From Eloise to Bonaventure

From Eloise to Bonaventure

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while!

Just over a week ago, as I got ready for daily Mass in Kilmovee, I noticed Brother Bonaventure coming into the church. He’s a native of the parish, Michael Frain from Rusheens, and is a Religious Brother. He taught for many years in Sligo and is now living in Dublin. He had been home for a few days, and joined us for Mass on Sunday when we prayed for his brother and sister-in-law and remembered them around an anniversary.

I remember many years ago, when his brother died, Bishop Christy Jones spoke to me about Bonaventure and held him in very high regard, as do I. He’s a likeable and good man who has served the Lord without holding back for all of his life.

As he came into church that day for morning Mass, I was struck by the slowness of his walk and that the years have told their story. The energetic young teaching Brother is in there somewhere but not visible to the naked eye. That side of his life is well and fondly remembered and, more than once, I have met people through the years who connect Kilmovee with Brother Bonaventure and the best of their school memories, in which he holds a central and pivotal role. I was always proud to hear his name so mentioned.

He took his place in church, reverently greeting the Lord and, I have no doubt, looked forward to encountering him in Eucharist.

In the seat just behind him, there sat a mother and her two young daughters. A few days earlier, the younger of the two daughters had received her First Holy Communion in another parish. Her mother had stopped in to see me on their way to the church and I was happy to see Eloise in her First Holy Communion dress. The one she wore that day was her own and special to the day and the celebration that was about to take place. It was not the first time she had worn a First Holy Communion dress though! She wore her sister’s last year!

She wore it and ran in it – 10K – to raise money for the Hospice and in memory of her daddy who died nine years ago when she was just a baby. She ran with her mother and sister that day and, even at the height of COVID restrictions, people supported from a distance and as close as circumstances would allow to wish her well, let her know we were proud and to support a worthy cause. She raised more than €30,000.00. Incredible. She could not have done it without her mother and sister and the support of a community and family. She ran in her sister’s First Holy Communion Dress to commemorate the day she should have worn her own and received her First Holy Communion, cancelled, like so many other things, because of COVID.

In recent weeks she wore her own dress, joined her classmates and friends and said “Amen” to the Body of Christ. I was happy for her and thankful that her mammy took a moment to stop with me on their way to the church.

Now she and Brother Bonaventure sat a seat apart at a daily Mass and I admired both, was thankful for both and had the chance to share Eucharist with both. I thought of how quickly she ran, in contrast to Bonaventure’s measured steps and of how faithful he has been to that day when he, for the first time said “Amen” on his own First Holy Communion Day.

I thought they had much in common and hoped that Eloise will continue to be a light (her sister Lucia’s name means LIGHT) and that she will make a difference in life as Bonaventure has in his. I hoped that in years to come, on a day scarcely imaginable to young Eloise, she might walk slowly into a church, take her place and maybe notice the young mother and children in the seat behind her and that, on that day, she will give thanks for the difference she has made in life and that there will be someone to say thanks to her for that difference.

Between Eloise and Bonaventure – there is a lot of good to be done and much good has been done.

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.

 

 

I feel I have to share this ….

I feel I have to share this ….

A few days ago, I quite literally happened on fifteen minutes of a YouTube video.  It featured a man I have met each summer for more than twenty years.  I met him in the context of spending a few weeks each summer in St Agnes’ Cathedral Parish, Rockville Centre, New York.  I have mentioned this many times through the years and always enjoy the time I spend there.  The first Mass of the day in that parish is at 6.30am and the man featured in the video, Bernie O’Brien, opened the church each morning for that Mass and prepared for the celebration.  His loyalty to this hour of the day and the importance of the celebration was incredible.

I watched this video clip – a talk given last Lent in St Agnes’ Cathedral, I am assuming as part of a series of talks, and I was amazed.  Some of the detail I knew, not least that Bernie lost his son and son-in-law in the attack on Twin Towers in 2001.  The rest of his story was new to me but told with such conviction.  I was amused by his reference to a favourite saying of his “The best way to start the day” – referring to Mass.  I have to confess there were times I’d have been as happy starting the day a little later!!  Bernie relished the morning.

Having watched the video, I decided I wanted to get in contact with Bernie to thank him and say how much I had enjoyed it.  It was only when I went to seek contact details, I discovered that he died in January, may he rest in peace.  I’m sorry I hadn’t the chance to tell him how special these words were but feel I can share something of his message here.

One Boss acknowledges another!

One Boss acknowledges another!


I watched “Springsteen on Broadway” on Netflix during the week.  It’s a recording of a sold out stage show on Broadway where Bruce Springsteen comes on stage with guitar and piano and just talks to and sings for his audience.  It’s a very powerful show and Bruce speaks from the heart about his background, his home town, family and faith.

His love for music is palpable and the sincerity of the story told, unquestionable. Through that story he speaks of his relationship with his father saying he was his greatest hero and greatest foe.  A tension, for sure, but one that does not blind Springsteen to the role his father played and continues to play in his life. He said when he looked for a voice he found his father’s because “there was something sacred in it”.  He said he had a dream after his father’s death of him performing on stage but leaving the stage and going to his father in the audience, kneeling beside him, brushing his forearm and, with his father, looking at himself on stage – the “man on fire” – and then telling his father: “Look dad, that man on stage, that’s how I see you.”  He speaks near the end of the show about his father arriving to visit him, unannounced, a few days before the birth of Springsteen’s first child.  He says it is as if his father is encouraging him to be a good father – maybe in a way, he hadn’t been.  He said it was an apology of sorts without apology ever being mentioned.

Through it all he sings – sings well known hits in a way that maybe we’d not hear them before but spellbinding.  He is honest that many of the things he sings about are not things he knows first hand.  He speaks about being drafted for Vietnam but being lucky enough not to be sent.  A sadness comes over him and he said he often wonders who went in his place.  He then sings “Born in The USA” … something very real about it.  He talked about being like most young people and reacting against his home town and rallying to get away from it, shake it off and leave it all behind.  Now he says he lives “ten minutes” from that home town and would want to be nowhere else!  Life teaches us lessons but it can take us a while to let them in.

I think the most remarkable moment of the show comes near the end when he speaks again about the local church.  He grew up beside it, the convent, priests’ house and local school – St Rose of Lima.  As a child he said the sense of church and family was everything to him.  He said he was surrounded by God.  Towards the end he comes back to this.  Says that they say “Catholics are never let go” – and that what was given to us in childhood stays with us forever.  He says he remembers saying prayers and singing hymns that meant nothing to him.  Maybe he even resented them but standing near the church, remembering his father and all that is important to him, he said these words came to him – words that are ingrained.   The camera x-rays his face – his Soul and he speaks – no, he prays:

“Our father
who art in Heaven
hallowed be thy name
thy Kingdom come
thy will be done
on earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day ……

The words then become his – “Just give us this day ….. forgive us our sins … our trespasses
as we forgive those who might trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil – all of us, for ever and ever.. Amen”

Wonderful.  The camera holds, the face is solid, the heart is touched and he blesses his audience: “May God bless you, your families and all those you love; and thanks for coming out tonight.”

I’m so glad I watched this.  I don’t know much about Bruce or listen much to his music but he reached me.  I had hoped to see this show sometime but it’s over now and was fully sold out so glad to have been able to see it in this way.

Death is a monkey

Death is a monkey

Her husband died not too long ago.  I met her recently and we chatted briefly.  “How are things going?” I asked.  “Some days good and some bad”, she replied.  “Which type today?”  She looked at me and said “Death is a monkey.”

I knew what she meant. Over the weekend we had three Cemetery Masses in the parish.  It never ceases to encourage and move me when I see how people respond to these Masses.  Travelling from near and far, word shared by word of mouth, text, email – whatever – with friend and family members away, brings people in their hundreds to stand on the ground where their loved ones are buried so that a prayer may be offered and remembrance be assured..  It is a very special gathering in any parish and, as I say, our parish had three of them this weekend and one more next weekend.  Death is a monkey.

It leaves us bruised and saddened and the journey of grief is unique and personal.  What is common however, is the sense of helplessness we face in making the journey – the often unwelcome and uninvited journey through grief.

Maybe I might include some of the thoughts shared at the weekend.

Shortly after my mother died, nearly ten years ago now, I had a phonecall from a classmate and friend in Belfast.  He had been unable to attend the funeral and called me to sympathise.  His own mother died many years ago and he told me, during our conversation, that for months after her death, he woke up every morning thinking about her.  No matter how well he slept, or how good things were going or what the day had to bring, she was the first thing on his mind.  He grew accustomed to this, accepted it but above all, noticed it.  Then, he told me, one morning he woke up and, without realising it until much later in the day, he hadn’t thought of her.  Initially he felt guilty but later came to realise that this day was part of the grieving process.  Needless to say, he had not forgotten about his mother but somehow he was able to wake from sleep and face the day, without her being the first thing thought of.  He saw this as an important day and, without saying any more to me, he was offering me some re-assurance.  Later, I came to realise more fully what he meant and why he had shared this with me.

The day we can begin the day without feeling burdened by grief is a day to look forward to and welcome.  It is not a day of moving on or forgetting but more a day of acceptance.  It is a necessary day and one that, in many ways, our loved ones would want.  Those who loved us in life, would not wish to see us forever trapped in grief or uncertainty.  Just as they rejoiced in our happiness during their lives, surely they would rejoice from their place in eternity.

Yes, death is a monkey – but we have what it takes to find peace of mind and contentment.  There is no saying for sure when and how that comes but, I believe it is the gift of those gone before us and they rejoice in our being able to accept and open that gift.

Wherever you are on the journey …. God bless and guide you.

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