Over the last couple of years I have become increasingly aware of something that I find depressing, and even worrying. A substantial number of children and teenagers that I come into contact with do not give their parents – or other family members – Christmas presents.
When you read this, I should be deep in the South Sinai desert, somewhere between St Katherine’s Monastery, which is at the foot of Mount Sinai, and Sharm El Sheik. I am planning to do a 40-day silent and solo retreat, or trek, or adventure, or all three.
Since Pope Francis’ recent motu proprio liberated us from the bondage of Liturgiam authenticam (at least potentially), I have been thinking a lot about what I believe a good – or even a good enough – liturgical translation might be.
Saints, like angels, traditionally come in “categories”. There are cherubim, seraphim, powers, thrones, dominations, angels and archangels, and, similarly, there are apostles, martyrs, confessors, doctors, bishops, monarchs (kings and queens), popes, Religious and virgins.