Is it then that your whole being is in everything, yet nothing can contain you wholly?

I would be nothing at all, my God, unless you were in me, or rather, I would not exist unless I were in you. For all that exists comes from you, comes through you, and is in you. So it is, Lord. So it is.

We long to praise you, though we are burdened by our mortality. Though we are conscious of sin, we long to praise you.

You were within me, Lord, but I was outside myself,’ lost in ambition, careerism and all the human struggles that characterise the human condition.

When your life is ‘poured out’ on us, you are not spilt, but we are raised up to you.

The house of my soul is small: too small for you to enter. Enlarge it. It is a ruin. But I ask you to repair it.

For you have so made us that we long for you, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.

For, if we call for help and do not know you, could we not mistake some other for you? Yet maybe we should call to you so that we can know you.

You are not scattered. Rather we are gathered.