Dear Gabriel,

The Shepherd walked on the high Wold. Bare trees, snow patched grass.
Rounded hills, all rising from a ghostly fog.
A great quietness and then, tired,
He stood at last above the valley.
Mute tiny yellow welcoming lights
And yellow glares on distant hills.
And in his house that night
He forgot the joy of wide open spaces,
And was fraught in the small room
In Cold and poverty.
And then he remembered:
‘God is light. There is no darkness in him at all.’
If only he could bend his mind to this transcendence.
Than no unhappiness could touch him.

Yours Ever,

Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

As I walked down towards my village in the dark last night, the scene was timeless. There was no traffic on the lane – only a few dotted yellow lights. The hills were open and empty under the pale mist. I could have been a shepherd watching his sheep on a hillside a thousand years ago. And that small yellow light below was a lantern at the door of a cattle shed long ago.

Today we heard of the words of the Prophetess Anna from Luke 2:36-40:

She came by first at that moment and began to praise God, and she spoke of the child to all that looked forward to the deliverance of Jerusalem.

I am reading again Patrick Leigh Fermor’s A Time to Keep Silence. At the end of the book he visits La Grande Trappe, the founding Trappist Monastery in France. The life of the monks there is unbelievably austere. They rise at 1 or 2 am, after just six hours sleep, and start over 6 hours a day in the chapel. No heating, constant backbreaking labour in the fields, yet the monks are gloriously content.

He describes one:

The first was the guest master, the young, auburn haired monk who was responsible for the part of the abbey where I lived: a young man of extreme good looks , great charm and a glare of the most disarming integrity and friendliness. He was surrounded by an aura of composure and peace rarely encountered among laymen.

I have always found this when staying in a monastery. After a few days, one is filled, for no obvious reason, with a great feeling of acceptance and just happiness. One just goes to bed confidentally happy. I think it is the leaving behind of all the fake friends of power, money, want, self regaurd and of becoming so much nearer to God.

“God is light; there is no darkness in him at all.” St. John 1:5-22.

Yours,

Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

St. Thomas did chose his Martyrdom in 1170. Perhaps he even deliberately provoked it. To me the most attractive reading of this day are the words of Simeon from Luke 2: 22-35.

I always think this would be a nice way to go:

‘Now, master, you can let your servant go in piece, just as you promised, because my eyes have seen the Salvation.’

But do I believe that my eyes have seen my salvation?

That is the question that I grapple with.

Yours,

Thomas

Simeon with the Infant Jesus

Dear Gabriel,

Is this slaughter of all the firstborn in Bethlehem and surrounding districts to be believed?

After all, even tyranny depends to a certain extent on logic and the consent of the governed.

Could such a bloodbath and wanton act actually have been carried out?

But does it even matter now?

Even if only one innocent baby had been killed, that would provide the juxtaposition between the hope of the Nativity and the brutality of the other act.

As in so much of the Christian story, a seemingly difficult story to believe reveals a greater truth.

These babies could and did not chose their martyrdom. They are forerunners of all those others who did not chose either.

Yours,

Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

John is supposed to be the author of the fourth Gospel and three epistles, but was he? Perhaps these were the work of several people. Does it matter?

It seems to me that you, like me, attempt to rationalise things too much.

Perhaps its better to focus on the beauty of his (or their), deeds as in today’s reading from

John 20:2-8:

So Peter set out with the other disciple to go to the tomb. They ran together, but the other disciple, running faster than Peter, reached the tomb first. … Then the other disciple who had reached the tomb first also went in. He saw and he believed.

I think the concise elegance of this last sentence makes it one of the most overwhelming in the gospels.

Yours,

Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

I love the mass at 10:30 in the Cathedral on Boxing Day. The sun streamed in through the East Windows, blinding me and giving atmosphere to the introit music. The Archbishop, in his Pastoral Lecture, told us that the best Christmas present we could give each other was Joy.

A lovely idea, but does he mean that believing in the Nativity gives us joy naturally or that we should independently dispense it. Or perhaps both, or perhaps one leads to the other. At that moment, I could believe and have joy, but would it last? I envy those of such faith that they do not need beautiful music, fine architecture or a powerful homily to have belief. This is the fate of so many of us.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

We went to midnight Mass in the Cathedral. What with having to arrive an hour early to find a seat, it was nearly three hours in total, but Mozart’s Krönungsmesse, and the Bach, were superb.

At the end a thought came to me: amidst the two thousand people there, could anyone like them all? Imagine how happy you would be if you could love every human person as if he were your only son. What a wonderful place the world would be if we loved everyone like that, and how compassionate we would be.

God apparently did that. He sacrificed his only son. The thought was inspiring. I am even annoyed by the harmless person talking behind me.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

It’s good to take a moment out. I was shopping in the huge Waterstones Bookshop near London University, walked South and took the No. 10 bus. Alighting, I walked South again and found myself by chance beside St. Patricks, Soho Square, surrounded by building works.

A side door was open and a small mass going on inside. After Communion, the priest sat quietly. For all the splendor of the richer services of this Christmas week, that moment of silence and prayer was more special and moving than all the others. Always try to just sit still and be quiet.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

The BBC documentary concluded today. I found it deeply moving. At the moment of crisis, during the birth, Joseph believed and came to his wife’s aid. The Shepherds and Magi also believed and at that moment, millions, I am sure, watching the programme, believed. Either because they wanted to or because, for a moment, they had the gift of faith.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

The BBC are showing and excellent documentary on the nativity. What emerges is the sheer strength and character of Mary. But I know you are a natural doubter.

What if Joseph suspects she did make the whole thing up? After all, it is much more likely and easy that instead of being conceived by the Holy Spirit, she did conceive Jesus in the ordinary way. Joseph is like a doubter.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

Lincolnshire was a beautiful as I had ever seen it. We had a deep frost and new snow with a blue sky like a scene from Narnia. Even the trees were laced entirely in white.

Having to return to London, I felt depressed. I know that sometimes waves of depression can hit you like a rolling tide, enveloping and leaving everything bitter. One way of resisting this force is to set another against it.

To concentrate again and repeat again and again the words of the Centurion and imagine the Eucharist. ‘Lord I am not worthy to enter under any roof, but only say the word and I shall be healed.’

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

I was reading about Gaudi’s extraordinary creation in Barcelona, His Sagrada Familia. The inspiration for his architecture was in nature. He imagined the inside of his church as being in a forest – and as in nature, the strongest lines were often the lightest lines. The church will take over 100 years to complete, yet complete it they will.

Inspiring as this story is, it is still only a narrative. The church is only a building at the end of the day. The emotion of the spiritual will always be a more powerful force.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

Tonight there was a full moon and it was so light in the night that the snow sparkled. Tiny flecks of blue light glistened in the snow. At first it was an utterly clear night, then a mist descended, putting the moon in a halo and shrouding the trees in a vapor. The light was so strong before the mist that although dark, one could see a mile across the fields and hills – all utterly still. Modern man has lost so much by creating urban environments. It is only when faced with nature alone that the words and works of men fall into perspective.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

Try to delight in the immediate. Today I went outside in the evening and the snow was so cold I could walk easily along the top rather than sink into it. It was like the scene in ‘Lord of the Rings’ when the Fellowship falls into the Snow in their assent of the Misty Mountains and Legolas, the light footed elf, runs along the top of the snow.

When I come out of my cosy yellow lit cottage I stood in the immense cold of the lonely countryside. Sometimes I fear the future; the body being lain in the cold dark earth. But this is only the body, not the soul. Start, then, by thinking that thought – that by not being physical, your soul cannot die. Then think that you would rather your thoughts remained with other Christians after your physical death and didn’t wander alone. Then start once more to have faith in the survival of the soul.

All this is a long way from the feel of hard packed snow, but thoughts take flight.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

The Gospel today from St. Matthew (1:1-17), is one of the more boring of the year. It is the geniology of Jesus; Son of David, son of Abraham etc. At first, it seems an endless list of strange people with unpronounceable names, about whom we know nothing, with a monumental formula at the end:

Thus there were fourteen generations in all from Abraham to David, fourteen from David to the exile to Babylon, and fourteen from the exile to the Messiah.

But think on it. They are not remote people. With their follies, badness and goodness they are merely us. They precede the hinge of human fate we succeeded into. We are interchangeable.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

Go and see a French film out now, called ‘Of Gods and Men,’ about the monks in North Africa who were murdered by Islamist extremists in 1996, and do better than me.

I was so frightened by the tension that I left half way through it, but my wife gave me a full account. She said it was really about the power of faith in adversity. The monks know they may well be killed if they stay.

One asks: ‘did we form the monastery to commit collective suicide?’ Yet they stay. There is a beautiful scene in which one of them produces a tape recorder and they stay.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

In today’s Gospel (Luke 7:19:20), John asks of Jesus:

Are you the one?

Hours later, lying awake, I thought on this question. It is really the only important question we have to ask at all, because everything depends upon its answer.
Is he the one? I wish I could give you an absolute answer of certain faith. But at least we can ask the question with an open mind.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

It is worth also looking underneath the great and noble for the holy. On this, the feast day of St. John of the Cross we are reminded of some of the greatest Mystical poetry ever written, particularly from ‘Dark Night of the Soul’.

On that glad night,
in secret, for no one saw me,
nor did I look at anything,
with no other light or guide
than the one that burned in my heart.

But it was something else that caught my eye and held my attention at Mass. At the sign of peace, while we were shaking hands with each other in our usual, slightly awkward way, I noticed an old man kiss a small picture of someone held in his hand. I wondered if it might be his deceased wife. If so I had seldom seen such a lovely gesture.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

I had not thought about it before, but ‘Lucy’ which I think of as a very English name. It actually comes from the Latin for ‘light.’ It’s worth looking at origins of names for some deeper meaning.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

It is always worth looking for little bonuses. The road on the way to Mass was icy and I fell on my wrist. We never made it, but listening later on the radio, I heard a brief mention of the Magnificat and what it means in Latin and English.

My soul doth magnify the Lord.
And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.
Because he hath regarded the humility of his handmaid;
for behold from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.
Because he that is mighty,
hath done great things to me;
and holy is his name.
And his mercy is from generation unto generations,
to them that fear him.
He hath shewed might in his arm:
he hath scattered the proud in the conceit of their heart.
He hath put down the mighty from their seat,
and hath exalted the humble.
He hath filled the hungry with good things;
and the rich he hath sent empty away.
He hath received Israel his servant,
being mindful of his mercy:
As he spoke to our fathers,
to Abraham and to his seed for ever.

It seems to me that this simple prayer, the words spoken by Mary to the Archangel Gabriel are enough in themselves for contemplation and a glimpse into the truth of the human condition.

Yours,
Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

I stood upon the footbridge and this time no dark reflection stared back. The stream glinted gaily in the bright snow, reflected from the white of the land like glass, the reeds bending to life’s strong flowing force.

As I looked up I saw the sad mounds that hide deep the remains of Orford Priory. Five hundred years have passed and now in this silent valley this morning at the deep darkened dawn, monks would say vigils and Lauds, travelers would rest a while in the guesthouse peace while laborers tilled their wide fields. Yet what of this vanished world now enclosed and valley left empty by decree?

By that cottage barn, a rusting tractor – even that rendered redundant by the march of the great combine.

But was not there one day a better world, when this valley teemed with life, work, prayer and family toil?

And the then these thoughts I banished, and fashioning a stick from a falling branch, I walked slowly homeward, the brilliant snow and yellow sun my only sight.
And in this was the huge Wold landscape, the only living thing, the dog that walked at my side.

Yours,

Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

I couldn’t get to Mass today, so instead I went to the Rosary Group. They were saying the Mysteries of Light, starting with the baptism of Christ, the marriage at Cana, the Proclamation of the Kingdom, the Transfiguration, then finally the Institution of the Eucharist. At the words:

he took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, and gave unto them, saying, This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me…

it was almost as if I were taking part in a proper celebration of the Eucharist. I am not telling you that just saying the words can ever be a replacement for the real experience of going to Mass but if that is all you have time for, or can do, it is a good substitute.

Yours,
Thomas

Drear Gabriel,

This Feast may have perplexed you, as it has me over the years.

How could a woman, a mere mortal, have been made sinless all her life? Start by looking at the story in an allegorical way. If God exists, he would need a messenger – Christ. If Christ, God and Man, exists, he needs a mother, wholly human – the Virgin Mary. As a mother of God, she cannot be with sin. Anyway, away with these baffled attempts at argument.

I went to a Mass in the Little Oratory for my son’s school.

During the singing of the ‘Credo,’ The Schuola of boys’ voices took over to sing the “Homo Factus Est”. They sang it so slowly and beautifully and with such feeling, that tears welled in my eyes. Ultimately, religion is not and cannot be a rational experience. It has to be enjoyed as an emotional one.

Yours ever,

Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

I went today to a Carol Service taken by the Archbishop of Canterbury. I love this man’s sermons. His voice has such a rich, deep quality, his thoughts so penetrating and profound. His simple message: God’s Kingdom is here already all about us in this world. We don’t have to strive to create it on Earth.

Indeed, that might be counter-productive, because I suppose our version might be very different from others. So, dear Gabriel, wherever you are, do not despair. I am in a café as I write this. God may be seated at the next table. We may not be able to see Him that I do not know yet, though I hope one day to know with certainty that He is there.

Yours,

Thomas

Dear Gabriel,

It is strange how little catastrophes can help lead one to a truth. I have a little statue of an angel left to me by my mother. A child had dropped it, weeks before probably, and she was missing her hands.

I spent the afternoon on the dusty floor of the study – peering into corners – and finally found two tiny, broken off hands. Then, with difficulty, I tried to stick them back on with Super Glue. The glue stuck to my hands, which then stuck together with one of the broken hands. I botched it, but, dear Gabriel, in this job I found much pleasure. Eventually, with her hands slightly askew, and I fear upside down, the virgin was again in prayer. Try to find pleasure from little problems and the contemplation they bring.

Yours Ever,

Thomas