Sunday 28 September 2025
Halfway to church I realised I’d forgotten to take the bag of tins and things I’d got ready for Harvest Festival.
I performed two confused-looking U-turns. More like pirouettes really. The first to head back home, then another, in the middle of the road, after thinking again and heading back to church. No bother, I was told, I could bring them during the week.
The homily was on that unsettling passage from the gospel of Luke: 16.
There was the rich man in his purple robes, and poor Lazarus, presumably wearing much less given dogs were licking his sores. He wanted only to eat the scraps from the rich man’s table.
Both men die and meet very different fates, and you can’t help but picture the less pleasant one. Which made me recall the excesses of the past few days.
It was my birthday last week and by Mass on Sunday I’d eaten several rich meals. Not just that, fresh bread from a local bakery, cheese from the expensive cheese shop, and a box of liquorice All Sorts gifted by my son’s girlfriend. I’d also scoffed homemade cannoli full of ricotta and pistachio, and demolished almost all the Nuns Cake my wife made.
There was nothing holy about the portion sizes, and no scraps fell from the table.
Which brought us to the announcements about the CAFOD Family Fast Day this coming Friday, which I experienced with both shame and relief. Shame about how easy it is to overindulge, without thinking twice. And relief that cutting back would be officially sanctioned and require a donation. Left to my own willpower I struggle. With instructions and a pre-paid envelope, I might stand a better chance.
But I will have work to do before then. There’s still cake left to eat.