prayer walks laid out around the grounds, each one named after one of the persons of the Trinity (Father, Son and Spirit). I chose ‘the way of the Father’. Half way round, I found I had lost the mown path. Whether the wet weather had put paid to gardening, or whether due to more deliberate theological intent on the part of the wardens, the ‘way of the Father’ had become overgrown and difficult to discern. In contrast the ‘way of the Son’ was clearly visible, winding up the hill towards the wooden cross at the top. The spiritual echoes were irresistible here.