Easter Vigil

Easter Vigil

Had Easter Vigil tonight, like so many others, in an empty church. Thankfully I was able to connect with people via Live Stream and include here the Facebook recording. God Bless you all this Easter time. May the “long Good Friday” of COVID-19, give way to Easter Sunday and renewed peace and freedom.

https://www.facebook.com/kilmoveeparish/videos/107909400881885/
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.

 

 

Cian Patrick

Cian Patrick

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” ….

A long shadow

A long shadow

Casting its shadow – Culmore Cemetery (Kilkelly)

It’s a week now since we received the cross of ashes.  Its shape most likely disappeared by bedtime and most certainly washed away in the cleansing waters of Thursday morning. You’d like to think its memory has lingered a while and grounded us a little.

Today’s photo is from our November Prayers in Culmore Cemetery.  As the prayers concluded, the sun came out and rose to a point in the sky where it cast a long shadow over the people as they walked and talked following our prayers.  I thought of the shadow the cross casts over so many people and, unlike the one in the photo, the cross with all its weight and pain doesn’t fade quickly or pass from sight in the twinkle of an eye or shifting of the clouds.

A thought today for those so burdened.  Parents grieving the loss of a child – maybe a child they never got to say hello to or one who lived and loved and left.  Husbands, wives, parents, children, friends, neighbours trying to come to terms with their grief and loss.  We think of those meeting doctors today who may not have a good story to hear.  We remember all battling addiction and pray strength and guidance for them.  We pray for healing and forgiveness for those who have been hurt by life’s experiences.  We pray and, with Simon and Veronica, allow ourselves to step from or be taken from the crowd to bring healing, a soothing hand and a caring word.

The shadow cast by the cross runs long and deep but let us pray that it be a shadow that will in time – sooner rather than later – give way to hope.

Leonard Cohen put it well in his prayer for healing:

“The splinters that we carry – the cross we left behind – come healing of the body – come healing of the mind.”

 

 

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