by Vincent | Oct 9, 2015 | General Interest, Religion
Friday,still in Castlederg but heading home this evening. It’s been an amazing few days. I am so thankful to have had this opportunity to share the faith journey with so many people. I don’t think I have words to describe how uplifting it has been to witness the faith of this parish since Sunday evening. People came in their hundreds each time we gathered – three times a day, to celebrate Mass and spend time in prayer.
We covered much ground – a lot of it you, regular visitors, have covered with me in the past but there’s always something new that comes into the narrative. I have been so touched by the kindness and receptivity of all that i met here over these days. It’s so reassuring to my own life, as priest, to realise my ministry can enter the lives of so many people and have a meaning and a home there. Needless to say, I sense this in my own parish too and the gratitude I feel for all with whom I live in Kilmovee and its surrounds, is no less real or meaningful. There seems to be a real sense of belonging here that I haven’t encountered for such a prolonged period, It quite likely is rooted in history but it is certainly lived in the present.
Each morning at 6.30am Mass I was renewed in my admiration for young families that sat as one in church. Very many teenagers, in school uniforms of varying colours and crests were as one in their “Amen” to to faith and prayer. Equally so, all gathered.
Last night we had a Penance Service with around nine priests attending. It was humbling to see so many avail of this moment of Reconciliation and comforting that people waited on, as community, until the service was over and we could all leave, together, as a renewed people. I believe it was the Sacrament at its best – a community supporting the individuals within. I truly hope God’s Mercy was witnessed.
This morning we celebrated the Sacrament of the Sick. The church was full, the prayer was intense and the desire for healing palpable. Thank God for this and so much more that happened this week.
I had the chance to visit the local primary school yesterday, St Patrick’s and to meet all the children in two assemblies – one for the junior classes and a second with the seniors. I really enjoyed seeing them. I thought how similar children are everywhere and we should be doing all in our power to help them enjoy life. At the end of the second assembly the children sang for me – “From A Distance” – it’s been a while since I heard that song but it sounded sweet!
Anyway, will leave it there for now … might add a bit over the weekend. For now, a few images from the days and the place
by Vincent | Sep 11, 2015 | Reflections, Religion
At this year’s Urlaur Pattern Mass we included a “Ceremony of Naming and Remembering” men and women of the parish who had entered religious life. We included Diocesan Priests as well as Religious. For some weeks we had sought from parishioners names of relatives, neighbours and friends who they knew who had become priests, brothers or sisters. We received in excess of 100 names. Though it’s certain there are others whose names we did not receive we were proud to be able to name and remember so many from our Parish who sought to answer God’s call. It is possible that not all of these remained in religious life but the truth of their “Yes” is what we sought to recall in Urlaur. It was a very moving and special moment in the tradition that is The Urlaur Pattern. Some people have requested this list be made available. We are happy to include it here. If you know of other names that should be included, please let us know and we will, in time, update this record.
Fr Anthony Bones, Stonepark
Sr Eilzabeth Bones, Esker
Sr Monica Bones, Stonepark
Sr Agatha Brett, Liscosker
Sr Bosco Cafferkey, Culgarriff
Sr Brigid Cafferkey, Tullgranny
Sr Gerard Cafferkey, Carrowbeg
Sr Margarget Cafferkey, Tullgranny
Bro Conrad Callaghan, Raherolish
Bro Peter Callaghan, Culclare
Sr Mary Gabriel Cassidy, Cahelahenny
Sr Aidan Caulfield, Carralackey
Sr Celestine Conway, Ballyglass
Bro Nathy Costello, Ballyglass
Fr Padraig Costello, Culmore
Fr JT Cribben, Carrowbeg
Sr Teresa Doherty, Ballyglass
Sr Annie Duffy, Culclare
Bro Declan Duffy, Clooncara
Fr Dominic Duffy, Ballyglass
Sr Eucharia Duffy, Glann
Sr Francis Duffy, Glann
Sr Francis (Katie) Duffy, Clooniron
Fr John C Duffy, Clooncara
Fr Kevin Duffy, Kilkelly
Sr Margaret Duffy, Glann
Fr Michael Duffy, Clooncara
Sr Monica Duffy, Clooncara
Sr Winifred Duffy, Kilmovee
Sr Bernardine Dunleavy, Glann
Sr Brigid Dunleavy, Kilkelly
Fr Louis Dunleavy, Sinolane
Sr Alphonus Egan, Tavrane
Sr Assumpta Flannery, Kilkelly
Sr Freda Flannery, Kilkelly
Fr James Flannery, Kilkelly
Sr Ursula Flannery, Kilkelly
Sr Bridie Foley, Barcul
Sr Kathleen Foley, Barcul
Sr Rose Foley, Barcul
Bro Bonaventure Frain, Rusheens
Sr Catherine Frain, Rusheens
Sr Mary Frain, Rusheens
Fr Tom Freyne, Culcastle
Fr John Griffin, Culclare
Sr Enda Harrington, Glann
Sr Mary Harrington, Glann
Sr Patricia Hayden, Culcastle
Fr Joseph Henry, Cloonamna
Sr Aidan Higgins, Culliagh
Sr Mary Joseph Higgins, Ballyglass
Sr Melanie Higgins, Culmore
Fr John Hunt, Sraheens
Sr Foncia Kearns, Rusheens
Fr John P Kelly, Kilkelly
Sr Baptist Kenny, Carralackey
Sr Gabriel Kenny, Carralackey
Sr Lena Kerins, Derrylahan
Fr James Lafferty, Ballyglass
Sr Rose Lafferty, Ballyglass
Fr Dominic Lydon, Shammar
Sr Eileen Lydon, Gowlaune
Sr Evelyn McDonnell, Cullgarriff
Sr Mary McDonnell, Cullgarriff
Sr Mary Walter McDonnell, Cullgarriff
Sr Ellie Mullen, Ballinrumpa
Sr Marie Mullen, Ballinrumpa
Fr Tim Mullen, Ballyglass
Fr Michael Murphy, Kilkelly
Sr Fulgentia (Nora) Nyland, Urlaur
Fr Fintan O’Beirne, Barcul
Fr Oliver O’Beirne, Barcul
Sr Jospehine O’Gara, Culliagh
Sr Rita O’Grady, Culmore
Fr Dan O’Mahony, Magheraboy
Fr Stephen O’Mahony, Magheraboy
Bro James Phillips, Urlaur
Sr Magdalen Phillips, Urlaur
Sr Mary Phillips, Urlaur
Sr Alphonsus Regan, Glann
Sr Angela Regan, Cloonamna
Sr Anne Regan, Egool
Sr Catherine Regan, Egool
Sr Eileen Regan, Egool
Sr Ita Kate Regan, Sraheens
Sr Mary Joseph Regan (Townland not given)
Bro Patrick Regan, Sraheens
Fr Patrick Sharkey, O.P. (Urlaur Abbey)
Sr Breedge Shiel, Kilkelly
Fr Brendan Shiel, Kilkelly
Fr Joe Shiel, Kilkelly
Sr Mary Jane Shiel, Kilkelly
Sr Maud Shiel, Kilkelly
Sr Muriel Shiel, Kilkelly
Sr Nany Shiel, Kilkelly
Fr Peter Shiel, Kilkelly
Sr Una Shiel, Kilkelly
Sr Cormac Shiels, Kilkelly
Sr Marie Theresa Shiels, Kilkelly
Sr Cecil Tarpey, Kilkelly
Fr James Tarpey, Kilkelly
Sr Kitty Tarpey, Kilkelly
Bro Timothy Tarpey, Kilkelly
Fr Dominic Towey, Aughadeffin
Sr Mary Oswald (Ann) Towey, Aughadeffin
Fr James Walsh, Tavrane
Sr Stanislaus Walsh, Tavrane
by Vincent | Sep 5, 2015 | Reflections
Sometime ago, I asked for suggestions around what might be helpful on this blog. The other day I got one such suggestion. It was short and to the point, asking that I might write something on grief ….
The day I received that message was the day after I came home from holidays. While I was away, I received word that a young man from the parish had died in Adelaide. He was 28 years old, a hard worker and died doing what he liked to do, as someone put it at his Funeral Mass; “earning a day’s wage for a day’s work”. May he rest in peace.
For nearly two weeks I’d known that I was coming home the day before his Funeral Mass so, for much longer than usual, I had the chance to prepare a few words. That said, no words came to me, much as I tried to find them. I called to his home the evening I arrived and noticed the field beside his family home filled with cars and many young men from the parish, together with some of our older parishioners directing traffic, helping to park cars and being, what they needed to be, “supportive”. Saddened though I was, there was something in this display of solidarity that was wrapped in reassurance. People are not left alone when help is needed. It struck me that many of these young men were grieving the loss of their former team-mate on Kilmovee Shamrocks, mourning the loss of one who emigrated about five years ago but kept in touch with friends and family. Their grief expressed itself in “high-vis” jackets, in standing at the end of the road and directing those who wished to visit the home, say a prayer and offer condolences. Their grief may or may not have included tears but their grief was real. Thankfully it found a way to express itself – in “hands-on” help at a difficult moment.
Likewise the neighbour, whose field was being used, filling in soft spots with chippings so that cars could enter and leave the field without getting stranded. His opening the gap in a much cherished field was his way of grieving the “neighbour’s son” who was a daily visitor to his own family home during his childhood years. This man’s sister told me afterwards that it was “the hardest week of our lives”. She too knew grief as she remembered the boy, now a man sleeping in death’s arms, and the joy he brought to their kitchen with his childish stories and impish ways. The elderly neighbour down the road who seldom leaves his house had made the journey to pay his respects “Did you know him well?” I asked “There was scarcely a day he wasn’t here when he was a boy. He was a mighty worker”. Grief that took a man who seldom travels to see again the neighbours and tell them he was sorry for their loss. “I didn’t think I’d be able for the Funeral he told me”. Maybe he meant able to be in the church with so many people for so long but maybe too, he just wasn’t able to take in the fact a twenty-eight year old had died. Grief takes many forms and expresses itself in a myriad of ways.
I took my place in the home. I looked at the coffin and the young man within. I looked at his parents, brothers and sisters and wondered what I could ever say that could even go close to being a comfort. They weren’t sobbing or bent over in visible heartbreak but they were devastated. Happy perhaps, to have him home for the few hours. It had been a long wait and a long journey but there was a hard reality in that room. One of the children had died. Grief was present. Grief is real.
I searched for something there – something I could use as a landmark, a pointer that might in time, lead to a better place and a happier moment. Nothing came to me, much and all as I wanted it to. I looked at photos, football jersey and faces but none of them uttered a word. Grief sometimes doesn’t allow much to be said and, even if it is said, seems to dull the hearing. “I’m truly sorry” I told them in turn or “sorry for your trouble” or “I wish you hadn’t to be here ….” I tried to vary my words a little but the core truth was the same, it was a difficult and heart breaking moment for this family.
Without finding a landmark, I left the house and walked back to my car, past lines of people waiting to do what I had just done. Lines of silent people. Yes, they were talking but nothing much was being said. Grief envelops a crowd and brings the crowd to a stilled silence. I’m sure there were hundreds there but very little was being said. Grief does that, it stills the crowd in us and quietens the voice in us. I thanked the lads in the field and noticed how attentive they were to their tasks. There were no mobiles or walkie-talkies but they were all in communication with each other, even in the large field that, I’m told, parked over the hours around a thousand cars. Grief brought a singleness of purpose to those young people. They wanted to do the right thing by their friend and his family. Maybe grief has its good points too. It brings out, on occasion, the best in us.
Later that evening I returned to the home for a little while. I sat at the kitchen table and remembered sitting there a few weeks ago when there had been a baptism in the family. I thought how different the atmosphere had been, how much more joyful the conversation but it struck me we were at the same table – sharing food. That much was the same. I’d found my landmark. The table! Something solid around which people gather and from which they’re fed. Altar and Eucharist.
Maybe that’s what we search for in grief. That “landmark” that reminds us of what remains the same rather than what has changed. It may well be the love we had for a person, the need we felt for them the intention we had to be good to and for him or her. It might be a shared memory, a story, a journey – togetherness that remains as was, in spite of all that has happened. Grief has the ability to devastate us, to curl us up in a ball of uncertainty but I think too, it can take us to a place of recognition of the ultimate truth, what this person was in my life, all that he or she meant to me, remains constant.
I mentioned grief at the Funeral Mass. I said that I felt certain the family, member by member, the friends too, would be visited by grief. It might be a month or six; a year or more but someday tears will roll down the cheek and the stomach will tighten as if recoiling from a blow. The timing of its visit is not in our hands. Neither the duration of its stay. Grief sets out its own agenda and makes its own travel plans. Someone once said that they only way to ensure you never cry at a funeral is to never love anyone. The price we pay for love is grief. Grief at moving away, at separation and, of course, at death. There’s little, indeed nothing, that can be done to avoid it but maybe there’s a way to live with and through it.
A friend once told me that before a football game. the team manager was giving the warm up talk in the changing room. I’ve no doubt it was impassioned and colourful but the piece of advice my friend remembers, long after he hung up his boots for the final time, was around coping when the game wasn’t going your way. The manager told them if they found themselves going through a dry spell, when nothing seemed to work for them, that they shouldn’t try to be fancy. “Don’t try to solo the length of the pitch”, he told them, “you’ll not make it”. “Neither”, he said “try an elaborate pass” His advice was rooted in the simple. “Take a short pass from a team mate, move the ball to another, do something simple with the ball”. It makes such sense. It’s about getting confidence back, finding direction and knowing what you’re about. The manager concluded, according to my friend’s telling with these words; “If the game is going bad for you, do something simple with the ball. Play yourself back into the game”.
“Play yourself back into the game”. Grief? Connection? I think it’s something about finding something that gives you strength and confidence on the darkest days. It’s about knowing you are not on the pitch alone, that there are team mates there who will pass support to you and receive it from you. It’s about “doing something simple” to find peace for the moment and direction for the moments to follow. It’s about playing yourself back into the game because the bad patches pass and what’s important, the landmarks remain. Maybe it’s about reading a piece through which you’ve been consoled or spending some time with old photographs, it might be listening to a song, going for a walk or anything that connects you with the source of your grief, the one you miss. It’s not about doing anything dramatic. Just “something simple” … with the ball, with grief.
Is this enough about grief? Quite doubtful, I honestly don’t know but maybe it’s a start.