My friend, Julian of Norwich

I would like to introduce you to a Lady friend of mine by the name of Julian; she lived nearly 800 years ago in the town of Norwich in England, but her writings, I find, still have the power to touch the heart most powerfully. She wrote about sixteen visions of the Lord she received, when she was near to death from a serious sickness and she called these writings, “Revelations of Divine Love”. They have helped many people on their spiritual journeys with the Lord and I would like to tell you a little of how she has helped me.

     I first met her at a time when I was feeling very low. I was struggling against my weaknesses and, despite my prayers and pleas to the Lord for help, they just seemed to get worse and worse. Every time I fell, I would shamefacedly come back to the Lord with sorrow in my heart, beg his pardon and promise that I would not fail next time, but to no avail – I kept on failing.  I remember once reading the Lord’s words to St Paul, “My grace is enough for you” (2 Cor.12:9), and crying out, “Then why is it not enough for me?” The second part of the text says, “for my power is made perfect in weakness”, but I did not understand this, so I just passed it by. Then, I came across the writings of the Lady, who was to become my friend, Julian of Norwich – she wrote that in one of her visions when she saw how much the Lord loved her she had cried out, “But, Lord, I keep sinning, I keep sinning…” and her words echoed in my heart, but then the Lord gently replied, “Don’t worry about sinning, don’t worry about it – don’t you see that your sins are necessary, for until you realise how weak you are, you will never take my hand!”. I was flabbergasted!

I had been taught that all sin was terrible and even that it would be better for the whole world to be destroyed rather than one small sin be committed! So, how, I thought, could the Lady Julian be right? Then, my mind was moved to remember the words of the “Exultet”, the song in praise of the Easter Light, which we sing on Holy Saturday night. “O Happy fault, O truly necessary sin of Adam that brought us so great a Redeemer”. The scales then began to fall from my eyes and I began to see what it was that the Lord wants for me – he is not interested in my becoming a righteous, law-abiding man – he wants me to become his close and loving friend, who, trusting in his love for me, takes his hand and learns to live with him and letting him live with me. He wants me to share with him, including the problems and difficulties of my life – to let him be: “The Lamb of God who takes upon himself, the sins, the burdens, the brokenness of the world” that we may become true and abiding friends.

My friend Julian thus led me to understand a little the path of love and showed me that the moral laws, with which I had been having such trouble, were not “things”, which someone did if they loved the Lord, but they were the love of the Lord. She wrote, “the fruit and purpose of prayer is to be ‘oned’ (become one) with God and be like God in all things”. But this is a slow journey – and difficult at times especially when we fail – and, to help us at such times, Julian showed me a new way of looking at failure – she said: “The Lord looks on his servants with pity and not with blame, for, even though, in our sight we do not stand, in God’s sight we do not fall” – because we were never standing in the first place! So, we should not be worried or frightened by our failures, because, as Julian says, “the love of God for us is hard and marvellous. It cannot and will not be broken because of our sins”.

Nevertheless, there are times when we feel that God’s love has left us, – that our world is crashing down around us and that no one cares. To this Julian replies, “Jesus did not say, ‘you will never have a rough time, that you will never be overstrained or that you will never feel uncomfortable,’ but he did say, ‘you shall never be overcome!’”  All these difficulties are a necessary part of the journey, but our trust in his love for us, which will be our anchor and hold us firm, for “God loved each one of us before ever he made us – and that love has never diminished, nor ever shall”. Because of this, she says, our lives should be marked with joy, for “the greatest honour we can give Almighty God is to live gladly, because we know he loves us.”

Sometimes our sight grows dim and we can no longer see this promise clearly – then we are tempted to rush around looking for special blessings or deliverance or forms of prayer that we think will restore God’s love for us. To this the Lady replies, there is nothing to restore, “because between God and the soul – there is no between”. And as she smiles farewell, she tells us not to be afraid for “All shall be well, all shall be well, all manner of things shall be well”.


The effects of chemotherapy are slowly leaving me – they may even have gone, but the problem is that I am not sure what it’s like to feel “normal”! However, I am feeling better, even though I have my off days, which I accept and do not push myself to do my walking or grass-cutting on those days. However, I usually manage to exercise three or four times a week – and my lawn is looking better for it!

The seminary has begun its academic year, but we only have nine seminarians at the moment. This is because we have begun to share the teaching with Penang College General and they have taken over the Philosophy studies, leaving us only Theology and years 2, 3 and 4 of the Theology students are out, during this term, doing pastoral work. So we all rattle about in this big building until the others return, when we should have about 33 students.

We have two prospective Mill Hill students starting their training this coming week. This brings the total to ten at various stages of training. Please pray for them – especially the new ones – I still remember the day I set out on my journey – my feelings were rather mixed – part delighted, part tearful, part scared!

God bless,   


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The Journey

When I was ordained, in 1971, I was appointed to Mukah, a large rural parish in Sarawak. The mission station was situated on the coast and while there were some established Christian communities in the neighbourhood of the mission, the upper parts of the two rivers, on which the parish was based, were largely un-evangelised. However, it seemed that the time was ripe for the Gospel, for some people from those upper reaches of the river were beginning to ask about becoming Christian and on one of my trips upriver some of them came to see me!

Before arriving in Malaysia, I had taught people preparing for First Communion, Confirmation and had also taught at youth seminars etc., but never before had I been asked to be the guide to a group of people, who wanted to become Christian. I remember feeling that this could not be just a matter of “teaching”, but it had to be once of “formation”: I realised that I was being asked to set out on a journey with this group of people, a journey of growing faith – but where and how did that journey begin and what was the path it should follow?

I turned instinctively to the way I myself had become a Christian, but instead of focussing on my family and the community of faith in which I was born and grew up, I looked instead at my primary religious education. I had been taught about the Catholic Faith through the Tridentine catechism, in which, statements about the Faith were laid out in question and answer form – and we children were expected to learn these by heart. My seminary theology lectures, likewise, were aimed at understanding the various teachings of the Catholic Faith – but not, as I began to realise, how they were connected to the way we Christians lived out our Faith in our lives. So, when I looked at my own religious education, seeking a pathway along which I could lead my group of people into faith, all I could see were “disconnected” pieces of information, rather like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. There were various truths, which we Catholics believed in, prayers that we said and commandments that we obeyed, but how these fitted together and related to each other was not apparent – my jigsaw pieces described what I thought of as constituting the Faith – but not how to start growing into the Faith as a way of life!

This problem forced me to question things I had always taken for granted and I slowly began to see that I was confusing my faith in Jesus Christ with the way I had been taught to understand it – that is through my “jigsaw pieces” of doctrines and laws. I had assumed that I had to know and accept these doctrines and laws in order to come to believe in Jesus Christ – in other words that “understanding came before faith” – but, in fact, it is the other way round: “faith comes before understanding” (Is.9:7). This is why you cannot argue a person into faith – it is always a gift: God whispering words of love deep in the heart of the person called – and this “touch of God” takes place at a far deeper level than understanding. However, once God has “made the eyes!” – as George Herbert so beautifully puts it in his poem “Love” – the person touched in this way, is led by the Spirit to try to understand and express that experience in words and over time these words have been gathered into the “jigsaw pieces” of the doctrines and laws of our Faith.

Thus, I came to see that my faith in Jesus Christ is not the acceptance of a series of truths, but the unique story of my love and friendship with the Lord – a story lived out at a much deeper level than that of doctrines and teachings. It is the story, above all, of my learning to trust God – trust that he truly loves me and accepts me as I am – and so, even though my story may often seem to me to consist of one step forward and two back, it is a story of a journey, a journey of growing faith, inspired and guided by the Holy Spirit – but a faith of the heart, and not, first and foremost, of the head and so, while we need to try to formulate the Faith that holds us together as a Church, those formulations can never, by themselves, adequately express our faith – for as Blaise Pascal says: “The heart has reasons that reason cannot know!”

Our personal journeys of growing faith, while unique, are not, however, solitary journeys, but are lived out in the company of all who are called by God. Vatican 2 speaks of this common journey, when it describes the Church as “a Pilgrim People”, a people on the move, a people who need each other as we try to be faithful to Christ in his mission. We are helped in this by those doctrines, laws and practices etc. that make up the Tradition of our “jigsaw pieces”, because they give tangible expression to our common faith and when we profess them together – as we do each Sunday in the Creed – we both affirm that we are one Family in Faith and, through our common Profession, we are made more deeply so.

However, to understand how Tradition helps us live out our common mission in Christ, we need to see those “jigsaw pieces” in a new way: as “gifts of wisdom”, given by our forebears in the Faith to help us understand where we are on our journey and to encourage us, when he tend to be despair, by giving us a glimpse, a vision, of the “Far Country” towards which we are walking. Unfortunately, the life-giving nature of these truths of our Faith is often obscured by the rigid way they are taught – a way that sees them as things laid down by God to be accepted and obeyed if we wish to be saved. But such an understanding cannot be correct, for this would mean that they stand between God and mankind as Mediator – whereas it is the basic truth of our Christian Faith that there is only One Mediator between God and us – and that is Jesus Christ (1Tim: 2-5) our only Lord. He knows that we can only grow step by step as he leads us into that fullness of life that he came to give (Jn.10:10). To this end, he himself takes upon himself the burdens, the sins and the brokenness that are too heavy for us to bear and so enables us to walk with him along the road to life – secure in the knowledge that his love will never give us up or fail us.

Thus, these doctrines, traditions and laws, handed down as treasures of our Faith, are not “facts”, but “truths” – words spoken to us by the Word who is Life. Unlike “facts”, “truths” can only be heard by those who have opened themselves in trust to the speaker – and so these “truths” of our Faith can only be heard by those, who know Jesus Christ in faith – through that intimate communion with God that we call “worship”. When we worship in prayer we are drawn ever more deeply into the heart of God and in this, the way we answer his loving touch – no matter how poorly we may do so – our life of faith, our story, begins.

And so – led by the Spirit in ways I still do not fully understand – we did not begin to lead that group of people on their journey of faith by first teaching them the jigsaw pieces of Faith, but by telling them something of the story of Jesus Christ – of his compassion and mercy – and then we taught them how to say together their Sunday prayers – and it was in their Sunday worship that they came to know the One of whom the story told “and he took their hands and led them towards the hills and the breaking of the day”. (Minnie Louise Haskins)


I have been looking forward to the Seminary holidays, thinking it would be a time to do a lot of writing, but I have been struck by a virus, which knocked all the energy out of me. I am still suffering from a cough, but that seems to be slowly getting better. So it has only been the last couple of days that the energy to do anything has begun gradually to come back to me. I am aware that such viruses are running riot all over the world – so my prayers are for you all who are also victims: may you take the rest you need and give thanks to the Lord for what you can do!

I had my three-monthly blood test, just before Christmas, to see if the lodger in my belly is behaving himself and I was told that the cancer marker is still stable at 25. So, I thank the Lord for another three months free of chemotherapy – and for the gift of knowing that every day is precious.

Thursday, I go to Sabah in north Borneo for their annual Vocations seminary. They usually have over a hundred young men interested learning more about vocation and priesthood. It is a privilege to help some hear what the Lord may be asking of them. I do not speak the language very well, so I make up for it by singing and maybe even dancing. Preach the Gospel however you can!!

You may remember that I sent a letter on to you about a young Mill Hill priest in Pakistan that I thought might interest you. I spoke briefly about his efforts to provide education for the children of his parish and help their Mums provide clothes as well. I spoke at two Masses and told the people that I would send something to him for Christmas – but I did not ask for anything. The result has been that altogether I was able to send him MYR40,000 or roughly £7,000 sterling. I get a “tingle” when things like that happen!

Happy New Year,


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I remember going to confession once, when I was a teenager, and after I had confessed my sins my Parish Priest said to me, as he always did, “Now make a good act of contrition” – but what is a “good” act of contrition, as opposed to an ordinary act of contrition”? At that time, I presumed it meant saying the prayer without any distractions and I also presumed that it was necessary to say it in this way if my sins were to be forgiven. After I had left the confessional and was making my thanksgiving, I began to wonder whether I had said the prayer properly, so, just to make sure, I repeated it again, and then a second time – but the more I concentrated on trying to mean each word, the less I was thinking about the God to whom I was supposed to be speaking! Was that also a distraction, I wondered, and, if so, I had been forgiven or not?

These concerns are called “scruples” and are symptoms of a spiritual sickness, for they “infect” our spirituality in various ways, but especially with the idea that prayer only “works”, when it is said perfectly and so prevents us from living at peace with our God. It leads us to think that God is always demanding perfection from us both in prayer and in action – but this is not true! St Francis de Sales explains it this way:

“The biggest mistake that most of us make about God, the one that most consistently undermines our peace of soul, is the idea that God demands a lot of us, more than a fragile being like ourselves could ever give. Such a God is frightening! But in reality, God is content with the little we can give, because he knows – and accepts – that we only have very little. We need do just three things:

  • Let God into everything that we do.
  • Do our part – however little that may be.
  • Let God do the rest.

If we follow these three rules, God will live with us and when we live with God in this way we will not be anxious for we will have no need to fear a God who never asks of us more than we can give.”

St. Francis de Sales


Scruples blind us to the fact that the Lord we follow is “The Good Shepherd” – the one who leaves the ninety-nine sheep in the wilderness to look for the one who is lost (Lk 15:4) and so we find ourselves unable to see that no matter how poorly we manage to respond to his coming, this cannot prevent his love from having the healing effect that he intends. Scruples make us feel “guilty of dust and sin”, as George Herbert puts it, and make us want to draw back from God’s love – driven so by shame – but our Lord is persistent, whispering to us – again in Herbert’s words –  Who made the eyes but I?” The Lord, thus, draws us into responding to his answering him and we try to express our love in words and actions, but it is our love itself which gives life and value to those words and actions – and without it they are empty. I now realise that the very fact that I had chosen to go to confession, on that morning so many years ago, was, in itself, an act of love – a prayer of contrition – a response to the God who loves me and had called me to Himself – and that was all that really mattered.

Scruples lead us to judge our actions by their outward appearance – but true love often wears very shabby clothes – for it uses whatever is available to show its smile to the Beloved. I remember some thirty years ago following a thirty day retreat, during which we were expected to pray for five separate hours each day. At the beginning, I found this very difficult and during one hour’s prayer, I was dry! I tried to pray, but after a while I could not think of anything to say or do and when I looked at my watch and I saw there were still twenty minutes to go, so I turned to the Lord in desperation and said, “Lord, I am bored out of my mind, I don’t know what to say or what to do – but I am staying here and although all I can offer you is the determination to somehow get through the rest of this hour, I hope you will accept it, because you are the One I love and wish to be with.”

I began to learn that day that boredom and distractions are an essential, but, thank God, only a periodic part of our spiritual journey, for when I endure these two terrors for the sake of God and not any pleasure that I might get from prayer, then I am growing in love – for that is what love does. We ought to know this from our everyday experience, for we see it all around us: parents who do hard and difficult work for the sake of their families or someone spends long and often boring hours, nursing a loved one – they do it for those they love – for they know that love needs both sunshine and rain in order to grow and our love for God is no different.

Scruples damage our prayer-life by leading us to identify the way we were taught to prayer with the prayers we were taught to say. Many fall into this trap and come to think, for example, that the form of morning prayers we were taught as a child is “morning prayer” and so not to say these words is to be faithless to God. There is a principle in our Catholic Tradition which says that we cannot demand of someone more than the Gospel demands – and whereas Jesus told us “to pray”, but he did not say that we had to use a particular form of prayer or pray at particular times. These are habits which can help us in our prayer, but if they no longer suit then we should change them and find other ways of praying or others times, which may help us better give voice and expression to the great love which God is causing to grow up in us.

Love takes to herself many forms and disguises and no one form can exhaust her beauty or adequately express it. She can sing in great music and reveal herself in lives of great dedication and service, but she can also be seen in a wilted flower given by a small child to his/her mother. She flourishes best in small actions that often pass unnoticed. I read recently, in a newspaper the other day, of a husband and wife, who had been married for 54 years and who had to be hospitalised because both were seriously sick. As the husband drew near to death, the nurses wheeled his wife’s bed into his ward so they could be together. She was only able to reach out and touch his hand, but he knew her touch and responded with a slight squeeze. He died shortly after and his wife followed two days later. That slight touch of her hand was all she could do to show her great love for her husband, but it was enough. Likewise, our God does not demand great gestures of love from us – the smallest faltering word, the slight touch of a hand, the mere look of hope can open our hearts to the Good Shepherd, who comes to gather us to himself.


I went to Singapore, a few weeks ago, for a short break with a friend of mine and while there I thought to buy some shirts my size. It is interesting that there are plenty of guys around who are even bigger than I, but very few shops that sell shirts for the “larger gentleman!”  So I went to a famous store called “Mustafa” and they had shirts of every size and description. I bought one which was 3XL and tried it for size – you can’t trust size labels because a 3XL in one shop fits, whereas a shirt with the same label in another might not. However, this one fitted me well and I liked the colour so I bought it. Then I saw another with the same label and the same size label so I bought that one too – only to find when I got back to Kuching that it was too small! Still, the larger seminarians are always happy to take such things off my hands!

I will be in Kuching for Christmas as the parish priest, where I help out on Sundays, wants to go away with his family on a bonding holiday because their Mum died earlier this year and so I offered to supply for him. I shall miss my visit to Bali but shall include them and all of you in my Christmas Mass. So, if I do not get to write another blog before Christmas – I am suffering from writers’ block still – may I wish you all God’s blessings on you, your family and friends at the coming of Christ and may he lead us all into a New Year of Peace and Goodwill.

God bless,


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Meditation on a mosaic

On the wall behind the altar in our seminary chapel is a beautiful mosaic of large multi-coloured, multi-designed stars blazing out against the deep blue background of the night sky. It represents the promise made to Abraham in Gen: 15: “Look up at the night sky and count the number of the stars, if you can – such shall be the number of your descendants.” To Abraham, this was the promise of life in the only terms he could understand, for the people of his time thought they lived on after their death only through their children – and so to have that many children meant that his name would live forever. This same Promise of life has been made by God again and again over the centuries – to the whole of mankind and to each one of us personally. It is this promise that is the starting point of our life of love and friendship with God in Christ and when I sit in our chapel in the dark of the morning, before the sun has risen, and look up at the illuminated mosaic, I seem to hear the voice of Christ quietly whispering to me that same promise: “I came that you might have life and have it to the full”.

The stars in the mosaic are all different from one another; some are large and made up of bright and intricate patterns, whereas others are smaller and much quieter in both colour and design, but in all of them the colours and the patterns are drawn together in such a way that the Cross of Christ can be seen standing at the heart of each star. The Cross draws its form from the various shapes and colours of each star, just as the compassionate love of God takes different forms as it flows through us, giving life and hope to those around us – each in our own unique way – and in doing so draws us ever deeper into his life.

I was aware of this recently at two funerals I attended. The first was that of Father Richard, a priest who ministered at a spiritual healing centre called Mount Hosanna and to whom many went seeking life and hope. At his funeral, the Cathedral was packed with priests and people who had seen the Cross of Christ drawn large in the star of his life. The following day, I attended another funeral, a much smaller one – that of Teresa, the sister of our seminary cook, Sister Pat – but apart from some Religious Sisters and the students and staff of the seminary, there were only few people present. However, the Cross of Christ was also drawn in the life of Teresa for those who had the eyes to see it, for Teresa died of cancer but she had stayed with us at the seminary periodically, while she was receiving chemotherapy and we noticed the quiet dignity with which she bore her sickness and her shy smile when she greeted us, a smile which revealed the face of Christ – the one who brings life and peace, even in the midst of suffering.

Christ asks us to share his life of mercy and care for others – to let his love flow through us, carried by both the whole and the broken parts of our lives. At the beginning of our spiritual journey, when we take our first tentative step into the great river of his life, we find it difficult to see how God could want our broken and spoiled parts – and so much of our spiritual energy is used up in struggling and failing to improve ourselves and so we often drown out the words he is whispering to us: “But it is ‘you’ whom I love – not some perfect person”. Only when we finally give up and allow the Lord to love us as we are, can the Cross begin to be drawn in the wonder and brokenness of our lives, for only when we accept ourselves as we are and give ourselves as such into the arms of the Lord, can his face begin to appear in us to those around us.

Christ is the “Wounded Healer” and we share in that mission through the broken parts of our life. Our mosaic stars reveal this mystery of our salvation, for when you come close to them you see that they are made up of some good small stones, but also other bits and pieces picked up off the beach, including many shards of broken beer bottles, but these give colour and texture to the many different stars. Our God loves all that he has made and treasures everyone no matter how broken we are. He moulds our very brokenness into things of wondrous beauty, which I catch a glimpse of as I ponder our mosaic in the early hours of the morning.


I am coming more and more to the conclusion that computers were put on earth to try us – or at least to try me. I upgraded my desktop to Windows 10 recently, and now find that my scanner on my printer does not work. Is there a conspiracy to make us ever buy newer things – a built-in obsolescence?

You may remember that my plants that I like to have in my room, all began to die on me about eight months ago. A friend of mine told me that the Chinese believe that plants know when their owner is sick and begin to wilt in sympathy with him or her. Well, after that, most did indeed perish – why I do not know – but then Sister Pat our cook gave me some new ones and they are flourishing – and it is nice to imagine that they enjoy living with me!!

It has taken me weeks to write this blog – I seem to have had writer’s block or maybe just a lack of psychic energy! However, I have managed it now and attach a picture of the mosaic in our chapel. I have laboured over it for such a long time that I no longer how to judge it, so if you would like to give me your comments – either way – I would be grateful.

God bless,



The mosaic in our seminary chapel.jpg

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“The Lord is my Shepherd”

I was born and bred in London, a town boy with almost no experience of rural life and so looking back, it surprises me how easily I took to rural life, when I arrived here, in Sarawak, almost 45 years ago. This does not mean that I did not have to learn the ways of the river and forest – I did – but I had many helpful people around me, who handled the boats and taught me how to walk through the forest and so for the first two years I managed, but without fully realising just how much I depended on my companions. Then, one day, a priest friend of mine, from a neighbouring parish, asked me to say Mass in one of his longhouses, while he was away on leave. I readily agreed, for although I had never said Mass in his area, I knew where the place was. As the time neared for me to fulfil my promise, I pondered whether I should, as usual, call down my catechist to travel with me, but that would mean a day’s journey down river from his longhouse to where I stayed and then a further day’s journey to get to the longhouse I was due to say Mass in. As I considered doing this, pride reared its head and I thought – “I can manage by myself!


I set out on my journey by longboat, alone; I went through the canal that connected the river on which the mission station stood with the main river and then on to the longhouse, about two hour’s journey further on. I was enjoying the journey and the sense of achievement when the engine suddenly sputtered and stopped. I tried to start it, but without success, so I used the knowledge I had gained from an old moped I once owned and checked the petrol line, cleaned the spark plugs and blew through the carburettor, but it still would not go. By that time my arm was getting tired from pulling the starting cord, so I stood up in the boat and started to pull again, but to no avail. I, then, remembered someone telling me that if you put the engine into gear, it sometimes started; so I put it into gear and standing pulled the cord once more. It worked! But, because it was in gear, the boat jumped forward, as the engine started, and I fell backwards – out of the boat and into the river. As I came to the surface, I saw the longboat turning in ever tighter circles, until it too disappeared under the water!


Fortunately, longboats do not sink when they capsize. They turn upside down and although the engine pulls one end down into the water, there is enough buoyancy to lift the prow of the boat up out of the water by about a foot and so I swam over and sat on the prow, which supported me, but it must have seemed from a distance as though I were sitting in the water. Now, the river Igan, where I capsized, is a big river – a very, very big river – and in the place where I capsized there were only few people living, so as sat there and looked all round me, I saw only the banks of the river, forest and padi fields, but no people. So, there I sat gently floating upriver on the incoming tide with a bag, I had rescued, in my hand and a deep hole in my tummy. I looked all around and saw no one; I gave a great sigh and said to myself, “Oh dear!”


Fortunately, although I could not see them, some children had been playing on the far bank of the river and had seen me capsize. They ran to tell their parents, who were working on their farms and the next things I knew, there were several small boats, in the far distance, being paddled towards me, with great jovial cheers and laughter as the people came to my assistance. However, when they got to about fifteen metres from me, they stopped! For what they saw was a white man, wet all over, and with a big dark beard and seemingly sitting up in the water, and I heard them saying to one another in Iban, “Go back, go back, it’s an “Antu”, (a devil) Fortunately, they did not turn back, but instead one man stood up in his boat and called out in English, “Yes, Sir, what has happened?” On hearing this, I thought to myself, “Hmmph! Isn’t it obvious what has happened? But instead I answered, in Iban, “I have capsized” He then asked, “Oh! Are you the priest?’, for they were from the longhouse towards which I had been heading and, on hearing that I was, they all began paddling towards me and with cries of “Ah, pity him!’, they lifted me and my boat up out of the water, rescued whatever luggage they could and took me to their longhouse to dry out and rest.


However, I was not able to say Mass for them that evening, as planned, for my Mass kit was in a metal box and had gone to the bottom of the river and the Igan is so deep that it will never be recovered, and with it went a lovely silver travelling chalice I had borrowed from my priest companion at the Mission. So, because of my pride in thinking I could manage by myself, the people went without Mass and I was left in the humiliating position of having to admit what had happened to my priest companion and to tell him that his beautiful silver travelling chalice was now lost at the bottom of the river Igan.


It would be nice, if I were able to tell you that from that day onwards, I never allowed myself to be led by pride again – but that would be untrue. That was but one of many disasters that have happened in my life and all because I thought I knew best and could manage alone. This is not only true of my relations with other people, but, in a special way, of my relations with God. I profess that “the Lord is my Shepherd – my Guide”, but my prayers have usually been attempts to persuade him to approve the path I have decided on, rather than to ask him to lead me along his paths. However, St Paul says that the Lord turns everything to the good for those who love him and so by honestly looking at those disasters – and not trying to blame others for them – I am allowing grace to work in me and so learning to distrust my judgements – which is merely common sense, because there are so many aspects of the world that I do not and cannot know. So now, each morning, when I awake, I throw my legs over the side of the bed, but before I stand up, I make my morning offering. The words may vary from day to day, but the meaning is the same –“Lord, take my hand and lead me where you want us to be, for I cannot know what is right and good without your guidance.” I must confess that I sometimes am tempted to take back control again, but I know that if I do then things will come crashing down, so I try to stop and think before rushing in to solve a problem, because I know that if I do that, the Lord will show me what part is mine and what part is best left to him. He gives me those tasks which best suit my gifts and talents, while he himself manages the deeper parts that I am not even aware of.


So, the memory of my swim in the Igan river, even though I still sometimes cringe at the thought of it, stands me in good stead, for as long as I keep remembering it, it will bring to mind that it was pride that caused me to capsize and even though, I believe, that the Lord probably prevented worse consequences than actually happened that day, it would have been better if it had never happened at all. If I had asked the Lord to be my Shepherd on that day and not tried to do things my way, then those people in the Igan, would have had Mass and my priest friend would still have his beautiful silver chalice.



I enjoyed my visit to Bali last month and even though many of my old friends there have now moved on to other places, there are still plenty I enjoy meeting again. I managed to visit Matthew in prison and we had a great chat, but I could not find out where Tan was in Malang and neither did I get to see Scott in the north of the island. It was a three hour journey there and another three hours back and my energy was not as great as I thought it was.


I found a mattress topper during my visit to Bali. I had been looking for one ever since my home leave when I slept on one at my sister’s house and found it most comfortable. However, I could not find one to fit my bed and my purse in Kuching, so when I saw one in Bali, which was the size I wanted and a third of the price I was being asked for here, I bought it and brought it back as luggage. There were some bemused faces at customs in Kuching when I told them what it was.


I went for my three monthly blood test yesterday, to see whether my “lodger” is still quietly dozing or whether it is beginning to wake again! My Doctor later phones to tell me the good news that my cancer marker has gone down from 29 to 25 – so I have another three months free from chemotherapy. My next test will be at Christmas.


God bless,



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Homily for an afternoon of Mass and Fellowship for cancer Sufferers and their Companions, held on 13th August 2016

Hello, I am Terry and I have cancer.

I have been looking forward to spending this time with you, because I find it gets a little lonely sometimes, for even though I have many wonderfully kind and caring friends around me, they cannot really know where I am – living with something that may one day kill me. Only you know where I am – you who also live with cancer – and I hope that as we spend this time together and share our experiences, we may receive that strength and peace which comes when two or three gather in the Lord’s name.


I remember clearly the day I was first told that I had cancer and needed an operation immediately – I asked the doctor how long I would live without treatment and he told me, “Six months”. I received the news calmly and then went home and tried to make sense of it.  We all know that we are going to die, but that is “head knowledge”, but when you are told that you have cancer – that your life is probably drawing towards its close – this becomes “heart knowledge”, you “know!”, but that knowledge takes time to absorb. I was given my news by the doctor on a Friday and by Sunday everyone seemed to know – but then Kuching is a small town – so when I went to say Mass that day, people kindly asked me how I was and how I was feeling – but I didn’t know myself how I was, I was still confused and maybe even angry at the news. So, sadly, I answered some quite gruffly and I am still apologising for having been so grumpy!


However, I did come to accept it rather quickly and even find peace in it, but then I had an advantage. Some twenty years or so ago, I had trouble with alcohol and throughout my troubles I begged and begged the Lord for help, but nothing seemed to happen until the time when I chose to enter rehab. It was a place for priests and the programme included a Holy Hour before the Blessed Sacrament each day and one day I asked the Lord , “Where were you when I begged and begged for help and you did not come?” and I heard him answer, “I was on my knees beside you, every day, begging you to let me in and share your pain, but you did not want me; you wanted only my power, so that you could go on running your life in your own way.” And with a heavy heart, I realised that it was true. From that day onwards, I have tried to share my life with the Lord – to hand over to him the difficulties I come up against and to give myself into his hands when I find things are beyond me. It is a way of life that I am still learning day by day and it is summed up in the Serenity prayer:


O God,

            grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

            the courage to change the things I can,

            and the Wisdom to know the difference.


I made that surrender to the Lord once more when I heard the news of my cancer and he has given me a most deep peace; he has healed me at the deepest level of my being, for I have been brought to “know” that I am in his hands and so can accept myself just as I am, knowing that I am safe with him. I know that when it is time for him to take me home my life will have been completed – he will not let me die before it is so – and it also means that while I still have life, there is still something for me to do and this helps me greet each day with anticipation.


When I met you, as you arrived today, my dear fellow cancer sufferers, I felt that same peace coming from your hearts, for the awareness of the sickness within us opens that door to the Lord’s love and care that only people like us can know. As Leonard Cohen sings in one of his songs, “Jesus chose to walk upon the water, because only drowning men and women can see him.”


We are sharing in the Cross of Christ, my friends, and our sufferings, both present and to come, help further the redemption of the world. We do not know how this happens, but it is our Faith that when we pray for others, love and compassion is released into the world – a power of healing. As a young missionary, I once experienced the power of the prayers for me of an elderly lady who suffered greatly from arthritis. On one occasion on a long and difficult journey here in Sarawak, I collapsed with exhaustion, but slowly became aware of the power of her prayers somehow getting me to my feet and urging me on, when all my strength seemed to have vanished. The world needs our prayers, especially those who carry God’s mercy and compassion to those in need. They do not go out through their own strength, but, as St Therese taught, through the loving prayers of the sick and elderly and weak of this world. Someone somewhere lies prostrate, as I once was, waiting for our prayer to lift them to their feet once more – may our prayers go out beyond our own needs to all those who need help.


And to you, our dear friends and carers, who have also come here today – we are deeply appreciative of the love and care you show us. Your love often seems the only good thing that our cancer brings us, for it has drawn us closer together with you than we would otherwise be. However, we also need you to help us rejoice in the life we still have.  Thoughts must cross your mind that maybe you will have us with you for only a limited time and this may cause you sorrow, but we are with you now – so help us to live fully and joyfully the time we still have together with you. Because our possible death has become something real to us, we need to talk to you about our lives; we need to tell you of old memories, some sad, others of regret, but others still of joy – of the people we have loved, of the ones who have loved us and the wonders of life we have known. We need you to help us bring our life together in this way, so be not sad for us, but enjoy us; help us to live richly, fully and with hope, that the peace of Christ which fills our hearts may also be yours. Amen




            I am writing this bit of the diary on my way to Bali – to visit my friends there. Among hem are the prisoners I used to visit, but two of them have been moved to other jails – one in the north of the island but the other one to a jail in Malang, Java, and no one seems to know precisely where he is. The last time I heard from him, he told me that he got very few visits as he was so far away, so please say a prayer that I will be able to find him when I go to Java looking.


As you may gather, I am feeling quite good at the moment. I still get tired in the evenings, but my psychic energy needed to write has come back – partly anyway! So, I am trying to take up each day as it comes and enjoy it – although part of the enjoyment now is at times to lie back and read a book. I have also taken up grass-cutting again, but not as much as before. Now, on my trip to Bali, I hope to go swimming again.


God bless,



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The Sons of the House of Mercy

Some twenty years ago, I worked for a while in a hostel for street boys in India called “Prema Seva Sadan”, which means: “The House of Mercy”. We had 96 boys, ranging between 3 and 22, housed in a group of old buildings, which was all that was available, but they were mostly a happy group.  Apart from sending them to school or teaching them carpentry or tailoring, so that when they left they would be able to earn a living, we also tried to teach them to be grateful to those who provided our food and gave us a place to live, rough though it might be. So, on Saturdays mornings I got them to help keep the place in repair and tidy looking – we planted flowers and grew some vegetables and also got the older ones to repair and paint their rooms with colours of their own choosing. I still laugh when I look at a photo of a group of them, completely covered in whitewash – taken when they were painting the outside of the buildings – and all you can see are dark brown eyes peering out of white-washed faces!

The boys were a mixture of Hindu, Christian and one or two Muslims, but we did not allow any of the non-Christian boys to be baptized while they were in the Hostel, in case they felt pressured into becoming Christian. Instead, we would celebrate the Hindu and Muslim Feasts as well as the Christian ones with them and many of them, of their own choosing, would walk to Mass with us on a Sunday. They grew up feeling they belonged to each other – despite differences of religion – and that feeling of being family, the PSS Family, has lasted until now, even though the Hostel itself closed some ten years ago.

Recently, I received a WhatsApp message from one of them, telling of the death of one of the ex-boys and how he had left a wife and three children. He told how the widow used to go to her father’s house to sleep, as she was nervous of being alone in her house at night, but one night, the house was robbed, while she was at her father’s place, and everything of value was taken. Then her father died and she was left alone – trying to find a way to support herself and her children. The only ones who came near her, the WhatsApp message said, were the money-lenders demanding that she repay the debts left by her husband. She is in a bad way.

I am used to receiving letters asking for help, but this message was different, for although I received a copy, the WhatsApp message was not addressed to me, but to “The PSS Family” asking them to help. The writer, Anjaneluyu, is a Hindu lad who was very close to me, when I lived in the Hostel, and he has tried to make his own the ideals of the now-closed Hostel. When I visited him a few years ago to be present at his wedding, I saw how he had gathered the ex PSS boys into a self-help group to help others who were in need and even took into his own home, small as it was, boys he met, who needed shelter. He wrote, in his message to the PSS Family, that he was planning to try to help the widow by paying the school fees for the three children and added: “it is a big amount but we can manage it if we all help”. He, then, also asked that if any of them had other ideas of how to help the widow and her children to please let him know and he added, “my friends, my motto is to hold together and help each other as one family – and so should any one of you be in need of help, or know someone who is, do not hesitate to call me.”

PSS, “The House of Mercy”, began when a Mill Hill priest met a small boy on a railway station, who asked him for money. The priest asked him where he lived and the boy answered, “Here! I sleep under that bench over there.” The priest then asked him where his parents were and the boys answered that he had no parents, the priest then paused and thought for a moment and then asked the boy, “Would you like to come home with me?” The boy answered, “Yes, and can I bring my friend?” – pointing to another small boy about his own age. The priest said, “Certainly” and the two of them walked home with the priest and thus began PSS, the House of Mercy.

I met that same little boy, some years later, by then a grown man. He had left the hostel and married, but was often at the Hostel and considered the PSS boys to be his wider family. I remember, on one occasion, that he asked me, “Father, may I ask a question? Why do you, Fathers, leave your home and come to India to look after us?” I cannot remember exactly what I said in answer to him, but I know that he had seen the love of God in the care and concern of the priest who had taken him and his friend into his home – and also in those other priests who had come after him. That WhatsApp message I received, also showed me that when the PSS boys had left the Hostel they had taken that love of God with them – a love, which had to go out beyond family or religious boundaries, for although most of the PSS Family are Hindu and Christian, the man, who died was a Muslim and it is his Muslim widow and children that they are now trying to help.

So I now know that those ragged-arsed kids that I knew and loved in the Hostel, some twenty years ago, have indeed heard the Gospel, even though it was taught to them through acts of love and kindness – and not so much through doctrine. They have taken the Gospel into their lives and are now letting it flow out on to those in need around them. So, maybe these young men, to whom we once brought the Gospel, now have a message for us, who live in a world where race, religion and culture seem more and more to divide people rather than unite them. For just as they heard the Gospel through seeing it in action, so through their actions they remind us that the love of God does now allow for any boundary, because Christianity is our spiritual home – not our prison!


Last week I went to north Borneo, to Sandakan, for the diaconal ordination of one of our students. I have not been to any of our ordinations over the last year because I was not feeling well enough, but having been off of chemotherapy for four months now, I felt well enough to go, even though it is the furthest of the Borneo dioceses and needs two planes to get there. It was a lovely ceremony and I was most touched when the new Deacon publicly thanked me for the kindness and love I had shown him in his years of formation. He made me realise once more that a word of appreciation is such a powerful, life-giving gift.

Because I am feeling good, I have decided to go to Bali for ten days towards the end of August. I want to meet up with the friends I have there – although many have moved away over the seven years since I left. I also want to visit three of the prisoners, who I used to visit, but they all now live in different prisons. One of them, Tan Nguyen, is now in a prison at Malang on the island of Java, but I have been unable up to now to discover exactly which one. However, I shall still go and ask the Holy Spirit will guide me – and even though I do not succeed, I know that my attempt to visit will bring  a blessing on him.

I have started to cut grass again! Not a lot but it is a start and shows that my well-being is returning slowly. I still get tired fairly quickly and seem to need more sleep than I once did – but maybe that is due as much to age as to the effects of chemotherapy.

God bless,


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