In the fifth of her meditations, Theodora Hawksley reflects on a God who does not save us from disaster, but who shares in it; a God who does not shield himself from our pain, but enters it

“I’ll be back in three weeks. I’ll bring the oil of the sick and we’ll anoint you.” Fr Jim had brought Communion to Aunty Irene. Wasted and weak, she had to be lifted up to swallow the host with some water. She died a week later. By the time Fr Jim returned to say Mass for Ash Wednesday, she lay in a cement tomb marked by a white-painted wooden cross.

This is the painful reality of mission here: being too few, too little, too late. A handful of priests and four sisters cover an area so vast and remote that some communities see a priest only three times a year. I often feel the reproach that is on Martha’s and Mary’s lips in this week’s Gospel: “If you had been here…” The pastoral need is so overwhelming: if only we had been there, if only we could be there.