A Lenten Encounter at Greggs

I have a story to tell - one of those moments where God decides to communicate with me in the most mysterious and undeniable ways.

As Catholics, we have once again entered the season of Lent. It is a holy time of sacrifice, a season where we are called to fast, give alms, and repent for our wrongdoings through the Sacrament of Reconciliation. This year, I wanted to take it seriously.

It was the first Friday of Lent. As an adult Catholic, the rules were clear: abstain from meat and limit myself to one regular meal and two smaller ones. My personal plan was even more ambitious: I decided to skip lunch entirely and avoid any snacks in between. For me, this is incredibly difficult. Even on a normal day when I eat a full lunch, I struggle to make it to the end of the workday. My knees often buckle and my hands begin to shake from hunger - perhaps a physical reality of being obese and needing to lose weight. I admit that struggle freely.

That morning, I prepared myself. I stopped at Greggs for my small meal - a cup of coffee and a croissant. Every morning, it is my habit to pray, and read the daily Mass readings (the First Reading, the Psalm, and the Gospel) before sharing the Gospel of the day with my CFC (Couples for Christ) unit household chat group. For me, reading the Scriptures and meditation in my prayers are the primary ways God speaks to me.

I found a table, knowing I had only 15 minutes before my train arrived. I was just about to open my Hallow app when a man walked into the shop and caught my attention.

He wore a hoodie and looked weary, carrying the kind of exhaustion that goes deeper than just a lack of sleep. He approached the counter and quietly asked the staff for the prices of the pastries and coffee. When he heard the total, he paused. He didn’t order anything. Instead, he walked over to a table and sat down, empty-handed.

In that moment, my heart twinged. It was clear he didn’t have enough money for breakfast. I felt a nudge - the Lord touching my heart to approach him. Usually, I would ignore that voice. I’d be afraid he might take me for granted or react violently. I’d tell myself it’s better to just mind my own business.

But that day, the feeling was different. It was persistent.

I walked over and offered to buy him whatever he wanted. He looked at me, eyes wide with disbelief. He asked me twice if I was sure. Eventually, he chose a simple cup of coffee and a sausage roll. After I handed them to him, he shook my hand firmly. "It’s rare that someone offers a stranger breakfast," he said. He then called me "brother."

Feeling a sense of quiet joy, I returned to my table to finish my croissant. I had five minutes left before I had to run for my train. I opened my Hallow app to finally read the Word.

The First Reading was Isaiah 58:1-9a.

As I read, I felt the air leave my lungs. It was a powerful, uncomfortable, and direct call from God to move away from "rituals" and toward "justice." The words hit me like a physical weight:

"Is this not the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness... to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house?"

The Lord was telling me: You are fasting, but you are still procrastinating. You are abstaining from food, but are you abstaining from indifference? God’s message was piercingly clear: He isn’t impressed by how miserable I look during a fast or how loud my stomach growls. He is interested in how I treat my neighbour when the "general prayer assembly" is over. True fasting is justice. True fasting is empathy. True fasting is refusing to hide yourself from your own flesh by ignoring those who really needs our help.

I sat there on the brink of tears. The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence. I had been worried about skipping lunch to prove my devotion, but God showed me a better way. I had done more for my soul by feeding a weary stranger than I ever could have by bracing stressfully my way through hunger while keeping my heart closed.

Isaiah 58 reminds me that spiritual disciplines like fasting and prayer are not the finish line. They are tools meant to soften our hearts so we can actually see the world’s pain. If our spirituality doesn't make us more compassionate, it’s just a noise.

I realized that day that God would rather have you eat a fried chicken and treat people with kindness than skip lunch and remain indifferent to suffering.

Lord, thank you for your voice. I hear you.

By the way, I took the featured photo for this blog last year in Barcelona. It depicts 'Homeless Jesus' (or Jesus without a roof), a sculpture located in Santa Anna Square within the Ciutat Vella district, right in front of the Church of Santa Anna.

Lobster Tortellini and a Winter Coat

They say procrastination is the thief of time, but on Valentine’s Day, it’s mostly just the thief of dinner reservations.

I’ll admit it: I’ve become a "last-minute guy." The transformation is hard to explain. I used to be the "Itinerary King" - the man who organized family trips, booking flights and colour-coding schedules months in advance. But this year? I failed to see Valentine’s Day coming, even though it’s been on the same date for, well, forever.

My original plan was simple: a romantic, candlelit fine-dining experience with my wife. I found the perfect spot - a gorgeous restaurant with an actual tree inside the dining room. I could already see the "Husband of the Year" trophy. Then, I tried to book it. Fully booked.

I moved to my second choice. Fully booked. My third? Full. I even went back to the restaurants I had previously snubbed for being "not good enough," and even they turned me away. That’s when the realization hit: trying to book a table 24 hours before Valentine’s Day is like trying to find a quiet spot at a rock concert. It’s just not going to happen.

As I sat there staring at the screen of my PC full of "No Availability", I had a realization. Why limit the love to just the two of us? St. Valentine may have sacrificed his life for the commitment of young couples, but surely he wouldn’t mind if I invited the whole gang. Love and sacrifice, right? My sacrifice was the romantic candlelit dream; my love was for my entire family.

I fired off a message to the family WhatsApp group: "Hello there my kids.. Do you have appointments tomorrow night.. I'm planning a family date" By some miracle, the kids didn't have plans yet. The "Family Date" was officially on!

Against all odds, I secured a table for four at our local Prezzo. We all dressed up, feeling sharp and ready for a lovely Saturday night. The ambiance was great, the company was better, and the food was genuinely delicious. I’m still thinking about the crab and lobster tortellini I ordered - absolutely top-tier.

However, there was one uninvited guest at our table: a mysterious, freezing breeze.

I don’t know where it was coming from, but it felt like we were dining on the slopes of the Alps. My wife complained to the waitress, who politely checked with her manager, but the cool draft remained. In the end, my wife spent the entire romantic dinner bundled up in her winter coat.

I’d like to think the restaurant wasn't doing it on purpose to make us finish faster, but let’s just say we didn’t linger over desserts and coffee (we did it outside in a Mc Donalds not far away). If I go back (and I will for that pasta!), I’m requesting a table far, far away from the "Arctic" section.

Every event in life has something to teach us. Perfection is a myth; even the most beautiful evening usually has a tiny flaw hiding in the shadows or blowing in from the vents.

But looking around that table, watching my wife and two children laugh together, I realized that a "perfect" time isn't about the lighting or the booking lead time. It’s about the memory. A family date like this is a once-in-a-lifetime snapshot of where we are right now.

Valentine’s Day is the "Day of the Heart." This year, mine is completely full because I remembered what it's actually made of: an everlasting love for my wife and kids.