sanctum
For spiritual musings, theology, and the sacred within suffering.
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Stop. Start. Stay.
Not every journey is straight. Some of us live by detours. Some of us measure time in appointments, recoveries, resets, and the quiet courage it takes to begin again. This new hymn was written from within that kind of landscape. It blesses the roundabout and the restart. The traffic light on a rain-washed street when Continue reading
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Healing. Prayer. Hope.
This hymn was written for World Day of the Sick, a day when many pilgrims gather in Lourdes seeking healing, prayer, and hope. While crowds pray at the grotto and walk in candlelight procession, many of us keep the day in quieter places—hospital wards, dialysis units, and our own homes. For me, it is shaped Continue reading
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Incense. Whisper. Hope.
This hymn is inspired by Psalm 141, the Church’s ancient evening prayer: “Let my prayer rise before you like incense.” Set in the landscape of Clonmacnoise, it joins the psalmist’s cry to the Shannon’s air and the long vigil of those who prayed on these stones before us. As night gathers, it asks Christ to Continue reading
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Hours. Pump. Grace.
As I begin another week of dialysis, I come as I am—carrying tiredness, hope, and whatever this day holds. This hymn was written in the quiet place where machines hum and my heart keeps its own steady rhythm. It reminds me that Christ is here with me: in the care I receive, in the long Continue reading
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From Morning Light to Setting Sun
Sexagesima (the Second Sunday before Lent) draws our attention to the quiet, faithful work of God—the sowing of the seed, the shaping of hearts, the long patience of love that bears fruit in its time. Before we strive, before we worry, before the dawn itself, God is already at work. This hymn is a prayer Continue reading
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Grace. Place. Presence.
This hymn grew out of a quiet attentiveness to place—to fields, water, stone, and memory—and to the way faith so often takes root through landscape rather than abstraction. Drawing on the life and legacy of St Mel, it traces a spiritual geography shaped by County Longford and Ardagh: hills walked slowly, wells where prayer lingers, Continue reading
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Shepherd. Host. High King.
This hymn began with a simple wondering: What if Christ doesn’t only meet us at the table, but walks the whole week with us? Faith is rarely confined to sacred hours. It unfolds in Mondays heavy with responsibility, Wednesdays full of noise, Fridays marked by grief, and Saturdays thick with waiting. This hymn traces the Continue reading
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Claimed. Accompanied. Sent.
I wrote this hymn slowly, paying attention to water. Not water as an idea, but water as something that moves, waits, gathers, seeps, and returns. Water that has weight and sound and temperature. Water that holds memory. Baptism is often talked about as a moment—something that happens and is done. For me, baptism has always Continue reading
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Flour. Aprons. Presence.
For many of us, faith is encountered not first through abstraction or silence, but through texture, rhythm, repetition, and shared work. This poem emerges from the sensory world of baking—warmth, fragrance, patience, and touch—and attends to grace as something embodied and practiced rather than merely believed. Written to be read, prayed, or sung, it traces Continue reading
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Lines. Rise. Twice.
When the Words Arrive Twice This morning I wrote a poem for a grieving friend. The words came quickly—not rushed, but with that quiet certainty that sometimes accompanies deep care. They felt true. They felt needed. They felt like mine to offer. And yet, before I pressed “publish,” I did what many of us do: Continue reading
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