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.
Tabhair dom do lámh (Give me your hand)
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.
In a few short hours, you will be replaced by 2018. All over the world, as midnight finds its hour in a variety of time-zones, people will embrace, kiss and wish each other well. Others will be at home alone and just remember other days. Some will be in bed, asleep and unaware that the ticking has been done and that you have closed down. Thought I’d like to share a few words with you before you leave.
Like every other year, you’ve brought your share of joys and sorrows to the lives of people at home and away. In fairness, it’s not as if you brought either – you just happened to be there but, there you were. Headstones will have your number engraved beneath the names of loved ones. Still others will have you at the latter end of a dash 19**-2017, book ending you as the final moment on a life’s journey. Alongside that, millions of babies – tomorrow’s men and women – will have you included on birth and baptismal certificates, numbering you – quite literally – as their starting point. Yes, you’ve witnessed a lot of comings and goings since January.
I don’t remember much, month by month of what happened this year but there are things I’m thankful for – like solid friendships, support, good humour, health and happiness – Faith too. These combine to make me feel something approaching secure and at peace in myself. Friendship is especially important to me and I’d like to think I kept in contact with people throughout the year. Certainly I know I’m thankful this New Year’s Eve to all who have kept in contact with me. It’s likely of course that there are people I did not speak to or visit during the past twelve months but I’m certain that those who matter to me – even those with whom I might have lost contact – have been part of my thoughts and prayers. I count good friends among my greatest blessing and the corner stone of my life.
As for people that I’ve not been in touch with or with whom I’ve lost contact -there’s a regret around that for sure. Maybe I could have said or done more to make this a year of re-connection. Yes 2017, I’m sorry about that for sure. You might ask your successor to help me not have similar regrets in twelve months’ time.
I was happy to have two booklets published this year and to begin contributing a fairly regular column to The Irish Catholic and Messenger publications. I enjoy words and trying to shape a few ideas and all of these have helped me towards that end. It was good, I hope not in an opinionated way, to see my words and thoughts on paper that I didn’t produce or on a website that I hadn’t logged into. There was something very life giving to me, in seeing my words matter enough to be shared. Most of the words are about what matters to me and motivates me so maybe I’m doing some service as well, to God’s will and purpose. I’d like to think that much of what I say, finds it roots in God’s word and a desire to do the right thing by God.
Once again I had the chance to spend some time in Rockville Centre during your months and that has been a joy to me and for me for twenty years now. I was happy to meet again people who have become part of my life during those years. I always feel lucky to be able to make that connection.
In the parish, I was again lucky to have so many good people who share the way with me. I’d like to think, as the hours draw to a close, that I did my best (or as close to it as possible) in being with people during the year. We shared, like everyone else, good days and bad, happy occasions and sad but the key word is “shared”. I feel happy that a lot of good was done in the parish during the months of 2017. Of course the moving of my co-worker, Fr John, to a new parish brought its own level of changes and loss but, for him, you were a year of new promise and opportunity. The people rallied around that change and have been so supportive. Certainly they have made life easier for me and adjustment more manageable. For this and more, I am thankful.
Again family has been a constant in my life during the year and I was happy to recall again the days around my ordination – thirty years ago – and to remember alongside them, the support and love of my parents, brothers and their families. Mixed with this, needless to say, a sense of loss for those who have died and others with whom I don’t have contact as often or as fully as I would wish. All things considered though, 2017 was kind to my family and for that too, I’m thankful.
This blog has been a companion too and you, who read it regularly or occasionally and tell me you enjoy it, give me great hope and encouragement. Sometimes, even to sit and look at a blank screen, hoping to fill it with something that might make a difference, is enough incentive to keep going. I hope that the words you’ve met here, the songs you’ve heard or the video clips you’ve viewed, have – in some small but meaningful way – helped you journey through the year.
There was a lot of sadness in our world during your months. Again, not of your making, but forever linked with you now when history is recalled. The level of cruelty that exists in the world is frightening and innocence found in innocent people counts for little when attacks show no concern for the well-being of people or the protection of life. News headlines and broadcasts reminded us, all too often, that cruelty is rampant. It was sad to see so much destruction of life during the months of this year. Once again, since it is the only reasonable response to this, we all hope and pray for a more peaceful future.
So, as the time closes in now, I’ve decided not to send out endless texts or WhatsApps! I’ve decided to be thankful for the goodness of people, the Love and protection of God and the desire for peace that binds us as one.
Thanks 2017. You did your best. The rest was down to us!
Some time ago Fr Owen McEneaney, the Prior of Lough Derg, asked if I’d consider doing a few days as member of the Pastoral Team. Bishop Liam MacDaid had said something similar to me last year when I was involved with the priests of Clogher on their Diocesan Retreat. It’s not something I’d have considered really but when Fr Owen contacted me, I thought it might be a chance to do something different for a few days. I agreed. It seemed a while off but like all these things, the time passed and the days arrived. I’m here! A blue fleece and a little name-tag suggest I am a member of the “Pastoral Team”.
It’s many years since I’ve been on Lough Derg for the “Three Day Pilgrimage”, though I have been here a good number of times on the “One Day Pilgrimage” – a much kinder chance to explore something of this Sacred Space. Kinder suits me!!
The pilgrimage is quite demanding – fasting from midnight the day before you come to the island and, on arrival, removing shoes and socks – not to be seen again until leaving the island some three days later! Food is not an option either, apart from the Lough Derg Meal of dry toast and black tea or coffee made available to the pilgrims once a day.
My situation then is different and I have wrestled with guilt as I wear my shoes, have access to food and, as you can see from this blog entry, internet. I’ve wrestled but have been able to reconcile these truths with my low threshold of endurance!! Messing aside, it’s something that I will think about doing again. If not this year, maybe 2025!!
On the boat yesterday I met a couple from Westmeath and a young teacher from Armagh. The couple turned out to be neighbours of a cousin whose name I mentioned in passing. All three were determined to make the most of these days. Later two diocesan groupings arrived – one from Ferns and another from Meath. I met two Filipino girls, one a nurse and the other a student. I met two neighbours from home – one who was here just ten days ago but came back because her friend wanted to go and had nobody to accompany her. I was told a man left the Island yesterday, having faithfully completed the pilgrimage at the age of ninety and that others come regularly to the Island during the season, including one who comes weekly. An amazing variety of pilgrims, some coming here with friends and others, like the young Armagh teacher, making the decision and travelling alone. She, like all the others, becomes a pilgrim and shares the Island with others over these days.
Last night I gave the Introductory Talk to the Pilgrims who had come on the Island yesterday. They had been here for a number of hours but my role was to share a few thoughts as they began their “VIGIL” at 10.30 last night, a vigil that would see them watch and pray through the night, attend Mass at 6.30am this morning, Confessions at 8.30am and continue in prayer through the day until their Vigil concludes after Night Prayer tonight. At 10.30 another group begins its Vigil and so goes the cycle of these days.
One of the vantage points I’m experiencing these days is to witness the commitment of the staff here. Amazing! Such a variety of ages and talents – from young students to people who have given their lives to working on the Holy Island. Talented singers, musicians and people so at home with themselves and the Liturgy that accompanies these days. Truly wonderful to see.
On my way here I stopped in a filling station to get a few bits. The girl who served me asked where I was going and I told her Lough Derg. Then I had to tell her I was helping out since I had bought a breakfast roll and figured she’d think “He should be fasting” … I did a few more things in the shop and when I was leaving she followed me outside and said “Will you say a prayer for me on Lough Derg?” I told her I would and I did. I will again. I’m praying for all that I know – family, friends, parishioners, those who are sick, bereaved or in any kind of need. I hope you know and believe that. I’m asking you to pray for me too.
My days here are just a “drop in the lake” but the journey continues for all those who work here and decide to come here. For now, I’m happy to be one of them!
The fleece they gave me is a bit on the tight side!! Maybe I should have a few Lough Derg meals 🙂 That said, I enjoyed the Breakfast Roll too ….
There are many emotions running around in my head today. They include memories of my mother and father, R.I.P. and how lucky I was to have them as parents. I think a bit about home and family and remain grateful to my brothers for their support through the years. I think of people who have died, my parents obviously enough, and my God Parents too (John Shannon and May Callaghan, R.I.P.) and I think of the friends I’ve had through the years. For all of these I am so grateful and through them so blessed.
My thoughts too are with all those caught up in the stories of horror from places like Tuam where children were less fortunate, their mothers, it seems, labelled and wrong decisions were clearly made. I’ve no doubt that in these places there were women of immense kindness who saw in these children and their mothers people not statistics, lives to be cherished and nurtured not ignored and shunned. Yet too, it’s almost certain, there were people dressed in the clothing of religious life, who saw themselves above and removed from the twists and turns that weave themselves into the human condition.
I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like. There’s a line in the Old Testament that speaks of “Rachel weeping for her children” and that sound of weeping can surely be heard today. Countless stories of harsh treatment, finger pointing and tongue wagging that has to be among the worst of all human traits. There are stories shared too of kindnesses received but these are overshadowed by the pain so real to far too many. It’s heartbreaking.
I’ve been a priest since 1987 and hope that I have been kind to people, not least those who have become pregnant at a time in life and in circumstances they might not have wished for or imagined. I am not aware of ever saying or doing anything nasty or hurtful to anyone in this regard and neither am I aware of any priest friend of mine doing or saying anything to add to confusion and hurt. I have never heard a priest condemn in public or private a girl who finds herself pregnant. I have never encouraged anyone to speak ill of another and would hope – sincerely hope – that I’d only do what might be helpful and not hindering of another at a vulnerable and uncertain stage on the journey of life. I have baptized many babies through the years and, among them, babies where no father was present on the day or maybe there but not part of the mother’s life anymore or again, there and hoping to put the pieces together for the future of the baby and mother. There can be no room, on days like this, for anything but compassion. In the majority of these days, the mother and baby, the father too, received nothing but support from their own families and circle of friends. That’s as it should be and needs to be for the good of all – for the good of society.
I don’t fully know what to say to people about all this. I don’t fully know what to think myself but somewhere I hear the call to recognise the kind face and tender word that brought peace rather than hurt, reassurance rather than confusion, tenderness rather than harshness – if we cannot somewhere find that face, those faces in the midst of a darkened and sullied past, there’s little hope or little to hope for. I believe in hope. I saw the list of names the other night, accompanied by a haunting piece of music, and thought someone at the very least (and very is the key word) recorded names and dates and, in so doing, recorded existence and life, however brief. “I have called you by name” says The Lord.
I am deeply aware of friends who have lost babies during pregnancy, at birth or in the very early days of life. I am too, remembering those who lost sons and daughters in their childhood years or young adult lives and saddened they experienced this grief and would give anything to turn back their clocks and help them avoid that awful heartbreak. Likewise for all involved in the Tuam story and stories like it.
Maybe we share our birthdays with all these children, with their mothers and all who carry a burden not of their own making this day. Certainly we pray for forgiveness and the heart of Christ who was at pains not to condemn but to heal.
<p style=”text-align: justify;”> </p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>On Friday March 3rd, we celebrated the Funeral Mass of Nuala Hawkins in St Joesph’s Church, Urlaur. Nuala had been very much involved in parish life since moving here with her husband in 2002, serving two terms as a member of our Parish Pastoral Council and, in more recent times, as Sacristan in St Joesph’s, Urlaur. She died suddenly and unexpectedly in her own home on Tuesday last, February 28th, R.I.P.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>Her son, Fr Padraig, was Principal Celebrant at the Mass and he asked me to preach. I decided to share a few thoughts by way of a letter to Nuala.</p><hr /><p>nuala </p><hr /><p style=”text-align: justify;”>Dear Nuala,</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>You were always a great one for cards – making your own personalised cards for birthdays, Christmas and special occasions. I’ve received them over the years but don’t think I’ve ever written back. Today I feel the need to write to you. I’m writing to you but reading it for others because I hope the words might, as words can, bring hope to what has been a very difficult few days for so many people, not least Mick, your sons Seán and Padraig, your daughters Paula, Michelle and Fionnuala, grandchildren Georgina, Dominic, Ciara, Samuel and Aeryn, your brothers and sisters and indeed for all gathered here today.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>I just read a Gospel Passage that you’d have heard many times. It’s the one about Jesus visiting the home of Martha and Mary following the death of their brother Lazarus. A few days earlier the sisters had sent word to him telling him “the man you love is ill.” By the time Jesus arrived Lazarus had died and was buried. The family was devastated, even to the point of annoyance: “If you had been here my brother would not have died”. People watched to see how Jesus would react. His reaction paved the way for our own. “He wept.” Later declaring himself “the Resurrection and the Life” but first he wept.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>A week ago Nuala, I’d have had a job to convince you that I’d weep over you. If I had said to you when we said goodbye after Mass on Saturday last; “Nuala I’ll be crying over you within the week”, would you have believed me? Yet, that’s the truth of it Nuala. When I knelt to pray for you on Tuesday night, tears flowed and they have made their presence felt since. Now I’m not ashamed of that because the man we’re all trying to follow wept too at the death of a friend and, quite likely for the heartbreak his people were feeling. There’s something healing in knowing that life matters and that death brings tears. Jesus wept! It leads to the question why?</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>The answer lies in knowing the value of friendship and loyalty. It is found too in a deep awareness that something very final has taken place and that things done by the one who has died, will now be left undone or, at best, attended to in a different way. On that front, Nuala, I have much to lament today. Your care of this church, not in big brush strokes or heavy lifting, but in the attentiveness to the little bits that we could so easily miss. The colours of the Church’s Seasons, Green, Red, Purple and White made their appearance and always on cue. Some little bit that got broken or needed to be made “I’ll ask Mick to take a look at it”, the text asking if I wanted you to turn on heat or a light, the rotas for our readers and Ministers of Holy Communion and so much more … Your ideas around the Lenten and Easter Garden last year and the way you involved the little ones in bringing life to what looked like barren soil. It all mattered Nuala.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>But it’s not for what you did in terms of work we miss you. It’s the woman behind the work, the heart of that woman that was ultimately kind. Somebody once said that the world is made up of givers and takers and, it’s worth naming it today, you were primarily among the givers. You touched many lives, shaped the very lives of the men and women here today who, despite their age remain at heart, your children. You loved their children and never forgot a significant moment in their lives. You touched the heart of Mick too well over forty years ago and said yes to him and he to you in that sign – that Sacrament – that is marriage. You were good to and for each other, complemented each other. As Forrest Gump said in the famous movie, describing Jennie, the woman he always loved, “Jennie and me were like peas and carrots”. Very different in shape and colour but always, always on the same plate, the same page and that page was one of sharing a journey, often in the Volvo, seldom in the air but always in the heart and from the Soul. You can see why you’re missed.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>In the Community Centre, for many years, you were its voice and face, the point of contact and ever efficient. People – men and women, boys and girls, were the stuff of your day and interaction was important. Respectful, honest, committed and, in the interests of honesty and transparency, stubborn on occasions were the building blocks and the cement that made you the person we came to know, trust, respect and love.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>“Tears” it has been said “are the price we pay for love”. It’s a price worth paying. That’s part of the reason Jesus wept Nuala, because he loved and loves all of us. I’m convinced He was there for you and with you to welcome and reassure you. He was in Mick who, shocked and all as he was, began to build the blocks and shape the moment of your death by making the calls he needed to make, calling the priest, the Gardai and gathering your family and your neighbours so that we can be here today to pray around and for you.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>“Let my prayer rise before you like incense” is a consoling image and in our Funeral Mass, your son has allowed that happen. With the thurible and its charcoal and incense he has enveloped the Altar and all of us in a haze of prayer and a scent that lingers to remind us, prayer always rises, can be a slow process but, given time, it brings the answers we seek. You know where I’m going with this Nuala. As I draw these lines to a close I want to remind you and all here that we spoke last Saturday night about this very thurible. The build-up of burnt charcoal had taken something of a toll. You noticed it at Nora Conroy’s Funeral but didn’t say anything to me. You did a bit of research about the best way to clean a thurible, searching on line and talking to some of your colleagues in the Community Centre. When you felt you had an idea where to go with this, you involved me and told me you were taking it home. I had no worries about that. Ironically you said to me that you hoped there’d be no funeral before you got the job done. How little did we know and surely there’s a message in here for us all today – how little we know about the future and the absolute need, with God’s help and in His name, to do our best with each and every day. Many know it now but I want to say it again, Nuala died while she was cleaning this thurible. The little dish was held between thumb and index finger and I believe that little dish has a message for us today, because it says to me that Nuala died doing a good thing, that she died peacefully though unexpectedly and that the prayer of her final act of service was among the most blessed she ever prayed. That prayer is interwoven with ours today and will so remain forever in the rising incense blessed and shared in this church.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>I’d never fit all that on a card Nuala, not even one of your specially commissioned cards but I believe these words are important. It seems appropriate to write to you since the Post Office was your point of contact with so many people, letters stamped and sent and words shared. The final word on behalf of all of us, having prayed for your Eternal Rest, has to be “Thanks”.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>God Bless you Nuala. May Jesus who wept console your family and all, myself included, who numbered you among their friends.</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>Vincent</p><p style=”text-align: justify;”>PS You made a real difference. I’m glad we met.</p>
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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.
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