Holy week reflections.

How do you describe an experience of the divine which goes beyond words — the ineffable God who reaches into the very depths of our soul? This was the conundrum that I was faced with when writing my latest book To The Ocean Floor: a second cancer journey and gateway to a profound connection with God. In 2021, after seven glorious years in remission from stage IV breast cancer, a routine mammogram revealed that the cancer had returned with vengeance. Not long after starting chemotherapy I became desperately ill with sepsis. Exhausted by the sheer effort of staying afloat, I felt myself descending into the depths of consciousness, and there in the stillness and silence, I experienced a profound encounter with God. In the silent depths, all striving ceased as I surrendered to his love and rested in his presence. And I recognised perhaps for the first time the truth of the mystery that ‘in Him, we live and move and have our being’ (Acts 17:28). As I recovered, I was left with a powerful yearning for that connection and as I sought to recapture the intensity of what I call my ‘ocean floor’ experience I discovered a contemplative practice that dates back to the very dawn of Christianity – to the Apostle Paul, Desert Fathers and Celtic Christians —which enabled me to once again go to the depths; to simply be still and know that he is God (Psalm 46:10) I realised that what my ‘ocean floor’ experience and these traditions pointed towards was the need to let go of the need to rationalise, and to simply dwell with him in wordless wonder, embracing the full mystery of God. And as learnt this lesson something incredible happened (you’ll have to read the book to find out more!) Paradoxically To The Ocean Floor is a book about an apophatic experience of God; one that defies description – a quite a challenge for a writer! But as I wrote, words tumbled out of me unbidden and organised themselves in unfamiliar patterns on the page; that prose began to meld with poetry, the form rising and falling as I described different states of consciousness. My ‘ocean floor’ experience was a great gift, which gave me hope in the face of overwhelming odds, and I am so grateful that I have survived to tell the tale. But the question of how we express the transcendent is one that any Christian who wants to talk with others about the grounds of their faith needs to think about: because faith itself defies rationalisation and the lived reality of dwelling in Christ and He in us is one that is very hard to convey. Perhaps to describe the fullness of our faith experience, perhaps we have to let go of distinctions between genres and let words find their own way. To describe the ineffable, maybe we need to engage with the abstract (in the way that visual artists such as Mark Rothko have done). And to convey the full mystery of God, perhaps we need to just have the humility to let the Spirit have His way. Kate Nicholas is a Christian author, broadcaster and speaker; her latest book To The Ocean Floor; a second cancer journey and a gateway to a profound connection with God is available at bookstores and online. Find out more about her books, TV show and events at www.katenicholas.co.uk Photo by Cristian Palmer on Unsplash

I am having a rather unusual Christmas, wrapped up in bed in north Bucks nursing a bad seasonal lurgy while my husband and kids eat Christmas lunch with my sister and her family in London. It isn't how I would choose to spend Christmas but, ironically, I feel more blessed this year than many others. This morning I was woken by my two grown up kids (who still get a stocking each year) and later tonight they will return full of turkey, sprouts and Christmas cheer, but as the door closed behind them this morning, and the house went quiet, my mind turned to all those for whom the absence of family on his holy day will be total. For whom there’s no-one who will call to wish them a merry Christmas (all those they have loved having died or forgotten them); the silence broken only by only the sound of the TV; the loneliness wrapping around them like a shroud. Usually as, we say grace before our festive lunch, we pray as a family for those who are alone at Christmas but in the busyness of the day, I rarely have the chance to really reflect on what this means. Today, however, once again illness, has given me the space to truly reflect and, as I hold those who are alone today in my heart, I wonder how did society come to this? How did we allow this lack of love? This cannot be how God designed us to live and it must break his heart to see all those alone on this day that most symbolises the love of family; that of that Jesus’s earthly one but most of all the love of our heavenly Father who devised a way to ensure that we are all part of His heavenly family. So today as I have been granted this space, I will be praying earnestly that all who believe that they are forsaken will be visited by the reassurance that they DO have a family. That they will know in the deepest core of their being that they are part of the greatest loving family of all, and that they are never, ever truly alone. This is the greatest Christmas gift all. Wishing you all a wonderful Christmas filled with love.  Kate If you would like to do more to help those who are alone on this day (as well as the other 364 days of the year) please have a look at Age UK’s Hardest Day appeal link 👉 https://bit.ly/46OyM4J