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The words of Sri Lankan Christians themselves  are the only adequate ones at this time. These little children during their last Easter Sunday Performance at Zion Church, Batticaloa. They now watch over us from heaven with their beloved Savior. 14 children died in this church alone, I can’t imagine the pain of the families, committed to stand by them in prayer. Please pray for families . Pray and stand with these families Don’t repay hate for hate but in LOVE we will overcome. #EasterSundayAttacks #love #nohate These following words were written by a Nun and released through Voice for Change: I Appreciate that you made the effort to find out the timing of our  mass. Appreciate that you learnt more about our religion to know that Sundays are the days we go to Church for the congregational prayers and Mass But I guess there were some things you, rather unfortunately, didn’t get to learn. Perhaps you didn’t know that what you did made them Martyrs.

Messy Lives and Good Friday “Duncan, watching you live your life is like watching Scotland trying to qualify for the World Cup” said DI Jimmy Perez, in the closing scenes of the latest season of Shetland, to his hapless friend Duncan.     Many of Duncan’s projects and relationships are either sabotaged by his own mistakes and poor decisions or by the machinations of others.    He is not a nasty person just a very flawed one, who has many good qualities.   Sounds like me, actually, and many people that I know.    And I am drawn to remember this on Good Friday This is not to deny that humans can be wonderful, as last week’s post made clear.    Yet we have made a mess of things from a global level all the way down to the most intimate and personal of dimensions, our souls.    There is a flaw running through it all.   I am talking here about something dark and damaging, that causes hurt to those around us through selfishness and pride.    In his wonderfully refreshing book “Unapo

Other people’s stories Audio Version:   https://drive.google.com/open? id=1REPZS0Uh0Ua6r3ZAbjT5_ n4kVctdmxsx I looked at the 30 or so elderly faces in the room, all enjoying a lunch and conversation, company and banter.    18 months ago I would have passed them by in the street and classified them under the label…old folk.   We use generic labels like this for processing the people we pass by every day into simpler and more manageable categories.    It’s the brains’ way of focusing on the essentials of decision making and navigating the complex world we find ourselves in.     However, now that I have made a start to getting to know these folk they have become a very rich and textured part of my social landscape.   They are all individuals, unique, defying any generalisation.   Each one comes with a thick hinterland of story and experience, relationships and memory.   As their priest I am called to listen and value this richness, to slow down enough to allow this courteous an

“Like the earth we are here”.    It was well after dark but the air was still warm and the palm fronds moved in the breeze which flowed down from the surrounding hills across the lake and through our garden.    The background sounds of tropical night life and vehicles changing gears on the winding lakeside road had been punctuated by the ringing of our doorbell.    Saman (name and photo changed) stood in the yellow light of our verandah lamp, insects orbiting, oblivious to the human drama.   His thin shoulders, stubbled , pinched face and vulnerable eyes spoke of a life lived on the edge of desperation, day to day and this was one day when he had come up short.    Four children at home, a calm and gracious wife who most people thought was far too good for him.   For Saman was a chancer, a smooth talker who could ingratiate himself into people’s lives and play the sympathy card well.   .   He had the shiftiness of a man who had broken his word too many times, whom others have li