Hadlow is the village where I spent my early adolescence. The church has a Norman tower and bells that still can ring. There are crusader crosses in the stonework round the door, 17th and 18th century hatchments in the nave and a set of clumsy, early twentieth century, stained glass windows- one with a knight in a dark wood and St George standing on the dragon's head. Being there felt entirely natural- not like a homecoming but as if I'd been gazing round at these things every Sunday of my life.
I'm tired. I don't want to argue about theology anymore. I've tried all sorts of different religions and none of them was any better than the one my ancestors made. Anglican Christianity isn't perfect- I reserve the right to disagree on points of detail- but I think it'll last me the rest of this life.