I have repeatedly stated how much I enjoy living in the UK. I love Brits’ use of English and the mingling of language use and British humor. I love the rich history. I love the (ethnic) food (sorry, you can only eat so much fish ‘n chips before the arteries begin hardening). I love rainy British days and I love that intensively hot summer days only push the mercury to 85 degrees.

I even love tea. I never drank it much before coming here, at least not the hot variety, but I’ve grown to understand which brands common folk are inclined to drink and which ones the posh people consume, I enjoy them all. I love almost everything about the UK.

And then there’s cricket.

We had a village fair (fete) today and the local cricket club was playing a “friendly” against a neighboring village.  I focused intense energy from afar trying to understand what the heck was going on. Having played baseball I could draw some similarities. There is a batter (batsman) and a pitcher (bowler) and a ball (interestingly enough, also called a “ball” in cricket). That was about all I could piece together. I wandered down to the scorer’s tent in a determined effort to come away with an understanding of how score is kept at the least. If successful, I was certain I could handle an explanation as to why test matches last four days.

As I approached the tent, I picked up some handy vernacular. “Oh, well played James,” as a ball was thrown back toward the wicket; and “Peter, that was well handled, brilliant!” when one of the fielders actually managed to catch a ball without trying to surround it like a soccer goalie. “Cracky” got a mighty swing on the ball and hit it over the boundary and into the weeds. “Cheers Cracky. That’s a six.”

“Hey, could I disturb you gentlemen for a few moments to explain to a novice the nuances of cricket?” I asked, certain I’d get a most welcome response, which I did.

“Actually, cricket spectators and baseball spectators have much in common,” replied one chap waiting his turn to bat. I asked how so. “Both consume massive quantities of beer.” Of course I laughed and agreed, but in my mind thinking “I’d probably consume gallons if I actually had to play cricket…or watch four consecutive days of it.”

Thirty minutes later I got up to leave believing that if for some odd reason our television only received one channel, and I was desperate to watch TV, and the only thing on was a cricket match, I’d at least understand better how score is kept (but still with no clue for why a game – match – takes four days). As I was about to slip away, one kindly gentlemen (as all of them were) invited me to play next Sunday. How to respond? “I’d rather be beaten with a sticky wicket,” shot through my mind, but I managed to say, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t do the game justice, but I deeply appreciate the offer.”

Maybe I’ll give lawn bowls a go.

I should be on a train clattering down the tracks sitting exhausted but blissfully staring out the window at the countryside that only hours before I’d been hiking. I should be exhausted from four days of hiking the North Downs Way, satisfied with having covered nearly 100 miles. I should be reveling in the glory of achieving such a challenging accomplishment.

But I am not. I am sitting on my couch watching a World Cup match resting blistered feet and a mildly bruised ego. After all, I was somewhat certain that despite my lack of conditioning and slightly strained knee, I would rise to the challenge and impress massive masses of people who knew I was plodding toward the coast. Unfortunately, reality hit at mile 10. There was a slight reprieve about mile 14 but at mile 20, on a steep downhill, the bottoms of my feet felt like they were shredding. And they were. It was also about the spot where I learned that it is possible for shins to cramp – and keep cramping for quite some time.

My hiking companion and I limped into Otford, ate dinner at The Bull pub and I pretended the reason I didn’t get up for two and a half hours was because I really had no place to go, having reached our Day 1 destination. It wasn’t until I got up to go to the loo that I had to confess the real reason I hadn’t moved was because I couldn’t – or my body wouldn’t. There was certainly a full blown rebellion from waste down.

But the pain didn’t diminish the enjoyment of 7 hours of hiking. We set off at 6:30 am and made our way out of the city up a rise to the trail that unfortunately paralleled a major thoroughfare. Soon enough it diverged however, and we enjoyed quiet rolling hills covered in maturing wheat. Views across the valley were more than worth the effort to get out and see them.

As we sat at the pub and I had to come to grips with reality that the dream (delusion?) was over and the best option was the train station two blocks away, I determined I’d return. The North Downs proved itself a formidable opponent for a middle-aged, under-conditioned hiker. But although I may be short on accomplishment this time, I am long on determination. I will enjoy the view along the cliffs after having walked miles to get there.

Here are a few other images from an enjoyable day outdoors.

NOTE: The postmortem is here after you read this one. You can find out what happened.

I haven’t blogged for close to three months. I could say my time has been filled with intensive sprints up and down steep grades, weight workouts that would make a rugby player wilt and long hikes through the English country side building the stamina of a Kenyan marathoner – all in preparation for my Dorking to Dover hike (wrote about it here) along the North Downs Way.

I could say all that….but it’d be a lie. Truth is I’ve spent time running around London chasing after a bunch of guys from The Upstream Collective with a video camera, over to Paris where I suffered through delicious chocolate crepes, long lines at EuroDisney and a sprint along slick cobble stone lanes through Pere Lachaise Cemetery to spend five minutes at Jim Morrison’s (The Doors) grave site before sprinting back to the subway in an attempt to make an appointment on the other side of town (and was one minute late).

Somewhere along the way I strained a tendon in my knee (aggrevating it by paying more attention to the Eiffel Tower than walking in the dark) so haven’t been training for the 100 miles that lie ahead. Undaunted, but mildly concerned, I’ll launch out this week for the big trip. Concerned because to complete the ramble (as we call it here in the UK) I’ll need to cover about 25 miles a day to finish the trail in  four days.

Some of the challenge of the trip is that the North Downs occasionally brushes past a few villages but unfortunately more times than not an additional 1-2 miles is required to hoof it into town. Not interested in the extra mileage so for lunch I’ll dine on the packaged cuisine of PowerBars and Oberto beef jerky.

Most of my countrymen don’t know that “pubs” is actually short for “public houses” and aren’t just for for sampling wheat and barely in liquid form. Pubs also offer lodging – cheap lodging in many cases – and I’m counting on cheap lodging since I’m not hauling a tent, sleeping bag or much of anything else. Along the way should pass some castles, hike along an old Roman Road, see a bunch of WWII stuff, choke down several pounds of fish ‘n chips in the evening and walk along the white cliffs that lead into Dover. Provided I survive it all the way to Dover, I’ll enjoy the train ride home and post an account of the big adventure in a week’s time.

And aside from taking occasional  “creative license,” the story will (mostly) be accurate.

This is what is historically known and recorded by multiple historians and writers of the day: There was a Jew named Jesus who claimed to be the Son of God (and by the claim being God Himself) and had a following of people. Eventually He was executed because of this claim of being God (blasphemy by Jewish law) and for being a trouble maker by Roman law. He died, confirmed by the strict procedures of Roman crucifixion. He was placed in a tomb guarded by both Roman and Jewish guards, three days later His tomb was empty, causing a widespread commotion in Jerusalem over his disappearance.

These facts are easily confirmed. What is also confirmed is that everyone who had a deeply vested interest in finding His body used every means necessary to find the body, including questioning and torturing those who followed Jesus. Few recanted their belief He was God, especially the many who physically saw and spoke to the resurrected Christ.

In 24 hours, I’ve read dozens of Twitter tweets, Facebook updates and blog posts about the celebration Easter is in the lives of individuals. Rightfully so, although every day is in fact Easter for the believer because nothing will ever change the historical fact that Jesus received the wrath of a Holy God – punishment intended for the sinner – and was raised from the dead, confirming God’s satisfaction with the substitutionary sacrifice. What’s left is for the individual to believe by faith that Jesus came to this world to accomplish this stated purpose.

Unfortunately Easter is also a day of lamentation because more than 2/3 of the world’s population – 4 billion-plus people – do not call Jesus Lord or know that His death and resurrection are the only sufficient means to reconcile them to God. Sadly, many of that four billion have never even heard the name of Jesus Christ. They are trapped in the endless spiritual search to generate some kind of righteousness to make them acceptable to whatever their idea of god is. This reveals the difference between religion and Christianity. Religion is a way for man to create a means for reaching God. Christianity is based solely on God reaching down to man.

It may seem subtle but there is a massive difference  between the two. Religion is easily manipulated to justify the ends of man. In religion there is no objective measure of righteousness, man becomes the center of establishing the standard and ultimately it is often left to the one who most vehemently asserts his beliefs as to whose perspective is “correct” (see long history of holy wars as evidence). Which religion, then, is right? Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism, Catholicism, Protestantism? Answer: none.

Christianity, however, is uniquely and exclusively set over and against these in that God sets the objective measure, indicates that every human is in the same boat (“all have sinned“), and that there are “none righteous” and “none seek after God.” Therefore every human stands on equally poor footing. Into this desperate situation God sent Jesus to bear His justified wrath. Jesus was a willing and perfect object upon which God’s punishment could be poured. The resurrection is evidence that His sacrifice was acceptable. Crying out in faith to Him for salvation is recognizing our need for something beyond ourselves to save us. This is Good News!

But it is only Good News if people hear it. Right now there are more than 5,000 unengaged people groups around the world, most of them in a swath of land extending across north Africa, the Middle East, central and eastern Asia and India. This means there are a significant number of Muslims, Hindus, atheists and Buddhists who either have no understanding of Jesus or a very skewed understanding of who He is, what He’s done and what He offers in terms of spiritual forgiveness and freedom.

We who have been granted forgiveness and salvation must remember every day the extraordinary grace extended to us through Christ, but we can’t linger in our celebration lest it become self-centered. We must remember the billions of people who have not yet enjoyed His grace, lament the staggering numbers who still stand squarely in the cross-hairs of God’s judgment and GO to them with the Good News of what the resurrection means for them.

All eyes were directed toward the other end of the parade ground in front of Buckingham Palace watching two of the Queen’s Guard moving through the ceremony to change the posted guards. They were dressed impeccably smart in ceremonial uniforms carrying on a tradition that has extended hundreds of years.

There are horses, flags, guns, marching bands, big fuzzy black hats and swords. It is the pinnacle of pomp and pageantry.

However, I was looking the other direction, watching the french horn player twist his instrument in circles working the spittle through the piping and out the bell. Not so much the pinnacle of pomp and pageantry – but a necessity if you don’t want your french horn to sound like it is gargling with salt water.

I’ve written previously on some reasons why I’m quite keen toward Brits and now add to the list.

1. Pomp and pageantry. I can’t think of a circumstance in which Brits might not seize the opportunity to add a significant amount of pomp…and I love it! I love ceremony, procession, pomp, formality and marching bands that play marching songs (think John Phillip Souza). Brits are pompous (often times in both senses of the word!). I don’t know that I know Brits well enough to say that to be British is to be inclined toward pomp, but I don’t know that it would be far off. Ceremony in regard to tradition is deeply ingrained in this culture, and it ought to be celebrated. It is one thing that makes Brits distinctly British.

This is an exceptional people who have done much in 1,000 years. Frankly, I am a bit perturbed at Brits who seem so quick to criticize their heritage and hand it over to multiculturalism in the name of tolerance. I see it happening in my own country (USA). It is the ceremonial parade of tradition that might just serve as a reminder to those who undermine their own country of the greatness Britain was and help some regain a respect for their culture.

2. The monuments. I’ve now made about five trips past Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, 10 Downing Street, Parliament and Westminster Abbey. It all seems surreal being here and seeing it all but as I’ve continued to learn more about British history the more I appreciate the buildings and monuments that stand as a testimony to great architects (like Christopher Wren), great heroes (like Admiral Lord Nelson and his decisive victory at Trafalgar) and great statesman (like Winston Churchill). The monuments are grand, and formal and imposing and do justice to the people for whom they honor.

3. The city is photogenic. Okay, this one isn’t so much about Brits as London, but let’s face it, London has got to be one of the coolest – if not the coolest – city on earth. Because of the ubiquitousness of monuments, historical sites, great architecture and famous places, there is never ending fodder at which to point a camera. So, in that spirit, here are a few photos from the day.