Colin Heber-Percy is a Writer and Priest and a very good friend of mine.
He wrote this brief reflection and has given permission for me to share it…
I hope it offers some goodness, Gary

I have a feeling the Psalms are going to come into their own over the coming weeks and months, resonating in our hearts with a fresh and poignant relevancy. Suddenly, their deeply personal, sometimes agonised, calls on God for His mercy and healing and steadfast love will sound like our own deepest thoughts and feelings given voice.

Yesterday, saying Psalm 22 in an empty village church was – for me – one of those moments when you feel scripture speaking absolutely directly to you.

Be not far from me, O Lord;
you are my strength; hasten to help me. (19)

At times of crisis, either personal or national or global, we long for, and take comfort in the presence of God, seemingly by a sort of ‘homing instinct’. And the most natural way to come into that presence, to come home – is prayer. Put simply, prayer is ‘the practice of the presence of God’.

The recollections and writings of Brother Lawrence, a seventeenth century Carmelite lay brother, is called The Practice of the Presence of God. I strongly commend his little book to you as a work of profound and practical wisdom. Something to consider reading (or re-reading) over the next few weeks?

Brother Lawrence’s life was simple; self-isolated, you might even say. As our lives, for the time being, become stiller, smaller, constrained by a closing down of our working and social lives, we will inevitably be confronted by the small things, the minutiae of our own daily routines. This, you might imagine, could get boring, stifling. But Brother Lawrence suggests it could be, should be the opposite – an opportunity for us to practice the presence of God. Not confronted by the small things, but encountering God through the small things.

We ought not to be weary of doing little things for the love of God, Who regards not the greatness of the work, but the love with which it is performed.

I turn the cake that is frying on the pan for love of Him, and that done, if there is nothing else to call me, I prostrate myself in worship before Him, who has given me grace to work; afterwards I rise happier than a king. It is enough for me to pick up but a straw from the ground for the love of God.

Brother Lawrence, The Practice of the Presence of God

Over these difficult weeks, let’s try to perform everything we do – with love. Bless you all,

Colin

Merciful God,
Be not far from us now, draw close in the small things;
help us find You in the fleeting moments and minutiae of our lives,
to see the tasks before us as chances to express our love for You,
and for our neighbour.
Give us the grace, Lord, to pray through all we do,
and to do everything through prayer.
Amen

This Homily was given during the final Deanery Chapter communion, St Patricks Day, before the churches were shut due to COVID19

Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.’ (Matthew 28)

I’ve been searching over the last few days for a word to sum up the feeling in the air and the feeling inside our bodies, the feeling beyond words of the time we are in. And as I’ve reflected I’ve gravitated towards the word ‘Ache.’ Ache speaks of longing, fear, anxiety hope, desire, doubt, kindness and com/passion. It’s a good Lenten word.

And ‘Ache’ is where we are now… facing the end of certainties.. somewhere holding, poised, hanging, waiting. Its an in/between space, uncertain, liminal, a place of risk and danger – yet a place of discovery too. Absnc/Prsnc. A place of dis/orientation.*

As a church, we may share the anxiety of our communities; where love (for our closest ones) can easily become fear (of others); and yet (if we dare to be open, undefended), we may find a love that overcomes fear… an unlikely grace.

And we might wonder what to say? What response to give…?

And the answer might be that there is no answer, no words, no explanation, no distance, no perspective, no splendid isolation in which ‘to know the mind of God’. No position to speak from at all other than the position alongside others; the courageous and the scared, the vulnerable and the strong, the hopeless, the dying.

Because we are tasked to simply be with our communities. And in the coming weeks we may have to find ways to listen and share and give voice to all those things.. to lament and hope, and maybe that’s our role; ‘how beautiful the feet of those’ who walk alongside people, who slow the pace and offer the space to listen and be heard. It’s what St Patrick’s desire and all ‘mission’ endeavors should be about… being alongside, sharing stories, breaking down the borders and barriers.. the ‘us and them’, and instead sharing the fullness of humanity..

And, in that, we are living – not speaking – this story of life longing and aching in which the Spirit of God both affirms us and haunts us: Affirms us in the moments of love and holy human compassion which will inevitably arise; and will haunt us as we face the spectre of Gethsemane’s silence which may greet the fevered prayers of us all.

This is not going to be an easy time..

So touching then that in the gospel reading, ‘When they saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted.’ (Matt 28.17). These were not vilified or exiled, but given the same mission; the doubters and the worshippers alike – both giving a voice to faith; both orientating to ‘the Immanuel’, the God who is with us; the God who weaves through the depths of our longing, the God who shares the ache of love, and whose hope emerges in the most unlikely of places.

GS Collins St Patrick’s Day 17 March 2020

Because music and art become so woven into my thinking and practice, you may be encouraged to know that this homily has it’s own (long) accompanying playlist on spotify.
I warn you now, it’s not fun party anthems; it’s pretty sparse, some might say bleak!.. but it offers a sense of solidarity, and a shape to that ache i’ve described. I’d love to hear your thoughts.