From The Crib To Cross - An Advent Reflection

Advent is a season of beginnings that already point toward endings. 

The gentle glow of the crib is never far from the looming shadow of the cross. 

From the very first candle we light, from the first antiphon we sing, something in our hearts knows that this Child's birth will not be an escape from suffering but the entrance of God into the very heart of it.

This early part of Advent invites us into a holy tension – the tenderness of Bethlehem intertwined with the sacrifice of Calvary. We look at the Child wrapped in swaddling clothes and somehow sense that those small, fragile hands will one day be stretched wide in surrender. We listen to the hush of angels and cannot forget that one day, darkness will cover the earth at the hour of His death.

And yet, this tension is not meant to sadden us. It is meant to awaken us. To remind us that love, real love, comes not only in the softness of a cradle but also in the strength of a cross. Advent holds them together for us – the beginning that already reveals the mission, the Child who was born to save, the Word made flesh who came to lay that flesh down.

"Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet" and the Advent Cry of Hope - A Voice in the Wilderness in Modern Times?

Every Advent, we hear again that haunting cry from the prophet Isaiah:

 "A voice cries out in the wilderness: Prepare the way of the Lord…" (Isaiah 40:3, RSV-CE). 

We recognise this voice in John the Baptist, calling Israel to repentance. 

And yet, every year, a strange question returns: Where is that voice now?

Could it still be crying out—quietly, humbly—through unexpected people and unexpected places?

This Advent, that ancient question took on new meaning for me as I listened again to Gavin Bryars' remarkable composition Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet. 

What began as a stray audio fragment from a homeless man on the streets of London has become, for many, a modern echo of John the Baptist: a fragile, truth-bearing voice rising from society's margins, pointing us back to Christ.

And so, in this season of longing, repentance, and hope, perhaps the wilderness is not geographical at all. Perhaps it lies wherever someone forgotten dares to sing a simple truth: Jesus' blood has never failed us yet—and never will.

The Story and Spirit of Our Lady of Lourdes, New Milton — Looking Towards Our Centenary

Last week, I reflected on why I believe Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church in New Milton is "the best." 

It is not simply the building, nor simply the people, nor even its lovely setting between sea and forest — though all these things contribute to its beauty, rather, it is the faith of the parish, the way God has guided us, and the way Our Lady's mantle of intercession has been felt across a hundred years of prayer, worship, and mission.

This week, I want to look more closely at the parish's history — how it began, how it grew, and where it is going. I also want to look forward, for we are on the threshold of something very significant: our church's centenary in 2027. That will be a moment to celebrate, to give thanks, and to renew our mission.

A Meditation on Our Lord's Prayer – One Line at a Time

There are prayers we say, and then there are prayers that shape us. The Lord's Prayer belongs firmly in the second category. 

Many of us have whispered its familiar words so often that they slip from our tongue almost without thought. Yet beneath each short phrase lies an ocean of meaning – truth that nourishes, challenges, stretches, and steadies us. When Jesus taught us this prayer, 

He was not giving us a formula to recite... but a way of becoming.

As we pray the words Our Lord gave us, we are not simply speaking to God – we are allowing Him to form our hearts.

Each line is an invitation, a doorway, a posture of discipleship. And perhaps the greatest risk is not that we pray it incorrectly, but that we pray it too quickly. 

If we slow down and let the Lord's Prayer speak, we discover that it does not merely guide our conversations with God – it rewrites our desires, purifies our motives, and realigns our lives with His Kingdom. This is not only a prayer to pray. It is a life to live.

In this blog post, we take time to let every line breathe. 

To sit with each phrase long enough for it to sink in and settle upon our souls.

We All Think That Our Church Is the Best. Here's Why I Think That Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church Here in New Milton (And Our Parish Priest) Is the Best.

We all think that our church is the best. 

Here’s why I believe our lady of Lourdes catholic church in New Milton truly is.

It is only natural that we feel a deep affection for our own parish. 

It is, after all, our spiritual home – the place where many of us were baptised, where we received our first Confession and our First Holy Communion, where we return again and again to the altar to be nourished by the Eucharist, and where some of our most important life moments have been marked, from weddings to funerals.

Over time, every parish becomes something much more than a building. It becomes a family. That is why you will often hear people say, with genuine warmth and conviction, “Our church is the best!”

And yet, while every Catholic parish matters deeply and Christ is fully present in every tabernacle across the world, I would still like to share why, from my own perspective, Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church here in New Milton truly is something very special.

It is not only about the building, or even the location, though both are beautiful. It is about the life of faith that pulses through this parish, the people who worship here, the sense of belonging, and the unique mission we live out together in this corner of Hampshire – on the edge of the New Forest and only a short walk from the sea.

Please Pray For Me

There are days when we try to stand tall, and days when we simply cannot. Days when we pretend we are composed, and days when we know that the veil has slipped and all we can say, with trembling honesty, is this: Please pray for me because I'm a sinner. Not as a dramatic confession, not as a poetic moment, but as the most truthful line of our soul.

Many of us walk around carrying invisible burdens – regrets we have never shared, wounds we hope no one sees, failures we wish we could erase. Yet something within us stirs when we finally whisper, "I need help. I need prayer." It is not a collapse but a surrender into mercy. It is the moment the prodigal son turns toward home, the moment the tax collector beats his breast, the moment the lost sheep bleats faintly in the dark hoping the Shepherd is listening.

And so this week's reflection is more than a meditation. It is a petition – a humble plea from one sinner to another, from one pilgrim to another. I ask for your prayers, and in doing so, I pray that each of us discovers the freedom and the healing that can only unfold when we admit our need for grace.

"The King of Love My Shepherd Is" - Why I Have A Line From This Hymn On This Blog

"This particular hymn was suggested to me by Father when I attended confession and has ever since has become for me a serene melody with a comforting message."