Lent II, Sunday 16th March, by Peter
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Once upon a time, many years ago, in a land far, far away, my senior year English teacher, a bearded Shakespearean with long hair, named Dr. Gideon Rappaport, asked the class to memorise the seven deadly sins: Pride, Avarice, Lust, Wrath, Envy, Gluttony, and Sloth.
An inquisitive blonde girl asked why we weren’t memorising the seven saintly virtues instead. Dr. Rapp replied with an impish smile we recognised as a precursor to scholarly or moral condescension, “You’re far more likely to commit the sins than over-exercise the virtues.”
Needless to say, our sophomoric high school selves were a little offended.
But looking back on my twenties and thirties in New York City and London, I can say with certainty that Dr. Rapp was right.
My life seemed good—engaging work, a vibrant social life, and experiences novel enough to inspire a book. Yet much of it was driven by the sins encouraged by culture and commerce.
Pride, Avarice, Lust, Wrath, Envy, Gluttony, and Sloth.
It wasn’t until my early forties, during the second lockdown, that I understood the depth of their hold on me. As the days grew shorter and nights darker, I fell into gluttony and lust personally, while pride, envy, wrath—and avarice—wracked me professionally, in part due to the uncertainty we all faced in the pandemic, and in part due to my own shortcomings.
I was left sleepless, anxious, and unable to think or breathe.
At my lowest, I convinced myself the only escape was to end it all. I planned which knife to use, and where to leave notes to protect my cleaner from discovering my body.
Ironically, that specific, tangible planning helped me sleep deeply for the first time in weeks. And in that sleep, I dreamt vividly ... of angels.
Not the harp-strumming, robe-wearing angels. These were Isaiah angels - heads floating on wings, surrounded by a sea of fire that engulfed us all. They were awesome. And one of them spoke to me. They told me, I shouldn’t kill myself, because I hadn’t yet realised my purpose. I asked what my purpose was. They smiled and said nothing. I took it as a challenge to live and find out.
Now, let me be perfectly clear - I had never before dreamt of angels. And I have never, since.
But when I woke the next morning, I realised just how absurd it would be to throw my life away over something as trivial as a job.
Still, my suffering was undeniable. I couldn’t read, watch TV, or engage with the world. Sometimes I could scroll Instagram nervously and aimlessly. But during three weeks of medical leave, I felt outside of society, a madman looking at sane people from his own private asylum.
Through God’s grace and artificial intelligence, an Instagram ad I had never seen before saved me. It was for a meditation app called FitMind. And FitMind became a lifeline. Slowly, five minutes at a time, I observed that I was not the anxiety caused by pride, envy, wrath, gluttony or lust. I simply was. I existed, apart from the chaos of life.
As my practice deepened, I began exploring a form of meditation that aims at sitting in perfect awareness and love. It opened my heart to a new understanding of myself. Despite that progress, I still felt stuck in old patterns. At a friend’s suggestion, I attended a retreat in the South Downs, where I named and confronted inherited patterns of behaviour —cycles I repeated but could choose to break, if I wanted. Through this, I discovered the “quadrinity”: the idea that we’re comprised of four parts - body, intellect, emotions, and spiritual self. I learned that I had ignored my spiritual self—the part of me that is inherently perfect and loved—as I had focused on my life of humanism and hedonism - fuelled by intellect, body and emotion.
Returning from the retreat, I tried to nurture my spiritual self and attended St. Paul’s Cathedral on Easter Sunday. During the liturgy, as the congregation confessed their sins, I was overwhelmed. I cried, not because I fully understood sin or Christianity or had an epiphany, but because I wanted to break free from the patterns that held me captive. I prayed to become the person I was meant to be.
I kept returning to St. Pauls, and one fine day in May, I heard a sermon by their chaplain, Paula Hollingsworth. As I recall it, she said, “To be a Christian is to love God and accept Jesus as your saviour, and to love your neighbour as yourself. If anyone tells you the Bible encourages hate or judgment, they are wrong.”
How could I not want to join a faith grounded in pure love, for God, for others and for myself?
Paula became my instructor and guide, and a year later, I was baptised and confirmed. Several months after that, she encouraged me to join St. Giles. This welcoming congregation, led by our wonderful Father Jack, Deacon Lucy and Father Edwin in our weekly rhythms, has become central to my spiritual journey.
I continue to meditate on the relationship between love, sin, God, others and myself. I believe I am good, created by the breath of God, loved by God and worthy of love, including my own. I believe we all are. But sometimes I allow sin to distract from that love, from that goodness.
Naming sin - those negative patterns, Pride, Avarice, Lust, Wrath, Envy, Gluttony and Sloth - helps me turn away from it, step by step, little by little, and become more myself. More capable of loving and being loved.
And when I do, it’s like I’m standing on a solid rock, as the tide ebbs and flows around me, and the waves lap or even crash against me. I’m standing, solid in love and solid in faith. Full of joy, kindness, and peace. At least on good days.
I try—imperfectly—to carry God’s love into every aspect of my life: family, friendships, work, and community. Worshipping here with you strengthens me on this journey. For that, I am deeply grateful to Paula, Fathers Jack and Edwin, Deacon Lucy, all of you, and, of course, to God.
And, I pray every day that my spiritual journey may continue:
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.