The words of the Our Father speak to the depths of our need, our need for God, and what we need from God. So far, we have explored the coming Kingdom, the doing of God’s will, the gift of bread for both physical sustenance and - in Jesus as the Bread of life -spiritual life. Today we are going to look at the petition in the Our Father ‘Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.’ We have almost reached the end – the last two petitions ‘lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil will be considered together next month.

How am I going to follow that?!  This is probably a fairly common reaction to occupying the slot immediately after Sr Gemma in a lecture series, but in my case this evening, it’s not just that I’m concerned that I might personally be an anticlimax – it’s also that there is a particular and rather obvious kind of challenge involved for anyone in speaking about the Crucifixion after the Resurrection, Good Friday after Easter Day. But maybe the scheduling conflict that has brought about this reversal is providential.

How can St John of the Cross help us to pray?   I want to begin by saying that I’m somewhat further out from my comfort zone today than I was last week, when I was speaking about his spiritual daughter St Therese of Lisieux.  But, in a strange sort of way, I wonder if this might be vaguely helpful, as I suspect this is perhaps true for some of you as well – so let’s set out on this voyage of discovery together. For those of you who were here last week, you might remember that I was interested in exploring the idea that the saints show us not so much how as why to pray. I went on to suggest that therefore we should a) be a bit suspicious of a search for methods and techniques in prayer and b) look for evidence in the saint’s own life of the difference prayer makes to them, not so that we can slavishly copy the way they prayed, but to see if their motivation for praying and the effect it had in their lives might offer us consolation and inspiration when we reflect on our motivation and the work God is doing in our lives.

I have been asked to talk to you on the subject of fasting and self-denial.  As my physique might suggest, I am no great expert on the topic, but I have access to those who are, and I have spent this Lent (among other things), gleaning and gathering together some thoughts on the matter. The fifth precept of the Church is “You shall observe the prescribed days of fasting and abstinence." This, the Catechism of the Church assures us ‘ensures the times of ascesis and penance which prepare us for the liturgical feasts; they help us acquire mastery over our instincts and freedom of heart.’[1] During Lent we have attempted (and perhaps failed) to exercise the three-fold ascesis of fasting, almsgiving and prayer.  It may seem a little late to begin to ask ourselves what, in particular, is the point of fasting. 

These words might seem particularly appropriate given the timing of this talk, in the graveyard slot of our time together, but what comes more seriously to mind when we hear these words? There can be all sorts of answers to that question. Perhaps many of us on hearing them are anxious that we will be unable to watch and pray as we would like to do during Holy Week, and as we feel the Lord asks of us: after all, in the Garden of Olives, Peter, James and John were unequal to the task, so how dare we assume we’ll do any better? 

I’ve given this talk a title. I’m not sure if you were expecting that, and what is worse, it’s one of those slightly pretentious titles that could mean almost anything: Hideous and Dreadful; Lovely and Sweet: the Paschal Mystery of Suffering.  The first part is a quotation from Julian of Norwich, and the reason for choosing it (other than that I live in the Diocese of East Anglia and she’s therefore a local girl) will, I hope, become obvious as we go along.  The significance of the second part will, in a sense, I hope, be obvious already, because clearly there’s a connection between the events of Holy Week and suffering.

So, we have reached a turning point in our journey through the Lord’s Prayer. Up until this point, we have been asking that we might find ourselves in a right relationship with God, asking God to show us what this right relationship with him looks like. 

CEPHAS 2025 is delighted to partner again with the Christian Heritage Centre at Stonyhurst, for their annual course which this year will explore the nature and understanding of God across Christianity and Islam, with a study of Aquinas’ synthesis of the Trinity and the Incarnation. Participants will stay in the new dedicated retreat centre Theodore House, in the tranquil and beautiful surroundings of the Stonyhurst estate.

So, we have reached Laetare Sunday: the midpoint of Lent when, traditionally, the Church bids us relax a little and rejoice. And, if I am tempted to feel that in my case there is not much to rejoice about precisely because my observance of Lent so far has been all too relaxed, help is at hand in the form of  a play on words that suggests there is still time to get things back on track before Easter – after all, better Laetare than never. But it’s a serious point: and perhaps this truly terrible pun is for life, not just for Lent.

Sr Ann Swailes preached this sermon at evensong in Emmanuel College, Cambridge, on March 9th 2025. What are you doing for Lent? It’s an obvious question just now, but for some of us perhaps also an unsettling one. Maybe we are anxious that we haven’t yet chosen what to give up or take up this year – if that’s you, I have one – tentative - suggestion at the end of this reflection. But more profoundly, perhaps we are guiltily aware that we can’t quite see the point of Lent, or doubtful that anything good or healthy can come from it.