I NAVIGATE between the saints. This is literally true, in the sense that, when I manage to get a day or even an afternoon out on Ranworth Rose, the little boat that I keep on the Norfolk Broads, I begin the journey in the parish of St Helen’s, Ranworth, the beautiful church known locally as “the cathedral of the Broads”, and sail out of Malthouse Broad on to the River Bure.

Even as the tower of St Helen’s is lost from sight among the bends of the river, the distinctive round mill-tower in the ruins of St Benet’s Abbey hoves into view; and there I often moor and stroll among the ruins, thinking of the abbey in its heyday and walking to the cross that marks where the high altar stood, to touch the stones and say a prayer.

When, on my return journey, I see the tower of St Helen’s again, I think not only of its famous rood screen, and of the Ranworth roses after which my boat is named, but also of the distinctive weathervane set atop the tower. It depicts a man paddling a little boat with a small dog looking out over the prow. Known as the “Pacificus Wind Vane”, it commemorates the local legend of a devoted monk of St Benet’s Abbey in the 15th century, Pacificus, who came by boat every day from St Benet’s to St Helen’s with his faithful dog, Caesar, to restore the rood screen. So, when I make my little jaunts between St Helen’s and St Benet’s, I am literally following in his wake.

That story comes to mind at the moment because 21 May was St Helena’s Day, and her story is worth remembering. The mother of Constantine, she is remembered in our lectionary as “Protector of the Holy Places”: a fine title that alludes to the story that, having become a Christian in 312, she used her power and influence to discover and enshrine the sacred sites in Jerusalem and keep them hallowed.

She is credited with founding the Church of the Nativity, where the stable was in Bethlehem, and of discovering the true cross, beneath a temple of Venus, pulling down the temple and encouraging her son, the Emperor, to build the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

The brief biography in the lectionary (drawn from Saints on Earth: A biographical companion to Common Worship, by John H. Darch and Stuart K. Burns) says, rather coyly, that “Helena rose from humble origins.” St Ambrose is a little more candid in his account of these things. Writing in the late fourth century, he calls her a stabularia, which means “stable-maid” or, possibly, “inn-keeper”.

It is somehow very fitting that a former stable-maid, or even inn-keeper, now risen to great honour, should herself uncover and honour both the humble stable, and the infamous place of execution that began and ended her Saviour’s life on earth.

So, all this floats through my mind as I float on a waterway awash with legends and stories, navigating between the saints. But, in a deeper sense, we all navigate between the saints. Of course, we have the Gospels, and the writings of the theologians, all central and essential, but is it not true that it is the actual lived Christian lives of those saints around us, both living and in glory, which really help us to imagine and to practise Christian life?

As we navigate through all the hazards and perplexities of life, it is their advice and example, rising up like the towers of St Helen’s and St Benet’s, that give us our bearings and keep us on course.