Mary of Magdala walked, sometimes stumbling as the tears, which had been flowing since the terrible events of Friday, clouded her vision. On she went, past the city walls where the tombs of the honoured ancestors slept, stumbled blindly past them to where her beloved was buried.

‘And then the beating began.’ The first words that burst forth, uninvited from ‘CocoJo’s lips when I met him on a glorious February afternoon a few weeks ago. I had dropped into the Medaille Safe House to deliver clothes donations from my local parishioners. Clearly in need of a listening ear, CocoJo approached me. Bearing his untouched cup of coffee in his hands, he recounted without bitterness how ‘his friends’ had said they were offering him a job and a better life in the U.K Now he was trapped in the back of a van

Have you ever experienced losing something you treasured, or something important in your life? You never notice it is missing until the moment comes to use it, wear it, display it or pass it on to someone else. Then comes the frustration of: “Did I put it somewhere for safekeeping? Did I give it to someone? Did I loan it to someone? Did I carelessly put it somewhere? Was it stolen from me?”