Sometimes when we use them in a careless or slipshod manner, their meaning becomes confused and misunderstandings easily occur.

One such word is 'critical'.

Unfortunately, the tone of the word is often one-directional. It implies that something is wrong, not up to standard and so in its expression can be a cause of pain to others.

But it is a much broader word than that.

Being critical can, in fact, be a sign of sincere friendship, a friendship secure enough to cope with honesty, with a suggested adjustment in language made in good faith, made with good reason. Such an exchange is in fact a sound measure of a real friendship.

Critical comment within the Church isn't always taken that way.

Too often in the past and, regrettably still in current times, it has been presumed that critical comments are a sign of disaffection. Yet that is not necessarily so.

Within a family there is usually a freedom to speak, knowing that understanding is there. The negative reaction of the Church only gives rise to further problems.

The prophet is always assumed to be the one who in some way foretells the future. Maybe we should re-adjust our view and accept the prophet as one who is critical of the present circumstances, of how we got here and where we might be heading.

The sadness is that we do not always listen to our prophets, that they are ignored and the vibrancy of their message falls by the wayside. Later we realize our mistake as hastily discarded words are read again and their true beauty and truth realized.

When the word 'critical' is followed by the word 'care', then we realize there is an urgent need for attention. The implication is that an emergency has been declared.

Likewise, with government declarations of security levels, 'critical' is the most serious of terrorist alerts.

Some would suggest that there are aspects of Church practice that have reached the critical care phase. That may be so, but as we address them we need to remember that the Lord promised his presence would be with us always.

Still we have to listen and act in consequence.

It is possible for an institution to silence the critical view in a heavy-handed manner as happens in totalitarian regimes.

Physical repression and prohibition can severely limit free speech, however courageous and well-intentioned it might be.

The alternative route involves a silent disregard for critical opinions. The regime continues to act in a pre-determined manner, regardless of comment.

The Listening Church offers an open door, a place of familiar security where differing views may be expressed and a common understanding reached.

That, after all, was the reason for calling the Council of Jerusalem where agreement was reached after discussion.

The Church's is to influence the times that we are presently experiencing

In the world of physics, the words 'critical mass' speak of the point where nuclear reaction is about to begin. It has to be handled extremely cautiously.

Carefully controlled, in a nuclear power station it provides the source of electricity; allowed to continue without control, then we have the obscenity of nuclear weapons.

Within the Church, critical conversations must be allowed to continue, with understanding and appreciation of differing points of view. Without criticism, there can be no improvement. Critical comment can be constructive if the intention of making it is sincere.

Likewise, the one who is on the receiving end must also have an open attitude. Conversations conducted with a high-pitched voice rarely produce an equitable agreement.

We would do well to remember this need to be sensitive when, week by week, we are deluged with controversy, for we live in difficult and rapidly changing times. The Church is not a secluded space, unaffected by the secular society.

In fact, the mission of the Church is to influence the times that we are presently experiencing.

That time-honoured phrase responding to the stranger asking for directions, of 'if I was going there I wouldn't start from here', begs the question.

We are here, we have come from where our people started and where we are heading depends on our skills as explorers.

The poet T S Eliot wrote these memorable words in East Coker, the second of the Four Quartets.

'We shall not cease from exploration,

and the end of all our exploring

will be to arrive where we started

and know the place for the first time.'

That, in a few pointed words, sums up our Christian journey.

Our exploration, our critical listening to the prophets of our own time, as well as those of the Scriptures, enables us to live each present step, finally knowing where we have come from for the first time.

• Chris McDonnell is a retired headteacher from England and a regular contributor to La Croix International.
• First published in La Croix International, republished with permission.

While we can always look back and see where we've come from, we don't know what lies ahead, but the further we go, the more we understand that all the journey is important. Even the worst experience is a teacher and can ultimately be seen as gift.

Like those early disciples going to Emmaus, we spend much of our pilgrimage time talking to each other about Christ Jesus, and all that he means to us.

We also carry aids for the journey, and while some of these are held in common, others are particular to our own needs.

On the way, we compare faith notes and maps, agree or disagree about what is useful, and give each other support; but we don't always recognise the one who walks with us.

He is closer than close, the companion who makes our hearts burn within us.

Why do we not recognise him?

Maybe it's because we expect to see the Son of God elsewhere, in some important place, with some important person. Why would he choose to be with us?

Then there comes the time when we know him in the breaking of bread.

This is not the head knowledge we were taught, the ritual we've discussed many times. It is something new, the dawning of a light in the heart that illuminates the entire journey and reveals the reason for our existence.

The sacrament lives within us. All this time, he has been with us. We simply needed to arrive at a place where we could see him.

At this stage, everything about the road to Emmaus becomes holy for us. The maps we've been given shine with truth, and we recognize the Word made flesh in all creation.

If we all try to describe our progression on the road, there will be slight variation. But generally, the stages are like this:

1. In early journey we can experience chaos as we are called to take down fences and step into a larger space.
2. We can feel aloneness, vulnerability, until we realise that our companions feel the same way.
3. We become aware of remarkable Godincidence in our lives, teachers, guidance, learning patterns, everything is there at the time when we need it.
4. We enter into the mystery of paradox and discover the richness of the Beatitudes.
5. We become aware that God's word is all around us in nature, teaching us. We discover the parables of the natural world.
6. We have an overwhelming sense of the interconnectedness of everything.
7. There us a peace that comes with simplicity, a freedom, a lightness and enhanced sense of humour.
8. We have a knowing without words.
9. We know that separation from God is an illusion.
10. There is awareness that the foundation of the universe is love.

Joy Cowley is a wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and retreat facilitator.