The problem is not ‘consubstantiation' and a sprinkling of clumsy English, but a couple of statements that have no meaning for me.

For example, I can't quote the Roman centurion who said to Jesus, "I'm not worthy that you should come under my roof…"

The centurion wasn't requesting healing for himself, but for his servant. At this intimate time in the Communion rite, I am asking for healing for me.

But the real road-block comes with asking for healing for my soul.

You see, I believe that my soul comes from God, is of God and returns to God. Our souls are not apart from God but a part of God.

So to ask for my soul to be healed, is to ask for God to be healed.

That's nonsense. It's all the rest of me that needs healing.

This concern is personal, and I don't mind if others pray these particular changes in the liturgy. I can always say the first words, then whisper the old version to myself.

This Lent I've been reflecting on the Judaic understanding of the soul. Rabbinic sages say that the soul is always pure, no matter what happens to the rest of us. I suspect that one of the early Church fathers meant much the same thing when stating that we are part animal and part angel.

In Judaism the pure soul wears three garments: thought, word and deed. These garments will become stained and need regular cleansing.

Isn't that also our Catholic understanding?

I wish I knew Biblical Hebrew.

I have only a few words that are significant for me, because they cannot be translated simply into English; some would need a sentence or even a paragraph of explanation, I've been told.

Take the word Teshuvah for example.

It is usually translated as Repent - which is not wrong but inadequate.

Teshuvah means literally "to turn" and has very practical instruction that has little to do with guilt and remorse.

To do Teshuvah, is to simply turn from an evil thought, word or action, to a good thought, word or action.

In replacing evil with good, the garments of the soul are cleansed and our true nature, made in the image and likeness of God, shines through.

I had a rabbi friend - now with God - who said that when he felt stressed and overworked, he would stand on a street corner, watch people go by, and say to himself, "There goes a pure soul. There goes a pure soul. There goes a pure soul…"

To look at people and see the likeness of God, is to change the way we feel about the world and the world's understanding of itself. God is manifest in everyone, although sometimes the soul's garments become so heavy with ignorance and error, that we lose awareness of the sacred treasure within us.

Whether it's Teshuvah or the Sacrament of Reconciliation, a great blessing of Lent is that it offers laundry time.

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

The nature of Yahweh was represented not by pictorial representation, but by the human race. Humans alone could be called the image of Yahweh because in their nature and being they reflected their Creator.

The locus classicus of the concept of the imago Dei is Genesis 1:26-7:

"Then God said, 'Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth'. So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them."

The belief that the image of God in humans had implications for the protection of human life in Judaism is suggested in Genesis 9:6, where Yahweh tells Noah, "Whoever sheds the blood of a human, by a human shall that person's blood be shed; for in his own image God made humankind."

According to the Hebrew concept of the person, humans were viewed as a unity rather than in dualistic terms.

There were two elements in a person's nature: the "soul" (nephesh) and the "flesh" (basar). The soul was not made to exist apart from the flesh. To destroy the human body was to destroy the human personality, and as such it was an affront to the dignity of Yahweh, whose image (and therefore worth) humans bear. Hence, in Hebrew thought human life possessed intrinsic value by virtue of its divine endowment, in contrast to classical Graeco-Roman thought.

The concept of the imago Dei provided the basis for human value that was to become central to Jewish concepts of personhood. As a result features that were common to ancient society (child-sacrifice, exposure of infants, infanticide and emasculation) were not common in Israel. Continue reading

He put a finger on my struggle.

Is it necessary to define the indefinable?

Is it important to name the un-nameable?

Can words ever do an adequate, or even half-hearted, job of capturing the essence; the vitality; the 'otherness' of God?

Do the rituals I participate in reveal God, or obscure the true nature of God? A bit of both, I suspect.

We are human. We get bored. We become impatient. We are creative. We like to add our own stamp. We can't resist the urge to revamp; to change. Perhaps, it is a well-intentioned desire to meet a perceived need in ourselves or in our communities. But what we can end up doing is so cluttering up our liturgies, and our prayers, and our sacred spaces, and our inner self, that we obfuscate the essence of God. Do we seek to be entertained or or educated or distracted? We like to explain things -perhaps over-explain - but "the who-ness of God dwells in inaccessibility." We focus on our self and not on the 'Other'. It becomes about what we feel and not whom we seek.

Consider the chasuble ….

An unadorned piece of finely woven fabric, cut well, will drape sublimely on a presider. With arms outstretched in prayer and praise, the cruciform shape is an immediate reminder of Christ. We are drawn into the mystery - simply, silently becckoned into LOVE.

But we cannot resist the temptation to decorate; to ornament; to embellish; to proselytise; to put a bit of ourselves onto it and into it. So our senses, and therefore our minds and our hearts, are distracted. We consider the workmanship; the design; the symbolism … and forget to whom it points.

On the other hand …

I was privileged to accompany a small, inter-generational family as they experienced for the first time the sacrament of reconciliation, or celebrated it again after a long absence. This was an intimate encounter: a palpable mix of silence, prayer, anxiety, joy, hugs and smiles, thanksgiving. Stripped of formulaic responses and self-consciousness, all we could see and feel was the loving embrace of a 'God-beyond-all-expectations'. A deep inner peace reigned. The experience sustains me still - twenty years later.

I yearn for the simplicity of the disciples going out with nothing extra. I yearn for the silence present when Jesus went away to pray. I seek the essence of God. I catch a glimpse of it in shady forests and beside lakes. I encounter it briefly in my room at dawn. I seek it, too, during public worship. Sometimes, amid the cacophany of images and sounds, I fail to remain engaged, focused, attentive. But then LOVE cames and sits beside me … and I begin again.

Resources:

God Rid Me of God: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzv0TNcTw54

Joel Mckerrow: http://joelmckerrow.com/

Liz Pearce, mother of 3 adult children, loves story, dollmaking, writing and silence.