OF YOU MY HEART HAS SPOKEN

  We stand in the temple of our reality, in the presence of God, like the two men in the Gospel. What brings us close to God has been given us. The One who is close to the broken-hearted has humbled us with sorrow so that we might come near to Him. There are two things that bring us into intimate union with Him – the humbled contrite heart of the sinner who cries out for Mercy and the humbled heart that is broken by sorrow. Heart-broken. One prays, “O God be merciful to me a sinner” and the other simply says “O God…” We are shocked and heart-broken by the unexpected death, at the age of forty-seven, of Father Emmanuel Msuri whose arrival here in Hastings we have been waiting for with great anticipation. This was to be another kind of Advent; the meaning of his name not lost on us. Emmanuel – God is with us. He was not known personally to any of the parishioners, with the exception of Alexandra who, as leader of the welcoming group had been in contact with him by email. But, t...

Camino Hermit In the shadow Of Your Wings In the shelter Of Your Tent You are My Hiding Place O Lord You surround me Cloister of my seeking Silence of my desire A man alone With The One Nomad on a journey Hermit in the city I am nothing and everything Absent and present Nowhere and anywhere Solitude of Communion In You  Who are The One You are the All In whom all are found

And I clearly see that if we expect to please him and receive an abundance of his graces, God desires that these graces must come to us from the hands of Christ, through his most sacred humanity, in which God takes delight. (Teresa Of Avila) Mondays I feel spent, not knowing what to do with myself, not knowing how to do nothing, yet not having the energy to do anything. A walk is a good idea and it’s a beautiful day. And what a delight it is to meet Mary down the seafront walking her grandson. She always energises me, and we walk together chatting animatedly all the way up to London Road in St. Leonards. From there it’s back to the Pier where I find a bench facing towards Hastings. In spite of the sunshine, the wind is cold against the back of my head, so I pull up my hood and sit there like a monk, pondering. The Irish hymn, I arise today – based on the Breastplate of St. Patrick - is stirring in me. “Stability of earth…firmness of rock..” My gaze fixed on the West and East hills an...