Friday 13 March 2026
I arrived in church after a night of gale-force winds. There were leaves and bits of grit in the holy water.
I needed this message of love thy neighbour as yourself in Mark chapter 12, after very clearly not loving my neighbour the previous evening.
I had reacted badly to hearing second-hand about someone being critical of my faith. I became upset and annoyed, and made personal comments about people. I was defensive, like someone lacking solidity in their faith can be.
After Mass, I set off home intending to fast until dinner, but caved in the early afternoon. Thinking an apple and a banana would be enough to tide me over, it merely opened the gates (fridge door?) instead, and I scoffed plenty more.
I’ve been reading a lot of Dorothy Day over Lent, and I thought of the boy she describes in The Long Loneliness, on a trip through the Southern states, whose meal for the day consisted of a chicken leg first shared with his father. But the bone falls to the ground and is taken by a stray dog. The image Day described of the crying boy sticks with me even now.
I hated being hungry today, and fixed it without much thought or struggle. My willpower gave in at the first sign of discomfort. When I think of people who might be genuinely, achingly hungry, I feel ashamed.