I STAND AT THE DOOR OF MY SOUL: ADVENT
Rain mesmerises. Rain on a dark November evening pecking at my face, battering my hood. I duck and flinch, as if that might lessen the impact. It doesn’t of course. Rain on the seafront sets me thinking about all sorts of things. Photographs are on my mind for some reason. I’m quite vain about photos in that I tend not to like myself in them. But there is one that I like, sent to me a couple of months ago and it has me standing at the door of the church here looking outward towards the street, waiting for a wedding. It’s a happy picture and it reminds me of two dreams I had as a young priest in Tanzania. In the first I stand at the door of my soul looking out, searching for the face of Jesus, listening for the sound of His voice; in the second I stand at the door of my soul looking inward to the light, the light of Jesus. A few years later I read a book by a Cistercian monk who was instructing Novices. In it he said that each one is called to stand guard at the door of his soul, and...