We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you. Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
It’s a station about awareness. I heard a woman speak once about her young son who lives with Autism. She said she went to a local supermarket to do her shopping and as she was leaving the shop her son held onto the door of the shop and would not let go. He began to scream and lash out. She tried to get him to leave but to no avail. He screamed and drew massive attention to them both. As she tried to hold on to his hand the bags of groceries she was carrying fell from her hands and their contents poured out across the pavement. All the while the child held the door, refused to budge and shouted. She tried to gather the bits and pieces and put them into the bag, whose handles had broken. As all this went on, people walked past her on the street – all but one – a man who walked up to her as she was bent over gathering her shopping with one hand and trying to keep hold of her child with the other. He looked down at her and said “You’d want to put some manners on that child”. He walked on and she said she collapsed on the street and cried.
The Cross comes in many shapes and forms and is always uninvited and unwelcome. People try to meet it in different ways. This woman, burdened beneath the weight of a cross not of her own making, needed support rather than criticism, a lift up rather than a put down and compassion rather than condemnation.
As we see the cross placed on Jesus’ shoulders, maybe we could let our gaze and empathy wander to the shop door and to a young mother dealing with a very difficult situation.
Oh, that today we would listen to his voice, let us harden not our hearts.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you. Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
Everything in Pilate wanted to let Jesus go free. “I find no case against him” – “If he were not a criminal we’d not be handing him over to you”. “I will let him go but have him punished first” “If you let him go, you are no friend of Caesar’s” “Here is your king” “We have no King …..” “Shall I release for you the King of the Jews?” “Not this man Barrabbas” “I wash my hands of this man’s blood” “Let his blood be on us and our children” There was no winning over of this crowd and it was somewhere in the crowd that Pilate lost his nerve. The deed was done – an innocent man condemned. Pilate asked for a bowl and a towel and washed his hands of the decision but he had to live with its reality. The mob ruled the day.
The “mob” is dangerous. Many good people get condemned in its glare and many “pilates” allow the wrong decision to be made. There are people we don’t talk to and who don’t talk to us. Why? Is it that they’ve done anything to us or vice versa? Many times it’s neither. We get caught up in someone else’s row and their hostility becomes ours.
There are many ways of condemning someone to death and few of them involve coffins or graveyards. The death of isolation is a slow death and many are condemned to it by an unjust and uncertain judge – that judge can all too easily be me! I find myself passing sentence on someone because of who he is or isn’t. what he does or doesn’t do, where he lives, the colour of skin, religious views and no more than Pilate, deep down I know this should not be happening. People that we’ve convinced ourselves are right (who most likely are wrong) sway our views and weaken our nerve. We pass sentence.
There’s something in this Station, calling us to get a backbone of our own and to make decisions about people and situations that are based on fact and personal reflection rather than the roar of careless and bloodthirsty crowd.
“I find no case against him”. He or she has done nothing to me to make me ignore or mistreat in any way. Then why does it happen.
At this First Station Lord, deliver us from the mob ……
Oh that today we would listen to his voice. Let us harden not our hearts.
Today is my birthday! I’m a year now for every week of the year 🙂 Thinking of Mary and Bill (R.I.P.) and thankful they gave me the gift of life. Thankful too, for family and friends – to those who got in touch today – and to all who give me the reason “to be”.
I spoke a while ago with some friends in Washington and they asked “did you do anything special for your birthday?” My initial answer was “no” but that’s not altogether the case. I spoke and spent time with people that matter to me, celebrated Mass in the parish (three times this weekend) and witnessed faith and goodness in action.
It’s difficult at times to realise life is moving at such a pace. Though decades have passed, I feel pretty much the same as I ever felt and am, in the main, content with life. There are certainly times I wish I could say I was doing better work. I read a few pieces from Pope Francis this week and he spoke about not “leaving Jesus in the Church” but bringing him with us into day to day life and situations. I sometimes wonder how I’m doing with that. He also talked about reaching out to those who have “lapsed” from the Faith and, again, I question my success in that regard.
So then, if you’re reading this today (or in the days to come), say a little prayer for me that in the coming year I might prove more effective in this regard.
Thanks to all of you for your kindness and your prayers. I can only hope you know how much I appreciate, acknowledge and, above all, need them.
So, let’s share Mr Bean’s Birthday moment …. I’ll read my cards and texts again 🙂
Heard this on Playback on Saturday morning. Class! What a gift to be able to make a sound so fresh and a tune so special. God bless the work, Finbar Furey!
On Sunday, February 22nd 2015, I celebrated a Funeral Mass in Monasteraden. The Mass was for Mary Corcoran who had died a few days earlier. I’ve known Mary all my life and came to know her very well during the years I worked in Ballaghaderreen Parish where I had special care for the Monasteraden area of the parish. Mary played the organ in the church and had an involvement in the choir for something in the region of eighty years – from her childhood days. Her commitment was remarkable. I was asked to be Principal Celebrant at her Funeral Mass and was honoured to accept that invitation and thankful to the priests of the parish and others who joined with me for the Mass – not least Fr James Sharkey, SPS, a cousin and lifelong friend of Mary. I am going to share here the words used at Sunday’s Mass. I know Mary read this blog and I hope she approves of the inclusion of these words in her memory. In so doing, I offer my renewed sympathy to her son Michéal, daughters Noreen and Marie, to her sons-in-law, daughters-in-law, her grandchildren and Mary’s neighbours and friends. I remember too, her son Philip, R.I.P. who died in June 2012.
Mary Corcoran died! I think that’s what she’d expect me to say today. Not so sure she’d talk about having “passed” or “slipped away” – no she’d say “died”, “dead” …. I remember writing in August 2009 “my mother died” – they were three words with just twelve letters but the brevity of their content didn’t reflect the enormity of their significance. No less so for Mary’s children and their families here today. This is a life-changing moment. I don’t think she’d want it sugar coated or downplayed. We are here because Mary Corcoran died.
And here we are! We gather to say our prayers – with face to the Altar and back to the gallery. Both places of huge significance for Mary. It was at this Altar she was baptized, received Eucharist for the first time, stood beside Billy as vows were exchanged, brought her four for baptism, bade farewell to Philip – here she found strength for the journey, the faith to carry on and the gift to believe. It’s certain this is where she wants to be right now – placed at the foot of this Altar so that prayers can be offered, memories evoked and thanks can be said.
The gallery too, in full voice and sound today re-echoes her countless notes played and sung in praise of his name. The twelve letters I wrote in August 2009 and the eight notes of the octave, have in common the ability to take us elsewhere. A church without music is an impoverished church. A liturgy without music, though remaining liturgy, lacks a central element. Mary ensured that was not to be the story in Monasteraden. Faithfully she climbed those steps, turned on the music, shared the notes and encouraged song. She walked up and, I believe backed down but between the walking and the backing she made music happen and this church has been the better of that. It’s great to hear that sound here again today. Long, long may it be heard when “two or three” gather in His name!
I read somewhere during the week “Repent, so that the preacher doesn’t have to tell lies at your funeral”!! I’m not here to tell lies. I believe Mary Corcoran was a good woman. Direct! For sure!! More than once she let me know when I got it wrong but many times more than once she let me know when I got it right! She had a directness that was rooted in love of place and was always well intentioned. She did not like to see anything diminish the place and “people make places” so, in many ways, she didn’t like anything that diminished people – her people (family), neighbours and the Church. There’s a line in Scripture that speaks of “Zeal for your house consumes me” and I think it’s a line that ran deep in the veins of Mary. We need people like that and we’re impoverished without them.
So here we are, in this Gospel moment – a meal has just been shared and the penny has dropped. These two men have been walking the road and sharing a meal with Jesus. It’s when he’s gone the fullness of that reality dawns. We sometimes refer to this Gospel passage as the “Road to Emmaus”. Lately I’ve been thinking of it more in terms of the Road from Emmaus. The road to it is one thing but the road from it another. Where do we go when the truth has dawned? What do we do with and about that truth? The men in the story re-traced their journey and told their story to those to whom they felt it would make difference so that they could tell it to others.
I think that’s where we are now! Mary lived for almost ninety years. She travelled but most of her travelling was local. Walking, cycling or driving – her destination was quite often where we now gather – St Aidan’s Church. She rejoiced with people on happy days and shared their grief on days of sadness. She brought her family here and taught them how to pray. She heard hymns she liked and took them to the gallery (the odd song too!! “Isle of Inisfree!”). She lit candles in the quietness of this Sacred Space and, in their flicker, remembered the dead and the living (I’m humbled to say, me among them). She remained faithful when many, for a variety of reasons, walked away from Faith and practice. This is where we are. Mary’s road to Emmaus led her to encounter and recognise the Lord, even in the darkness of her son’s illness and death and to find strength for the journey.
Where to for her son, daughters and their families today? Where to for the choir? Where to for neighbours and friends? Where to for all of us from this moment? We can’t be sure where the road will take us but we can be sure we’ll not walk it alone. Let all that was good in Mary be recalled? Let the Faith loved by Mary be lived and let the song sung by Mary lead us to the chorus:
“With him, I am risen” …. May she rest in peace. Amen.
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