Felgild - the Unknown
Then God said, "Let the land produce vegetation: seed—bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds."
What information there is about Felgild is here
There is so little known about Felgild and I admit that I have never been as far as the Farne Islands.
It may feel that this day is hardly worthwhile. But then I also agree with the sentiments of the Northumbria Community - the faith is made up mostly of the un-named and the unknown - with thanks to God for having us all written on his hand.
Like Peter's mother-in-law, Felgild is cured of his illness so that we may be certain that God knows each and every one of us and provides, in one way or another, the means for us to fulfill our particular and perculiar ministries and vocations.
The history of the Lindisfarne Monks suggests a gathering of at least twelve men with twelve apprentice boys as well as the pastoral and domestic carers needed for such a place to survive. The number of named saints is pretty well limited to the writings of the Venerable Bede. But the faith is more than those who find themselves recorded in history.
Surely there were many, many missionaries carrying the Good News throughout the lands - living out the Good News in their land - surely there are many now?
How is this shown on the island? One way could well be the flora that flourishes here. Most of the island is covered in a matting of greenery and varied vegetation. From a distance or a pacing walk nothing much to look at. Sandals, walking boots and trainers regularly and carelessly cover the ground; climb the cliffs or wander the bridleways without a second glance at what is underfoot. The focus being on where they are going - not where they are now.
But the life underfoot and spilling from walls and cliffs is precious and unique. Each flower a miracle in itself; a celebration of creative giftedness as they survive the salt winds and coarse sun to bloom in celebration of life calling to life. Some so delicate you would imagine them cossetted in a glasshouse and admired through a lens.
And here they are; pilgrims from the mainland; hermits in the clefts and gullies of the rockspaces; martyrs in the giving of themselves; saints in the divine beauty that they reveal. And I know hardly any of their names.
A visit last year resulted in this reflection -
The Northumbria Community's Compline for Wednesday is here