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.
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.
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.
Earlier today, we celebrated the Mass of The Angels in Kilmovee Parish Church.
It was in memory of Cian Patrick Hunt who died on Saturday, October 6th, in his fourth day of life. Sadly in the past four years, Cian Patrick’s parents have lost two other babies so there was an added sense of loss in today’s gathering but strength too, in a church filled to over-flowing. It was wonderful to see so many people there, to offer support and prayer to this family. I asked the parents if they’d mind my sharing here the words used at today’s Mass. They said that would be fine so I hope these words offer some comfort to those who might have been there today and see them again and perhaps to parents out there, who may well have had a similar experience. May God offer strength to one and all and, may Cian Patrick together with all infants who have gone before us, hold us in their hearts and prayer. May they know too that they remain firmly rooted in our love and memories.
Gifts Table – Photo taken of Baby Cian Patrick in hospital, Teddy Bear given by Irish Air Corps in memory of Cian’s helicopter flight from Castlebar to Dublin, candles in memory of Cian’s deceased brother and sister – gifts from Féileacáin (group offering support to bereaved parents of infants), a cap knitted by volunteers in the Coombe Women’s Hospital and a blanket given to the parents by hospital staff.
Like all of you, I was deeply saddened when news emerged that all was not well for this little boy and his parents. Like all of you, I had looked forward to rejoicing rather than weeping, saying hello rather than goodbye, holding rather than letting go. Like all of you, I was aware of the losses endured by these young parents in 2014 and 2016 and hoped – believed that 2018 would tell a different story. Not one that would allow for any forgetting of previous events, but one that would offer hope and joy, peace and gratitude. So, like all of you, I was and am heartbroken.
In baptism ceremonies, we meet the baby and parents at the door of the church, it’s a sign of welcoming and of entering a new home and beginning a new journey alongside the family home and family’s journey. I’m the one who goes to the door to meet the family and we take it from there. Last Friday was different. Instead of me going to the familiar door of this church, I walked into the Coombe Women’s Hospital and, instead of me walking towards the family, David came to meet me. He told me things were not good and I was amazed at the strength of character displayed. He asked me if I’d baptize their son and, of course I said yes. Again, in the baptism ceremony, I usually ask the questions, but this too was different. “Have you ever done this before?” Amy asked me, and, in truth, I hadn’t. Neither had I cried before baptism. I know that some of the nurses saw me cry. They offered me tea and asked repeatedly if I was alright. I appreciated their kindness and was not totally shocked by my tears. I’d have been more shocked if I didn’t cry. This should not be happening. “Have you ever done this before?”, Amy’s question deserved an answer and I told her that I hadn’t, not like this anyway but that we’d do our best. She smiled. She wanted it done the best it could be done.
“What name to give your child?” I asked David and Breda. “Cian Patrick”, they replied. “What do you ask of God’s Church for Cian Patrick?” “Baptism”, they replied. “In asking to have your child baptized, you are taking on responsibility to show him the ways of faith, to let him know of God’s love, of Jesus’ presence in his life and of the gifts of the Holy Spirit. Do you clearly understand what you are undertaking?” “We do”. They did. There’s no doubt in the world that David and Breda know what it means to be parents. Repeatedly they’ve shown it through the years – not just with Amy and Seán but also with Sarah Anne and David Michael, whose memories are real and ever present and whose birthdays are celebrated with prayer, balloons and chocolate cake. They know what it means to be parents. Cian Patrick was baptized and, though none of us could hold him, the incubator was perhaps God’s hands around and beneath him – the stable of Bethlehem – a temporary home. Cian Patrick was anointed with Chrism and the waters of baptism trickled down his forehead with the words: “I baptize you Cian Patrick, in the name of The Father and of The Son and of The Holy Spirit, Amen”. I looked at Amy and Seán, I looked at Breda and David, I looked at Mary and Rita the two nurses in the room with us (Mary being his Godmother). I looked at Cian Patrick who could not have been any more surrounded by love as he was at that moment. Amy, we did it well. You and Seán were at your brother’s baptism. I was proud of you all, heartbroken for you all but glad we were able to have this moment. Precious Memories.
I was with David and Breda on Saturday when Cian Patrick was taken from the incubator and placed in their arms. His journey continued and his time with us grew shorter. I watched again the tenderness of parental love and marvelled at Breda as she took her son in her arms, I would think for the first time. There wasn’t a hint of self-pity but, instead, the cradling arms of a mother. Rita re-arranged the chairs and the parents sat side-by-side with their little son. An hour or so earlier, we watched Amy and Seán play with their brother “Round and round the garden …. one step, two step ….” They accompanied him on all his steps. We sang too. It was suggested I’d sing something and, when Seán was asked what I might sing, he said “The one you do at Christmas”. On an October Saturday we sang “The Little Drummer Boy”. I thought of Cian Patrick as the Little Drummer Boy, bringing his gifts to our crib but, later in the day, I thought more about it and realised we were, all of us, the Drummer Boy desperately wanting to bring gifts to Cian Patrick and He, THE CHRIST CHILD, accepting all we brought to him – from the Naval Helicopter Teddy Bear to the Green and Red cap and all else that surrounded him at that moment.
I thought of Michelangelo’s Pieta – that marble statue depicting Mary holding her son in her arms and at the rock of marble out of which that was carved and the artist’s ability to see what lay within and bring it to life. I left Breda and David. They deserved to be alone now with each other and their son. When I returned, Cian Patrick’s short journey had reached its destination. He died surrounded by love. Though our wish is that he’d have lived longer, he could not have been loved any more than he was during those days.
David shared a short video clip with me. He took it while Breda was holding her son. In a wonderful moment, Cian Patrick’s eyes open and he looks steadily at his mother and smiles. “That’s enough for me”, David told me.
“Then he smiled at me …… at me and my drum”.
“Then he smiled at them … at his dad and his mum” ….
During the week my nephew and his wife welcomed their first child into the world! For months, like all parents, they had looked forward to this moment and it arrived in the early hours of September 12th. My brother sent me a text just after 3am and though I enjoy my sleep, I was happy to be awoken by the little beeping notification sound.
I was in Gurteen yesterday for a Wedding Ceremony and afterwards went to Cloonloo Church and Templeronan Cemetery for a quick visit. I got word that my nephew, his wife and their daughter were on their way home from the hospital so I waited for them to arrive.
It was a quiet homecoming, though my sister-in-law had brought some balloons and decorations to the house to mark the occasion and welcome the little one to her new home.
“Would you like to hold her?” I was asked and the answer was yes. I held her for a little while and hoped that, in time, she’d come to know me as someone who will love her and care for her as best I can. She won’t, thank God, be short of love.
As I was leaving, I looked at her in the little buggy and looked at her hands as they rested on the blanket. So small but so, so perfect. I took her hand in mine and then decided to take a photo.
I liked the photo when I saw it and felt it had a corner here. Maybe someday she might see it and know that I took her hand in mine the day she came home and, in the taking, commit with all my family to minding her and leading her, as best we can, along the road and future that awaits her.
Earlier I had placed my hand on the top of a young couple’s joined hands during the Wedding Mass in Gurteen. Their joined hands and the future they hoped for were blessed too.
There’s something about openness to give and take the hand and something about blessing.
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