#Rescue116
It’s my birthday!
There are many emotions running around in my head today. They include memories of my mother and father, R.I.P. and how lucky I was to have them as parents. I think a bit about home and family and remain grateful to my brothers for their support through the years. I think of people who have died, my parents obviously enough, and my God Parents too (John Shannon and May Callaghan, R.I.P.) and I think of the friends I’ve had through the years. For all of these I am so grateful and through them so blessed.
My thoughts too are with all those caught up in the stories of horror from places like Tuam where children were less fortunate, their mothers, it seems, labelled and wrong decisions were clearly made. I’ve no doubt that in these places there were women of immense kindness who saw in these children and their mothers people not statistics, lives to be cherished and nurtured not ignored and shunned. Yet too, it’s almost certain, there were people dressed in the clothing of religious life, who saw themselves above and removed from the twists and turns that weave themselves into the human condition.
I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like. There’s a line in the Old Testament that speaks of “Rachel weeping for her children” and that sound of weeping can surely be heard today. Countless stories of harsh treatment, finger pointing and tongue wagging that has to be among the worst of all human traits. There are stories shared too of kindnesses received but these are overshadowed by the pain so real to far too many. It’s heartbreaking.
I’ve been a priest since 1987 and hope that I have been kind to people, not least those who have become pregnant at a time in life and in circumstances they might not have wished for or imagined. I am not aware of ever saying or doing anything nasty or hurtful to anyone in this regard and neither am I aware of any priest friend of mine doing or saying anything to add to confusion and hurt. I have never heard a priest condemn in public or private a girl who finds herself pregnant. I have never encouraged anyone to speak ill of another and would hope – sincerely hope – that I’d only do what might be helpful and not hindering of another at a vulnerable and uncertain stage on the journey of life. I have baptized many babies through the years and, among them, babies where no father was present on the day or maybe there but not part of the mother’s life anymore or again, there and hoping to put the pieces together for the future of the baby and mother. There can be no room, on days like this, for anything but compassion. In the majority of these days, the mother and baby, the father too, received nothing but support from their own families and circle of friends. That’s as it should be and needs to be for the good of all – for the good of society.
I don’t fully know what to say to people about all this. I don’t fully know what to think myself but somewhere I hear the call to recognise the kind face and tender word that brought peace rather than hurt, reassurance rather than confusion, tenderness rather than harshness – if we cannot somewhere find that face, those faces in the midst of a darkened and sullied past, there’s little hope or little to hope for. I believe in hope. I saw the list of names the other night, accompanied by a haunting piece of music, and thought someone at the very least (and very is the key word) recorded names and dates and, in so doing, recorded existence and life, however brief. “I have called you by name” says The Lord.
I am deeply aware of friends who have lost babies during pregnancy, at birth or in the very early days of life. I am too, remembering those who lost sons and daughters in their childhood years or young adult lives and saddened they experienced this grief and would give anything to turn back their clocks and help them avoid that awful heartbreak. Likewise for all involved in the Tuam story and stories like it.
Maybe we share our birthdays with all these children, with their mothers and all who carry a burden not of their own making this day. Certainly we pray for forgiveness and the heart of Christ who was at pains not to condemn but to heal.
Lodged in my account
The people in front of you
We had a lovely gathering in Urlaur Church last night. It was around the Vigil Mass and an Enrolment Ceremony for thirty-eight young people from the parish who are to be confirmed this year. The gathering was timely, as it filled the church almost to capacity and went some small way towards easing the pain and grief felt by the absence of one of our regular and faithful parishioners, Nuala Hawkins, who died unexpectedly during the week. To see the church almost full was as necessary as it was heart-warming.
Speaking to the boys and girls from our Confirmation Classes in Tavrane, Kilkelly and Kilmovee National Schools, I told them of a homily I’d heard a few months ago. It was preached in Knock on the third Sunday of May, the traditional day for our Diocesan Pilgrimage to the National Shrine. We share the day with the Archdiocese of Dublin and the homily was preached by one of the priests of Dublin, Monsignor Dan O’Connor. He shared three stories with us, all from his own ministry, where he encountered young people who experienced the Holy Spirit in their lives, long after they had celebrated their Confirmation Day or perhaps expected such an encounter. I shared one of the stories with last night’s congregation.
He told us of a young boy in a secondary school where Dan worked – indeed all three stories came from that time of Dan’s ministry. He was a typical and lively student, full of fun and always up for some excitement. Dan recalled one day when a class was out at the front of the school, taking P.E. instruction from its teacher. Dan was walking towards the school when he noticed a window open upstairs, a water hose come out and within seconds all on the ground were being soaked from the vantage point of an upstairs window. Running up the stairs, Dan encountered the young lad, still spraying willfully at all and sundry below. “What are you doing?” he roared. The lad turned around, whilst continuing the spraying and said “A Safety Drill, Father”.
Years later Dan received a letter from a diocesan bishop in Canada, seeking a reference for this same young man who had volunteered to be a Lay Missionary in his diocese. Contacting the lad’s mother, to enquire about this, the mother’s reaction was “I’ll kill him”. Later, when speaking with the young man, Dan realised the request was indeed sincere. When asked why he wanted to do this, the lad – now a man – replied “When we were confirmed, Bishop Dermot O’Mahony told us that one day the Holy Spirit would let us know what he wanted us to do with our lives.” He continued, “I was at the Niagara Falls and it came to me that I should give some time to my faiith and sharing it and I thought I’d like to volunteer for this work for a few years”. He did. During his time he met and fell in love with another Lay Missionary and they are now married and living in Scotland “Where”, Dan concluded “ironically he is now a Fire Fighter”. The point, well made, was that the truth of Bishop O’Mahony’s words came to fruition – “fruition” now there’s a word! We speak about the “Fruits of the Holy Spirit”.
At this morning’s Mass in Kilmovee I briefly shared the second part of Dan’s homily. A story again from that school and about a young girl that everybody loved. She was full of life, bright eyed and cheerful. She lived for fashion and her dream was to work in the Duty Free at Dublin Airport where she’d have access to discounted cosmetics. I think, if I remember it correctly, that part of her dream was fulfilled. Years later Dan was asked to go to visit her in hospital. He went but was not totally prepared for the shock that awaited him. The girl’s long and beautiful hair was all gone but her eyes were bright though her story was not good. She reached under her pillow and handed Dan some folded sheets of paper saying “That’s my Funeral Mass and I want you to say it. I did this all this because I know Mammy won’t be able to”. Dan was shell-shocked. He asked her how she was able to do this and she told him the day the diagnosis was confirmed she was devastated and found herself in the hospital’s chapel. Again, she spoke of her Confirmation Day and of her being told one of the gifts of the Holy Spirit is courage. She prayed for that gift and believed she received it. So did Dan. So do I. With the gift she faced what followed. Dan told us he celebrated her Funeral Mass within two weeks of that conversation.
Last night I got a message from someone again saddened by revelations of the Church’s blotted and tear-stained history. The message was along the lines that some of the awful happenings of our past were done by people who were not catholic other than in name or position. Acknowledging too that there were always good people in the church but that there were some too who acted in a way that was anything but Catholic of Christian. “The people who will be in front of you tomorrow”, the message read “are the real Catholics”. The message went on to say that maybe in the past people came to church and claimed the name Catholic more out of fear than choice. Nothing new was being said here but I knew what it meant and the truth of that statement “The people who will be in front of you tomorrow are the real Catholics” was not without merit. The message concluded with a voice of hope “I think the church can now be what it is meant to be”.
Today, I thanked the Catholics who were in front of me at Mass. Today I pray that we will all embrace our faith and nourished by it and dependent on those gifts and fruits of the Holy Spirit mentioned earlier, we might seek to be better people – focused and faith-filled.
In fairness, I believe some of the Catholics were also at home – perhaps for different reasons, some having decided they don’t need to come to Church to be Catholics. There’s a truth in that too but it’s a very big and important part of our faith. Indeed, as I walked back to my house, I noticed a football team training on the Astro Turf. It struck me that they only way they can effectively train as “team” is by being together. Training “at home” or in the gym has its merits but the only way the team can truly function as a team is by being at training together. I see a link here ….
“Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of the faithful and en kindle in them (in us) the fire of your love.”
Dear Nuala
Nuala Hawkins
<p style=”text-align: justify;”> </p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>On Friday March 3rd, we celebrated the Funeral Mass of Nuala Hawkins in St Joesph’s Church, Urlaur. Nuala had been very much involved in parish life since moving here with her husband in 2002, serving two terms as a member of our Parish Pastoral Council and, in more recent times, as Sacristan in St Joesph’s, Urlaur. She died suddenly and unexpectedly in her own home on Tuesday last, February 28th, R.I.P.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>Her son, Fr Padraig, was Principal Celebrant at the Mass and he asked me to preach. I decided to share a few thoughts by way of a letter to Nuala.</p><hr /><p>nuala
</p><hr /><p style=”text-align: justify;”>Dear Nuala,</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>You were always a great one for cards – making your own personalised cards for birthdays, Christmas and special occasions. I’ve received them over the years but don’t think I’ve ever written back. Today I feel the need to write to you. I’m writing to you but reading it for others because I hope the words might, as words can, bring hope to what has been a very difficult few days for so many people, not least Mick, your sons Seán and Padraig, your daughters Paula, Michelle and Fionnuala, grandchildren Georgina, Dominic, Ciara, Samuel and Aeryn, your brothers and sisters and indeed for all gathered here today.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>I just read a Gospel Passage that you’d have heard many times. It’s the one about Jesus visiting the home of Martha and Mary following the death of their brother Lazarus. A few days earlier the sisters had sent word to him telling him “the man you love is ill.” By the time Jesus arrived Lazarus had died and was buried. The family was devastated, even to the point of annoyance: “If you had been here my brother would not have died”. People watched to see how Jesus would react. His reaction paved the way for our own. “He wept.” Later declaring himself “the Resurrection and the Life” but first he wept.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>A week ago Nuala, I’d have had a job to convince you that I’d weep over you. If I had said to you when we said goodbye after Mass on Saturday last; “Nuala I’ll be crying over you within the week”, would you have believed me? Yet, that’s the truth of it Nuala. When I knelt to pray for you on Tuesday night, tears flowed and they have made their presence felt since. Now I’m not ashamed of that because the man we’re all trying to follow wept too at the death of a friend and, quite likely for the heartbreak his people were feeling. There’s something healing in knowing that life matters and that death brings tears. Jesus wept! It leads to the question why?</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>The answer lies in knowing the value of friendship and loyalty. It is found too in a deep awareness that something very final has taken place and that things done by the one who has died, will now be left undone or, at best, attended to in a different way. On that front, Nuala, I have much to lament today. Your care of this church, not in big brush strokes or heavy lifting, but in the attentiveness to the little bits that we could so easily miss. The colours of the Church’s Seasons, Green, Red, Purple and White made their appearance and always on cue. Some little bit that got broken or needed to be made “I’ll ask Mick to take a look at it”, the text asking if I wanted you to turn on heat or a light, the rotas for our readers and Ministers of Holy Communion and so much more … Your ideas around the Lenten and Easter Garden last year and the way you involved the little ones in bringing life to what looked like barren soil. It all mattered Nuala.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>But it’s not for what you did in terms of work we miss you. It’s the woman behind the work, the heart of that woman that was ultimately kind. Somebody once said that the world is made up of givers and takers and, it’s worth naming it today, you were primarily among the givers. You touched many lives, shaped the very lives of the men and women here today who, despite their age remain at heart, your children. You loved their children and never forgot a significant moment in their lives. You touched the heart of Mick too well over forty years ago and said yes to him and he to you in that sign – that Sacrament – that is marriage. You were good to and for each other, complemented each other. As Forrest Gump said in the famous movie, describing Jennie, the woman he always loved, “Jennie and me were like peas and carrots”. Very different in shape and colour but always, always on the same plate, the same page and that page was one of sharing a journey, often in the Volvo, seldom in the air but always in the heart and from the Soul. You can see why you’re missed.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>In the Community Centre, for many years, you were its voice and face, the point of contact and ever efficient. People – men and women, boys and girls, were the stuff of your day and interaction was important. Respectful, honest, committed and, in the interests of honesty and transparency, stubborn on occasions were the building blocks and the cement that made you the person we came to know, trust, respect and love.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>“Tears” it has been said “are the price we pay for love”. It’s a price worth paying. That’s part of the reason Jesus wept Nuala, because he loved and loves all of us. I’m convinced He was there for you and with you to welcome and reassure you. He was in Mick who, shocked and all as he was, began to build the blocks and shape the moment of your death by making the calls he needed to make, calling the priest, the Gardai and gathering your family and your neighbours so that we can be here today to pray around and for you.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>“Let my prayer rise before you like incense” is a consoling image and in our Funeral Mass, your son has allowed that happen. With the thurible and its charcoal and incense he has enveloped the Altar and all of us in a haze of prayer and a scent that lingers to remind us, prayer always rises, can be a slow process but, given time, it brings the answers we seek. You know where I’m going with this Nuala. As I draw these lines to a close I want to remind you and all here that we spoke last Saturday night about this very thurible. The build-up of burnt charcoal had taken something of a toll. You noticed it at Nora Conroy’s Funeral but didn’t say anything to me. You did a bit of research about the best way to clean a thurible, searching on line and talking to some of your colleagues in the Community Centre. When you felt you had an idea where to go with this, you involved me and told me you were taking it home. I had no worries about that. Ironically you said to me that you hoped there’d be no funeral before you got the job done. How little did we know and surely there’s a message in here for us all today – how little we know about the future and the absolute need, with God’s help and in His name, to do our best with each and every day. Many know it now but I want to say it again, Nuala died while she was cleaning this thurible. The little dish was held between thumb and index finger and I believe that little dish has a message for us today, because it says to me that Nuala died doing a good thing, that she died peacefully though unexpectedly and that the prayer of her final act of service was among the most blessed she ever prayed. That prayer is interwoven with ours today and will so remain forever in the rising incense blessed and shared in this church.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>I’d never fit all that on a card Nuala, not even one of your specially commissioned cards but I believe these words are important. It seems appropriate to write to you since the Post Office was your point of contact with so many people, letters stamped and sent and words shared. The final word on behalf of all of us, having prayed for your Eternal Rest, has to be “Thanks”.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>God Bless you Nuala. May Jesus who wept console your family and all, myself included, who numbered you among their friends.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>Vincent</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>PS You made a real difference. I’m glad we met.</p>
