The 247 Catholic - A Parishioner's Blog - Our Lady Of Lourdes Catholic Church, New Milton, Hampshire, UK
Rows upon rows of glittering baubles, dancing reindeer, and tinsel that sparkles under soft festive lighting. The familiar scent of pine mingles with mulled spice candles, and for a moment you can almost hear the faint echo of “O Come, All Ye Faithful” in the air.
But as I wandered deeper into the displays, something began to dawn on me — a quiet, unsettling realisation.
Among the mountains of merchandise and mechanical snowmen, there was not a single crib. Not one.
Have we ever stopped mid-rush, wondering if God is truly present in the little moments of our day?
When life feels hectic and noisy, we might be tempted to think that miracles only happen in grand, extraordinary ways.
Yet what if the most beautiful miracles are actually happening quietly around us — in the unnoticed, the overlooked, the everyday?
This reflection invites us to slow down and open our eyes to five simple but profound miracles that may be passing us by.
These aren’t the flashy, headline-grabbing signs from heaven; they’re gentle reminders of God’s love quietly weaving itself through the fabric of our daily life.
"Peace be with you", our Lord tells us,
as He grants His peace to me and you,
Lord help me live this peace You give,
in all I think.. and say... and do.
Yet, as the years have gone by, something has quietly shifted. For many, Christmas has become less about Christ and more about commercials — less about the Word made flesh and more about a talking carrot in a supermarket advert.
It sounds illogical at first.
Shouldn’t love mean we share everything?
Shouldn’t a child run to their loving Father when they are hurting?
Yes, of course - and we know this in our heads. But in the depths of our hearts, many of us who are striving to live closely with Christ, especially in the Catholic tradition, can feel an invisible wall when it comes to offering up our own pains.
We hold
back, not because we don’t trust God, but because we love Him so
much that we simply don’t want to cause Him any more sorrow.
This month, the Church turns her gaze toward heaven and eternity. It is a time of joyful honour and solemn prayer.
The glory of All Saints Day meets the compassion of All Souls Day, reminding us that we are all on a journey—pilgrims bound for glory, with the communion of saints cheering us on.
November is the month of the Holy Souls in Purgatory, a time to remember those who have gone before us, and to lift them in prayer and love. It is also a month to renew our own longing for heaven. The saints show us what we are called to be. The souls remind us to live well, and die in grace.
This is the golden glow of autumn — that brief and holy time when creation bows gracefully toward its rest, clothed in splendour before surrendering to stillness.
In such light, even the simplest corner of the parish can seem touched by eternity. Behind Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church in New Milton lies a quiet space that seems made for this season — Our Blessed Mother’s garden, wild yet peaceful, small yet filled with meaning.
It is
not the kind of garden you find in glossy books or perfect rows. It
is the kind of place where beauty whispers, where holiness hides
among fallen leaves, and where anyone weary in soul can sit for a
while and simply be.
We find ourselves longing for a time when moral values seemed more widely shared, when church pews were full, and when children respected their elders. In many cases, there’s a sense of spiritual loss as well—especially in the face of today’s secular culture, where God is often sidelined in public life.But here’s the question: were the “good ol’ days” really that good? More importantly, what does Sacred Scripture say about nostalgia, longing for the past, and the temptation to believe that we’ve lost something irreplaceable?
Let’s take a deeper look.
As autumn settles in, the Church offers us two spiritual treasures to warm the soul: the Rosary, a meditation on Christ through the eyes of Mary, and the Little Way of St Thérèse of Lisieux, a humble path of trust and love.
In this month, we are called to childlike confidence and contemplative simplicity. The Rosary and the Little Way are not relics of the past—they are lifelines for today.
Just as the priest elevates the Host, just as the congregation slips into that sacred silence before the “Behold the Lamb of God,” it happens....
... jarring ringtone...
... tinny pop song...
... notification chime...
The sanctuary, meant to echo heaven, is momentarily hijacked by the unmistakable sound of someone’s phone.
Embarrassed shuffling follows.
Sometimes a frantic hand reaching into a handbag. Sometimes a face that stares forward in stony denial. And sometimes, the person just answers it - yes, even in church.
We’ve grown so accustomed to this kind of intrusion that we may no longer notice the deeper question it raises:
Can we truly connect with our Heavenly Father… if we never disconnect from our phones?
“When the wine failed, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’
And Jesus said to her, ‘O woman, what have you to do with me? My hour has not yet come.’ His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’” — John 2:3–5 (RSV-CE)
The Wedding at Cana is a story of joy, crisis, and divine intervention. It is a story of family, celebration, and the glory of Christ revealed in a quiet Galilean town. But at its heart lies a profound exchange between Jesus and His mother that has stirred the thoughts and prayers of Christians for centuries.
“Woman, my hour has not yet come.” What does Jesus mean? Why does He speak to His mother in this way? And why does Mary, after this seemingly hesitant reply, persist with the confident words: “Do whatever he tells you”?
This moment is not simply about wine at a wedding. It is about God’s plan of salvation, the unique role of Mary, and the faith to obey Christ. Let’s take a closer look.