I just watched this video on Cardinal O’Malley’s blog and, thought it’s rooted in the Archdiocese of Boston, it’s message goes beyond the geography that is that Arhcdiocese. Thought it might be good to share it here.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCn4RGwuULM?rel=0]
I got the DVD yesterday that John J.McMorrow took on the day of the Mass of Thanksgiving in June. It’s a very good DVD and a nice record to have. I know the fullness of its value will be more evident at a further remove from the day but it was nice to take a quick look through it yesterday. I’m grateful to John for his fine work. John also did the video for my ordination. In any case, I did a recording of the recording and thought I’d include here a video clip of the homily. (Quality lost a bit in the process – words and picture might not be totally in sync – John McMorrow’s is spot on!!!) It’s quite long (just over twenty minutes – so a bit less than a minute a year!!) so if/when you have time, you might like to take a look.
[wpvideo phNJsPzr]
I have a Funeral Mass in the parish this morning. Last night the son of the man we will bury later today, told me his father loved cutting turf – the old-fashioned way – and used to talk about the season he cut “thirty-six trailer loads”. I looked today to see if I could find a poem or a verse about turf-cutting and came across this piece, “Digging”, by Seamus Heaney. I’m not sure I could do it justice but thought I’d share the clip here. It’s well done and might bring back a few memories for some. Enjoy!
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIzJgbNANzk&rel=0]
TEXT OF POEM – “DIGGING” by Seamus Heaney
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
Stopped at the Four Ways when this happened!! True or False????
[wpvideo 64woSDZ9]
Everywhere we look or listen this week, there have been reminders of the Titanic and, more tragically, its sinking one hundred years ago this night (14th April). I just had Mass in Urlaur and, by way of reflection and remembrance, shared a song I like a lot. It was written by Johnny McEvoy and tells of a meeting on the docks in Cobh between a young man and a newly married couple who were setting sail for New York. The teller of the story in song felt a sense of envy but also the need to wish the couple every good wish as they set out in search of their dream. There was however, a sound in the air, that left a question ……
We think of all the John Williams and their wives, of sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers who shared that journey and possibly a dream. A hundred years has passed but it’s important to remember. Johnny McEvoy does well on that front. We’ll remember with him …..
Got a few photos from Sunday’s Dawn Mass. Most were sent to me by Donal Byrne and some by James Hunt. I’ve added them to a YouTube clip. Thanks to both men for the photos ….
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssrSvcJVRlk]
