I watched “Batman” with my children. This is, of course, quite a ridiculous film with the simplest of moral messages of good and evil, the overcoming of fears arising from childhood, of the ends not justifying the means and so on. However, I found it curiously gripping and inspiring.

What I like about it is the concept of a lone crusader, going out to do battle for what he thinks and knows to be right. Going into the chamber and asking an independent-minded question is a lot less heroic than jumping off a building, but it is what I can do and it’s a tiny bit more heroic than asking a planted question pressing the Minister.

The pursuit of justice, rather than the pursuit of office, is a surprisingly rare thing in politics.

I went to evensong in St. Nicholas Church, Chiswick. It was beautifully done. There is nothing done better in the Anglican Church than Evensong.

The Gospel reading reminded us that its not what comes into our bodies that defines us, but what we say and do. But it is the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis, even said that never fail to inspire me.

I was sailing; I found a mooring and spent the night in Christchurch Harbour. I got up at dawn. Dawn in a harbour is an extraordinary experience. The tide was at its lowest. The air was absolutely still, the light completely grey in various shades. Not a soul was stirring, not a light was on. The effect was one of magical stillness in almost a spiritual way.

The other day, I was going to communion and just before taking it I had a prick of conscience that I should go to confession. Luckily, the time for confession was now over, but the thought remained.

I therefore arrived in what I thought was good time for confession at the Cathedral. I never know what to say at confession and I am normally in and out in three or four minutes.

The person before took thirty minutes! What could she have to say? Was she a mass murderer?

She came out with no word of apology to the four or five of us still waiting, and then came the priest, without a word, downed tools and walked off.

I finally got to confession and the first thing I had to confess was my profound irritation at the lack of consideration shown to the confessors the night before.

I’m like that – I get irritated by other irritating people. Not a saint, I fear.

I have written before about the Lorsch Gospels in the V&A, created in Charlemagne’s time.

I now gazed upon this remarkable image for a bit of time. The expression on the face of John the Baptist is remarkable. It seems as if he is having a slight joke on us.

I read today about the Abuna Garima Gospels in Ethiopia. These are remarkable. They are held in an ancient monastery at 7000 feet above sea level.

The Monks always maintained that they were really ancient, but only with recent carbon dating have they been proven to be over 1600 years old; amongst of the oldest surviving gospels. Their bindings have recently been reset by a British Bookbinder. Their resistance against invasion, time and fire is a remarkable attribute.

I had a dream that once again I was an employee, working for someone in their office. This has not happened to me for a very long time. Perhaps over thirty-three years when I left my job as Mrs. Thatcher’s principle correspondence secretary to go to the bar.

In this dream, my boss – a lawyer – was rather demanding to say the least. He told me to write something. The nerves at the pit of my stomach brought back nasty memories. My boss was not pleased with my work. He was obviously disdainful but I knew that something he wanted to say was not right. I thought to myself, being vaguely conscious that I was dreaming, that this was a lesson. Do to others as you would be done to yourself.

I woke from a dream. I had been going to Commununion. The priest stared me straight in the eye and asked: ‘Do you believe this is the Son of God?’ I paused and took the easy way out – although by no means certain, I said ‘Yes.’

I took the Communion but it was like dust in my mouth. I could barely swallow it, but I did. That Communion in a dream had more reality and power for me than any received in real life with no proper thought. I did not know when I had the dream that today was the feast day of St. Thomas – my saint and the Apostle I feel closest to.

Then he (Jesus), said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”

Thomas said to him, “My Lord and my God!”

Then Jesus told him, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”

(John 20:24-29)

I visited a care home today and talked to a man of 99. He had lived happily alone all his life until being forced out by people who cruelly robbed his modest home. I talked to another woman of over 90 who had been born and brought up in the farm house that had become the care home. Both these two wonderful people had a calmness I could only envy.

The Prophet Amos again:

Hear this, you who trample the needy
and do away with the poor of the land

I will turn your religious feasts into mourning
and all your singing into weeping.

(Amos 8:4-6, 9-12)

I went to the Henley Regatta. I was always a poor rower, indeed I never won a single race. I therefore came no where near ever competing at Henley. Apart from cheering as Durham A-Team, who won at the end of the day with my son, I found – as usual – little excitement in the racing.

What I love about Henley is the incomparable beauty of the scene: the green lawn, the distant wooded hills, the sun glinting off the water, the eights by the rowing boats idling by, everyone dressed up in brightly coloured blazers and long dresses. It is almost spiritual in its beauty. I can doze for hours at the side of the river looking at all this or stand on the bridge and take it all in.

Todays reading:

Jesus got back into the boat, crossed the water and came to his own town…

Matthew 9:1-8

Was Jesus’ spirituality moulded by his days by the water?

At a small prayer meeting with a friend I read a bit of The Way by St. Josemaría Escrivá.

It is the way of these readings that where as you find ten minutes of good thoughts – you forget them all too easily. Its worth trying to remember one. And one does stick in my memory:

Don’t worry. It destroys your peace.

I was reminded of something St. Paul said:

Nothing, therefore, can come between us and the love of Christ, even if we are troubled or worried.

(Romans 8:31-39)

This is the defining moment of the week. St. Paul was a narrow minded bigot who literally saw the light. St. Peter was a coward who ran away three times at the decisive moment and became the Rock. These men are attractive and human.

I went to a large mass for the London Oratory School at the Brompton Oratory. I wonder what they thought of the fine sermon.

I am already being poured out like a libation,
and the time of my departure is at hand.
I have competed well; I have finished the race;
I have kept the faith.

(Letter of St. Paul to Timothy 4:8-6 17-18)

This is the week of the Prophet Amos, in which Israel has fallen short of his expectations. What would we make of Amos now? Shut him up or most probably ignore him.

Thus says the Lord:

For three transgressions of Israel,
and for four, I will not revoke the punishment;
because they sell the righteous for silver,
and the needy for a pair of sandals

(Amos 2:6-10 13-16)

I went to the civic service in Keelby Parish Church. I always like these events with the assembled mayors – the “chain gang”. Today’s service clashed with the England / Germany World Cup Match, but a few brave souls still turned up.

The sermon was good. In it we were told civic service could be compared to one of those RAF roundels. Each circle compared to an aspect of service. At the centre should be the concept of service rather than power. All this can seem like a platitude but the very thought warms the heart.

I was reading Lady Jane Grey by Hester Chapman and came across a stirring passage.

The prayers of this remarkable sixteen-year-old are beautiful. As she looked at the scaffold where she was to die, she said:

I am thy workmanship, created in Jesus Christ. Assuredly as thou canst, so thou must, deliver me when it shall please thee. For thou knowest better what is good for me than I do. Therefore, do with me all things what thou must.

I was reading an article about a philosophical conundrum – ‘The Brain in a Vat.’

It assumes that if one’s brain were actually detached from one’s body, fitted with electrodes and made to think that it were having real life experiences, the detached brain would not realise that it was not part of the real world. Taking this a step further, a single computer could simulate entire lives of millions of people, all of them oblivious that they are in a computer program.

But, if a single computer can manage this, is that not an answer to Isaiah’s statement that God comprehend the lives of everyone who had ever been or ever should be? What had seemed an impossible technological feat even thirty years ago is now doable to some extent by ourselves – not to mention God.

I always find today’s teaching from Isaiah difficult.

The Lord called me before I was born. From my mother’s womb he pronounced my name. (Isaiah 49:1-6)

How could a God, if there is one, know us before we are born or even conceived?

But the Psalm 138 seems right:

O lord, you search me and you know me.
You discern my purpose from afar.
You go before me when I walk or lie down.
All my ways are open to you.

St. Aloysus was born in 1568. He died in 1591 from the Plague while working in a Hospital after renouncing his inheritance. The opening prayer of the mass has a lovely resonance.

In St. Aloysius you combined remarkable innocence with the spirit of penance. By the keep of his prayers may we who have not followed his innocence follow his example of penance.

We had Mass in St. George’s Chapel at the Cathedral. Mass at these small side chapels is always more spiritually redolent. There can be no greater contrast between the lives of St. Thomas and St. John and that of Cardinal Newman [see below]. I could put up with Newman’s martyrdom of small disappointments, but I just know that in 1535 I would have gone with the flow and obeyed the king like everyone else. But are not the heroes of history crashing bores, impossible individuals, or just heroic?

Perhaps that’s why today’s gospel is particularly difficult for me.

Anyone who prefers Father or Mother to me is not worthy of me.
(Matt. 10:34-39)

There was also a meeting of the Catholic Union today, which I attended. The discussion of matters of public interest was good, but what really caught my attention was a paper circulating about the Pope’s visit and the life of Cardinal Newman. Newman’s life was one of lost friendships because of his conversion and constant disappointments. Most of his projects, such as a Catholic university, fell through. He once he of all people, asked himself if he had really ever achieved anything as a Catholic. So his life is valuable not just for the writings and his works which lend us a kindly light, but for his disappointments.

I went to the re-enactment of the Battle of Waterloo. It was a magnificent sight: three thousand soldiers magnificently dressed with each battalion in the correct place, dressed in immaculate uniforms. Black for the Prussians. Blue for the Napoleonic Imperial Guard, with the British guardsmen brandishing their Green rifles.

Afterwards, we walked around the camp, which was cooling off and sleeping as if they were in the first part of the nineteenth century. The atmosphere, colours and movement were perfect. The display was wonderful, yet no one – not one soul – is ever killed at the event, despite popping at each other with mighty bangs all day.

In fact, the real Battle of Waterloo was a ghastly affair with a fearful death toll. Wellington could scarcely bear to look at the scene of his great victory. The reality of war is not one of pretty uniforms and brave marching bands, but of dust and death in Afghanistan.

But enough pomposity! as the Imperial walked up the hill for their last charge, I could barely refrain from shouting ‘VIVE L’EMPEREUR!’

Can any of you, for all his worrying, add one single cubit to the span of his life? And why worry about clothing? Think of the flowers growing in the fields: they never toil nor spin; yet I assure you that not even Solomon in all his regalia was not arrayed like one of these. (Matt. 6:24-34)

Of course it is maddening to be told not to worry. Worrying is innate to our nature. Yet as the priest told us at mass – you can try to live for the moment and stop awhile to look at nature and concentrate on it.

For some reason after Mass I stood in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary in the Cathedral.

The text of the Memore in front of it always strikes love to my heart – that there is no one whose prayers to Mary are not answered in some way.

For an instant, my heart too was filled affection for Mary and then the moment passed as they always do.

Stonyhurst College came to visit this week and one of the masters gave me John Twist’s new book Netting Fishes. This is a book of short homilies from the chaplain to his congregants. It is excellent. I was struck by one thought. It was a quote from Gandhi:

All this world must be pervaded by a Lord. Accept and enjoy it.

It is an interesting thought that if God is in everything, in a sense we can love everything if we don’t want to own it.

In the V&A in the new Medieval Gallery is a lovely Palmesel made around 1840. Palmesal means ‘Palm Donkey.’ These were drawn through the streets on Palm Sunday.

There is a video of one such procession taking place today in the Austrian village of Thaur. We see the entire village following the priest and deacons up an Alpine Valley, pulling the wooden depiction of Christ on his Donkey.

In so much of Europe, particularly here, the lovely processions and traditions are forgotten. They brand communities the past and themselves and each other the future.

The gospel reading tells us to turn the other cheek if assailed by anyone.

You have heard that it was said ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,’ but I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well.