SUNDAY
By contrast I went to the little chapel next to us to hear a said not sung Mass, entirely in English. I am happy with that too. I concentrated on the words of the Gospel and the words of the tax collector as opposed to the Pharisee who prays to himself, “Have mercy on me a sinner.”
MONDAY
We attend the funeral of Cllr Chris Underwood Frost in Gainsborough Parish Church. It is a sad thing that when we reach a full span of 80 years or more there are few to come to our funeral. It is no comfort though when we die young in our prime, in our 50s. The church is full of friends and admirers. But do we only live on in the minds of others? No, when we die old, the panoply of friends and relations, mother, father, or sister, are still there but in the Heavenly Host.
TUESDAY
I was talking to someone about the plight of Christians in the Middle East. They want to set up a charity which will not focus on the political situation but on the cultural heritage of Christians. I am sure this is right. We must not lose this rich stream of continuous history particularly the villages, some of which I visited in Northern Iraq which still use Aramaic. My host recited the first words of the Beatitudes in Aramaic: what a glorious sound.
WEDNESDAY
The readings today are all about the power of prayer. “The spirit comes to help us in our weakness.” (Romans 8:26-30).
We can go through the motions of Mass or the Rosary or Matins or whatever but unless we ask we are nothing.
THURSDAY
I sat through four and a half hours of debate on HS2. Strange how those in favour and against the line dress up their arguments in a kind of religious fervour. Ultimately it is only a railway line which carries a few people fast to where, if they really thought about it, they probably don’t want to go.
FRIDAY – FEAST OF ALL SAINTS
I always love this image of a “huge number, impossible to count, of people from every nation, race, tribe, and language.” And “they shouted ‘Victory to our God’.”
I like the way also that most of them, the Saints, are completely unremembered to history.
SATURDAY – FEAST OF ALL SOULS
Now in our Lincolnshire garden we have the full glory of Autumn: browns, reds, golds, every shade of green, light, dark, a remarkable number of leaves stay still on the trees, gently swaying. It is warm enough to sit in the garden for a time and feel the soft Lincolnshire breeze. The glass is still a richly golden green colour, the remains of the stubbled field opposite still yellow, not a house or a car or any semblance of ugliness in sight. When the first car in an half-hour glides by, its wheel noise lost instantly in the leaves underfoot. It is so quiet. I can hear the blood pumping around my ears.
I run along the lane under the great yellowing beeches and enter our Norman church. I read Psalm 9. “Confiteor Deo tibi / I will speak of your marvels O Lord.”