LOST.

The gardens behind St Vincent Church stretched out for an acre or so. The land was part of a Monastery which stood there years ago which has long since been destroyed; although some ancient walls still exist outlining the perimeter of some ancient buildings.

The gardens were well maintained by a team of volunteers who had planted several fruit trees, flowering bushes and a vegetable patch which Father Ignatius and Mrs Davenport, the housekeeper, use to plant beans, carrots, tomatoes and several other vegetables in season.

At a secluded corner of the gardens stood a large statue of Our Lady on a pedestal, surrounded by rose bushes and overlooking a small pond containing goldfish and several plant-life. Father Ignatius held many prayer meetings there in summer evenings with the youngsters from the Youth Club, followed by a barbecue and Praise singing by an open fire.

Beyond the church gardens a thick hedge separated St Vincent’s property from a field leading to the hills and countryside.

Father Ignatius stood by the kitchen door one September evening at about six o’clock admiring the light rain as it drizzled gently through dark skies. It was that time of day when departing light met early darkness resulting in various shades of gray mingling with brown and golden autumnal leaves.

He looked out pensively and smiled to himself as he recalled lovingly his dear departed mother. Whenever it rained lightly as it did just now, she always used to say “the Angels have turned on the garden sprinklers in Paradise”. He smiled again recalling to mind her many sayings which often involved Angels and Saints living happily in Heaven above.

His thoughts were cut short suddenly by the front door bell ringing. He opened the door and there stood a young man and two boys, one aged about twelve and the other slightly younger. They were wet all through as they tried to shelter underneath a small umbrella.

“Please sir, can you help us …” said the man, “we believe our small dog has got into your gardens through the fence … we were on our way home through the fields at the back and he escaped from his dog collar … it’s a bit too large you see … can we search your gardens please?”

“What … in this rain?” asked the priest incredulously.

“He’s a small dog …” said the older boy wiping his face of water and tears, “he won’t make it through the night … please mister, let us look for him … we won’t be long …”

“Let me help you …” replied Father Ignatius as he put on his coat and took with him a small dog collar and chain often used by his own dog Canis, “we’ll also need a couple of electric flashlights as it’ll soon get dark …” he continued, handing a flashlight to the young man.

Moments later they were all out in the drizzling rain looking for the lost dog in the church’s grounds.

The two boys ran here and there shouting “Bruno … Bruno …” in the hope that the lost creature may come running to them.

At one point, as Father Ignatius pointed his lit flashlight left and right, he thought he noticed some movement amongst the rose bushes around the pedestal on which stood the statue of Our Lady. He approached the statue quietly and got down on his hands and knees pointing the flashlight at the foot of the pedestal in the hope of finding the small dog sheltering amongst the bushes. There was nothing there.

He looked behind him, and discovered the young man and the two boys kneeling on the wet grass with their heads bowed low.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“We are praying … like you … so that Mary can find the dog for us …” said the young man.

“She’s got more sense than to be out in this weather …” replied the priest gritting his teeth and wishing he was at home by the fire enjoying a hot cup of chocolate drink.

A few minutes later, after they'd been soaked right through, one of the boys found the dog behind a shed. They picked him up joyfully and he greeted them warmly shaking his little tail in delight.

The priest suggested they carry him home to make sure he doesn’t slip through his collar again. They thanked him most profusely and left hurriedly through the side gate and onto the main road.

Father Ignatius made his way to the Parish House still carrying his dog’s collar and chain which he had taken with him, and the two flashlights.

As he entered the house, totally drenched with muddy knees and wet trousers where he’d been kneeling, he was greeted by Mrs Davenport, the housekeeper.

“How come you took the dog for a walk without the dog?” she enquired looking at the collar and chain in the priest’s hand, “and in this terrible weather too … at least Canis had the sense to keep warm by the fire!”

Father Ignatius said nothing as he went upstairs to get changed. He wondered whether Jesus meant the Good Shepherd would go out looking for the lost sheep in all weathers.

Gentle kidnapping.

Father Ignatius really didn’t like visiting the nearby City, especially by car. So when he had to go for a Conference called by the Bishops at the Cathedral he took the train and then a taxi to the Cathedral.

The Conference itself was somewhat long and tedious with many people too fond of their voice and ready to hear it pronouncing pearls of wisdom ad infinitum. Father Ignatius took notes in order to report back to his Bishop when he returned to his Parish at St Vincent Church.

When the Conference was over Father Ignatius stood by an empty taxi stand and waited for a cab to arrive.

Within a minute or so a large black car parked by him and two burly men came out from the back seat.

“Would you please get in the car Father?” said one of them.

The priest hesitated, “This is not a taxi …” he mumbled, “Who are you?”

“Let’s not make a scene in public …” continued one of the men politely, “please get in the car … here’s something to show our good intentions …” and the man put his hand in his jacket inside pocket and pulled out a bunch of notes; “there’s £200 here as a down payment … now get in the car.” And handing the money to the priest the two men eased him gently but forcibly into the car and sat one on each side of him; whilst the driver moved away quickly.

Still clutching the money Father Ignatius said, “What’s going on here … what do you want with me?”

“Relax Father … just cooperate with us for a while and all will be OK … put our little donation in your pocket and we’ll give you another £200 when this is all over … now if you don’t mind; I have to put this over your head. Just as a precaution you understand. It won’t hurt I assure you.”

The man put a hood gently over the priest’s head and tightened it round his neck to ensure he couldn’t see.

“We won’t hurt you Father …” he continued gently, “you have my word, now please relax.”

Father Ignatius had no choice but to sit there between the two giants whilst the car hurried in city traffic. At one stage the car stopped for a while, possibly at traffic lights, and the priest heard the sound of a church clock beating two quarters “it must be half past five” he thought to himself.

He tried to concentrate and listen carefully, but, not being familiar with the city, any sounds he heard meant nothing to him. However, he tried to recollect them in the order that they were heard; and he counted slowly in-between sounds to record the passage of time.

“We stopped for a few minutes at half past five … then we drove until I counted about one hundred, then I heard the sound of an ambulance or police car, then I counted to two hundred and twelve when I heard the sound of a passing train …” and so on went his thoughts.

The car must have joined a motorway or highway at some point or other because the priest heard nothing specific and felt the car pick up speed. This lasted for a long while when eventually he felt the car slow down as it drove over gravel for a bit and then stop. He then heard the sound of two barking dogs nearby. They must have been big dogs by the sound of it … Alsatians or Dobermans perhaps.

He was led by his guards holding him by each arm over the gravel for a short distance, then up two or three stairs and into a building. There they stopped and took off his hood.

It took him a few seconds to adjust his eyes and see that he was in a splendid large hall of some luxurious building. There were magnificent paintings on the walls and beautiful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.  He was surrounded by several large marble statues and ornaments.

With both his bodyguards on each side he waited there whilst another man dressed in a black suit came out of one of the rooms on his left.

“This is not Father Bernard Breally,” said the man approaching him, “who the hell are you?”

“I’m Father Ignatius …” replied the priest feebly.

“Are you Catholic?”

“Yes …”

“I suppose you’ll do … one priest is as good as another … what happened to Breally?” he asked the two burly men.

“This was the only priest standing by the taxi place … you told us to get the priest waiting for a cab and this is him …” replied one of the men apologetically.

“OK … take him over there.

“Father would you please mind waiting in that room and make yourself at home. You are not a prisoner here … just our guest for a moment or two … Help yourself to tea or coffee and biscuits; there’s a drinks cabinet in there too if you wish to have something stronger. There’s a rest room in case you wish to freshen up.

“And please … don’t even think of escaping through the windows … the dogs out there would tear you to pieces in seconds.

“I’ll be with you shortly.”

Father Ignatius was led to a side room as richly decorated as the hall he’d just been in. He was left there alone for about twenty minutes or so, where he sat in a comfortable luxurious sofa and prayed silently.

Eventually the man who greeted him on arrival returned and asked him to follow him. He was led up the stairs of this palatial mansion and into one of the rooms.

It was a spacious bedroom as richly decorated as the rest of the house. In bed was a pale looking man sitting up surrounded by a few people. There was a young lady in a nurse’s uniform and another middle-aged woman. Two other strong men stood guard by the door.

“Leave us alone …” said the elderly man.

Everyone left the room silently and closed the door behind them.

“Come over here and sit down Father …” said the man.

The priest approached the bedside and sat in a chair nearby.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you Father … I needed to see Father Breally but my idiots got the wrong man. They tell me you’re Catholic … so you’ll do I suppose. Do you know Breally?”

“No … I don’t …”

“Well never mind … he’s a priest I knew long ago … I’ve known him since we were Altar boys together. Then as we grew up I got into the wrong company whilst he decided to become a priest. Many a time he warned me not to break the law … to leave my gang and get a good job …” the man chuckled quietly and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief he was holding.

“Do you think if I followed Breally’s advice I’d have this mansion and all my riches? I bet he is as poor as a church mouse …

“I haven’t seen him in years. I was led to believe that he’d be at the Conference and that he’d wait by the taxi stand … instead my men got you.

“So you’ll do I suppose … I need a favor from you!”

“What is it that you need?” asked Father Ignatius gently.

“I’m fifty-nine and I’m very ill. The doctor who was standing here doesn’t think much of my chances … I want you to forgive my sins and prepare me for Heaven …”

“I don’t understand … why all this secrecy and why did you have me brought here?” asked Father Ignatius gaining a little confidence.

“Do you know who I am?”

“No I don’t … I don’t even know where I am … your men blind-folded me in the car …”

“I’m sorry for that,” interrupted the man, and then after a short silence went on, “it doesn’t matter who I am …

“Suffice it to say that I don’t have a glorious past, but I guess you’ve already worked that out … I haven’t always been what you’d call a good Christian … not since the Altar boy days … ” he chuckled again reminiscing on his childhood.

“Don’t get me wrong Father … Ignatius is it?”
The priest nodded silently.

“Don’t get me wrong Father Ignatius, I’ve never done anything really bad myself you understand … but I’ve often asked my boys to do certain things for me … I’m sure you understand what it’s like.

“Sometimes in my line of business you need to be a little forceful in order to be respected by your peers …”

The priest said nothing and waited for the man to continue.

“So there you have it … will you forgive an old gangster and get him to Heaven?”

“It’s not as easy as that,” replied Father Ignatius.

“What do you mean? My boys gave you a handsome donation which we’ll supplement with another one when you leave. What else do you want?”

“Confession is not bought with money …” said Father Ignatius still holding his gentle yet firm tone of voice, “you may well confess your past sins and I may well absolve you of them … but that in itself is no guarantee to entry in Heaven.”

“When I was an Altar boy I was told that a priest can forgive your sins and all is well again with God. That’s what Jesus said to His disciples to do …” protested the man sitting up.

“Yes … that’s true. But with Confession there should be true repentance and regret for what we have done. It is no point just confessing one’s sins and hoping that all is well.

“God is not an insurance policy. Providing we pay our premiums by way of Confession, Communion and attending Mass every now and then; our place in Heaven is guaranteed.

“It just doesn’t work like that …

“Tell me something …” continued Father Ignatius gaining confidence all the time, “suppose you were one of the victims of the many things you claim to have done … how would you feel if you knew that the person who committed such crimes against you suddenly said sorry on his death bed, recited a prayer or two as a penance and got entry into Heaven?”

“What else can I do? My crimes are done and gone … I can hardly turn the clock back … You’ve got to help me Father … that’s what you priests are here for isn’t it?” pleaded the man his hand shaking a little.

“I will pray for you … and I will absolve your sins by the power given to me by our Lord Jesus …” said Father Ignatius.

“But I will not give you a penance … this is not a matter of asking you to say a Hail Mary and all will be well again …

“I’ve never been in such a situation before … and they never taught us what is an appropriate penance in these circumstances …” Father Ignatius bit his lip, thinking he’d probably overstepped the mark.

The man laughed heartily.

“A priest with a sense of humor … I like that …” he said after a short pause.

Father Ignatius continued.

“I will leave the matter of final absolution in the hands of God, since only He knows your heart, your intentions and your genuine repentance.

“I will also leave the money your men gave me right here … the Lord’s absolution is not for sale … it is given freely by Him alone.”

Father Ignatius heard the man’s Confession and prayed with him for a while. He was then driven back, hooded once again, to the city and dropped at the railway station where he caught a train home.

Weeks later he read in the newspaper that the man had died. The papers had his picture, which Father Ignatius recognized, and they named him as an infamous gangster who terrorized the city for many years. The papers also said that he had left large sums of money in his Will to various charities and Christian churches.

GOLDEN DROPS - My new book.

My new E Book GOLDEN DROPS is finally available.

I have prayed and thought hard about it and I have decided to offer it FREE in E Book format to whoever wants it. You can download it by visiting my Website HERE. 

Also on AMAZON Kindle HERE.

"GOLDEN DROPS" is a compilation of stories about Father Ignatius, a character from my first book "VISIONS".

Each story tells a tale in the life of Fr Ignatius, and none of the stories are taken from "VISIONS". They are all new.

Please feel free to copy the image above on your Blogs and to tell your readers about this FREE offer.

Once you have "GOLDEN DROPS" you are also free to email it to your family and friends or copy it onto CD.

It is yours to do as you wish.

All I ask is that you pray for me.

God bless you dear readers, and thank you so much for your kindness and support.

Victor S E Moubarak

Mansion and tweed.

As Father Ignatius drove into the church car park he was followed by a top of the range very expensive vehicle which stopped some distance away.

“That’s unusual” he thought, “I’ve never seen this car here before!”

Out came a tall well built man in his early sixties. He was immaculately dressed in a good quality tweed suit, white shirt and dark tie, and a heavy woolen dark blue overcoat. He locked his car and walked towards Father Ignatius.

“Good morning …” he said in an impeccable English accent, “are you the Padre here?”

“Yes … I am the Parish priest …” replied Father Ignatius, “can I help you?”

“I’m Colonel Swanwick …” replied the man stretching out his hand “retired!”

The priest shook the man’s hand and was impressed by the firm strong handshake.

“I’d like a few moments of your time please Padre …” he said, “is there anywhere we can talk?”

“Yes … of course … you’d better come to my office …”

Moments later and the priest had taken the Colonel up the stairs in the Parish House and into his office.

“I had a Catholic Padre in my regiment years ago …” said Colonel Swanwick sitting down in the armchair by the window, “fine man indeed …”

“Are you new in town?” asked Father Ignatius sitting at his desk, “I’ve not seen you in church before!”

“Oh no old boy …” chuckled the Colonel in his perfect distinguished accent, “I’m not Catholic you know … I was brought up Presbyterian … same Army I suppose … different regiment what?” He laughed heartily.

“Very amusing …” the priest said feigning a weak smile.

“Any way … I don’t go to church anymore … haven’t been in years. Well Padre … I need your help. It’s something that only someone in your regiment can deal with so to speak …

“You see … not being Catholic myself this is a little peculiar for me and I don’t claim to understand it … not a bit of it, I tell you!”

“What is it you don’t understand?” asked Father Ignatius patiently.

“Well … it’s this friend of mine … I’ve known him for years … we served together in Africa many years ago. Fine fellow of a man I tell you. An excellent soldier indeed! You know … he saved my life years ago when we were under attack in an ambush and I was pinned down with a bullet in my leg. He came out there under enemy fire and pulled me back to safety. He is Catholic you know …”

“I see …”

“I haven’t seen him for years … we correspond every now and then … the odd Christmas card every year, that sort of thing … no more. I’m not one for a lot of meaningless correspondence and all that … too busy old boy. I only write when it’s important to do so and none of this casual chitchat … waste of time and money I say!

“Well, I got news that the poor fellow has died after a short illness … I received a letter from his wife a few days ago …”

“I’m sorry to hear it …”

“Yes quite …” continued the Colonel, “damn inconvenient you know … I can’t possibly attend the funeral. I have an important meeting at our Regimental Reunion Club. It’s down in Wales somewhere or other … the funeral that is, not the Regimental Reunion … that is held at the Grand Hotel in town. Have you ever been to Wales Padre?”

“Yes … several times …”

“Anyway … It’s too far to go to Wales for a funeral … once you’re dead and gone you’re gone … that’s what I always say … no need for ceremonials and all that. Funerals are held for the living not the dead. It’s just a get together to make the living feel better about the departed … Waste of time and money … just like writing meaningless letters and correspondence …

“So that’s where you come in … Being a Catholic just like this friend of mine. I’d like you to help me out of a tight spot as it were!” The Colonel smiled in expectation.

“Do you want me to attend the funeral for you?” asked the priest somewhat confused.

“Oh no … goodness no …” laughed Colonel Swanwick heartily, “it’s in Wales you know … too far to go for a funeral …

“I have been told that you Catholics have a Mass card … is that what you call it? It’s been suggested to me that I should send his wife a Mass card. Apparently they’re not available from the shops and you obtain them from a priest. Is that right?”

“I understand …” replied Father Ignatius as eventually he got to the purpose of this man’s visit, “you wish to offer a Mass for the repose of his soul.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean exactly … but that’s right. That’s what I’ve been told. What is it that you do?”

“It’s a tradition in the Catholic Church to offer Masses for others for any intentions. Sometimes people offer Masses in thanksgiving to God, and quite often for the dead. It’s a practice that originates in the very early Church. Inscriptions were discovered on tombs in ancient Roman catacombs in the second century providing evidence of this practice.”

“I see … it’s like paying someone to pray for you. I remember reading about it in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales …” chuckled the Colonel.

“It’s not as crudely as you put it …” continued Father Ignatius patiently, “the Catholic Church considers Mass as the greatest possible prayer of intercession. So we offer the Mass to God for that particular intention … for example for the repose of the person’s soul …”

“Oh I do apologize Padre …” interrupted the Colonel, “I meant no offence … I can understand I suppose … it’s like asking someone to put in a good word for you with the Almighty …”

“I shall offer a Mass for your friend” said the priest patiently, “you can choose one of these cards to send to his widow …”

“That’s jolly decent of you old boy … thank you. I’ll take this one here … how much is it?”

“You don’t have to pay anything … I will sign the card and I’ll need your friend’s name …”

“Oh no ... I insist … how much is the card … and the Mass too of course!” said Colonel Swanwick rather embarrassed about his faux pas.

“Well … if you insist …” Father Ignatius said with a smile to ease the tension a little, “the cost involved is that you have to give money to a charity, any charity you wish … and the amount you give should be commensurate to how much this friend of yours meant to you. How much you really valued his friendship and what he did to you.”

“Good Heavens … that should prove expensive considering he saved my life …” chuckled the Colonel, “but I’ll gladly do it. I promise you of this.

“I’d also like to invite you for afternoon tea at my house. Just to show there’s no hard feelings and all that old boy. We’ve just moved into Happy Acres a couple of months ago … it’s the house just by the Anglican Church out in the next village … do you know it?”

“Yes … of course …” replied Father Ignatius recalling to mind the large mansion he’d passed frequently whilst visiting the vicar at the village Anglican Church.

“Jolly good … jolly good,” repeated the Colonel, “I’ll check dates with my wife … she’s in charge of Happy Acres HQ … she’s a fine old girl you know … does a lot of work at the Anglican Church … choir practice … bell ringing … garden fêtes and all that. The vicar there knows her well … Reverend Fellowes … you’ve probably come across him in your travels … different regiment yet again. Anyway … I’ll check dates with my wife and ring you back to fix a spot of tea and cream cakes.”

As Colonel Swanwick drove out of the car park Father Ignatius wondered pensively about the Catholic Church’s doctrines and traditions.

“I can understand someone like the Colonel being confused …” he thought, “but do we do enough to explain to our parishioners why we do things the way we do them; and the real meanings behind our doctrines and traditions? A good subject for a sermon I think!”

Rejected.

Father Ignatius came out of the Sacristy after Mass and found Sharon still in church with her little three years old daughter Petra. They were standing by the Statue of Our Lady trying to light a candle.

“Are you still here Sharon?” he asked, “how are you these days?”

He must have touched a raw nerve because tears started building up in Sharon’s eyes as she said, “We’re well Father … doing as best we can …”

Father Ignatius sat on the first pew and little Petra left her mother and came running to him, handing him her toy bear.

“That’s a lovely bear” said the priest taking it from her hands, “what is his name?”

“John …” said Petra enthusiastically as she climbed on the pew and sat next to the priest. “John, you and me can now pray together …” she added, as her mother a few feet away knelt down by the statue for private prayers.

Sharon was a single mother. Her husband left her for another woman just after Petra’s birth and has not been seen since. Eventually, having no news whatsoever of her run-away husband, she divorced him in the civil court and brought up her little child as best as she could on Social Security Benefits.

After a few moments of silent prayers she joined the priest and picked up her daughter on her lap.

“I’ve been trying to get a part-time job …” she said, “nothing much, just a few hours a week to supplement my benefits and to become a little independent …”

“That’s good …” replied Father Ignatius gently.

“There’s just no work available …” she said, “I can’t go full-time because I have no one to look after Petra … and part-time work is either not available or is too far from home requiring two bus rides to get there …”

Father Ignatius said nothing as he prayed silently and handed the toy back to the child.

“I feel such a failure …” continued Sharon, “my life seems to be in a rut and stuck in failure … I’ve been rejected by my husband … rejected by my family who live too far away to care … and rejected by every employer in town and society in general …”

At this moment, almost by coincidence, the little girl on her lap said, “I love you Mama …”

“Well … you’ve certainly not been rejected by Petra …” said Father Ignatius quietly as Sharon kissed the child on the head.

“And I know you haven’t been rejected by Jesus either …” he continued.

Sharon smiled weakly.

“Rejection is very hard …” said the priest, “and we do sometimes feel as if we’re of no value or worth to others. But that is not always the case Sharon.

“We’re all valuable in the eyes of God, and we all have a contribution to make … you are very valuable to your little daughter who relies on you for everything.

“It’s good that you’re trying to find a job; and I feel deeply for you at what you see as rejection from employers.

“Rejection does not mean failure.

“Sometimes rejection provides you with clarity on where to go next. You say you’ve tried the local factories, and the electric company and the gas works for some clerical work …

“Perhaps your future does not lie there … I can’t say where just now … but maybe God is leading you somewhere else.

“For now it could be that you’re exactly in the right place where you’re supposed to be … and God wants you to spend your time looking after Petra.

“Sometimes He answers us by saying ‘Wait … not now … stay where you are and trust Me’; … do you see what I mean?”

“I understand …” Sharon replied smiling weakly again.

“I shall pray for you Sharon …” continued Father Ignatius.

“And now … would you mind doing me a favor please?”

“Yes Father …” she said.

“I’m having some trouble with the new speakers and microphone they installed in church recently. I wish to test the acoustics in here.

“Would you mind going to the lectern and read something from the Bible over there. Take Petra with you.”

Sharon walked to the lectern child in hand.

“Just read anything … I’ll stand over here” said the priest.

Sharon opened the Bible and read the first passage at the top of the page.

“That’s good …” said the priest, “wait a bit until I walk over there a little further back … now read again …”

She followed his instructions.

“The speakers here sound OK … I’ll go right back by the statue of St Peter … when I get there could you read again please.”

Sharon waited until Father Ignatius walked slowly to the end of the church by the exit door and then started reading the Bible.

He raised his hand in the air to stop her then walked slowly to the front once again.

“As clear as a bell …” he said, “I can hear your every word very clearly despite my old age … and if I can hear you, I’m sure everyone else can.”

She smiled.

“Sharon … we do need readers for Mass on Sunday. It’s really not fair to rely on just the same readers every week. You should really consider adding your name to the readers’ rota to help us out a bit.”

“But … I can’t read …” she exclaimed as she picked up her daughter tugging at her dress.

“You seem to have done OK just now … just think about it,” replied Father Ignatius, “you don’t have to decide right now …”

Sharon did think about it; and eventually she did join the readers list and did read on Sundays at Mass.

A few months later she also managed to get a junior clerical job working part-time at the local Catholic school leaving her child at the pre-school playgroup while she worked.

Father Donald to the rescue.

It was just after ten o’clock at night when the phone rang. Father Donald got up to answer the call and then said: “It’s for you Ignatius … It’s Carla Perkins …”

“Dear Lord … not again …” mumbled Father Ignatius as he picked up the phone.

When he’d finished the conversation he said to his fellow priest: “Carla’s husband has come home drunk again and became violent in a heated argument. He has hit her hard this time and she said she is bleeding from her mouth … I’d better go over I suppose …”

“You’re not going alone?” asked Father Donald.

After a few seconds of waiting for a reply he went on, “Tom is a big man you know … if he turns on you …”

“Don’t worry Donald,” replied Father Ignatius “he wouldn’t hit a priest, would he … but just in case, I’d better wear my white collar just to remind him …” he added with a chuckle.

Half an hour later Father Ignatius was at the Perkins’ home. Tom was lying asleep on the settee whilst his wife was nursing a cut lip and crying softly whilst cuddling her two years old daughter.

Her husband’s behavior had got worse over the past few months ever since he lost his job in the latest factory closure. To his credit, he had tried finding a job everywhere in town, even further away out of town involving daily travel by train, but he had been unsuccessful. He considered himself a failure unable to provide for his family and as a result spent a lot of time in the pub wasting whatever little the family received from Social Benefits.

He often came home in a bad way and somehow got into an argument with his wife. This, however, was the first time he’d ever hit her. It was totally out of character as normally Tom was a mild-mannered individual who wouldn’t hurt a fly, as they say. But it shows the extent of his despair since losing his job.

The priest asked Carla whether she wished to spend the night with her daughter at the Convent. He could easily ring Mother Superior to arrange it. But she preferred to stay at home, not wishing to further upset her young child.

“He’ll wake up in the morning and be all apologetic …” she sobbed, “he always does that and can’t even remember we’ve had an argument … although this time my fat lip will serve as a reminder …” she smiled weakly.

Father Ignatius stayed for a while and having ensured that she and her daughter were safe returned to his home.

On his journey back he prayed that God may intervene and help this family torn apart by a financial crisis not of their making.

The following day at about midday there was a loud knock at the door of the Parish House.

Father Ignatius opened the door and Tom Perkins barged into the house and stood in the entrance hall, almost pushing the priest out of the way.

“Don’t interfere where you’re not wanted …” he shouted at the priest.

Father Ignatius said nothing and maintained his calm composure in the face of the angry giant.

“You were round our house last night …” continued Tom loudly, “are you interested in my wife? Is that it?”

“Don’t be absurd …” replied Father Ignatius somewhat shocked at the accusation.

“If you come anywhere near her again I’ll knock your lights out …” shouted Tom threatening the priest.

At this point Father Donald came out of his office having heard the commotion outside. He was a big man with a pronounced Scottish accent from his native Glasgow.

“And would you care to pick up a fight with me too?” he asked Tom in a quiet yet firm tone of voice.

Tom said nothing. Father Donald continued.

“I’m the same size as you Tom, and I reckon if I take off my white collar which can be a bit of a disadvantage I can take you on man to man as it were …”

Tom remained silent.

“Or would you prefer to hit someone smaller than you?” asked Father Donald, “like your wife for instance …”

At this Tom stormed out slamming the door behind him.

“Thanks Donald …” said Father Ignatius after Tom had left, “the poor man is desperate …”

“That’s no reason to behave like that …” growled Father Donald proudly pronouncing every syllable to emphasize his accent.

“You wouldn’t have hit him would you?” asked Father Ignatius.

“No way … these stiff white collars are too difficult to take off in a hurry” joked Father Donald as he returned to his office.

Father Ignatius did not let it rest at that. Having prayed about the situation he set out to contact his many acquaintances in town and eventually, after weeks of searching, he managed to find Tom a job with a local builder.

It did not pay as much as Tom earned at the factory but it was a start to help him back on his way to regaining his self-esteem and confidence.

Tom was extremely grateful and very apologetic at his disgraceful behavior when he threatened his priest. His character changed overnight and he has not had one argument with his wife ever since.

And now he always looks down sheepishly whenever he meets either priest as he accompanies his wife and child to Mass on Sundays.

Unexpected Confession.

Confessions were normally heard on Saturday morning at St Vincent Church by either Father Ignatius or Father Donald; or sometimes both priests when it was near a Feast Day such as Easter or Christmas.

One Wednesday evening, as Father Ignatius was all alone in the Parish House, the door bell rang and there stood Ben Moon.

“Father … may I ask you to hear my confession please?” he asked politely.

“Would you like to go to church?” asked the priest hesitantly.

“No …, this isn’t a quick ‘Bless me Father for I have sinned’ type of confession.”

The priest did not react to the attempted joke.

“You’d better come to my office,” he replied, “but first let’s go to the kitchen and prepare some coffee.”

Minutes later the priest walked up the stairs with a tray of coffee and biscuits followed by Ben Moon.

Ben was a local businessman. He wasn’t too involved in church, apart from attending Mass every now and then. But he was a very generous donor. Many a time he left Father Ignatius a very handsome check in support of some event or project which the church was supporting. His wife though was always in church, attending various meetings and organizing several events and activities.

“What’s on your mind Ben?” asked Father Ignatius as he sat at his desk.

“Father … I no longer love my wife!” came the direct reply.

The priest did not readily react, but almost instinctively he said a silent prayer. He asked the Holy Spirit to guide him in what to say, and he prayed for this couple whom he knew for some years.

The short silence was interrupted by Ben, who continued, “for some time now we have been drifting apart. We argue constantly. I let things pass to avoid further arguments and I’ve reached the point where I can take it no longer …

“Any advice you care to throw my way?” he concluded with a weak smile.

“It depends whether you want me to speak as a priest or as a man …” replied Father Ignatius.

“Hey … what the heck … either would do … I’m at the end of the road anyway …” laughed Ben.

“The end of the road?”

“Yes … I can take it no longer … I want out of here, as they say.”

“In that case, it seems to me you’ve reached a decision already,” replied the priest, “and perhaps all you need is my re-assurance …”

Ben didn’t reply. Father Ignatius continued.

“Many people believe that just because we are priests we don’t understand the pressures and difficulties in a marriage. We don’t understand that sometimes people do drift apart. And the love and caring that was there at the beginning is now a little faded and tattered round the edges.

“I know that marriage is a hard-working lifetime commitment which involves both people working together everyday, despite all the difficulties, despite all the pitfalls, and despite all the problems that life might bring. I realize that sometimes this proves too much for some couples, just like in your case. But that’s no reason to stop trying Ben.

“I don’t need to know the details that led to this, but I urge both of you to try harder to reach out to each other and, with God’s help, renew that commitment …

“Have you considered speaking with a counselor; or if you think I can help in any way …”

“Father …” interrupted Ben, “I’m afraid it’s gone beyond the help of a counselor … I’ve been seeing someone else … and I spoke to my solicitor about divorce …”

“I see …” said Father Ignatius. He stopped for a few seconds to underline the severity of what he had just heard. Then he continued calmly.

“So what do you want to confess exactly? The fact that you don’t love your wife, or that you have been unfaithful, or that you want a divorce?”

Ben shook his head pensively as he put down his cup.

“I’m sorry to have troubled you Father,” he said standing up.

“Don’t go just yet … sit down,” asked the priest gently, “you see Ben, you put me, and Jesus too, in a difficult situation.

“When we come to confession it is with the intention that we will not commit that particular sin again, or at least try not to.

“You seem to have decided that you wish to leave your wife, forget your marital vows, and move on to a new life.

“It’s a confession all right … but it doesn’t show remorse, nor does it seek forgiveness.”

“As I said …” replied Ben abruptly, “I am sorry to have troubled you. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come here at all. I haven’t told Josie yet … but I will tonight, after a stiff drink or two …”

“I shall pray for both of you …” said Father Ignatius standing up, “please Ben, give it some time … don’t act too rashly … you don’t have to tell her straightaway … think about this some more.

“If there’s anything I can do please let me know … ask Josie to come to see me if she wishes …”

Father Ignatius was struggling in an already decided situation. Ben was determined and he knew what he wanted to do.

The priest stood in the car park as he watched Ben drive away. He prayed silently for a few moments as he imagined how Josie would take the news. She was a lively, jovial person always willing to help in church. He could hardly imagine that such a couple who’d been married for some years looked now destined for a break-up.

He did what he always did in seemingly helpless situations; he placed it in the hands of God and repeated “Thy will be done oh Lord.”

That evening Ben arrived home and found his wife crying.

“Oh God …” he thought, “she’s found out … perhaps that priest has been talking on the phone …”

He poured himself a large whiskey and asked grumpily what’s been going on.

Eventually, amongst the tears Josie confessed that she’d been seeing the doctor for some tests and they had diagnosed cancer.

That night life stood still.

Ben did not tell her his intentions. He arranged for other tests to be carried out privately at a hospital where he had business connections. When the diagnosis was confirmed he stood by his wife throughout the prolonged treatment which lasted several months.

He stopped seeing his other friend.

Eventually, as he nursed his wife to full health, slowly but surely he learnt to love her once again.

And now … two years later, he is still with her, never having told her of that fateful evening when he visited Father Ignatius; and when the kindly priest knew that he was out of his depth and handed the whole matter to Higher Authority.

Coming to terms.

It had been a horrible gray day, with dark skies and continuous light drizzly rain as you often get in England. A very soft freezing wind blew gently from the North; the kind of gentle wind which would hardly make a leaf tremble yet it could go right through you chilling your every bone.

Father Ignatius was in church. He stood by the doorway and looked at the rain and thought of his childhood. His mother used to say when it drizzled like today that it was the angels crying because of the many sins in this world. He said a silent prayer for his parents now long gone.

Every now and then, the cold wind carried with it a sweet sugary smell from the brewery nearby. The aroma of caramel or syrup, or was it malt, thought the priest, enveloped the whole church and Parish House.

Eventually, Father Ignatius locked the church door and crossed the car park in the gentle rain as he made his way towards the Parish House.

As he entered the house, closing the door behind him, the phone rang and he was asked to go to the hospital.

Half-an-hour later he was at the bedside of Isabelle Bennett.

Isabelle was a lively 28 years old, always cheerful and laughing enthusiastically as she spread happiness to everyone she knew. Father Ignatius had known her for some years now as well as her young husband Martin. They were both members of the Parish Council and took part in many church activities and events.

Then suddenly, about a month ago, Isabelle was taken seriously ill and admitted to hospital where she remained ever since. She was not getting any better and the doctors had given up hope.

She smiled feebly as Father Ignatius entered the hospital room where she was lying in bed. Her face ashen in color and her beautiful blue eyes very tired from the many injections and pain-killers she’d received. Her husband sat by her side Rosary beads in hand holding her hand gently.

The nurse brought in another chair which she placed on the other side of the bed; and Father Ignatius sat down.

“Are you in pain?” he asked her gently.

She shook her head. Her husband raised the hand he was holding to his lips and kissed her.

Father Ignatius started praying quietly as the nurse left the room. He gave Isabelle Holy Communion and then sat down beside her.

“Can we recite the Rosary Father?” she asked softly.

And for the next few minutes the priest and her husband recited the Rosary together whilst her lips moved gently as they prayed.

When they had finished praying she asked him how he was, and made small conversation. Her voice was soft and somewhat labored as she drifted in and out of consciousness. One moment she was talking about church matters and the next she was asleep, then awake once again.

At these moments of silence Father Ignatius sat quietly and prayed silently.

She moved her other hand towards him and held his hand. Holding her husband and her priest in each hand.

Suddenly, she squeezed the priest’s hand tightly and said: “Don’t look so miserable Father. I’ll be seeing Jesus before you.”

Father Ignatius moved a little forward and kissed her on the forehead.

About twenty minutes later she passed away peacefully.

The funeral was very emotional. The church was full to capacity with friends and relatives coming to mourn the loss of such a young and vivacious life.

Her husband Martin was totally devastated to have lost his young wife within seven months of marriage.

Father Ignatius prayed for him and the whole family who found it very difficult to come to terms with such an early death.

A few weeks later, the priest witnessed the first signs of renewal when young Martin phoned him one morning.

“Father,” he said, “I will inscribe what she said on her tombstone.

“It will read: Don’t look so miserable. I’ll be seeing Jesus before you.”

Three years later … and Martin is studying for the priesthood.

Joking aside …

Father Ignatius was watching a comedian on TV. He was mildly amusing at first, and then suddenly, his jokes turned to religion.

Now Father Ignatius usually turns off the TV, or switches to another channel, when people ridicule Christianity. This time, however, that inner voice within asked him to hang on a minute.

The comedian was talking about prayer. He said that some people ignore “that nice bearded man in the sky” most of their lives and turn to Him screaming for help when things go wrong.

The audience laughed.

Father Ignatius wondered whether they were laughing at the description of God, or the fact that some people ignore Him until disaster strikes in their lives.

The comedian went on with another limp joke about how people pray.

“Some get down on bended knees and repeat the same prayers over and again like parrots; praying the Rosary for instance.”

The comedian imagined God sitting on His throne dividing people into categories. All those who prayed repeated prayers He put on one side. Those praying the Rosary He gathered all together, and then, through His omnipotent ability to control time, He would synchronize them all so that they recited the Rosary in unison.

The audience reacted by laughing inanely in harmony.

Father Ignatius got up to switch off the TV.

At that point the comedian had changed the subject to the Eucharist and what Christians believed.

With the TV safely off Father Ignatius sat down again and pondered.

“What a sad state of affairs we’ve come to,” he thought, “when a comedian has to mock Christianity for a living; and he finds a ready audience reacting to his every joke.

“If a member of that audience was a Christian, it would prove very difficult indeed, if not impossible, to stand up and protest.

“That person would himself become the object of ridicule and provide ample material for the comedian to continue his act.

“And why should the TV Company even wish to broadcast such material knowing full well that it would offend someone watching at home.”

Father Ignatius reflected on what the comedian had said about prayer; which as it happened was the subject of the priest’s sermon that coming Sunday.

“Of course God does not need our prayers,” he thought.

“He does not need them in the sense that He is not in any way diminished or left wanting if we did not pray.

“But like any loving parent He is happy when we keep in contact. He likes to hear from us from time to time. When we ask Him for our needs.

“He likes us to tell Him how we feel from day to day. To share our worries and concerns, or our troubles when the road ahead is somewhat difficult.

“He also likes to hear about our joys and moments of happiness when things are right.

“The odd ‘Thank you’ every now and then would not go amiss either!”

Father Ignatius jotted a few notes down in his little book.

“And of course,” thought the priest to himself, “praying to God means listening to Him as well as speaking to Him. It is after all a two-way conversation.”

As for repetitive prayers … that comedian may well poke fun at them, but Father Ignatius saw nothing wrong.

He did after all pray the Rosary daily, sometimes more than once a day.

“It helps me concentrate and focus on God,” he said to himself, “… and as everyone knows, men are not good at multi-tasking. So reciting the Rosary helps focus my mind!” he chuckled.

Yes, all in all, that comedian gave him a lot of material for his sermon on Sunday.

As for mocking God and Jesus, “there’s nothing new there” thought the priest.

“Jesus was mocked and laughed at many times throughout His Mission on earth and during His arrest, trial and Crucifixion.

“He took all the hatred and ridicule with Him on the Cross.

“A few jokes from a TV comedian would not harm The Almighty at all; and could perhaps lead someone to experience the love of Christ by just prompting him to learn more.

“The certainty, however, is that the comedian would be reminded of these jokes when he’s face to face with his Creator.”

Father Ignatius smiled.

The Holy Trinity.

“Father, I really have difficulty in understanding the Holy Trinity,” said a parishioner to Father Ignatius.

“I really can’t understand why we sometimes have difficulties in just accepting the mysteries of our Faith,” replied the priest, “after all, God is not really that complicated is He?”

“It’s the three in one that I don’t understand. When we get to Heaven will we meet all three of them God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit? Or will we see just one?”

“When I get to Heaven and find out, I’ll phone you to let you know,” replied the priest with a chuckle.

There was silence for a moment or two as James continued to fix the priest’s car. Fr Ignatius stood there as an assistant handing different tools when asked.

“You obviously know how St Patrick used a shamrock to explain the Trinity,” asked Father Ignatius eventually.

“Yes … but it doesn’t really answer my question does it?”

“Everywhere around us we see in nature things made of many parts,” said the priest, “look at that tree over there. It is made up of a trunk, roots which you cannot see, branches and leaves, and sometimes it has fruits too. You don’t have difficulty accepting that all these parts make up one tree do you?”

“No Father,” said James, “I understand that they can be together as one tree, or separate … the tree, the leaves and the fruit. Is that how the Trinity works?”

“I don’t know. I just accept it and believe it,” said Father Ignatius.

“But let’s continue along this path for a moment.

“We believe in God. Whoever we perceive Him to be. Some imagine Him as a bearded old man living in Heaven somewhere; others see Him as a Spirit or a Supernatural Being perhaps … we each have a mental description of God.

“I prefer to see Him as Jesus told us about Him; a loving caring Father, Creator of everything.

“Are you OK this far?”

James nodded and put down the wrench he was using to fix the car. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and listened.

“In times of old God spoke to His people on earth through the prophets," continued Father Ignatius, “He guided them and gave them Commandments on how to live … I’m sure you read all about it in the Old Testament … But people did not always listen to the prophets as you well know James. They killed some of them and ignored quite a few.

“God could of course have sent punishments from above … floods, famines, pestilence and so on. And indeed He did for a while.

“He could of course have come down as a Superman type character … now that may have worked don’t you think?

“He could have frightened everyone of them into total and perfect submission. But that is hardly the behavior we’d expect from a loving caring Father is it? What is the point of enforcing His will on all of us and make us love Him under duress?”

James smiled.

“So God decided to come to earth as a human being. As one of us. A human we could see, talk to, listen to and witness His power of love through His miracles,” said Father Ignatius gently.

“He came as a vulnerable little baby. And for a while He was vulnerable indeed when Herod tried to destroy Him. He grew up amongst us and throughout His life it was love and only love which motivated His every action.

“Jesus was, and is, God made incarnate.

“Whatever image we may have in our mind about God being a Spirit or whatever … in Jesus we see God Himself made human just like us.

“Are you OK with my explanation so far?”

James agreed as he kept working on the car engine.

“And this is where some people get a little confused …” continued the priest.

“When Jesus was set to return to Heaven after the Resurrection, you can imagine the disciples were totally distraught.

“They'd lost all confidence, even though they witnessed the Resurrection and saw the victory.

“Their leader, their God was leaving now. What are they to do without Him? How can they carry on without His guidance? How can they build His church and preach about Him? What a responsibility without His loving, guiding hand!

“So God, Jesus, promised to return.

“And He did return, as the Holy Spirit. He returned in Spirit form, not in physical form. You remember the story of the Pentecost don’t you?

“He lived within them and they were enlightened. They spoke in different languages and taught throughout all lands.

“He lived there, just within their soul, not in human form, but as a Spirit. A Holy Ghost if you prefer.

“And the Good News is that God, Jesus, this very Holy Spirit never left. He is still here right now. He lives within some people as He did within the disciples. It doesn't mean that every Christian has the Holy Spirit within him. But some do. I have seen it.”

The priest paused for a while.

“What saddens me,” he continued, “is that these days it is so much easier for people to believe that the devil can possess people and live within them, as you see in the movies, but they cannot believe or even understand that God can, and does, live within us.”

“That’s true,” said James, “many people believe in ghosts and evil spirits.”

“Unlike the devil, God does not possess people. He dwells within us but only if we ask Him and invite Him,” Father Ignatius continued.

“That’s because God is love. He would not do anything against our will. He invites us to love Him back without any coercion whatsoever. We choose freely whether to love Him back or not. Whether to invite Him in our hearts or not.

“So when we say people have the Holy Spirit within them, we mean they have God, and Jesus Christ, guiding their very soul in every aspect of their lives; in what they do, in what they say, and when to do or say it. They serve as an example to the rest of us; and they help and lead us towards our Heavenly home.”

At this point, James, who was listening intently whilst working, dropped something accidentally on the floor.

Father Ignatius got down on his hands and knees to search under the car and picked up a bolt and nut with a washer ring on it.

The priest looked at his hand for a few seconds and then said:

“Hey … look at this James. A bolt and nut with a disc attached in the middle.”



James stopped working and looked at what the priest was holding.

“The three together are one item,” said Father Ignatius, “they work together to serve their purpose … a Trinity you might say.

“Let’s separate them.



“This bolt here represents God, Our Almighty Father.

“The nut represents Jesus, made human and come to visit us on earth.

“And this disc or washer is the Holy Spirit. You can see when we put them together again that the disc is held securely on the bolt by the nut.

“It’s the same with the Holy Trinity I suppose.

“We cannot get to see or be with the Holy Spirit, until we have accepted Jesus first. Take this nut off the bolt, and now you have the disc. Accept Jesus in your life, and the Holy Spirit will descend upon you.”

James smiled broadly.

“I’ll keep this as a souvenir to remind me of this valuable lesson,” he said.

“I suggest you use it to fix the car, and get yourself another set …” replied the priest jokingly.

Distant God.

It was Good Friday, about nine in the evening, as Father Ignatius settled down in his armchair by the fire. It was still cold for this time of year and snowing yet again. He put a couple of logs on the open fire and picked up a book to read.

Moments later Mrs Davenport, the housekeeper, entered the large living room and announced that Geoff Henderson had just called in and was waiting in the reception room.

“Oh let him in …” said Father Ignatius standing up to greet his visitor.

Geoff Henderson was an architect and he had brought with him some plans to discuss some alterations to the Parish Hall and the area behind the garage. After their discussions were over the priest said:

“How are you these days Geoff? I haven’t seen you in church for a while now!”

Geoff hesitated as he gathered his papers together and sipped a little coffee.

“To be honest Father …” he said finally, “I’ve been rather busy lately …”

“Too busy to go to church?” asked Father Ignatius.

“Well … actually, I feel that God is distant these days …” confessed the architect standing up to leave.



At that point Canis the dog, who was lying by the fire, yawned heavily as he made himself more comfortable.

“That’s not a comment on what you’ve just said,” joked the priest, “sit down Geoff if you have a minute to spare.”

The architect sat down again.

“This dog and I have a special relationship,” said Father Ignatius, “when I take him for a walk in the park I sometimes let him off the lead. He runs away like mad here there and everywhere in no particular direction. He is free and he’ll go where he wants. Sometimes he is quite far away. It is he who has distanced himself from me Geoff; and not the other way round.

“Do you see what I mean?”

“Yes … I do … I suppose it is me who’s distanced myself from God,” replied the architect, “but I suppose it is because I no longer see Him as relevant in my life.”

“I wonder whether Canis sees me as relevant in his life?” asked the priest, “the other day I was cleaning the back garden and he looked at me as if to say ‘I like this … I poo wherever I want and you get to pick it up … that’s a special relationship all right!’ ”

Geoff smiled.

“And what’s more …” continued the priest, “he seems to be absolutely useless. He is certainly no guard dog. If we were to have a burglar in the house he would probably show him where I’ve hidden my stash of chocolates.

“The other day he came face to face with a cat in the back garden. He stood still like a statue. Then turned his head towards me expecting me to run and bark after the cat.

“I did not move. The cat started to panic and run but then stopped in total confusion and looked at the dog.

“Canis looked at me and then at the cat once or twice, and then he whined and ran inside the house to hide in his bed.”

Geoff chuckled quietly.

“But I like him Geoff,” said the priest, “and I wouldn’t part with him. And he seems to like me.

“Do you know … I think God likes you. In fact I know He loves you for sure, because He said so, many times in the Bible.

“I suspect you’re off the lead now and you’re running successfully all over the place. You don’t need God really … you have a great business, a lovely car which I must admit I envy, and a good life. No wonder He seems distant.

“But God is there all the same Geoff. Protecting you from more ills than you can imagine without you knowing it. All because He loves you.

“When you get the time, come and visit Him in church just to say Hello!”

Geoff said nothing.

“I don’t mean to be critical,” continued Father Ignatius gently, “we all get distanced from God at some stage or other in our lives Geoff.

“It would be wrong of me to see this happen to you and say nothing.

“Take one step at a time. Come to church on Sunday, and when you feel ready come to Confession. Or come again and see me for a quiet talk.

“You’ll find God will welcome you back in His loving arms like a father welcoming his prodigal son.

“You’re a good man Geoff deep down. I wouldn’t be doing business with you otherwise. I’ll be praying for you.”

“Thank you …” said Geoff quietly.

“I’ll be praying also that you won’t charge me too much for the building extension!” said Father Ignatius.

Complicated God.

Early morning Mass had just finished. Everyone had gone home or to work, except for Simon the gardener. He stayed behind to collect any stray hymn books left in the pews and to clear up in the Sacristy before he put in an hour or two mowing the lawn in the garden behind the church.

“That was an odd reading we had today from 2 Peter 3:8” he said to Father Ignatius as he locked the Sacristy door.

“You remember the exact chapter and verse I see …” replied the priest, “what was so odd about it?”

“I mean … it said ‘There is no difference in the Lord’s sight between one day and a thousand years; to Him the two are the same.’

“That must make it very difficult keeping an appointment with God … imagine Him asking Moses to come up the mountain tomorrow … Moses wouldn’t know whether it’s in twenty four hours’ time or in a thousand years …”

The priest smiled and said nothing.

“Why is God so complicated sometimes?” asked Simon.

“It’s a bit early in the morning for all these questions … I haven’t had my toast and ginger marmalade yet … have you had breakfast?” asked Father Ignatius.

“Er … no … not yet …”

“In that case I suggest we go to the kitchen and prepare something to eat …” continued the priest as he headed for the Parish house.

Minutes later he had set the table with fried eggs and bacon, coffee, toast and marmalade.

“Now then …” said Father Ignatius as he put his cup down, “what’s on your mind Simon?”

“Well … as I was saying … God and the Bible seem so complicated at times. All this business about one day is the same as a thousand years … and the story of the Creation for instance … if God is so powerful why did He need seven days to create the universe … and did He really need a rib from Adam to create Eve? Seems so improbable to me …”

Father Ignatius sympathized with what Simon was saying.

“Remember Simon,” he said, “the Bible is a book of Faith and not necessarily a book of literal facts … not all of it …

“No one was with God at the time of Creation. So no one can say for certain whether it took Him seven days or seven seconds or less even. In reality, it doesn’t matter how long God took to create the universe; or whether he really took a bone from the side of Adam or not. What matters is that we have learnt that God is the ultimate Creator of all that we see and all that we are. And all that we have yet to discover in this great universe.

“The Creation is a story told by the writer of the book of Genesis to teach the people of the time about God. A story inspired by God no doubt, but not necessarily all factual in every detail.”

“That’s what I meant by complicated…” retorted Simon, “how are we to know what is factual and what is not … which bit to believe literally and which not?”

Father Ignatius chuckled gently.

“I see what you mean,” he said.

“Over the years, and in preparation for the priesthood, I have studied and read many books,” continued Father Ignatius, “you’d be surprised how many different views and opinions there are about God, the teachings of the Bible and theology in general.

“For centuries many learned wise heads have surmised and pronounced on various issues concerning God and Christianity. To the point where we have made it into a science; a discipline worthy of study at our universities and such like.

“And after all of my studies I’ve reached one conclusion …

“God is not complicated at all … it is us who make Him complicated.

“We question and analyze every aspect of our religion and our Faith. We try to understand in human terms what is not of human origin. We dissect our very Creator as if He were an insect in a laboratory and debate His very existence.

“This is wrong surely …

“God is simply love. He created us out of love and wishes the best for us. He wishes to share eternity with us.

“But we distanced ourselves from Him through our sin. And when we did so, He did not give up on us.

“He loved us so much that He sent His Son on earth, so that we may see Him in human terms. Can you imagine that … really imagine it?

“God walked this earth as a man, just like everyone else. Humans saw Him, spoke to Him and listened to Him. They witnessed His miracles. He died for us, and was raised from the dead so that we may be forgiven.

“It’s as simple as that … God created us, and loved us so much that He came down on earth and lived amongst us.

“God does not ask us to understand His ways or to know how things work … He doesn’t expect us to analyze His motives and His strategies … He just wants us to step out in Faith and dare to trust Him … to love Him … and to obey Him.”

“I like that … to step out in Faith and dare to trust Him …” repeated Simon.

“That’s right,” said Father Ignatius as he poured another cup of coffee, “let us stop trying to find answers where He doesn’t want us to … let’s trust Him that His ways are superior and better than ours, and that His love will see us through … if we let Him.

“Let God work in your life, rather than waste time working out all about Him.”

St Joseph.

This prayer to St. Joseph is over 1900 years old.

O St. Joseph whose protection is so great, so strong, so prompt before the Throne of God, I place in you all my interests and desires. O St. Joseph do assist me by your powerful intercession and obtain for me from your Divine Son all spiritual blessings through Jesus Christ, Our Lord; so that having engaged here below your Heavenly power I may offer my Thanksgiving and Homage to the most Loving of Fathers. O St. Joseph, I never weary contemplating you and Jesus asleep in your arms. I dare not approach while He reposes near your heart. Press him in my name and kiss His fine Head for me, and ask Him to return the Kiss when I draw my dying breath. St. Joseph, Patron of departing souls, pray for us. Amen

Say for nine consecutive mornings for anything you may desire. It has seldom been known to fail.

This prayer was found in the fiftieth year of Our Lord Jesus Christ. In 1500's it was sent by the Pope to Emperor Charles when he was going into battle.

Whoever reads this prayer or hears it or carries it, will never die a sudden death, nor be drowned, nor will poison take effect on them. They will not fall into the hands of the enemy nor be burned in any fire, nor will they be defeated in battle.

Father Ignatius in hell.

The first thing Father Ignatius noticed as he entered hell is the total and absolute darkness of the place. Not the faintest glimmer of light shone in that bottomless abyss of intense void.

He tried hard to peer into the pitch-black darkness to make out something, but it was totally in vain. He could see nothing. Totally and completely nothing.

It was then that he noticed the full and utter silence which accompanied the extreme blackness of this place. Not a sound whatsoever. It was as if he had gone suddenly deaf. He rubbed his fingers in his ears and concentrated hard but silence reigned supreme. He clapped his hands together but heard nothing. He spoke to himself and could not hear his own voice.

Darkness and silence had partnered together and negated all the senses as he knew them. He could not smell anything whatsoever. No burning fires and brimstone, or the acrid smell of sulfur he’d expected in this place. He could feel no burning sensation and pain. No cries of help or gnashing of teeth.

In other words; hell was nothing.

Hell was a total void of everything physical as he’d experienced in his previous life.

Yet in this pure nothingness he felt a very powerful and intense feeling of extreme sadness. An overwhelming grief leading to desolation and desperation tormented his very soul.

A continuous sensation of sorrow and anguish filled the emptiness which was hell.

He sensed another soul there too. He could not make out who or where it was but it was there, somehow, sharing the void with him.

He felt a telepathic communication with this spirit in similar torment. Not in words, not in images, but in a mutual empathic sensation, as if the two were one.

He shared that soul’s torment which had lasted for … … … an eternity.

There seemed to be no beginning as to when that soul arrived in this eternal void, nor any prospect of when its terrible terrible suffering would end. The total and perfect hopelessness of this state of nothingness, this state of wretched emptiness, engulfed the forgotten soul consumed by its everlasting regrets.

For this lost soul constantly and interminably viewed and reviewed over and again its past life on earth; filled with memories best forgotten yet brought to mind with no respite. The inner pain from such memories tortured this forgotten soul left here all alone.

Father Ignatius shared with this soul the deep desire to weep bitterly for its past mistakes and its present solitary ordeal. But this was not possible, for there are no tears in hell. No matter how strong the desire to cry in profound regret, and so gain some temporary relief, this was not possible in a state of void. So the pain, sorrow and sadness built up within one’s soul and consumed it eternally from within; with no respite whatsoever.

And what is worse, is that the soul’s constant feelings of regret were persistently underlined by another sensation.

For it knew with unshakable certainty of the existence of God.

This tormented soul had been given, on entering hell, undoubted and unquestionable proof that God indeed exists. And somehow, it had witnessed His immeasurable and overwhelming love for His creations.

Yet the soul also knew, without a doubt, that for an interminable eternity, it would be totally excluded from that Fatherly, Divine love.

Father Ignatius realized that hell consisted of complete isolation with ones thoughts and regrets, and the sure knowledge that there will never be an end in sight. No light at the end of the tunnel. For there is no tunnel.

A permanent state of inner pain and sorrow, coupled with the knowledge that God’s love is for ever out of reach.

“What a terrible state of despair and hopelessness” thought Father Ignatius, “to know for certain that God exists; and to know of His love for us; yet to be excluded from that perfect love for ever. To remain here, in a state of total void, filled with past memories and regrets for deeds long past. Alone, in permanent thoughts of total and infinite exclusion!”

Father Ignatius woke up suddenly from his turbulent dream.

It was then that he heard in his head, clear as a bell, the words: “Go and warn all you get to meet not to come to this place!”

It is written on the black board.

Once again Father Ignatius was teaching Catechism to the 5th Form at the local Catholic School. They were discussing the Commandment about respecting one’s parents and as one would expect the youngsters had plenty to say about that.

“It’s alright to have to respect our parents,” said a young girl, “but surely they should respect us too?”

“I suppose I understand,” replied the priest reassuringly, “can you elaborate on this?”

“Well …” she hesitated, “I am fifteen years old and I don’t think I should be told what time I have to be home by …”

“What does anyone else think?” asked Father Ignatius.

“I agree …” replied another young girl, “my parents are just the same. They insist I’m at home by 9.30; can you imagine that? 9.30!!!”

“It’s their way of exerting power” said one of the boys, “my parents always think they know better …”

“That’s right …” added another lad, “my father has banned me from visiting the disco in town. It’s not fair!”

The priest let the youngsters vent their frustrations for a few minutes, and then he got up from his desk and moved towards the blackboard.

This had the desired effect of shutting them up for a while. He then picked up a piece of chalk and wrote on the board in big letters:

“IT’S NOT FAIR”

And proceeded to sit down once again.

After a few seconds silence he said in a soft voice, “I’ve heard many of you say it’s not fair just now … do you agree?”

“Yeah !!!” said one or two of them.

“I can understand that …” continued Father Ignatius, “from your perspective it may seem not fair that your parents impose certain restrictions on you. Perhaps it’s because the reasons for the restrictions have not been explained to you … but no matter for now.

“I would like if I may to explore the statement ‘It’s not fair.’ Can we do that do you think?”

They nodded in agreement. They had a lot of respect for his kind approach and the way he sympathized with their situation.

“No one has ever said that life is fair” continued the priest, “or meant to be fair even.

“What we perceive as fairness in our eyes may not be so to someone else.

“I visited a few of our parishioners in hospital yesterday. There was a young boy of twelve with an incurable illness. That’s not fair … the chances are he will not make it to his next birthday and his parents were totally distraught.

“I also met the family of a man in a coma. He had been injured in a road accident and has been unconscious ever since. No one knows when or if he will recover. The family is now short of cash and they may well lose their home. That’s not fair.

“Every other day or so, I hear of someone in our Parish being made redundant, and losing their job because of the current economic situation. They’ve done nothing wrong and they’re now on the street. That’s not fair.”

He stopped as he noticed one of the girls upfront getting a little tearful.

“What I’m trying to say …” he said gently after a short pause, “is that I sympathize entirely with you. You see your parents actions as unfair, yet perhaps you miss the point that they do what they do out of love for you. It is because they care.

“I had similar problems with my parents when I was young. My father was a farmer and as you’d expect he brought vegetables fresh from the land home for dinner. And like many a young child, I hated vegetables. Especially spinach … it looked like boiled grass!”

They laughed in unison.

“But they made me eat my vegetables … it’s not fair!”

They laughed again.

“And talking of fairness …” went on Father Ignatius, “I read that an innocent man has been falsely arrested, beaten up and tortured, and nailed to a Cross to die.

“Now that’s really not fair.

“You can read all about it in the Bible.”

He paused again to gauge the situation before continuing.

“So whilst I understand how you feel about your parents and the way they restrict you sometimes, I urge you please to accept it in obedience for the sake of Jesus who did so much for you. And still does.

“Is that a deal?” he asked with a smile.

And as always, his gentle loving empathy gained him their respect and sincere appreciation.