Holy Thursday, the Mass of the Lord’s Supper in the Abbey is a spectacular affair. It is a lovely moment arriving at the retreat: the remembered smell of polish, tea, after the rush from London. The Blessed Sacrament taken in procession, the familiar hymns.

Exhausted by the nine-mile cross walk and the long Passion reading, standing up, I tried to go to confession, but nothing came. Eventually I ended up by the picture of the raising of Lazarus by Bassano. I went back to first principles, what does one really want? To be raised up like Lazarus. I stared at him in the darkened abbey, his face hidden in shadow, emerging from a black cave, the face of Christ, calm, looking on. Then if this is true, if like Lazarus we will emerge into light and see the face of Christ after death, then everything else here on earth, ups and downs, disasters, is inconsequential.

But when one goes to confession and repeats the same dreary list, anger, jealousy, impatience; dealing with them only makes sense in the context of this experience of Lazarus. After an hour or so I was now ready or had something to say at confession but by that time the Abbey was empty, everyone gone.

On Holy Saturday we studied lectio divina. When all the emphasis is on reading quickly, how do we read slowly? How do we look at any text and ask what is its meaning? How would I put it in my own words? What title would I give it? What does it mean for me? What is its echo as received by different people?

At the Vigil, it was long and suddenly as my consciousness the psalm broke through:

“You have the message of eternal life, O Lord.”

The darkened ceiling, the great east window lit from outside seemed to swell in my mind with joy to be replaced with a comforting sweet melancholy with the next psalm:

“Like the deer that yearns for running streams, so my soul is yearning for you, my god.”

Three hours of this is not too long.

For a change on Easter Sunday to the childrens’ folk Mass. We are asked to accept change and disappointment, both are inevitable. With a stab of pain I has woken in the night. How do we find happiness when we do not get what we want? Is the secret to do always what others want, or what displeases us byt that is the way of the saint and most decidedly we are not saints, we are too selfish surely. Perhaps the only solution is to set our will against the experiences of Lazarus. That is all that matters.