Dear Ella Noelle

Dear Ella Noelle

These words are from a piece I wrote for The Irish Catholic. My nephew, Ronan, and his wife Ursuala, welcomed their second daughter into the world in recent weeks. I was at their house the day their new daughter was brought home – these words are based on that.

Reaching out – Grace meets Ella Noelle

Dear Ella Noelle, I was in your house the day they brought you home. I watched your two-year-old sister and wondered what was going through her mind. I saw your mother, glad to be home but tired too, having carried you so lovingly, through those long months of waiting, and now sharing you with a world that, above all times, is so uncertain of itself. I watched your father, holding you in his arms but looking to your sister, wondering maybe how he could reassure her that though he is full of joy and love for you, the joy and love he has for her will never diminish. I watched my brother as he took you in his arms and was reminded again that he is a grandfather.

I watched …. I listened …. listened to all that was being said around you. How beautiful you were, quiet and small. I heard words of gratitude that all had gone well and that you had arrived safely. I heard my nephew speaking to your sister, encouraging her to reach out and touch you. Holding tight to her teddy and bunny, she looked on and wondered. Then she stretched out a hand, touched yours and smiled. I listened to the silence of that moment of contact and knew that you would always have an older sister, looking out for you and stretching her hand to you along life’s way. I heard, yes heard, her smile – maybe yours too. I heard the sound of love.

I hoped – hoped dreams for you and that the world will find itself again, and soon. I hoped that you would only hear of COVID-19 and know it as something that did not impact heavily on your life, though it took its toll and took it heavily on many people. In years to come, you will be remembered as one born during the year of COVID – but it is your year, your year to be born and to bring fresh hope, deepened love and desperately needed faith to us all.

I felt your hand as it lay on mine and remembered holding your sister’s hand the day she came home from Sligo Hospital too. I wanted to hold on to this moment, so I took a photo. It is a photo that speaks of friendship and of my hope that you will be surrounded by many friends throughout the days of your life.

It speaks of God’s hand and His asking us to put ours in His, since our names are and always will be carved there. It is a picture that speaks of contact and the need for all of us to do all we can to be in contact, not least in these strange and challenging times. It is a picture that speaks of change. As my hand grows older and weaker, yours will grow bigger and stronger. As my hand depends on another, your hand will give support and security. Your hand is perfect, blessed, and precious. May it make a difference for many. As your sister reached out to it, as I held it, as your parents marvelled at it, the difference is already made.

And, as I drove home, I prayed for you. As I write these lines, I celebrate you and all children born in this strange year.

When we wonder what good came from 2020, may we be reminded of you and all of them.

Vincent

Francis

Francis

Hello!

No more than the last time I put a few words here, I am not sure what to say or even how to say what I might want to say.

These are strange times and have brought all of us to a place called “fear” and rooms called “doubt”, “frustration”, “uncertainty” but also rooms called “family”, “friendship”, “faith”, “kindness”, “hope” and “love”.

“Alone with none but thee my God”

I am watching Pope Francis’ blessing last night as I type these words.  Amazing to see him walk St Peter’s Square alone – no Swiss Guards or entourage – just a man walking in the belief that he can make a difference and should speak to his people and call God’s blessing on the world.  If ever there was a clear message of humility, it is found in his laboured steps as he moves to the chair, only accompanied for the last few steps by his assistant, dressed in black.  Black and White ….

We’d take black and white now – just simplicity of life and certainty around our future.  We don’t need technicolour or fireworks.

I wonder what he thought as he walked the square alone? That same square that was thronged to its limits and beyond the evening he stood on the balcony and said “good evening”, asked people to bless him and then sent them home to their tea.  There was something special about him that evening and that same something is seen on his face now and heard in his words (with translation of course!)

He took the theme of Jesus falling asleep in the boat while his companions battled a heavy sea.  He said that not alone was he asleep but he was asleep in the part of the boat that would most likely sink first.  “Do you not care”, they asked him “that we are going down?”  He rebuked their lack of faith and then he rebuked the wind.  The storm died down.

There are times when we might well feel the Lord is asleep at this time in our world’s storm but maybe we need to recognise that he lies in the part of the boat that is most likely to sink first.  He is among the doctors and nurses caring for the sick.  He is with the families longing for better news about a loved one and is especially with those facing the storm head on, having received a positive diagnosis.  Positive? Isn’t it an awful use of a word that should mean the best of us and best for us?  We strive to be positive when that very word brings fear to those receiving a diagnosis aligned to the word.

Did Pope Francis feel helpless as he spoke to the world and blessed us all?  Did he question the very God that he called upon for that blessing?  I doubt it.  His faith is rooted in a lifetime of wanting to know God in his life.  He is part of a generation of faith, that has seen its share of hard times and yet remained rooted in love for God.

I saw it yesterday, as an elderly woman walked into the parish church here and sanitized her hands rather than dip a finger in a Holy Water Font, no longer holding water.  She adapted to that and entered the Church as if she had blessed herself with Lourdes Holy Water.  I could see how important it was for her to walk in there.  I went to her and offered her Holy Communion, given she was alone in the church.  It meant everything to her.  It is everything to her.  Even as I held the Host before her, I knew she most likely had deeper faith and more trust than I.  Her “Amen” reassured me about the importance of my own role at this time.  A role that is very much re-scripted but one that matters.

Pope Francis has many like-minded people in the world, many who can still turn to God, even if he seems to be asleep.  “Lord, save us”, they cry.  He will!

The waters will become calm again.  When? We cannot be certain but there is a calmness ahead and we will work towards it and pray for it.  In the meantime, we will do all in our power to steady the beleaguered boat.  This involves a lot of effort on our parts and, in the short term, we pray for the strength and determination to make those efforts.

As Francis walked alone, we may well feel the pain of that aloneness as we are isolated from family and friends, from the usual day to day living of our lives, from choices we could easily make a few short weeks ago.  But he was not alone.  Francis walked with and to God.  He walked with and for you and I.  He walked for the vulnerable and, even his faltering step, gave a message of what is possible.

In recent days, I have had a temporary “webcam” service installed to our church.  I am glad of it and hope that it might help me connect with people and help in that connection we need at the moment with God.  I am thankful for technology and the ability to harness it for the good.

I am sure there will be the occasional breakdown and loss of signal but I am sure too, that even if the screen says “no signal”, I will be there, celebrating Mass or leading some form of prayer at the arranged hour.  Maybe that’s it, even if our world might think that God is not there, that the signal is broken, He remains behind the broken signal, the slow broadband connection and is not asleep. He keeps His word.

We are a day closer now to a better day.

God bless you all.  Let us pray for each other.

Vincent


I split the screen in two so that I could write these while watching Pope Francis.  Before I opened the second page, a photo of Alpha on my desktop seemed to be looking at Francis.  I liked it!

I’m reminded of a great story of a priest, who always travelled with his dog in the car, visiting a school one day.  A young boy mentioned the dog to the priest and the priest asked him: “Did Jesus have a dog?”  The boy’s response was inspired: “No Father, because if he had it would have been with him on Calvary”.

Let us be loyal to each other – now and always.

 

 

Mothers’ Day

Mothers’ Day

Someone told me that the word “unprecedented” is beginning to annoy!!  I can see why.  Everything at the moment seems to be unprecedented, including Mothers’ Day.  At Mass today, I shared some lines I’d written for my mother back in 2002.  Were she here today, I’d like to think they’d more or less be the same words.

To all mothers, God bless you on this day and every day.

Mother's Day 2002


 

Leonard Cohen has lovely words about seeking reassurance from his mother.  They come to mind today …

This is from a song called “The Night Comes On”

Hard times

Hard times

Alone and hoping

I really don’t know how many people read this.  I do know that my “blog” is not the beginning and end of all blogs and that, in the wider scale of things, it has a minuscule part to play.  Still I enjoy it and the chance it gives to share a few thoughts.  I know these might reach more on FACEBOOK or something like that but, I like this little corner.  Thanks to those who come in and ramble from time to time.

It is not easy to know what to think, never mind say.  A week ago today, I was at a meeting with Fr Dermot Meehan, Diocesan Administrator, and some priests of our diocese.  We met to discuss how the diocese might respond to the COVID-19 outbreak and, more importantly, how it might help stem the spread.  Other dioceses had taken the hard decision to suspend the celebration of Public Masses in parishes, not just on Sundays but also weekdays.  As we met, it was likely we would make the same decision but it was not an easy one to contemplate, let alone make. One of the men present has celebrated daily Mass for close on fifty years and I could see in him a genuine sadness as he began to contemplate, like the rest of us, the possibility we would not be celebrating Mass with people for the immediate and, indeed, foreseeable future.  The decision was made and the message shared as quickly and fully as possible, firstly with our priests and then through media and website.  It was a sad moment but, maybe like Jesus in Gethsemane, a necessary one too because we had to face towards Calvary and the countless crosses being carried by people at this time.

On Sunday morning I stood before the Altar in Kilmovee Parish Church.  This would be the only Mass celebrated in the parish that weekend, when normally I would have four – two vigil Masses and two on Sunday – one each in Urlaur, Glann, Kilmovee and Kilkelly.  I took a photo of an empty church and me wearing the purple vestments for Mass.  The first picture I took, shocked me.  My face looked so sad and I thought I need to do this again.  The second picture (above) was an attempt to smile without pretending I was over the moon with delight.  For I was not.  My heart was broken, to be honest, and I wondered how long this would last.  I didn’t know then and neither do I know now.  What I knew was that faces, familiar and important to me, were not there.  No Altar Servers, having discussed at length who would do what.  No readers or Ministers of Holy Communion and an empty gallery.  The regulars were not there or the weekend visitors.  Just me!

As I walked out to say Mass I left my phone on the shelf in the sacristy and then thought maybe I should bring it with me and record the Mass.  I did, and am so glad I did.  In recording, I felt I was speaking to people and sharing God’s word and hopes for them.  After Mass I put the recording on our parish website and have done the same each day since.  No more than not knowing how many will read these lines, I am not sure how many listen but some responded and said it helped them.  I’m glad of that.

A week on now and no end in sight, I really don’t know what to say or think.  COVID-19 has punched way above its weight and what seemed so far away a few weeks ago is now in every moment of every day.  The world has truly become that “Global Village” people speak of and what happens on the streets of Barcelona or Boston, Shanghai or Sydney, Dublin or Dubai is all of concern to us.  We are truly frightened and vulnerable and isolation seems anything but social.

We need courage!  We need faith.  We need hope and we need love.  We need to mind one another and to allow ourselves be minded.  We need to realise that decisions taken have impacts and mistakes made have consequences.  There remains though, a real need to be able to trust – trust God and one another.  To have trust is maybe the gift we most need – trust that this hour, these days, weeks or months, will pass and that peace and health will be restored.

“They are the best years of your life”, people used to tell us about school when we were children.  “Yeah, right”, we might think but surely now we recognise the truth in those words.  Children should be able to enjoy the classroom and school yard where lessons are learned for and about life.  We look forward to the day when the sound of the school bell will be a welcome sound.

I look forward to hearing the servers decide who is doing what, I look forward to people rather than empty seats and the sound of a choir and congregation, rather than the echo of my solitary voice.  Please know, that I will use that voice to ask God to bless and protect all of us and to give us courage for this time.  I have been so pleased to walk into the churches of the parish and see there the signs of ongoing prayer – candles burning in the shrines, that gives me such amazing hope.

Maybe that’s enough for now … at least I found a few words and when I sat here I didn’t think I would .  We will find our words, all of us, and they might well prove to be words of kindness and appreciation, of gratitude and giving – words of faith.

 

 

The woman at the well

The woman at the well

This has been a strange day and, sadly there are more like it to follow.

Yesterday, our diocese, like many other dioceses in Ireland and throughout the world, took the decision to suspend the celebration of Public Masses.  This decision, not easily taken, was to help in universal efforts to stem the spread of COVID-19.  During the week, our Taoiseach called for no further indoor gatherings of crowds in excess of one hundred people.  To support this call, the decision was taken to suspend public celebrations of Mass where it can happen that crowds in excess of that number gather.  In most parishes, daily Mass would not attract congregations reaching that number but, when reflected upon, the decision taken included the suspension of daily Masses as well to facilitate people not gathering in number and to help in the avoidance of situations where the virus could unwittingly be shared and to help in reducing the number of those who might need medical attention, given the immense pressure already placed upon medical personnel.

So this strange day began with the realisation I would not be celebrating Masses this evening with the people of Urlaur and Glann, nor tomorrow with the people of Kilmovee and Kilkelly.  Though I will celebrate Mass, it will just be one and on my own, without congregation.  This seems so alien to me since I believe Mass is the great gatherer of people and I have, throughout my priesthood, relished those gatherings and been enriched and blessed through them.  We are designed to interact with other humans so to be alone flies in the face of my understanding.

Yet, of course, our belief is that we are not alone.  Angels, Saints, people of our past who have gone before us and the friendships and connections we have with people will stand with every priest these days as he reads God’s word, prays for forgiveness and reaches upward as he hold host and chalice in hand.  As he reaches upwards, God reaches down and gathers the prayers offered and pours out blessings on those in need.  So I have to get my head around that and believe that when I say “The Lord be with you”, there is a thunderous response “and with your Spirit”.

Often wonderful things happen when two people seek to encounter something meaningful and the gospel we read this weekend is one such example.  The woman at the well.  We are all familiar with her and the banter exchanged between she and Jesus.  “Give me a drink of water”, he asks.  “You have no bucket”, she replies “and the well is deep”.  She was telling him he hadn’t a chance and she relished it!  He knew the well was deep but not the one they sat beside.  The well was her soul and her spirit and he knew he had to reach long and dig deep to get to the heart of her, and bring to the surface the goodness in her.

He did!  She found that goodness and went to call others to meet “a man who told me everything I ever did” – and yet, knowing everything she ever did, he sat comfortably with her and brought her to a better place.

In these days of COVID-19 when we are asked to be socially distant, there is no denying the wisdom in that since, like our decision to suspend public Masses, it allows room and lessens the risk of transmission of illness but we must long for closeness again and never lose sight of the conversation between Jesus and the woman at the well.  You could not imagine them shouting at each other with six feet between them.  This was a close and personal conversation and ultimately led to a place of joy and gathering where even more people were brought into the moment.  They came, listened and were convinced to a point where they said to the woman: “We no longer believe just because of what you told us – we have seen and heard him ourselves and know that he is the Messiah”.

Let us long for and do all in our power to hasten the day when people can sit side by side again and where strangers need have no fear of one another or striking up a conversation.

I look forward to the congregations again, the choirs, the music and the faces.  I hope too, that I’ll have the eyes to spot the face in the crowd that might need to sit by the well and chat.

God bless you all. God protect us all.

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