On St Philip Neri’s feast day, a boyhood memory.
Walking to the Brompton church from St Philip’s school.
On my blue cap the three stars of the Oratory.
Our confirmation day, the bishop asking a question and me a fool.

Putting my little hand up, I answered and didn’t get it right.
But St Philip loved laughter and said we should make ourselves ridiculous.
God loves us as we are, our smallness to his might.
He was terrified of being looked up to, don’t, he said, be saintly meticulous.

If you confessed to him, trembling at the saint’s feet,
He might give you an absurd penance.
Perhaps carrying his cat through the street.
Or he stood on his head to make you laugh, giving you joy out of nonsense.

Serving him is not about being good, I never thought as a boy.
It is about finding joy.