Bangkok October 2016.
Trying to have a conversation with God. Mind you, the ambiance might be questionable: Jacks Bar across the river from the Peninsula Hotel in Bangkok; a stretch of water that divides the opulent from what is termed the "local colour."
Hemingway would have loved it: half the floor overhanging the water removed as the carpenters put in new floor boards, cold Chang beer, over-proofed gin & tonics and stir fry Pad Thai.
It's only on breaks like this from my work in Vietnam that I really get a chance to wind back and assess where I am.
Which brings us to God.
I'm not one of those zealots, or at least I think I'm not. Never into evangelism, but I suppose I'm lucky. I have faith in the Father and I think the son had more recognisable human qualities than he is given credit for. As for the Holy Ghost, I know you are out there somewhere but we have not been properly introduced yet.
I had in my travels, been overwhelmed by my closeness to God; once in a deserted church annex in Mexico City, and another at a Jesuit church in Rome. A religious experience? Yes, it left me shaken by the enormity of it.
So as Jesus drank with the Pharisees, here I sit suitably imbibing, asking the Father, " What do you want me to do next?" At 73 I must be running out of time. But then I think I recognise the role. He will present the circumstances and the players and I will respond.
By doing this, it brings into context the lines in the Mass, " I give you peace, My peace I give you."