I can think of nothing more simple, beautiful and earthen than the joint celebration of the opened word and the broken bread. The level of solidity, dependability to it is consoling to me - to be able to bring oneself to the church, together with others, knowing that there is a liturgy into which I can fit myself, rather than trying to shape prayer from the sometimes limited resources of my mood, or day - these things are meaningful. The Eucharist for me is like walking into the scene of the Emmaus story - walking with my own confusion and being gently accompanied by an incarnate figure who both enlightens and challenges, then a response of love extending what I have to offer to him, and he, taking what I can offer, and incarnating it further... and also, yes, the disappearing. The fact that the Eucharist is a foretaste of the hereafter, the glimpse of the Kingdom of Heaven in the here and now; this is what anchors me within my Catholic faith.

I am a student of theology these days; I'm doing a distance studies degree from a notably conservative Catholic college in England. I am saddened by how the questions of sexuality and the role of women are perused. There can seem to be a closed circle of conversation which automatically excludes anybody who may wish to question. I see this in high levels and low levels; an example may show it.

My grandfather refused to allow my cousin to bring his daughter into the house of my grandparents. My granddad considered it to be his way of taking a moral stance on the fact that my cousin is not married. He saw rejection and exclusion as a valid demonstration of his religious values. Sadly, I think that in a certain way, he learned that from the church - so often, we see that the church can use language to 'shut down' conversations.

As a lifelong Catholic, I love the simplicity of the Eucharist, but I am saddened by how the Eucharist is seen also as a dividing point between Christians. I live and work in Belfast, Northern Ireland, and am saddened when I bring reformed friends to mass with me, knowing that while their faith is rich, they are not openly welcome to the table.

Finally, a point about priesthood. I am a gay man, who has had a desire for priesthood since my early years. I have worked in pastoral and reconciliatory work for many years, but, because of a recent document released by Pope Benedict in his first year of papacy, I am excluded from ordination because of my orientation - linked with poor psychological health and with a certain amount of association with pedophilia. When I read this policy, I was gutted. I had read the policy of the then Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger when he wrote it in mid 2002, but was shocked that this was becoming policy. Surely the church must recognise that many, many of the men and women who have represented the church are gay. Why is exclusion seen as a solution? Surely the thing to do is to provide more encounters and experiences for priests, nuns, and religious to discuss their celibacy rather than excluding those of a particular orientation.

This pronouncement was, for me and many other Catholics, dismaying. I find it difficult to reconcile policies like this with the words of the Gospel. And I am not arrogant enough to say that rather "I" am the one who has the authentic interpretation of the Gospel in this light, but in many ways, in order for me to keep practicing my faith, I have found it necessary to develop the ability to ignore certain pronouncements such as this policy. I know of many bishops who would happily ignore this policy also and ordain me - but for me, to be a part of the ordained ministry, I would need to do so fully - telling the truth, and not harbouring a secret that could add to a deep sense of alienation. Despite these difficulties, I find myself deeply attached to the church.

I have a number of friends who are priests - sitting with them on some holidays, sharing the Eucharistic meal around a kitchen table - this is a touch of something transcendent. I love the dedication to the poor - the rich heritage of sharing, empowering, and dignifying work that the Church has. It can be a difficult thing to hold this alongside some of the failures of the Church.

John Paul II's work on the Dignity of the Human Person may, perhaps, be the thing that I think about most in terms of what it means to be a person of faith - finding the Glory of God in a human being fully alive, seeing that the human being was made for, by and with love, goodness and generosity. This is the stuff of deep nurture.

I have been part of parishes run by congregations of religious over the past 10 years - Jesuits, Dominicans and Redemptorists - and this experience has deepened my faith and engaged me on a level that normal parish life had never done. To see a community of religious, and for parish life to somehow be wrapped up in this is a frail, but a beautiful thing. In all of this, I am nurtured by the words of the Gospel readings. People like Henri Nouwen, Brother Roger of Taize, Mother Julian of Norwich, and James Alison continue to speak deep to the heart of things, reminding me that while things are not easy in the Church, the heart of the Church is seeking to be the heart of the man of Nazareth.