The things that bind us

The things that bind us

Our Father Who Art In Heaven, these are the words that should bind Christians together. I’m a Catholic for what its worth, and immediately hatred begins. My daughters have both joined a C of E Choir and one will be Baptised there at Easter, even though I though she was already Baptised, this took place at the Chinese Evangelical Church 9 years ago, and I did dab water on her head within days of her birth.

So that’s 3 Christian churches where the family attend, I hope it means our prayers get answered sooner, though if you read Padre Pio and Me on my site www.michaelgcasey.multiply.com then you know I hit the jackpot years ago, spiritually that is, not in money terms.

None of this makes me or us holy, quite the reserve, I am in need of prayer. So its nice that new Muslim friends pray for me at Friday prayers, if any other faith group wishes to pray then I will be very happy to receive all and any prayers. I did write a nice poem which can be seen on my home page, but all in all Prayer for me is a deeply personal  thing. Its like the whispers in the night, its like the star lit sky, its the breeze on a summer’s day, its like the goodnight kiss from a child before they go to bed.

I just read a little about Melvyn Bragg in today’s DT, I wish I had a tenth of his intellect, but I do know that occasionally a few words  come to me which are much greater than I ever will be. Artists create and we struggle to understand what its supposed to mean, struggling with ourselves is the biggest struggle. The interior life is the biggest deal of all, its a never ending journey, sometimes along the way you get a “whoosh” perhaps when on a Pilgrimage, or when you are having a quiet sit-down   in a cathedral, you’re there to rest your sore feet on your lunch hour but then “whoosh” you get a poem or you witness something. I  spent 3 years+ of  lunch hours resting my feet in St.Phillips, its the C of E cathedral, St. Chads was too far away, I joked that I was trying to convert them to Rome.  I saw many things, such as a hugh bodybuilder lighting candles with his wafer thin girlfriend in tow. I was a voyeur while girls cried their eyes out, I just joined my prayers with theirs, a phantom prayer sayer hoping and helping them with prayers, not that they’d ever notice me.

Does all this sound old fashioned and useless, prayer is dead, God is dead, that’s what ignorant people say. So what should I say and do? I’ll just say what my mum always used to say, “God is Good.”

And so are we if we just stop and listen to the prayers on the wind, listen to the stars, beyond that curtain in the night sky.