Why didn’t you go in?

Why didn’t you go in?

(A brother reflects on a decision …… A thought around The Prodigal Son)

It’s a fair question! I don’t know. And maybe I do for there was jealousy at work.

Yes he had gone away and left us all in the lurch. Yes he had eaten into my father’s property but there was more to it than that.

I resented him, not just because he had gone away but more-so because he came back.  At least when he was gone, I had my father’s ear and could impress him with all the work I did around the place.

Strange that, for though I had his ear, I knew his mind wandered to where the brother was and how he was   doing.  I knew his heart was broken and that part of him died that day he watched him fade into the distance

That said, he never ignored me or made me feel he didn’t love me  deeply but I couldn’t get my head around the fact that he still missed “the waster” as I called him.  There was no denying it though, my father was heart-broken.

There were times when I missed him too of course.  I wondered what he was doing and who he was with. That’s when I let my mind wander and I wrote stories in my head that most likely weren’t real at all.  I imagined him with women, getting drunk “letting the family down” and it never crossed my mind that he was sitting alone and hungry, surrounded by pigs who ate what he’d have  eaten “though nobody offered him anything”.

It’s strange the way we write novels in our heads about other people and never, even for a second, try to get into their hearts or allow their hurt touch ours.

There was part of me that doubted always that he’d come back.  For my father’s sake, I hoped he would, because it was heart-breaking to see him stand and look to the distance and though he never said what he was looking for, I knew exactly not the “what” but the “who” for whom he longed. My brother.

And despite that, I couldn’t share my father’s joy when someone told me “your brother is back”.  The stuff about the “fatted calf” and the celebrations weren’t a concern to me but I just couldn’t bring myself to rise above my small-mindedness and see the bigger picture.  We were “family again”.

When my father asked me to join the celebrations, I couldn’t do it.  I’ve regretted that so often because I knew it’s what my father wanted more than anything. “All I have is yours” he told me and he meant it. He never denied me anything.

I’m haunted, haunted by that moment.   I should have gone in …..

 

Hashtags and healing

Hashtags and healing

The last few days the place I remember and call Maynooth has become a hashtag #maynooth or #maynoothscandal.  Someone just asked me how I feel about this.  The answer is sad, very sad – because the truth is my abiding memories of Maynooth centre around happy days when I looked forward to becoming a priest, of good friends, enthusiasm around church, dreams for the future and a belief that I was in the right place and doing the right thing with my life.

When I started in Maynooth there were seventy-five in my class, most of them my own age with a few, some years older, having worked in other places before making the decision to explore God’s Call.  I’d imagine there were 300-400 students in the college at the time, people from all over Ireland.  I believed we were there because it’s where we felt we were meant to be.  At that time, as far as I recall, there were seminaries in Thurles, Carlow, Waterford, Kilkenny, Wexford as well as All Hallows in Dublin and Clonliffe College which was the seminary specific to students for the Archdiocese of Dublin.  There was too, the Irish College in Rome. With the exception of Maynooth and the Irish College in Rome, all are now closed.  I’ve no doubt many of the buildings are still there, perhaps other roles were found for them but I’m certain that memories specific to each place remain for those who walked their corridors, sat in their lecture halls and sought to find and deepen the faith “within” in their chapels.

Through the years I have visited Maynooth. In the earlier years of being a priest I’d have visited the students as we had people from the diocese studying there.  As time passed, I found that happening less and less.  I have however attended meetings there to do with bits of work I do here in the diocese, so I haven’t lost contact with the place entirely.  I know there are people that left Maynooth who never re-visited but I think it more the case that most past pupils of the college, whether they were ordained or not, would allow it hold a special place in the heart and feel comfortable enough to wander around its corridors and grounds. The Classpiece pictures (lines of them) along the corridors, remind us of faces from the past, some known to us and many not, and give witness to the reality of vocation and response.  I often think about those pictures, my own included, and have come to the conviction that we remain the “man” in that photo.  By that I mean, whatever has happened in life, successes and failures, good days and bad, we are still the one who sat in front of a camera and allowed the shutter to close on the face of one preparing for ordination.  Whatever hopes and dreams we had at that moment, whatever goodness was in us at that moment, whatever belief in priesthood was in us at that moment, remains the truth of that moment. It is a truth we have to re-visit and, at times, reclaim.

What do I remember of the journey in Maynooth?  I remember struggles with prayer and with study, I remember confusion around feelings and somewhere too, of course, wondering about celibacy.  I knew that priesthood meant I would not have a wife but at eighteen years of age a wife wasn’t the first thing on my mind!!  Even at twenty-four, I’m sure I might not have given too much thought to that.  There were nonetheless those “stirrings” in us that seemed at odds with being “holy”, “men apart” and yes, they gave rise to questions and quite likely doubts.  I recall someone telling us once during a talk, a retreat maybe, that our feelings around sexuality were normal.  As men (women too I’m sure) it was natural to wonder about this side of life and to have to make choices.  He said “your hormones don’t even know you’re Catholics, never mind celibates”.  I’m sure we laughed but he was making a good point.  Hormones are hormones and feelings are feelings, irrespective of creed or calling.  It’s what we do with and about them that ultimately shapes us. Somewhere and somehow in vocation and priesthood, with the Grace and help of God, the support and understanding of people and inner will, we have to try to align the hormones with the calling, and bring them to a place where they know “we are catholic and striving to be celibate”.

I don’t recall a “gay culture” in Maynooth when I was there.  Neither do I recall “a heterosexual culture”.  I felt as people we were rounded, balanced and doing the best we could.  I think what I recall was a sincere effort to respond to the call to be a priest. People left along the way.  It was the rule of thumb that about half the first year class would leave before ordination and, give or take that was the story with our class too.  Why would people leave?  Some, I am sure because they came to the realisation that priesthood was not their calling.  This may or may not have had to do with celibacy.  Others quite likely came to the point where they knew they could not live life without sharing it specifically with another.  The idea of parenthood, handing on life through a loving relationship held more value for them and understandably so.  It’s certain some might have realised their orientation was homosexual and that seeking and responding to the love of another was something they could not live without.  There were, in fairness, many reasons to leave and many too, to stay.  It would also have been the case that people might have been asked to leave for various reasons.  That surely had to be the role of the Seminary formation team, that it journeyed with the students and observed the lifestyle and the choices being made and if these were considered incompatible with priesthood, then the recommendation would have been made that another life choice might be more in keeping.  I suspect similar would happen in any field of training, from the Teacher Training College to nursing, medicine, military, Gardaí and so forth.

The time in Seminary is a time of discernment.  What does that mean?  It’s something to do with looking at life, seeing where the road is leading and arriving at a decision that the road ahead looks as if it’s leading to the destination you seek.  Equally it might lead us to a moment where we need to stop, gather our thoughts, and admit this is not the road for me.  It’s a good road and an important road but if I continue on it I will arrive at a destination, yes, but not the one I need.  What I am searching for, where I am being led, is not to be found on this road.  It’s no harm I’ve travelled this road and chances are I will remember much from the journey but it’s time to look to another path.  That’s discernment.  It’s about reflection and choice.

So what about the Maynooth of these days?  As I said, I’ve lost contact a bit with students.  We don’t have any student for our diocese at this time.  My interaction then with present day Maynooth in terms of students and indeed staff is practically non-existent. I was involved a number of years ago in giving a retreat to the students and I wondered what that would be like.  I recall meeting a small number of them in advance of the retreat to have a chat about it and when I asked what I should do, one of the students said “Don’t apologise for being here”.  I am sure we laughed at that too but his point was also valid.  What he was saying to me was don’t come in thinking you are not worthy to be here or that you haven’t something to say.  Come to us as you are.  I very much appreciated that comment and have tried to apply it to other situations in life since then.  I went to Maynooth for that retreat expecting to find people at a low ebb (it was at the height of other scandals in our church), where morale would be low and people at a loss.  That was not my experience.  I met lovely people there.  Many of them spoke with me on a one to one basis during times of reconciliation or between talks.  I was amazed by their enthusiasm.  The hundreds had shrunk to numbers less than a hundred but I found again a sense of purpose among these men.  They seemed at ease with themselves and I came away thinking they never knew the Maynooth of hundreds or seminaries scattered across Ireland.  This is the only seminary life they’ve experienced and they are making their own of it. I’d like to think I gave something to the students over those few days but I know for certain they gave a lot to me, not least hope.

It is the choice of a bishop to send seminarians to any college he feels would be good to and for them.  The Irish College in Rome is an equal partner in the seminary formation of the Irish Church.  Indeed when we were in Maynooth, Bishop Flynn (R.I.P.) let it be known that should any of us like to go to Rome to study we were welcome to do so.  Furthermore he encouraged this and some of my fellow students chose or maybe were asked to attend the Irish College. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this decision.  I’m sure from a practical point of view, the bishops were trying to support both colleges through sending students there.  For that reason, I would not like to see Rome and Maynooth being pitched against each other now.  It’s my belief they both seek to assist those who feel God’s call to priesthood and it’s for the good of both that a student body is maintained in each. Furthermore, it is my belief that any diocese lucky enough to have a number of students could well benefit from sending some of those students to each or, as was the case in the past, encouraging that they spend time between both.

I am very sorry for anyone who has been hurt in Maynooth. I truly am and I feel much of what is happening these days is sincerely born of personal hurt and a belief that the seminary could and should be better.  It is my hope that this hurt will be healed. Whatever needs to be said or done should not be left unsaid or undone.  I believe there are very sincere people, staff and students, clerical and lay, men and women still walking the corridors of St Patrick’s College.

Though there is sincerity in the recent comments about Maynooth, I don’t like some of the approaches taken as the story unfolds.  It seems certain that some linked with this story have made questionable decisions around social media. At least the allegations made suggest as much.  What lies behind those alleged decisions and possible needs of those involved is the journey of discernment.  It has to be personal though and to seek to embarrass people through innuendo and invasion seems at odds with a Christian approach to seeking a lasting peace for all involved. My hope is that Maynooth will be to and for all involved a certain companion who will walk the road, listen and offer guidance. Equally may it listen to the voice of students and those believing there is room for change.

At day’s end, I believe Maynooth will continue to shape and be shaped by those who call it “home” during their time there. I would be deeply saddened were it to remain a hashtag when it has offered, offers and has the potential to offer much, much more.

From Reek to Creed

From Reek to Creed

Reek Sunday, they call it – the last Sunday in July when tens of thousands of people climb Croagh Patrick.  It’s a tradition deeply rooted in the Irish Soul but not one I’ve ever been part of.  If you know me and know the Reek, chances are you can connect the dots!!  If you don’t, well that’s another story!

The “Reek” is quite a climb.  I’ve been there ………….

Once!  I climbed it back in the early 90s with a few people from Collooney parish.  I’ve been sort of there twice since then.  I’ll have another go, in time but setting no deadline.  Why mention it today?  The answer is found in yesterday.

We had our Annual Cemetery Mass in Naomh Mobhí Cemetery.  It was incredible to see so many people there. I thought to take a photograph at some stage of the congregation but that didn’t happen.  I did manage to get a photograph of their cars though!

I had a few words on the Parish Bulletin this week about Cemetery Masses and why they are so important to people:

By Sunday we will have celebrated Mass in four of the Cemeteries in the parish (St Celsus’ Cemetery, Kilkelly, St Patrick’s, St Celsus’ Culmore and Naomh Mobhí).  During the week we will celebrate Mass at Urlaur Abbey with a special remembrance there for all who are buried in its hallowed grounds and later in the year we will celebrate Mass in St Brigid’s Cemetery, Urlaur.  All these Masses are very well attended and important to all who come along to say a prayer and remember the dead.

It raises the question, “WHY?”  Why are these so important?  Why do we place such emphasis on remembering the dead?  It is not because of death but because of life.  We don’t remember people because they died, we remember (and love) them because they lived.

Love is the reason we celebrate these Masses.  Love for those who have gone before us and a deep belief in God’s love for us all, a love that goes beyond the grave.  The love made real when Jesus called Lazurus from the grave and invited his friends to “unbind him” and “let him go free”.  We too pray for the happy release of all who have died, confident that our love for them and our prayers for them continue to matter deeply.

The morning was lovely but we had a brief fall of rain during the Mass.  It happened just at the time I was going to share a few words by way of homily.  I hadn’t intended it to be long but just to be sure, God sent a little rainfall to hurry me up!  This is where the “Reek” came into play.  There were at least two people at the Cemetery Mass who had earlier that same morning climbed the Reek.  I never cease to be amazed by the dedication of people.  We buried a man in the parish last year who, from his childhood days, never missed a “Reek Sunday”. He told me one time he used cycle there (75KM), climb the mountain and cycle home again.

On Saturday I was driving into Westport for a Wedding Reception and Croagh Patrick was ahead of me, unmoved and ever present, tall and strong but its summit was not visible.  There was a mist down on the summit that made it impossible to make make out the towering point of the mountain.  I knew it was there but it could not be seen.  My inability to see it, the mist’s covering of it, could not take away the truth that the summit was still there.

That’s the point I wanted to take to our Cemetery Mass yesterday.  Grief, like that mist, envelops our view. Our loved ones, once clearly visible to us may no longer be within our range of vision but the reality of their presence and the depth of our love for them remains as certain as the Croagh Patrick summit.

Saturday’s mist gave way on Sunday morning to Pilgrims’ steps and the summit was reached.  I believe we can work through grief, not always quickly or easily but step by step, bit by bit the climb can be made and the summit reached.

Dear Fr Jacques

Dear Fr Jacques

Dear Fr Jacques,

As you walked to Mass this morning, I wonder what thoughts were in your head?  Had someone asked for a prayer, a remembrance at today’s Altar?  Was there a promise somewhere to remember someone and to bring his or her needs and hopes to The Lord?  Were you like me, rushing in at the last minute, confident that all would be ready or were you the “me I’d like to be”, there a good while before Mass, getting things ready, taking a seat somewhere in the church to settle your own thoughts?  Tonight, I’m wondering all these things.

As you put on Alb and Stole this morning, covering up the everyday man, what joy you sought to bring to your congregation.  Was there a little bell sounded to say you were on your way from the sacristy?  Was there a little hymn or opening Antiphon that marked the move from gathering to being gathered?  It should have been like other days, Jacques, a day begun in prayer in a little church that has been home to countless generations of people, like you and your gathered few.  You have been faithful to them and they to you.  Faithful to Him and He to you.  Eighty four years of life, more than half a century of priesthood – you knew what you were about.  You made a difference.

It’s certain that you had wished the small congregation well.  “The Lord be with you” you spoke to them and though small in number the little congregation replied “and with your spirit”.  I don’t know how far you had moved on in the Mass.  Had there been time for the confession of sins, the seeking of the Lord’s mercy and, more importantly, its reception “May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins and bring us to everlasting life” …. “Amen”.

I’m sad that you died such a violent death, Jacques. I’m hurt that as you got ready to celebrate Mass, to make that powerful statement of faith and loyalty to the request of a Peace-filled man; “do this in memory of me”, others got ready to seek fresh blood, to spill blood that has been too often spilt.  It’s difficult to imagine the three of you waking up to this July morning, opening your eyes to the day, reaching for clothes and dressing, washing, preparing, walking out your front doors, seemingly in the same town but with totally different intent. You carried life and they carried death.  You sought to open your mouth in praise and encouragement but not so, it seems,the intent of your assailants. Some, perhaps even themselves, believed a message was delivered. It’s difficult to imagine any vocabulary could string words together to make sense of their message.

They’re calling you a “martyr” tonight.  Some say you should be canonised. It’s certain you sought neither title.  Seemingly you were happy where you were, being a priest among people.  I can see you walking down the street, nodding to one, stopping with another, feeling at home and safe.  No more than you deserved.  No more than the world deserves.

Who do we blame? That’s the danger isn’t it?  We look for someone to blame and beyond someone a group, a religion, a country and it’s pointless.  There are the finest of people in every country, every group and every religion.  There are people, countless people, who detest these actions and recoil from them.  Sadly though, there are others too, who make noises, stir up mistrust, sow seeds of hate and quite likely from a distance watch others as they carry into society the work and words of twisted minds.  From that distance, they watch young men and women, like your neighbours, carry out atrocities and die.

Sadly it’s certain you won’t be the last to die like this.  In a few days time your name will have slipped from our news headlines and newspapers will have other stories to tell.  He, whom you sought to serve in priesthood, He will not forget.  Neither will your little congregation and there will be some, many, to speak your name in a quiet prayer and to say “Merci, Pere Jacques”.

Tonight, I’m one of them.  I’ll bring you to Mass in the morning and another little congregation will say “Lord graciously hear us” as we mention your name alongside a prayer for peace.

Your brother in Christ,

Vincent

Praying with distraction

Praying with distraction

This weekend’s Gospel Passage finds us with the disciples asking a question that could well be our own, “Lord, will you teach us how to pray?”  In answer he gives them the words of the Our Father – a prayer that brings together all that is central to our faith – the acknowledgement of God as Father, His place in Heaven and Earth and it calls us to a deeper and more giving/forgiving relationship with those around us.

We get distracted in our prayers – wandering off topic to a place of uncertainty or day dreams.  We worry about this but do we need to?  Is the starting place not what matters?  We desire to acknowledge God.  That must mean something.  Come back from the distractions, worry less about what is to be said and find peace in just being there ….

I want to share the words from today’s Mass.  This is the fourth week I’ve recorded the words at Sunday Mass.  I don’t think I’ll be able to keep this going or maybe even need to keep this going but for this week anyway!!


 

These are the words shared in the email from a priest of the diocese.  I think they’re very good and worth reading as well.

 

Humility in Success

Portugal defeated France in the final of the Euro 2016 European Football Championship. At the post-match press conference Portugal’s coach, Fernando Santos dedicated his   victory to Jesus in the following words.

“First of all, I would like to thank God, the Father, for this moment and for everything in my life.”

 The Portuguese coach went on to thank family, friends & colleagues before adding:

“Lastly, but most importantly, I want to speak to  my best friend, and His mother, to dedicate this victory to Him and thank Him for haven chosen me; for giving me the gifts of wisdom, humility and  perseverance to guide this team, and for having guided me and lit my way. That all I do, hope and wish  for may be for the greater glory of His name.”

 The Tablet 15 July 2016

Field of Dreams, Altar of Hope

Field of Dreams, Altar of Hope

I was in Knock yesterday for the Re-dedication of the Basilica.  An occasion worthy of the place and the “unspoken” message of Mary who stood with people, as she always does, when needed.  Cardinal Seán O’Malley (Archbishop of Boston) was the Principal Celebrant and homilist at the Mass.

He spoke very well about Knock, its meaning for him personally and its place in the heart of the Church. During the ceremony he anointed the Altar and, I have to say, this was a highlight for me.  There was something very moving in seeing him first pour oil on the four corners of the Altar and then in its centre.  Then with sleeves rolled up (a man at work) he rubbed the oil into the surface of the Altar.  It was a moment of offering something to God that God might make full use of it, in and through us all.

At Mass today, I shared a few words around this and about a local football event that took place in the parish yesterday, an annual event marking the life of a child who died eight years ago at age five.  She is remembered each day of course by her family and those who knew her best and annually in this gathering known as the “Aoife Regan Shield”.  Today she was remembered in our Parish Mass.  I thought it appropriate that she be remembered so seamlessly in both settings within a day of each other.  I believe that’s what parish life should be about, bringing what happens on the field of play to the Altar, anointed well over 100 years ago, in our Parish Church that, like yesterday’s rising incense, our prayers may be carried to the Heavenly Presence.

There may Mary, the silent but present Mary of Knock, whisper to Him afresh; “They have no wine” ….


 

 

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