Day 4 - Walking the fields along the motorway

After breakfast I set off on the road from Les Mureaux, towards Flin-sur-Seine. It was a quiet Sunday morning and I thought about those at home who'd be gathering for church. I heard the bells ring in Épone and thought about our little church bell which would be signalling the start of worship in Oadby.

There were more reminders of home. When I left last week, the blossom was coming out in Launde Road. Here in Épone it was already gone from the trees and blowing into piles along the kerbs.

The streets were really quiet and I got the impression that everyone was occupied with Sunday lunch, or with a long afternoon nap. In the morning there had been cyclists, riding in large peletons, but I presumed they were now home enjoying a family Sunday. It reminded me of who I was missing, and my two apples just weren't the same as our normal Harvey family Sunday lunch.

The road towards Mantes-la-Ville was straight, broad and again, very quiet. Sycamore trees, pruned into identical bushiness, lined the way. I walked on the lovely flat cycling piste alongside the carriageway and noticed that it was marked with the circular scourings of a roadsweeping machine. It was spotlessly clean. In the UK, cycle lanes are poorly maintained, with broken surfaces, littered with rusting fragments of lorries and rubbish. Odd then, that I was passed by only a couple of cyclists in an hour.

I passed the huge Renault factory and the town of Elisabethville which has grown beside it. I wondered how the global recession was affecting places like this. Then the equally large Porcheville power station dominated everything I could see. I could see its twin chimneys yesterday.

Porcheville is a behemoth of a power station. I found out that it produces 2500 megawatts of electricity for the energy giant EDF. And how much CO2 I wondered.

Mantes-la-Ville was pleasant enough. I saw a Commonwealth War Graves sign on the cemetery entrance and popped in to take a look. I couldn't find any war graves except for the large central memorial and the man unloading trays of flowers from the boot of his car for a family grave couldn't help either. I did notice one grave from 1971 in which three generations of a family of five appeared to have died in a single accident of some sort. Tragic.

The tower blocks and apartments en route to the Formule 1 hotel were apparently largely occupied by Ghanains, according to the community centre I passed. Here lots of children played outside, not only in the playgrounds but also on the street. In the more affluent areas, children play only in their own gardens, I noticed.

My walking verse for the day was Genesis 24.63, "Isaac went out in the evening to walk in the field and looking up, he saw camels coming."

The verse completes the story begun yesterday. Rebekah has returned with Abraham's servant and Isaac spots her caravan of camels.

The phrase 'walking the fields' has held particular meaning for me for a while. I discovered somewhere that farmers walk their land, not only to enjoy it, but also to look for the unusual or the out of place. They might spot a broken fence, the first signs of some blight on the crops, or the state of drainage in the soil. They might also spot opportunities and decide to try a new variety on a certain field.

I've borrowed the term and applied it to my own work. For me, 'walking the fields' is about a periodic review of what's going on around me. Most days, I walk into the church, notice what's been left, remember the last service and the mood and insights I gained when the chairs were filled by a congregation at worship. I anticipate the next and remember who I need to call. I try to review my work once a week, as part of my regime of 'Getting Things Done'. (GTD is a productivity system devised by David Allen. He's a bit of a strange chap but GTD is a useful tool).

I remembered our managing director at the factory in which I worked for fourteen years and how he'd begin each day with his own version of 'walking the fields'. After settling at his desk he would spend 30 to 60 minutes walking through every department in the offices and shop floor. From boardroom to paint-shop, everyone in the business saw the MD most days. If this wasn't impressive enough, he had a sharp eye for things that weren't as they should be.

I remember one particular day in 1985 when he came passed a workbench on the factory floor, just at the moment when I had been called down from the Systems Engineering Department by John, the craftsman who was building the large and complicated piece of electronic equipment that I had designed. The MD asked if there was a problem. I decided to come clean and confessed that I'd made a simple mistake but a costly one. Thousands of tiny components had been patiently soldered in place and they were all the wrong way round. He asked how long it would take to fix. "About two days", said John. "Humpf!", said the MD.

I thought I was going to be in big trouble but I never heard another word about it. I learned the value of being straight, especially when caught making a mistake. But from the MD, who I would go on to work with for another thirteen years, I learned the value of asking questions, taking an interest and getting involved with the detail.

Another name for walking the fields could be 'episcopacy', or oversight. It's an ecclesiastical word and usually describes the work of bishops. But episcopacy needs to be reclaimed as a key concept in Christian ministry. It's not only bishops who oversee but all who 'supervise' (which is the more familiar latin form).

I'm teased for being interested in the details of church life and it's certainly true at least some of the time that I should interfere less and allow others to get on with things more. One of the opportunities of a sabbatical is the chance to let go and to let others know that I am confident in their leadership while I'm away. I'm sorry for the times I've been too keen to suggest how things should be done.

Lord, help me to be wise in my overseeing and when I notice something, to know when I should remain silent. Amen.