Despite the feelings of life revealed the evening before, I woke up in the night with the usual worries. Again, at Lauds, some nasty thought had entered my head, but at that precise moment I looked down at psalm 146,

Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save.
When their spirit departs, they return to the ground; on that very day their plans come to nothing.
Blessed are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the LORD their God.
He is the Maker of heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them.

Later, during the Easter Vigil, I again had this sense that I was not just two people in one – a body and a soul – but other people as well. I wondered if our extended form is, indeed, completely separate.

The choir were singing the psalm ‘Preserve me O God, I take refuge in you’ as the last psalm of the Vigil. ‘Like the Deer that yearns for the running streams, so my soul is yearning for you O God.’ I felt an unbelievable calm and cleaner essence.

I always find the Good Friday service in the Abbey tiring. All that standing during the Passion and the Intercessions. How pathetic we are compared to the suffering we are remembering. But my legs were weak after our walk, carrying the cross seven miles from Wells. So my senses were dulled a bit as I came face to face with at the end at the end of the queue with the cross during the veneration.

‘Behold, the cross on which hung the savior of the world.’

I was over come with emotion. As I bent down to kiss the nails at the feet, I wanted to linger with my love and adoration, but the queue was moving. It seemed an allegory for the process of life.

Later I decided, as usual, reluctantly to try to go to confession. I never know what to say apart from the obvious anger or laziness. But why, I wondered, am I not more content? Perhaps, in my case, because I am in love with ideas, both in religion and in life, and not people. I wondered if this, then, was the problem. After confession, I sat for a long time. I remembered my continuing doubts about whether God exists at all, compiled with the feeling of joy I had encountered in the cross that day. I wondered if there were two selves – the ego; the ‘I,’ formed by the skin and bones and the soul within. That any other feeling of envy or anger or laziness was cooped up in the body and that the bliss of spiritual encounter was deeper within.

As I sat there in the darkness of the emptying Abbey, I felt quite alone. I felt as if the skin and body were gradually disintegrating and, for a time, I could feel my soul like a burning round ball of fire under me and others. That God is alive in all of us. And that in that home anywhere in the world is different. After about two hours, I got up. But after my meditation, where was the bliss? I could only feel the death of the body. But then I remembered that this was Good Friday, and this is what happens on Good Friday.

At Downside Abbey in Somerset for the Easter retreat.

One of the nicest moments of the whole year owing to the smell of polished wood and the calm of the four-day long retreat for the Tridium. The Mass of the Last Supper and the triumphant last hymn.

The turn of the Evangelicals.

I wish I could have their faith in Jesus and their passion. I fear I never will.

After the Times featured Anglicanism yesterday, today is the turn of the Catholics.

There was a lovely piece about Mother Teresa of Calcutta. I am enormously comforted that she too was a doubter.

‘Holiness is not the luxury of the few; it is a simple duty’ – Mother Teresa

The Times were running a story each day on Christianity. Today was the turn of the Anglicans.

I doubt Anglicanism is flourishing. Peculiarly, doubting people like myself need religions to be certain and strangely, young people want certainty more than anyone.

The tide was turning against us and I was let off the boat at Gravesend, named after the point where dead bodies could safely be buried Thames and washed out to sea. After the empty calm of the sea, Gravesend was hot. I walked past a church which seemed empty and closed, but opening the door revealed it as a full Catholic church and the Passion of Our Lord had just been read.

In St. John’s Passion, there is a wonderful moment when Judas leaves and there is that simple phrase ‘As soon as Judas had taken the bread, he went out. And it was night.’

This seems to be a point where all history converges. All good and evil, past and present, a decision delayed is now acted upon. It will change the whole of human history.

I was speaking in a debate in the Council of Europe on the ‘Religious Dimension of Intercultural Dialogue.’ Representatives from many religious backgrounds were there. Speakers included the Orthodox Patriarch of Romania, the Chief Rabbi of Russia, a cardinal, and a Lutheran. I have to say that the Chief Rabbi, who really spoke from the heart, was the best speaker of all.

I made the point that it was not so much religion that was threatened as the freedom of speech which religion preaches. (Click here to read the speech).

I was traveling by train across France, the spring landscape rushing by. It was a glorious mixture of colours. Time seemed to stand still for a moment.

We walked down the edge of the Wolds. The hillside around Otby was dappled with sheep. The lambs had arrived.

The air was so clear that one could see thirty miles to Lincoln Cathedral. Soon we walked past the remains of an old water well. It was a timeless scene.

I sat awhile in the small country church and idly turning the prayer book pages, opened and read Psalm 39.

I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with my tongue: I will keep my mouth with a bridle, while the wicked is before me.
I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred.
My heart was hot within me, while I was musing the fire burned: then spake I with my tongue,
LORD, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is: that I may know how frail I am.
Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee: verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity. Selah.
Surely every man walketh in a vain shew: surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them.
And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in thee.
Deliver me from all my transgressions: make me not the reproach of the foolish.
I was dumb, I opened not my mouth; because thou didst it.
Remove thy stroke away from me: I am consumed by the blow of thine hand.
When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity, thou makest his beauty to consume away like a moth: surely every man is vanity. Selah.
Hear my prayer, O LORD, and give ear unto my cry; hold not thy peace at my tears: for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.
O spare me, that I may recover strength, before I go hence, and be no more.

Outside, a mower gently plied back and forth. A bird sang and time stopped. All the words seemed true. The sound of the mower and the bird were more important than everything else.

I was reading again A Life of Mary Queen of Scots, and the description of her execution. What incomparable courage and self-belief these Tudors had! This difficult, selfish, spoilt, fantastically unsuccessful woman went to her death with the greatest courage and serenity.

To my mind our most important role as men is to stay with our children. To women this seems to come naturally and parents need to recognise that it is their clear role to stay together, not just for the sake of the children, but to be together with the children.

I went to a Catholic conference on the Big Society. There were several lectures on the economy and what Caritas was doing besides much else, but how sad that we did not start with a prayer or even a mass.

The church can talk about politics, but its real power lies in prayer. People say that prayer does no good, (although sociological studies have shown that it does). What is certain, however, is that it does at least do help to those who practice it.

Photo: © Mazur/catholicchurch.org.uk

I was having a fairly dreary dream. Life was not too much fun, but then, by chance, I wandered into Mass in a Church and was overcome by a feeling of such joy that I have scarcely ever felt like it. I was skipping with pleasure.

But when I woke, I wondered why I did not usually feel like that when I go to Mass.

I was half listening to the sermon in mass. It was about giving oneself to God. It is easy to say that we will dedicate our lives to God. But difficult in practice to manage for more than a few minutes of dedication every day.

Today’s Gospel is about water, its soothing power and in this case, its ability to cure blindness. I have always loved water in all its forms. To float in it, swim in it, drink it or just watch it.

Lent is a choice about whether to take the waters; to flow with them or fight them.

The lady from the Jehovah’s Witnesses came round to our cottage in Lincolnshire to give us our copy of Watchtower. There was an interesting commentary on the interaction between known Roman history and biblical history and the many interconnections and mentions by Roman Historians of Christ and his followers as historical figures.

At mass today, the priest reminded us how much we take for granted and that without intellectualising too much we should rejoice in the wonder of it.

…you must love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul.

Mark 12:28-34

My son’s term ended with a prize giving and benediction. The service was so beautiful, the boys voices so pure in the Tantum Ergo Sacramentum that tears rolled down my cheeks.

I am sorry if this week is a lot about my children, but so be it. Is there anything more important than one’s children? No.

It was the last rugby match of the term and they remained unbeaten. They were very happy. I asked the Foreign Secretary about Libya again and again urged caution and against regime change. How many of the world’s miseries are caused by people believing they have a superior moral view about how other countries are run? We should stick to humanitarian assistance.

My son’s school had a Lenten Mass and I went along and my son was reading from the prophet David.

Azariah stood up in the fire and prayed aloud:
“For your name’s sake, O Lord, do not deliver us up forever,
or make void your covenant.
Do not take away your mercy from us,
for the sake of Abraham, your beloved,
Isaac your servant, and Israel your holy one,
To whom you promised to multiply their offspring
like the stars of heaven,
or the sand on the shore of the sea.
For we are reduced, O Lord, beyond any other nation,
brought low everywhere in the world this day
because of our sins.
We have in our day no prince, prophet, or leader,
no burnt offering, sacrifice, oblation, or incense,
no place to offer first fruits, to find favor with you.
But with contrite heart and humble spirit
let us be received;
As though it were burnt offerings of rams and bullocks,
or thousands of fat lambs,
So let our sacrifice be in your presence today
as we follow you unreservedly;
for those who trust in you cannot be put to shame.
And now we follow you with our whole heart,
we fear you and we pray to you.
Do not let us be put to shame,
but deal with us in your kindness and great mercy.

He read it loudly and clearly and slowly. I was bursting with pride.

My daughter had fallen off a horse and hurt her head. It was taking hours and tree tries to get through to A&E, to tell her that she had concussion. I was praying Hail Marys in the middle of the night when suddenly I felt an extraordinary sense of connection like a wave of pressure. It was almost as if solid water or a strong mind was connecting me and my thoughts to the Virgin Mary. It was a very intense feeling.

With prayer we can briefly, for an instant, feel a sense of connection to the divine. I am reminded of today’s psalm 41:

My soul is thirsting for God, the God of my life, when can I enter and see the face of God.

Today, to finish a week of glorious readings, there is the Return of the Prodigal Son, from Luke 15 1-3, 11, 32.

As I woke in my house, I marvelled again at the truth and poetry and the father’s words.

‘My Son, you are with me always and all I have is yours. But it is only right we should celebrate and rejoice, because your brother here was dead and has come to life. He was lost and is found.’

I had several chores to do, taking a friend to the airport before a family celebration. I ended up calling in at the end of the High Anglican service at Chiswick, where my father-in-law lives, then heard the sermon at the Russian Orthodox in Gunnersbury. Walking through central London that evening, I came across an evangelical service in Chester Square and ended up finally with mass at the Cathedral.

The sermon in the Russian church, translated for us by the deacon, struck me.

We all have our cross to bear, however young, wealthy, prosperous and successful. The point is to learn to live with it. We feel we will only be happy if we are free; if we do what we like. In fact, true freedom is found in not doing what we like.

So the sermon sticks in my mind.

But at the end of my journey this day, through the many different churches, I was struck by the central power of the Eucharistic prayer of the mass at the cathedral.

There was another lovely reading today, from Matthew 21: 33-43, 41-46

The stone the builders rejected
has become the cornerstone;
the Lord has done this,
and it is marvelous in our eyes