Each year a very fine magazine is published in the parish. It is called, Kilkelly-Kilmovee, Its People and Its Places. I have for the past few years been asked to include something in the publication. I put these few words together and thought I’d share them here too. I hope they make a bit of sense. I think they do to me ….
A Thought …
There was, in poetry, a time I thought things must rhymeThat was, in poetry, the only wayAt least that’s what I used to say!But of that today I’m not so sureCould it be I’m more mature?
I’m glad to write a few lines for this year’s publication. The lines above speak to something of the truth. As a student in St Nathy’s College, I never fully understood poems that didn’t rhyme. More than that, I disliked them and the “poets” who wrote them so obviously unaware that poems should have a rhyming pattern. I remember pointing this out on one occasion, only to be told by a fellow pupil (not even the teacher) who understood things at a deeper level than I and who knew, even then, that poems didn’t have to rhyme: “Vincent, that is the basic essence of poetry”! I disliked him as well that day (had I been on Facebook, I’d probably have de-friended him!!)
It was handy when the poem rhymed! It was easier to learn, easier to remember and easier to churn out on a page of an Inter or Leaving answer book. (Speaking of dislike – I never fully understood why anyone would have to raise a hand during one of these exams and ask for an extra answer book – when I could have given them the unused pages in mine 🙂 ) I digress ….
So is that I’m more mature?Like you, of that, I’m not so sureFrom whence then came the clueSome don’t rhyme and some just do
The answer I suppose lies in life … as a boy, a student in Maynooth, a newly ordained priest I thought answers were easily found. Things had an order about them – a sort of pattern like the rhyming poem. Before I was ordained, people wished me well. They seemed genuinely interested in what I was doing, felt the need for me to be a priest and, when I was ordained they assured me of their prayers, friendship and lasting support.
Most people went to Mass. Churches were well filed, if not full most of the time. Prayers were said and it seemed so important to keep the Parish together. I enjoyed those early days. I drove too fast and missed a lot of what was so powerfully on display. Good and decent people, doing the best they could for family, church and parish – for me; “the new curate!”
“The Lord be with you”, I would say“And also with you” as one we’d prayGreat to see you and so it wasAnd then to think we’d stand and pauseSins confessed, Sacred Story sharedHis Body for all, nothing spared.
First baptism, first wedding – such joyful occasions, shared easily with people oozing joy. Their new child, their early days of love, how easily to stand with them on days like that when photos were taken, words spoken and happiness owned the day. I don’t remember the First Confession I heard and often think that tells its own reassuring story of the sacredness of that Sacrament. Lines drawn in the sand, and no need to re-live or re-visit – that’s the way it’s meant to be, people move on renewed and refreshed having been forgiven by one in need too of God’s forgiveness. The rhythm of the Sacraments added its own shape to the rhyme.
He died in a tragic accident. His wife and children were devastated and the community drew to a halt. I went to the hospital for the removal and an elderly woman told me afterwards how sorry she felt for me in my short-sleeved shirt. I could as easily have been a boy in short trousers. Words were scarce and the rhyme was gone … it’s hard to speak in rhyme or think in rhyme when people’s hearts are broken. There were others like that, sudden deaths, car accidents, cancer and sickness. Relationships ended, rows between people, loss of Faith, decline in practice, indifference, hostility, doubts, anger, negative press, nobody in Maynooth …. and still the whispered refrain “I the Lord of sea and sky, I have heard my people cry. I who made the stars of night, I will make their darkness bright …… Whom shall I send?”
poems don’t have to rhyme but they should speak to a soul in need of Gracea wound in need of healinga heart in need of mendinga darkness in need of lighta thought in need of sharing
And that’s what I want to say. Despite the difficulties and the sadness, the changes and the uncertainties, the Poem must go on. We must find time to share thoughts and place with one another, to bring people to that point where the Word is heard even if not fully grasped and prayers are prayed even in uncertainty.
I hope this piece isn’t out of place here – It’s just another angle, another verse in a lifelong poem, shared not by a poet but one who is privileged to share this place with all of you in a very special way and by one who depends so heavily on all of you for word and verse, song and tune, prayer and peace!
Earlier today I was in Kilmovee School and we talked a bit about peace and the need to pray for peace in a very troubled world. I told the children that I once heard a lovely poem that spoke of the cruelty of war. I even remembered where I first heard it. It was on a recording of Johnny McEvoy singing “The Town I Love So Well” and that I was sorry I don’t have the recording anymore. As I spoke, the teacher brought up the words of the poem on the whiteboard and we looked at it together. The poem is called “The Box” and its message seems tragically all too relevant right now. Maybe you might take a look, share a thought and say a prayer for all who are suffering because people have, once again, “battered in the lid”
The Box by Lascelles Abercrombie
Once upon a time, in the land of Hush-A-Bye, Around about the wondrous days of yore, They came across a kind of box Bound up with chains and locked with locks And labeled “Kindly do not touch; it’s war.” A decree was issued round about, and all with a flourish and a shout And a gaily colored mascot tripping lightly on before. Don’t fiddle with this deadly box,Or break the chains, or pick the locks. And please don’t ever play about with war. The children understood. Children happen to be good And they were just as good around the time of yore. They didn’t try to pick the locksOr break into that deadly box. They never tried to play about with war. Mommies didn’t either; sisters, aunts, grannies neither ‘Cause they were quiet, and sweet, and pretty In those wondrous days of yore. Well, very much the same as now, And not the ones to blame somehow For opening up that deadly box of war. But someone did. Someone battered in the lid And spilled the insides out across the floor. A kind of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags And all the tears, and horror, and death that comes with war. It bounced right out and went bashing all about, Bumping into everything in store.And what was sad and most unfair Was that it didn’t really seem to care Much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for. It bumped the children mainly. And I’ll tell you this quite plainly, It bumps them every day and more, and more, And leaves them dead, and burned, and dying Thousands of them sick and crying. ‘Cause when it bumps, it’s really very sore. Now there’s a way to stop the ball. It isn’t difficult at all. All it takes is wisdom, and I’m absolutely sure That we can get it back into the box,And bind the chains, and lock the locks. But no one seems to want to save the children anymore. Well, that’s the way it all appears, ’cause it’s been bouncing round for years and years In spite of all the wisdom wizzed since those wondrous days of yore And the time they came across the box, Bound up with chains and locked with locks, And labeled “Kindly do not touch; it’s war.”
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and here’s the song … the last word of the poem is there. I’d love to hear McEvoy recite this again.
And another fine song from one of my favourite singers ….
I sat at Mass in Kilmovee this morning and listened to Seán Moran read the First Reading from Isaiah. The opening line is so direct: “Seek the Lord while he may still be found” …
I had a few words loosely prepared and they floated around somewhere in my head. Seán’s line seemed to displace them – as if they weren’t already displaced enough! I read the Gospel Passage about the workers going into the vineyard at different hours of the day, even to the final hour and each receiving the same wage. The grumblings of the early morning worker are quickly voiced but the “Landowner” reassures he has done nothing wrong or underhand. If he chooses generosity that should not be the cause of any grief. A story of jealousy, envy but above all of the Love of God for all who turn towards his Vineyard with an open heart and working hands …. A lot there!
Everything in me wanted to forget about that passage and chance a one line homily! I even told the people that. I said I often wished I had the courage to just say one line and sit down. I told them too that I realised many present would support me in that and hope “today’s the day”!! Well it sort of was and it wasn’t. I told them if I had that courage, I’d just say:
SEEK THE LORD WHILE HE IS STILL TO BE FOUND ….. and sit down
I sort of did that but not quite. A few words around it but really there’s plenty in that line so for anyone (myself included) sitting in front of these words right now, maybe it’s time to “Seek the Lord while he is still to be found”. Don’t let distance of time or place obscure the search.
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From cbc.ca website
At the end of Mass I mentioned that today is Leonard Cohen’s 80th Birthday. He is someone I’d love to meet, though I am certain that will not happen. There’s something about his words, his grace and style that combines to say so much. I mentioned the chorus from his famous “Anthem” and offered it as a Post Communion Reflection.
“So ring the bell that still can ringforget your perfect offeringthere’s a crack, a crack in everythingthat’s how the light gets in”
Let’s recognise that crack today, be it a hairline fracture or gaping hole and allow it bring light to darkness, hope to despair, faith to doubt …..
Happy Birthday Leonard
ANTHEM
The birds they sang At the break of day Start again I heard them say Don’t dwell on what Has passed away Or what is yet to be. Ah the wars they will Be fought again The holy dove She will be caught again Bought and sold And bought again The dove is never free.
Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There is a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in.
We asked for signs The signs were sent The birth betrayed The marriage spent Yeah the widowhood Of every government Signs for all to see.
I can’t run no more With that lawless crowd While the killers in high places Say their prayers out loud. But they’ve summoned, they’ve summoned up A thundercloud And they’re going to hear from me.
Ring the bells that still can ring
You can add up the parts But you won’t have the sum You can strike up the march, There is no drum Every heart, every heart To love will come But like a refugee.
Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There is a crack, a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in.
Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There is a crack, a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in. That’s how the light gets in. That’s how the light gets in.
This I’ve included elsewhere but read recently that Leonard is turning 80 soon so thought I might feature a few of the pieces I like from him. This is one of them where he takes the words of another and so makes his own of them.
This photo has featured many times since the day the two popes met and spent a bit of time in prayer. Quite humorously, it was used in recent days to show the two men praying for different results in the World Cup. We now know which way that one fell!
Yesterday I was reading some Patrick Kavanagh poetry (he’s still in my head and I intend learning a bit more about him in some way or other) and I came across a lovely poem called “FR MATT”. It’s long and involved and seems to touch on the life of the priest in the parish. In fairness, he’s a good man who seems to fit in well – as Kavanagh says, “like a round stone in a field”. I had the feeling Kavanagh liked him.
There’s a part of the poem about people waiting in church to go to confessions and the prayers being said. There’s a lovely piece about two people praying within kneeling board distance of each other but their prayers are for a different outcome …
In the dim Corners in the side seats faces gather, Lit up now and then by a guttering candle And the ghost of day at the window. A secret lover is saying Three Hail Marys that she who knows The ways of women will bring Cathleen O’Hara (he names her) home to him. Ironic fate! Cathleen herself is saying Three Hail Marys to her who knows The ways of men to bring Somebody else home to her – ‘O may he love me.’ What is the Virgin Mary now to do?
(From “Fr Matt” by Patrick Kavanagh)
It begs the question whose prayers should be answered. Pope Francis said that he wasn’t going to pray for any team in the World Cup but rather that the sport would be enjoyed, bring people together and leave it at that. I heard of a Priest President of a diocesan college who used train the football team and he’d tell the team clearly that he wasn’t going to pray for victory as the other team would be doing the same and might be better “pray-ers”!! Same idea.
So what happened Cathleen O’Hara (he named her) and the man in the next seat. Was prayer answered?
They say it’s always answered but maybe we don’t recognise the answer or understand it.
Any thoughts on this …. maybe we could get a discussion going!!
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