This passage is peaceful. Yet we cannot live up to it. We carry on making the same mistakes again and again. Until one day, when perhaps our consciousness goes into a next life and goes on repeating the same faults in an eternal cycle of pain.

We can only break this cycle with a rigid discipline – which seems possible to some, but not to me.

Amend your behaviour and your actions, and I will stay with you in this place.

(Jeremiah 7: 1-11)

I was at a busy dinner where a speech was to be made. Needing a break of fresh air, I stood outside for a moment. In that clear Northern Summers’ twilight, in the distance over the fields, a great plume of water was rising into the air, irrigating a crop.

The moment had a sublimely calm and spiritual presence. The tranquility of the atmosphere seemed to run deeper than conscious thought.

This gospel reading always perplexes me. It is said that although there are six billion people living on the planet, if you met a close friend by complete chance, you would instantly recognise him.

How could she (Mary Magdalen), not recognise the Risen Lord? Of course it is an allegory for our lack of recognition, but how much of the rest of the story, then, is an allegory.

‘They have taken my Lord away,’ she replied, ‘and I don’t know where they have put him.’ As she said this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing there, though she did not recognise him.

(John 20: 1-2. 11-18)

The day before we had stopped in one of the Egyptian Rooms at the British Museum. I gazed at the Mummy of Hornedjitef. I was already a bit depressed at my birthday and I started wondering about the artifact before me, which dated from 246 BC.

Hornedjitef’s religious beliefs would seem absurd to the modern mind. How can one take one’s physical possessions and body into the afterlife. But the thought occurred to me – would not Hornejitef have found our beliefs, such as the virgin birth, just as ridiculous?

The words of Jeremiah, son of Hilkiah:

The word of the LORD came to me, saying: ‘before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.

(Jeremiah 1:1 4-10)

As it was my birthday, my son kindly took me to the Renaissance Drawings at the British Museum. There was one that caught my particular attention – a drawing of the face of John the Baptist. It is a face of expectant longing; every line on the paper etching an emotion.

Jesus replied ‘Who is my mother? Who are my brothers?’

At Mass that morning we were told that this is not a denial of family, but rather a reaching out.

If you go to the 5:30 Mass in the Cathedral on a bright summer’s day, the light streams in from the windows high in the nave on the west side, casting a brilliant luminescence across the black, vaulted ceiling. It is fantastic to behold as the organ sends up its thunderous chords at the end of the Mass.

Out of his infinite glory, may he give you the power through his Spirit for your hidden self to grow strong, so that Christ may live in your hearts through faith, and then, planted in love and built on love, you will with all the saints have strength to grasp the breadth and the length, the height and the depth; until, knowing the love of Christ, which is beyond all knowledge, you are filled with the utter fullness of God.

(Ephesians 3:14–19)

We celebrated St. Camillus’ feast day in the crypt chapel under the Palace of Westminster. St. Camillus, born in 1550, is a patron saint of nurses. After a misspent youth he devoted himself to the Faith.

This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?

(1 John 3: 14–18.)

The 10:30 Masses in the Cathedral are being held in the Holy Souls Chapel. The Latin Mass at 10:00 comes off much better in one of these side chapels, with the priest facing the altar. The simple dignity and the age old words are so inspiring.

That is not to say that the mass in English is inferior. It is just different; more an intellectual exercise in understanding the readings and less a spiritual experience.

Pay attention, keep calm, have no fear. Do not let your heart sink.

Isaiah 7: 1-9

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.