Today I met a man I haven't seen for ten years. All the time I had thought I was remembering him well - how he looked and how he spoke and the sort of things he said. The first five minutes of the real man shattered the image completely. Not that he had changed. On the contrary. I kept on thinking, 'Yes, of course, of course, I'd forgotten he thought that - or disliked this, or knew so and so - or jerked his head back that way'. I had known all these things once and I recognized them the moment I met them again. But they had all faded out of my mental picture of him, and when they were all replaced by his actual presence the total effect was quite astonishingly different from the image I had carried about with me for those ten years. How can I hope that this is not happening to my memory of H? That this is not happening already?

CS Lewis A Grief Observed

Now we see only reflections in a mirror, mere riddles, but then we shall be seeing face to face. Now, I can know only imperfectly; but then I shall know just as fully as I myself am known.

I Corinthians 13: 12

CS Lewis is right. We live with an imagined image of those that we love that are far away. When we come to see them we are shocked by their unimaginable beauty. The beautiful glass image we make of them in our minds is smashed and re-moulded into the a living, more beautiful reality. Losing people, by circumstance and distance is painful. But, it is impossible to imagine what life would have been like without the goodness of their presence in the first place. So, for the most part we are content to have our hearts broken through time and separation, if only because it teaches us to love more fully those moments when it is possible to be together, and appreciate properly the people who we love that are with us every day.

The Simple Life

Thank God for Bloody Minded Dominicans!

These thoughts are not from me. They are from a friend who came to Lourdes with me. But, I heartily agree with them, they are well expressed and I couldn't do better myself. This is what Lourdes feels like when you spend the rest of your life trying not to look weird.

There is something about Lourdes, something special, and everyone who has been there seems to know it, but none of us seem to be able to isolate quite what it is. I think that it is probably responsible for the number of people who return there every year, and a lot of them do.

When I was there last year I remember one of the talks by the Prior Provincial of the Dominican Province. In it he said that people come to Lourdes for different reasons - some people are bullied into it: I was certainly one of those people. I did not want to go to Lourdes at all. I had absolutely no desire to go there, no desire to go on pilgrimage and couldn't for the life of me see why I should give up a week of my precious summer holiday to go somewhere I did not want to go - however good the company! A ruthless and prolonged operation was put in place by several well loved, but bloody minded Dominicans, and when some well loved but bloody minded family friends joined in it proved too much, even for someone as stubborn as me. In a moment of weakness I caved into the pressure, and spent the next few months regretting it intensely. By the time I capitulated the team that had amassed to get me there was fairly large, but there were two people, the two original members, who I held particularly responsible. Although now I am more grateful to them than I can ever verbalize, in the time leading up to the pilgrimage I sincerely wanted to slap them every time they grinned at me, reminding me of their success and my failure.

I realize now that I was quite scared about going. Quite what i was scared of I am not sure, but I suppose that it had something to do with a general attitude I had towards the faith at the time. I believed, there was no doubt about this, but it had taken rather a back seat. I went to Mass every Sunday less because I thought I had to than out of habit. I wanted to see people there, and because, this is what we did on Sundays. A week full of Mass going and a kind of intense religiosity seemed a bit more than I could handle.

But, there is something special about Lourdes and by about a week after I returned I was ensuring that i could go back there the following year, insisting that that family holiday had to be arranged around it. I have spent the last year wondering what that something special is, wondering what it was about that place that touched me so deeply, that changed me so much. I had been wondering and pondering but, to no avail - all I could tell you was that there was something about that place. I knew one of the reasons that it was special to me was because of what happened to me there. I changed in Lourdes in a radical, but probably mostly imperceptible way. I had my own conversion experience, my own little Damascus. But, I also realised that whilst this made Lourdes a special place for me, it was a consequence, not the source of the 'special something', the X Factor. Then, after an entire year of wondering, on my last night in Lourdes this year, I returned from one last solitary late night trip to the grotto and the adoration chapel, and it hit me. Things are, quite frankly, simpler in Lourdes.

In Lourdes, if you want to go an pray in the middle of the day, you just get up an go to the nearest chapel. If you want to go down to the grotto in the middle of the night you can. If you want to spend time before the Blessed Sacrament there are at least two places you can go. You can spend hours sitting quietly in a chapel or in adoration of the Blessed Sacrament if that is what you want. You can go to Mass daily (or even twice if you feel so inclined and the opportunity arises) and it is not a problem. It is absolutely fine. Unremarkable even. You will not face snide or despairing comments, you will not be teased. You will not have to glaze over the hour or so you spent sitting at the back of Church when you give an account of your day. You may even run into someone you know who is also down in the grotto for a late night visit! This is a place where you can run into every type of religious habit under the sun, and see a Bishop in full regalia praying next to you. This is a place where you can spend a week wearing your rosary hanging out of the pocket on your jeans, attached with a carabiner, and not get a single odd look.

Living in a country where being a Catholic is to be definitely in a minority, a world where the outward sign of religion is often deemed unnecessary, ostentatious and sometimes inappropriate, Lourdes is a breath of fresh air. In the words of the two bloody minded, but well loved Dominicans: 'Here, it is OK to be Catholic'. In Lourdes it is simpler.

It is true that its is not always meant to be simple. We are warned explicitly that it won't always be simple. Indeed, we are even meant to be joyful and grateful when it is not. In his sermon on the mount Christ says: 'Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven' (Matthew 5: 11 -12). In the words of St. Peter: 'If you are reviled in the name of Christ, you are blessed because the spirit of glory, which is the spirit of God, is resting upon you.' (1Peter4: 12). Put simply, we will find it difficult, hard, challenging. In his rule St. Benedict realized this, exhorting patience in the events of 'hardships and unjust treatment' (RB 7.42), and that was in a community of monks.

However, I do think that there is something to be said for one week, every now and then, once a year say, when things are easier. One week when we are fairly sure that we won't be reviled, persecuted or have all kinds of evil uttered against us falsely. One week in which it is not only OK to be Catholic, but actively encouraged. One week when it is easy. I think that if it is easier in this one week to do these things then we will find ourselves spending more time in prayer, listening longer, harder, and more intently to God, hearing more clearly what he is calling us to be and do. And, whether intentionally, consciously, or completely by accident we will find ourselves converting, turning back to God. We will find ourselves attending to the pleas of the prophet Jeremiah: 'Jerusalem, Jerusalem, turn again to the Lord you God.' This one easy week refreshes and rejuvenates us, it gives us back the confidence, the strength, and quite possibly the inclination to go back home and continue the practice of our faith regardless of the reaction we face.

One week of simplicity not only reminds us why we are willing to face the music at home. It reminds us why, deep down, we don't really care about the music.

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.

Lourdes - On the Inside

I have come home from Lourdes. For all the spiritual and emotional turmoil of that place, the hardest part of the experience is the journey home. I have to steel myself up to it. Thinking about the events of the last week I do not want to write about what I saw, not much anyway. It is possible to find out about the sights and sounds of Lourdes, the process of the baths, the processions and the prayers in many places. I would not be able to do them justice here. If writing is a source of prayer, and for me it often is, then I want to try and write honestly about what I felt during the pilgrimage. It might not be possible to do justice to this theme but, before I leave this last week behind and move headlong into the future, I would like to give it a try.

Reading over my diary it would be fair to say that I arrived in Lourdes completely conscious of my need for conversion and confession. It was on my mind. Turning back to God is a gradual process. At the end of a very busy term, and in a panicked rush about my academic work I had crawled into a whirlwind of self obsession, pride and arrogance. When my reaction to not receiving funding from the AHRC for my DPhil was less disappointment than 'more fool them', I knew I had been placing too much emphasis on my own plans in life. I had barely considered if studying full time again was part of God's plan for me. It was definitely time to realign my priorities.

In the first two days of the pilgrimage I could hardly walk along the street without my mind being invaded by the story of the woman with the haemorrage. It did not come from the readings, which were focused on the torments of the prophet Jeremiah. Perhaps it was the crushing crowds and the talk of healing. Whatever the source I could not shake it and so began to pray with it. All that woman wanted was to touch His cloak. She had the faith, but she did not want the attention. She would have done anything not to have been noticed by other people. She did not want to be looked at, especially not by Jesus. Part of being in Lourdes is about taking the time to stop hiding from yourself. There is a call there to pay attention; attention to who you are, and attention to the eyes of God looking upon you. I am sure this is not meant to be frightening, but if you have not done it for a while it can be a bit of a shock. The most vivid experience of this nature happened during a solitary mission to the Blessed Sacrament Chapel, and I will come back to that later. I would like to explore things in order.

Stations Ending

It was 11 months ago that Under The Cross began with the explicit intention of meditating on the stations of the cross. Now we have reached the journey's traditional end I feel the need to think about whether it was worth it. The main thing I have learnt is how to use imagination carefully in prayer. I take notice of the Stations of the Cross when I go into a church now. I examine them and think about the artist's intentions. What was it they saw in this journey? The Stations speak vividly about Christ's passion, but they are not a reflection upon the past. To allow the stations to speak about living as a Christian today is to give them the freedom for which they were designed. I hinted at the beginning of this quest that I was not sure that the Stations of the Cross could ever be understood, and at the end of this journey I can stand by that claim. I know what each of the stations are, and can confidently pick out appropriate pieces of scripture to help reflect upon them. But, the stations of the cross have a capacity to show people what it means to love with a wounded heart. They speak in a different voice every time they are encountered, touching the present reality and calling for hope, resurrection and healing.

XVI. Jesus is laid in the tomb

Oh, my buried Jesus,

I kiss the stone that closes you in.

You gloriously did rise again on the third day.

I beg you by your resurrection that I may be raised gloriously on the last day,

to be united with you in heaven,

to praise you and love you forever.

I love you Jesus, and I repent of ever having offended you.

Grant that I may love you always; and then do with me as you will.

Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be

Virgin of all virgins blest

Listen to my fond request

Let me share your grief divine

XVI. Jesus is laid in the tomb

I have recently been away on pilgrimage, and when we were praying the stations of the cross this station was reflected upon with the words: And the world lost in sadness and grief, became pregnant with the hope of redemption.

The last station of the cross already is inviting people to look ahead. We can see that the story has not finished. This is a moment of quiet, but there is so much to come.

The journey through the stations of the cross is a challenge to be present to suffering in the world. To notice people where no one else bothers, and take the time to think about them, speak to them and help them. This can be tough, but ultimately, like the 14th station, even in the midst of sadness, the stations point towards hope. Towards the end of the story: resurrection.

XVI. Jesus is laid in the tomb

Illustration: Lodwar Cathedral

XVI. Jesus is laid in the tomb

We adore you O Christ and we praise you

Because, by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world

After this, Joseph of Arimathea, who was a disciple of Jesus - though a secret one because he was afraid of the Jews - asked Pilate to let him remove the body of Jesus. Pilate gave permission, so they came and took it away. Nicodemus came aswell - the same one who had first come to Jesus at night time - and he brought a mixture of myrhh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds. They took the body of Jesus and bound it in linen cloths with the spices, following the Jewish burial custom. At the place where he had been crucified there was a garden, and in this garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been buried. Since it was the Jewish Day of Preparation and the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.

John 19: 38 - 42

XIII. Jesus is taken down from the Cross

O Mother of Sorrows,

for the love of your son,

accept me as your servant and pray to him for me.

And you, my redeemer,

since you have died for me,

allow me to love you.

I am sorry that I have offended you.

Never let me offend you again.

Grant that I might love you always; and then do with me what you will.

(Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be)

By the cross with you to stay

There with you to weep and pray

Is all I ask of you to give

XIII. Jesus is taken down from the Cross

Do you think it was with a sense of relief that Joseph of Arimathea handed the body of Jesus over to Mary? Taking him down from the cross would have been a dangerous mission, but something the secret disciple felt that he had to do. Some of the the Gospels have it that 'he boldly went into the presence of Pilate to ask for the body of Jesus.' Perhaps such boldness was a cover for his trembling heart. He has hidden like everyone else throughout the arrest and crucifixion, but after Jesus' death he finds a sudden courage to make one last gesture of humanity.

Death, sometimes, is an end to inhumanity. That is certainly what this station seems to be about to me. It is filled with tremendous sadness, but also a a heavy hollow hope: nothing worse can happen to him now, he is gone. I am not sure what Mary knew, but that must have been the least of it. No one could have imagined the resurrection.