Eucharist and the Blessed Virgin

There was always something about a liturgical setting for communion. At the Church of England Parish church I sang in as a boy treble, the 'Parish Communion' movement was in full swing and I can still recite both Rite A and Rite B communion services. What I didn't realise is that, thanks to the efforts of ARCIC the Rite A Service, and especially the eucharistic prayer we used, owed an awful lot to the Ordo Missae of the Catholic Church.

During our time attending Charismatic Churches, and especially in Canterbury, we would attend Canterbury Cathedral on high feast days - in particular Easter and Christmas - appreciating the majesty and presence of Christ we found in these times. This is something that came with us when we returned to the Church of England in 2004, armed with a good amount of hurt and pain from a number of tragedies and difficulties. Weeping before Christ during Mass was a healing time, coupled with the caring prayers of a great Anglican priest. As time went on, my vague Lutheran understanding of what happens in the Mass hardened - I saw the importance of the sacramental reality, that Christ was indeed truly present. When I served as Churchwarden for a year, the honour of preparing and handling the bread and wine was the most precious part of that job.

Along with a growing sacramentalist approach to Holy Communion, I also started to look again at Mary, the mother of Our Lord. This had always been one of the biggest stumbling blocks to me when looking at Catholicism, but that changed in 2010.

In 2000 we lost a baby. Tristan was born on the 31st January and died on the 4th February from brain and organ damage due to a trauma in the womb that we were not aware of until he was born. We had one more child after that, but then struggled to conceive again. My wife was in constant emotional pain and I could not find a solution. In 2010, having been unemployed for 6 months following redundancy, I went on a retreat to find some answers. In truth, I was more concerned about my work and career (and the need to provide for my family), but my mind turned to my wife's pain during this time.

I was kneeling in prayer in the 'Lady Chapel' of the monastic house I was staying in when I found myself gazing upon the statue of Mary. In something of an act of desperation I found myself addressing Mary directly - asking for wisdom and insight into my wife's situation. An answer appeared as clearly as if I had just read it. Love and Loss were the two sides of the coin that is motherhood. That Our Lady felt both when Jesus was on earth and that to embrace that is to discover the grace that makes motherhood a unique and highly valued call before God.

As you can imagine, I came away from that weekend with a new perspective, and felt myself being nudged further along the road, but wasn't yet aware where it would end.

Roots and Ritual

One evening my wife and I were listening to two CDs in our little flat in Canterbury. We had been married about a year and were attending a Charismatic church filled with middle-class post-graduates and students. First, we put on the Michael Card 3 CD set, Ancient Faith which sets some of the Old Testament to music, then we switched to the latest release (at the time) by Folk-Prog outfit Iona. Journey Into the Morn is an exploration of the heritage of what was becoming known as Celtic Christianity in the UK. With ancient prayers and hymns it stirred something deep within us.

Our conversation afterwards was about the need and desire to have 'roots' to our faith. To know that we were part of a tradition and community stretching back 2,000 years. This was a deeply profound moment between the two of us. I went to the local SPCK bookshop the next day and bought a Celtic Daily Prayer book and we started praying morning and evening prayer from it every day. The daily readings connected us with something that was missing from our Church experience.

Around this time a lovely older couple we had met invited us to go to their Church and have lunch with them later. A wonderful, caring and intelligent couple we had an amazing time. Their Church was an anglo-catholic church with a small but committed congregation. This was the first time I had ever seen the Gospel processed to the centre of the Church and censed. I was taken aback by the reverence shown to Scripture and the level of meaning in the ritual of the Church. It was, without doubt one of the  most spiritual and reverent services I had been to.

We were left with a gap between our church membership and our private devotions, something that would continue for a while yet.

A friend in Canterbury

For centuries pilgrimages ended in Canterbury. For me, it was where it all started.

Interior of Cathedral Church of St Thomas of Canterbury

It was seventeen years ago, almost to the day, that walked into St Thomas' Cathedral. I was recently married and studying, whilst also working at the Anglican Cathedral helping the multitudinous tourists (and occasional pilgrim) that passed through. Across the road from the citadel-like seat of the Archbishop of Canterbury was the much more modest Catholic Cathedral, dedicated to Canterbury's most famous martyr and saint, St Thomas Beckett.

An escape from the unruly french school children and loud American tourists across the road, St Thomas' was a sanctuary - set apart for prayer and devotion. I used to spend hours sat in there, sometimes praying, sometimes pondering what my spiritual and practical future held. Catholicism seemed so foreign (almost literally) to me. The statues, the relics, the adoration of the Sacrament - they seemed to belong to another religion to the restrained, choral and particularly English aspect of anglicanism.

One day, I decided to find out more about, and grabbed the nearest thing to a priest I could see - a brown-habited figure who had been praying in the same pew as me and was leaving just as I did. Brother Peter was a Capuchin Friar at a house in Canterbury and became a good friend over the next few years. I spent lots of time at the Friary, and he came to our small flat in the city centre. I was able to ask him many question, but what impressed me most was his humility and clear godliness. Here was a Catholic, and a religious at that, exhibiting such faith and belief that I was left in no doubt that there was a living stream of faith running deep within Catholicism.

He left eventually, going to Ireland to study to be a priest and I lost contact with him. Before he left he gave me a small packet containing a rosary and a book explaining how to use it. For years I kept it safe but didn't have the courage to give it a go, but it has now become a precious item to me - something I use every day.

So, why didn't I become a Catholic then? My faith and my cultural identity were very much mixed up - as I was exploring my Englishness (even though I was part-Irish), I found Catholicism too foreign, not English enough. But this was the start of the journey ...