There is a phrase in today's gospel (Mk 10. 17-30) which lies at the heart of every vocation: "Jesus looked steadily at him and loved him." It can be hard to bear another's gaze, especially "the beams of love". When we are not very happy about something we've done or feel uncertain about the reception we'll meet, we can be reluctant to meet someone's eyes. After eating from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, Adam and Eve fled the Lord God in the Garden of Eden and we've been doing the same ever since. It's only when the Lord Jesus looks at us, long and steadily, that things are put right, that we recognize shame for what it is, a barrier we erect, and can open ourselves to grace. In the Old Testament God is sometimes likened to the refiner sitting by the fire, watching closely the process of purification. It can be painful as the dross is burned off, but the result is beautiful. I often wonder about that young man in the gospel. He went away sad, but did he experience a change of heart, remember the look the Lord gave him, and let go of his wealth in order to find his true treasure in Jesus? We don't know.

And the connection with the Mary Rose, Henry VIII's favourite ship, which went down in 1545 with the loss of 400 lives? Today is the anniversary of its being raised from the Solent in 1982. An examination of the teeth of some of the sailors whose bodies were recovered with the vessel revealed that many of them were Spanish, probably press-ganged into service after the wreck of their own ships in Cornwall six months earlier. One theory why the Mary Rose went down is that the crew had an imperfect command of English and did not understand what they were being asked to do to avoid being run down by the French. It takes time to learn a new language. As with the crew of the Mary Rose so with us, if we are not to make shipwreck of our lives, we need to tune into another language, the language of the Gospel. There is, however, an important difference. We have the assurance that the Lord has first looked at us and loved us — as we are, not as we might be. We are safe in his hands. (Podcast tomorrow, all being well.)