The Real Pilgrim Journey

'We'll walk this one through together, like true pilgrims'

I have been on some amazing walks of late. It is part of the reason my writing here has been so lax. Instead of pondering around at home thinking about where life is going to lead, for the last few months and years I have been quietly walking the real pilgrim journey with the man I love.

At the break of the New Year we set out on a stroll up Buckden Pike. Buckden Pike is a majestic looking mountain at the head of Wharfedale in the Yorkshire Dales. The summit is at 2, 303ft, and on a cold January day, with gale force winds that could pick up up and throw you down again, golf ball hail stones flying horizontally in the breeze, and climbing steeply and slowly past disused mine shafts, this walk cannot be described as 'easy'. But, sheltering crouched behind an old stone wall, sipping sweet coffee and appreciating every small mouthful of a warm sausage sandwich saved from breakfast, I was happier than I have ever been. We had decided, a few days previously, that for the rest of our born days we would walk together. 

Last week we were up at 2, 087ft, walking Kinder Scout in the High Peaks. Once again our journey was no walk in the park. The steep ascent up Jacob's Ladder had me gasping for breath and begging for mercy. On the other hand, the warm thrill and relief of a picnic at the top, followed by jumping and skipping across the lunar landscape of the winter moor summit was a bliss that cannot be compared. Returning to the valley floor we took the steepest path I have ever faced, and cautiously crawled, putting one exploratory foot on the ground whilst holding the other back, hooked sideways into the land to prevent a tumble. On several occasions one or other of us would have to reach out to ensure the steady footing of the other. On reaching the level path our normal pace seemed like a jog, and weary bones felt light.

Walking it through, together, like true pilgrims.

He wishes for the cloths of heaven

Had I the heavens embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths,

Of night and light and the half light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet.

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams

W B Yeats

A friend of mine recently recounted that she once received a postcard from me, sent from Ireland, with this poem written out on the back. She says I must have been about 13 or 14 when I sent it. Apart from this proving that I have never quite got the hang of the "postcard - wish you were here" genre, it has reminded me how much I love this poem. Over the years I have had a strange relationship to it - it is often in my dreams. Sometimes it gets stuck in my head, a bit like a pop song, but I have never known anyone else who gets 'stuck record syndrome' with poetry so I have never found a cure to successfully banish it.

'Tread Softly' is back with a vengeance through my thoughts and dreams, it is so powerful and the words are true. It is impossible to give or receive anything genuinely unless it is wrapped in the vulnerability of prayers, hopes and dreams.

He walks in the garden

He walks in the garden,

through the trees

to admire the flowers lit by shafts of sunlight.

He walks in the garden,

leaving footsteps 

on the leaves fallen from the canopy.

He walks in the garden

to hear the birds sing

in the morning and the evening, feeding their young.

He walks in the garden still:

concrete, cars, factories, friction.

His footprints mark the land

that human hands have touched.

He never left the garden.

Ben XVI - education and inspiration

I have the house to myself, a great, heart warming home-cooked daal on the stove, peshwari naan in the oven and a bottle of Old Hooky at the ready. So, I thought I would have a little think about the recent Papal events in these parts.

Being someone who is interested in teaching, education and learning I was interested to hear

BXVI views on these topics most of all. This was the visit of an educated academic for the beatification of an educator, intellectual - two men with a passion for learning.

At Cofton Park BXVI spoke directly about Blessed John Henry Newman's vision for education, commending his understanding that learning has got to be rooted more deeply than any reductive, utilitarian ethos. The critic in me paused here to consider the way in which students today are forced to enter a lottery in order to secure the fate of their Secondary school. For the most part, Catholic schools have opted out of this system, and faced much criticism for it...but, I digress - that debate is more complicated than the remit of this post.

BXVI renews Newman's appeal for an intelligent, well instructed laity. Quoting Newman's words he declared: 'I want a laity, not arrogant, not rash in speech, not disputatious, but men who know their religion, who enter into it, who know just where they stand, who know what they hold and what they do not, who know their creed so well that they can give account of it, who know so much of history that they can defend it.'

That strikes me as something of a real challenge to the laity, to the person sitting in a pew on a Sunday, to teachers, to pupils, to everyone. To me it is a beautiful challenge both to seek education, and to learn to use words carefully - as precious gifts for sharing with one another. I liked that, it inspired me.

Now, I am going back to my yummy dinner, that beer and some Black Adder.

I want you to be happy

Recently some very good friends of mine have been ordained to the Priesthood and to the Diaconate. Back in the days when I used to have a salary I would have greeted each of these great occasions with gifts and cards, but now, being poor I have only my thoughts and prayers to go with people on their journey.

All the services I have been to have been beautiful and blessed; people, friends and family have shown their amazing generosity in pulling together an 'event', from the readings to the flowers, the outfits, the prayer cards, the music, the travel arrangements, the devotion, the laughs, the tears, the parties and the celebrations - all has been amazing. But for all these friends, five this year, and others from years gone by, my one prayer is for happiness. I do not know why, really. I guess ordained ministry strikes me as a challenge that when it strikes deep, can give great joy. But, no matter what your denomination, it is a hard way of life, often lonely and sometimes a bit frightening. Part of me thinks of it as life in the goldfish bowl - often you end up placed on a pedestal while everyone stares at you and makes sure you are doing okay by their standards. Are you gold and shiny enough? Are you on the right circuit? Have the right friends? Say the right things? I suppose this is the same in many other professions, but in ministry their seems to be no 'off' button. I only ever think that people should be doing alright with themselves and their maker, no one else is fit to judge - although many like to think they are.

So, for all my friends ordained this year, in the Church of England, the Lutheran Church and the Roman Catholic Church, I have special prayer: I want you to be happy. I hope that you will always know at least one person at whom you can shout, scream and swear about your frustrations with life, liberty and fruit of the loom. I would like you all to remain very good at laughing. I hope you have the tremendous faith in your work needed to make it inspirational for you and for others. I pray that you enjoy growing with, and learning from, the bunch of loons (I mean, congregation) you are sent to minister to; always try and see the good in people, even when they are really very annoying.

The Feast of Philip Neri has this summed up in the first reading, to many of you I sent it in a card, but for the record:

'I want you to be happy, always happy in the Lord, I repeat, what I want is your happiness. Let your tolerance be evident to everyone: the Lord is very near. There is no need to worry; but if there is anything you need, pray for it, asking God for it with prayer and thanksgiving, and that peace of God, which is much greater than we can understand, will guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus. Finally, brethren, fill your minds with everything that is true, everything that is noble, everything that is good and pure, everything that we love and honour, and everything that can be thought virtuous or worthy of praise...Then the peace of God will be with you.' (Phil 4: 4 - 9)

My way, God's way

A short advert for a blog called My Way, God's way by two brothers in the Dominican order, Peter and Isidore Clarke OP. Their reflections on the world, religious life and life in general are very cool. With one of them based in Leicester and the other in Grenada, the blog also has the flavour of family communication, which I like - the personal sharing of daily lives, the you'll never guess what has happened to me! Well worth your time.

Between two: a beginning and an end

The Words

I want the words to light on your shoulder

like a hand: touch but not take hold.

You understand they are no more than a gesture

between us and I have tuned my voice so low

no one else shall hear them: they are just for you.

Do not mistake them for intimacy however.

We are a long way off still - we have

a long way to go - the words may contain

an immoderate danger: words are so dangerous.

But if we are careful, if we do not make trouble

between us we shall learn to give them a name.

grey gowrie

For the New Year

Nada turbe,

Nada te espante,

todo se pasa,
Dios no se muda;
la paciencia
todo lo alcanza;

quien a Dios tiene
nada le falta:

Sólo Dios basta.

Eleva tu pensamiento,

al cielo sube,

por nada te acongojes,

nada te turbe.
A Jesu Cristo
sigue
con pecho grande,y,
venga lo que venga,

nada te espante.

¿Ves la gloria del mundo?

Es gloria vana;

nada tiene de estable,

todo se pasa.
Aspira a lo celeste,

que siempre dura;
fiel y rico en promesas,
Dios no se muda.

Ámala cual merece
bondad inmensa;

pero no hay amor fino
sin la paciencia.
Confianza y fe viva
mantenga el alma,

que quien cree y espera
todo lo alcanza.
Del infierno acosado
aunque se viere,

burlará sus furores
quien a Dios tiene.

Vénganle desamparos,

cruces, desgracias;

siendo Dios tu tesoro

nada te falta.
Id, pues, bienes del mundo;

id dichas vanas;

aunque todo lo pierda,

sólo Dios basta.

In the beginning

I have had an year of mis-starts and false beginnings. I have been up to my eyes in work and a social whirlwind, but have found it difficult to to concentrate on those things that direct my life: faith, reason, family, friends.

This January I will, like many, begin again. To continue my studies I am about to undertake a teaching job at a public school in Dorset. I will be away from my University term in Oxford, but will try to continue with my studies independently. During that time I hope to make much progress with my work.

But, all this is not the point. In January there is a need to return to the beginning.

It is with this in mind, and with a hint from my childhood friend, Luke, that I will start again, this year, to read the Bible. It is the book that forms the foundation of much of Christian ethics, and, if I dare say so, much of the law of this country and of Europe. There is a lot to learn there: about God, and about life.

The Bible has boring bits. Believe me, I have read them. But, there are lots of interesting bits too, and each part, the boring and the interesting, has something to say that is relevant to the way people live today: religious or non - religious. There was no such thing as a temporal 'Christian state' in the New Testament, nor a 'Jewish state' in the Old. Religious diversity and differences of opinion are part of the story of God in the Judeo Christian Scripture. I imagine that differences of opinion would form part of the discussion of scripture today. Difference is certainly is part of reading it: there are violent parts, injustice, sexism, patriarchalism, wars, debates, differences and dialogues. In it all, God plays a part.

So, I begin to read again. At the beginning. And from the Beginning I hope to see the reasons, the wherefores and the whys of conflicts, disagreements and debates. I do not hope to find answers, but only clearer questions.

Here is the plan: Bible Reading

It begins with the first chapters of Genesis, Ezra, Matthew and Acts.

Daisies need sunshine and roses need rain

In my head today I have been singing one lyric of a song over and over again: 'Daisies need sunshine and roses need rain.' To me these two flowers show a difference between two types of happiness. Daisies are irrepressible bundles of joy, they are bubbly and delightful symbols of innocence and cheerfulness. Roses, on the other hand are deeply beautiful. Roses are offered as a symbol of love, courage and respect; in Christendom they are a reminder of Christ's passion. Roses, to keep their beauty, need rain; daisies close up and retreat into the ground at the first sign of bad weather. It's tentative I know, but to me there is something here to be learnt about beauty in life. Something to do with an appreciation, if that is the right word, of the hardness of real living.

Today was the feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. It is a beautiful and poignant feast. But, like many things in the Church, it is weird and takes some growing up to get your head around. Without too much thought I have always assumed that to live a happy life good things should happen to you. I like to think about the happy times. When things go a bit awry I pretend it isn't happening, look away and try and think of something else. I have the same reaction to horrid images on the telly. And, to my shame, difficult things that happen closer to my home: beggars on the street, drugs and alcoholism. The feast of Our Lady of Sorrows is a challenge to all of that.

Our Lady of Sorrows is beautiful. But, hers is not a superficial beauty. True beauty comes from experiencing life to its fulness with all its pain and sorrow. True love is the same. Mary at the foot of the cross had, we are to understand, the faith to believe in the resurrection, but she still cried. That wasn't because she had lost all hope, it was because she loved her son. It was love that made her stay and refuse to look away.

Back to Basics

 I have a new allotment. Well, it is a 15f x 25f bed in a communal plot. I am so looking forward to starting to dig and care for the plants again. I feel like it will atone for a lot that did not go right this year. In August I would usually take time away from home to think about my faith and renew my commitment to it. This year however, that has not been possible. I miss it. Having an new patch of earth to care for might just be the path to a cure. It is a bit late in the year for planting, but that does not stop me making plans for proper winter salads. I have been thinking about what will survive its infancy in the autumn and live to give harvest in the cold, dark winter. 'Dominant' spinach is a winner, it will grow fast and harvest through to January, and 'Red Giant' mustard will make for a tangy salad leaf. It is still possible to grow rocket at this time of year, and it is much less likely to be attacked by bugs. Crinkly leafed lettuces are also in the offing, with 'Black Seeded Simpson' being a winner for the greens, and 'Merveille de Quatre Saisons' conquering the reds. I will put down lamb's lettuce to cover some ground. Okay, so it won't win any chef's awards, but you can harvest its leaves in handfuls and add them to almost anything. I have some 'Red Bor' kale to sow to impress the neighbours with its red frills, and help me pretend to be chinese chef genuis (it makes great crispy fried seaweed). With all that under my belt I am hoping I might be well on my path to redemption.

What on earth is the connection between pilgrimage and allotments I hear you ask? Simple, they both root you in your earthly existence at the same time as showing you the majesty of God.

Disappointment

Talking I try to hear what someone says,

understand how they think,

learn their thoughts,

walk in someone else's shoes.

I want to put myself behind me.

I can't.

I fail.

I am disappointed.

Two ears and one mouth,

for a reason. Listen twice as hard as talk.

Learning is my passion, but people are hard to study.

Conversational words aren't set in stone, they slip and change their shape.

You cannot pin them down.

Quickly spoken, easily forgotten.

Said in haste, remembered forever.

Understanding more is loving more.

I need a hug.

Dangerous Beauty

The sea in not less beautiful in our eyes because we know that sometimes ships are wrecked by it. On the contrary this adds to its beauty.

Simone Weil, Waiting for God

An excellent reading from Job

From the heart of the Tempest the Lord gave Job his answer. He said:

'Have you ever in your life given orders to the morning or sent the dawn to its post,

telling it to grasp the earth by its edges and shake the wicked out of it,

when it changes the earth to sealing clay and dyes it as man dyes clothes;

stealing the light from wicked men and breaking the arm raised to strike?

Photo: Sun God by Henyeah

Have you journeyed all the way to the sources of the sea, or walked where the Abyss is deepest?

Have you been shown the gates of death or met the janitors of Shadowland?

Have you an inkling of the extent of the earth? Tell me all about it if you have!

Which is the way to the home of the light, and where does darkness live? You could then show them the way to their proper places, or put them on the path to where they live!

If you know all this you must have been born with them, you must be very old by now!'

Job replied to the Lord:

'My words have been frivolous: what can I reply?

I had better lay my finger on my lips.

I have spoken once...I will not speak again;

more than once...I will add nothing.'

This was the first reading of the Mass of today. I haven't read Job in ages, and this just reminded me to go back and read it again. The symbolism and imagery here is amazing. Writers of all ages have picked up on it: the janitors of Shadowland, the Abyss, the idea of giving orders to the Sun; Job the man who argues with God, Brilliant.

I also thought it was appropriate material for reflection for me - going off to study a PhD and all. No matter how much you can teach yourself about something, it is never ever going to be possible to know very much at all.

Sounds of Silence

Sitting in darkness on the balcony of the flat in Guejar Sierra, Andalucia, the sound of cicadas, crickets, bats, dogs and the odd car on the mountain can be heard from the landscape. The moon is full and shines down on the mountain casting strange shadows on the trees. Leonard Coen is singing from the ipod in the front room where Gemma is reading. 

The first night of our holiday and already, quietly, everything is beginning to stop. There is a quietness here, and a stillness that many people search for in hustle and bustle. But, it is not a physical stillness; this place is alive. The steady release of everyday concerns, and a break from worrying about the working treadmill allow other delights to call for attention.

People say there is no such thing as silence. Perhaps they are right, but paradoxically, taking time to note the sounds of silence projects stillness into the landscapes of our holiday retreats. People say: 'It is so beautiful here; so quiet, so still'; very rarely is that true, but it speaks volumes about what happens when everything stops long enough to hear your own heart beat.

Here are my top five sounds of silence:

1. Buckden Towers - The fens of Cambridgeshire

You could hear the A1 from the retreat centre I used to work in; not close, but in the distance. There were always groups of children running around the grounds; people ringing the doorbell or calling on the phone. The heavy oak doors slammed. Outside there were birds in the trees, and creatures rustling in the undergrowth. Sometimes the local farmer grazed his sheep on the field.

2. Creeping off the street - The Blessed Sacrament met

In Salamanca the busy city was always wide awake, but tucked between the shops and the cafes were Churches whose doors opened during the hours of business. Nipping into the coolness of the twilit chapel the sounds of the street become muffled, not absent but separate. New sounds are present, the creak of old wooden benches, the scrape of their movement on stone; sometimes you can hear the breathing of others in prayer, the footsteps of someone walking. When the door to street opens all the hustle and bustle floods in, ebbing back out as the door slowly re-closes.

3. Parish Church - The community prepares

At 9.05 the Church is full; there is only one mass in my Parish of a Sunday. Everyone is talking, the children are meeting each other in the aisles, the ushers are welcoming people to their seats, a few brave singers are gathering to form the choir; the organist practices a few notes. Some people kneel to pray, some read the newsletter. Then with the sound of a bell at 9.15 a silence descends, and the community stands to celebrate the mass.

4. Camino dawn - The pilgrims watch sunrise

The crunch crunch crunch of heaving boots walking on gravel scraped to halt as the sun peaked over the tip of the mountain ridge; a dawn sunrise. The birds, jumping through the wheatfield trebled their chorus to greet the day. Crickets and cicadas chirrup and hop across the pathway. Stillness. Then, the thud of a rucksack hitting the ground, and the sigh of a pilgrim hunckering down to watch this spectacle of nature in more comfort. People breathing heavily after walking the first few kilometres of today's pilgrimage towards Santiago de Compostela - a long day ahead. Expectation.

5. Lourdes - The bustling town

The sound of a million people talking in different languages, shouting out, singing, laughing, joking. There are cars, lorries and buses squeezing through small crowded streets sending pilgrims in wheelchairs and pedestrians into tacky shop displays to escape from the crush. Here the hustle and bustle is equal to a city going home of a Friday; everything smells -  food, drink, people, petrol. Stopping to watch; everything and nothing - all human life is here.

Old Soul

It has happened again - someone has commented that I must have an 'old soul' to continue believing when everything is marching onwards towards a 'new secular reality'. In this instance it was my new venture to study for a DPhil Theology that brought about the remark.

What does it mean to have an 'old soul'? I have heard the expression many times but never really understood it. Perhaps people are referring to traditional religious beliefs. In this context I could identify myself and many of the people I love best as 'old souls'.  I have sometimes lovingly thought of people with more conservative views and preferences in Catholic liturgy as 'old souls', perhaps because many of them are young, similar in age to myself. 

I was thinking about the Tridentine rite the other day, as you do. I had been listening in on a conversation at school. Someone dismissed the Latin mass as 'holy mumbo jumbo', and then later as debate hotted up as 'dangerous goobledegook.' I do not like stepping into these debates about preferences or 'tastes' in liturgy; I am not qualified, and anyway I feel comfortable in most settings be they charismatic, evangelical, traditional or tridentine. Putting aside my conviction that a mass faithfully celebrated cannot be regarded as either 'holy mumbo jumbo' or 'gobbledegook' without causing grave offense, such strong opinions as these often strike me as divisive.

I am not able to appreciate the Latin mass in its fullness because I lack the education. Latin was never taught at school, it was not part of my religious upbringing and I did not choose to study it at university. Therefore, for me, going to a Latin mass is a bit like watching a film that I know very well dubbed in a foreign language. I can only be moved by it if I can remember the lines. Some parts seem unfamiliar or new, some I have forgotten, and some parts I would recognize no matter what language was spoken. They say that boredom is a lack of imagination, but sometimes it is also a need for education. It is quite likely that, were I to attend a long Latin mass, I would be bored; not because I lack the imagination to enter into the sacred mysteries, but because I lack the education to understand how they are being reflected upon.

With all of this in mind, I think I will learn Latin this year, and then when someone calls me an 'old soul' again I will be able to give them another reason for doing so.

'Do it again!' - For all of you who think prayer is repetitive....

I recently heard it said, and I have often thought the same myself, that prayer, or more specifically, Mass, is repetitive. Having recently come home from Lourdes I could say that my experience of praying the Rosary is definitely repetitive. I am not even sure if I manage to think too much about saying all those words. Sometimes I am just drawing a blank. 

In the last chapter of Sing a New Song: A Christian Vocation Timothy Radcliffe OP reflects that repetition is not always the bad thing that  everyone sees it to be. When I am in love I tell someone 'I love them' many times a day. I may also tell everyone else lots too, and I am sure they appreciate that! It is not enough to say 'I love you' once.

GK Chesterton argues, says Radcliffe, that repetition is characteristic of the vitality of children who like the same stories again and again, not because they are bored or unimaginative, but because they delight in life. Chesterton writes:

Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, 'Do it again'; and the grown up person does it again and again until he is nearly dead, for grown up people are not strong enough to exult in  monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, 'Do it again' to the sun; and every evening, 'Do it again,' to the moon. It may not be automatic necessities that make all daisies alike; it may be that God makes each daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. The repetition in nature may not be mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical encore. Heaven may encore the bird who laid an egg.'

Why should prayer be about thinking? Simon Tugwell OP wrote: 'I do not think about my friend when he is there beside me; I am far too busy enjoying his presence. It is when he is absent that I will start to think about him. Thinking about God all too easily leads us to treat him as if he were absent. But he is not absent'

This post is indebted to the work of Timothy Radcliffe OP in Sing a New Song: The Christian Vocation. You should buy it!!!! This is pages 297 - 298!

Just one prayer

The rosary seems to be a complicated prayer when you first get to know it. There are lots of prayers to learn, and sometimes, when you hear it recited in public, there will be a pious old lady who knows different prayers, and different orders to say the words you have managed to learn. Obviously her words are the right words, her ways the right ways.

I took be a long time to work my way around the scary sound of the rosary being said in public. It sounds like cultic worship. If you are unsure of what is going on it can be very intimidating. I remember when I was 19 being sent to pick up a contingent of Polish priests at Heathrow Airport. All was going very well with my mission until, as I was reversing out of a particularly tight spot in the car park, they began to pray the rosary. I did not know what was going on; it worried me so much I stalled and then bunny hopped the car into a crash barrier. Classy.  

But, at its heart the rosary is simple. It is a meditation designed for people with busy minds who, in order to concentrate properly on one thing, benefit from a distraction for their hands and wandering thoughts. Ultimately, the praying of rosary is a simple exploration of the life of Christ, taking with you for your guide the most reliable witness, his mother. For me at least, it is imaginative prayer.

Recently I have been using just one line from scripture to help me think about the different events in the Gospels. Each line I choose builds up a prayer founded in the reassurance that Christ will listen.

The Joyful Mysteries would be meditated upon like this:

1. The Annunciation - 'Be it done unto me according to your word'

2. The Visitation - 'Why should I be honoured my a visit from the mother of my Lord?'

3. The Nativity - 'Emmanuel'

4. The Presentation in the Temple - 'At last all powerful master you give leave to your servant to go in peace.'

5. The Finding of the Child Jesus - 'Did you not know I would be about my Father's business?'

It might not be intellectual, but I am not able to hold a very long piece of scripture in my head. This way I can think more clearly about the scenes from the Gospel, and I can relate them to what is happening in life. It seems to me to be a simple method that means that I am not looking for a book to find a relevant piece of scripture every time I come to pray the rosary.

Finding Love - Inside Lourdes

On Monday, just before the evening's torchlight procession, I escaped on a solitary mission to the Blessed Sacrament Chapel on the far side of the domain. I felt as though I was going against the status quo a little because the Dominicans had kindly organized exposition at the hotel, but I wanted privacy. It was selfish, but in a way I wanted a chapel all to myself!

The domain was crowded. I had to weave my way through thousands of tightly packed pilgrims to get to my destination. Walking across the bridge over the Gave the noise was intense as people from all around the world announced their presence, shouting and singing through loud speakers. There were people everywhere laughing, singing, talking, arguing, praying. I hurried on, driven by a mission to be alone and have some space.

The far side of the grotto, the meadow, is often quieter than the rest of the domain. Walking through the door of the chapel was a moment of transformation. There was stillness and quiet. I could still hear the cries of greeting outside, and the choruses of Ave Maria as the procession got underway. Inside though was cocoon of quiet. There was only one other pilgrim, and he was gently snoring with his head on the bench in front.

I had come with an agenda. I wanted to properly prepare my confession for Wednesday. I knew there would be gravity to this reflection, but I was determined. I had not been to confession in ages. To be honest it makes me nervous and, although I admit that the words of absolution are the most powerful I have ever heard, I still manage to avoid them most of the year around. Coming to the Eucharist with a preset agenda is always a very bad idea. 

Every time I looked towards the altar I was knocked back with a sensation of love. This annoyed me. It was frustrating and not what I had planned. I tried to think about the numerous ways I thought I had offended God in my attitude and ways, but I could not concentrate. In the end I had to give up and pray about love instead.

I thought about how lucky I am never to have felt unloved. It was clear to me that I was surrounded by people who struggled day by day to believe that they were loveable. Love for me has always been unconditional, given and received. No matter what I did in life my family would look out for me. Even on the pilgrimage there were people I would rely on to love me no matter what I did, even it was the most stupid thing in the world. This was not a reflection about wishy washy soft love. It was love that seeks the happiness of others before it looks to the needs of self; love demanding of the greatest sacrifices. I would give everything to the people I love, and I would hold everything back. Knowing that you are loved gives you freedom to make all sorts of mistakes. There is always the option of starting again. I am happy for the people I love to lose their temper with me, and I am happy to lose my temper with them because I am confident that neither party intends any lasting damage. Love doesn't hold grudges.

All this musing brought me to think about judgement, and the sadness which I sometimes recognize in others. People are afraid of the judgement of God - I have known people to have more faith in that than in his love. This can be an isolating experience. I am not sure I have ever been afraid of God's judgement. This is not because I am perfect, I am in fact, quite the opposite. But God cannot be wrong, and therefore judgment can be nothing but liberating. It makes me sad to think of people who worry so much that God is angry that they cannot see love. God is never angry outside of love. The judgement of God is not the reason I rarely make it to confession. I just do not like embarrassing situations and have a lot of pride. 

I am not sure this all makes sense and I am certain that there is no conclusion here. But, that is what I thought. And, when I had thought it I went home feeling loved and lucky.

Feeding Crowds

The International Mass at Lourdes is always powerful. It was busy, noisy and crowded. I have never wanted to have a seat at this celebration, there are too many other people with a greater need. This is just as well because if I were to want one I would be disappointed. Eventually I settled between friends leaning against the wall at the side of the Pope Pius X Basilica. When everything is so loud and brash there is a need to retreat into a quiet bubble of contemplation. I can make it silent in my heart. I wanted to focus on the intentions of those next to me. It was good to be huddled together so closely, their presence made it easier to concentrate on their thoughts and those they love. I am quite sure we were all preparing for mass saying the Rosary. There was a purposeful quiet in our little huddle. I took the luminous mysteries for my meditation, in such an atmosphere of celebration it seemed appropriate somehow.

I knew the Gospel would be the Feeding of the 5000, having looked it up during morning prayer. Sometimes the readings in all the different languages can be hard to follow. After the Gospel was read there was complete silence for reflection. It was still, but the atmosphere was expectant, hopeful. There were lots of thoughts flying through my head, scatter brained as I am. I can't really concentrate in places so full of stimuli, ordinarily I would kneel and let my body pray where my mind fails, but it was not quite appropriate here and would have created too much scandalous attention. There was an overwhelming sense that the Feeding of 5000 was about to happen again, through the eucharist, to satisfy the needs of 25 000 pilgrims. People say there are no such things as miracles, but watching the faces of people in that place it is disbelief that amazes me more. I have heard it said that there is enough light in the world for those that want to see the miraculous, and enough darkness for those of an opposite disposition. The International Mass was flooded with light.

At communion I watched the people seek out the priests from whom they should receive the eucharist. Often this is a fairly disorderly affair. I was touched by the need in the faces of the crowd; they were chasing after grace. I still had not been to confession, and was not intending to go until Wednesday (it would take me that long to work up to it). The only prayer I had left was one of surrender. It was time to hand myself over to be broken and made new. There was only a short time after communion before the final blessing and the inevitable rush to beat the crowds from the Basilica. We were all still huddled against the wall, friends praying either side of me. I wondered what they were praying for and, thinking about that for a while, prayed for them before standing to receive Benediction. When I skipped off to find the lady I was charged to look after and bring from the Church in a wheelchair I was really quite tearful, but as usual the business of Lourdes came to the rescue and I could hide behind the jobs that needed to be done.