I went to Knock yesterday. I wasn’t at all clued in to what was going to happen there. Your mother mentioned a few months ago that there’d be Mass for your Fifth Anniversary and that if I was free, I’d be welcome to join in. I planned on keeping the day free and am so glad I did.
I arrived in Knock about an hour before the time I thought Mass was taking place. Happily I was very early as the Mass was set for an hour and half later than I had been told by your mother!! (Wonder was she always good at times????) I met Fr Richard Gibbons as I walked towards the Basilica and he told me the Mass was at 1.30. I had a cup of coffee with him and went over a while later. As I walked into the Basilica I met hundreds of students walking out. They looked so happy and sounded so cheerful. I had no idea where they were going but heard mention of “workshops” so figured they were going to hear and share a bit more somewhere or other. When I got inside there were still hundreds, if not thousands, of school-goers there – from all over the country. School crests and uniforms identifying the broad canvas of this gathering. It looked so impressive.
I saw the bishop of your diocese there and nodded to him. I took a seat and listened to a recently ordained priest speak of you. He, like me, had never met you but was clearly impressed by your story. He shared his – a soccer player who thought he had his dreams fulfilled only to realise he is still living his dream and has more road to travel or, as you might say, “hills” to climb. I realised later that others had spoken before him – spoken words of encouragement that you’d have been proud of.
I met your father and mother and, for the first time, your sister. We didn’t have much chance to talk but their pride in you was palpable. I’m sure they remembered that night you spoke to us through a camera lens and asked us to value life and how, in particular, you called on your own peers to treasure and cherish the gift that is theirs in the opportunity for life and love, faith and adventure.
The Mass was, as it should be, amazing and inviting. The priests in the entrance procession were accompanied by young people carrying colourful flags. I asked the girl beside me her name and where she was from. “Tralee”, she said. We smiled and I knew she was proud to be from your town. A large number of priests concelebrated, as did your bishop and the Papal Nuncio presided. Your name sounded strange from his lips but it was clear he knew about whom he spoke and in whose memory we had gathered. Your reach has been far Donal, and it continues.
I thought again of Fr Walsh’s words to you – when you asked what Heaven would be like. He said it would be a better place with you in it. He was right. I often think of Knock as a place where “Heaven met earth” in the quiet presence of Our Lady as she offered reassurance to our people on that August evening in in 1879. I equally had a sense of the two meeting yesterday and you were deeply embedded in that quiet presence.
They walked last night Donal, from darkness to light – in towns and villages all over Ireland and beyond, begging for deliverance from the scourge of death by suicide. Alas, I didn’t walk this year, but it’s a message we need to proclaim and your voice is found in every word of that message as is the determination of your family to deliver that message in your name. Some of your Tralee friends sang for us yesterday and surely their powerful voices and music and willingness to be there to share their talents, offer a mighty message of hope. If only people can take a few more steps to get over the hill and see more clearly the goodness that’s to be seen and the help that’s available.
I’ve been in Knock many times through the years Donal but there was something very special about yesterday. A wonderful gathering took place in your name and though I’m much older than the ones gathered in their thousands, I was glad to be there.
Keep up the good work. Heaven and earth are better places because of it.
Today is Good Shepherd Sunday. We reflect on Vocation within the church. Vocation at its widest, includes every man, woman and child of us, who tries daily to respond to God’s Call to be a better person and a sign of His presence. We focus too on vocations to priesthood, permanent diaconate and religious life. It is from here, these few lines come. I wondered yesterday what I had to say that might not have been said before and realised that I’ve nothing new to bring to the people, other than a belief that priesthood is still a call worth hearing, considering and responding to. Deeply aware of my own limitations but also still happy that I made the decision to travel this road, I wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. The idea of writing a letter came to my mind – a letter to the people but then, I thought maybe a letter to myself might be worth looking at ….. this is how it worked out!
Dear Vincent,
Thought I’d drop you a line. It’s Vocations Sunday and I know you’re wondering how to rise to it again, to encourage and pray for vocations when, for more than thirty years, you’ve done the same and nobody seems to have responded. I know that at times, you find yourself going through phases of self-doubt about the effectiveness of your own vocation. I’m sure you’re wondering who I am!
I’m that boy in you who knew priests to be decent people who seemed to bring happiness to your family home and who showed themselves to be friends. I’m that teenager in you who, in St Nathy’s College, came to admire the priests on the staff – for the bits and pieces they did “beyond the call of duty” to encourage students to do their best, not just in the classroom but on the sports field too. I’m the son in you who heard your mother’s prayers to Fr Casey a priest who died back in 1939, when your mother was scarcely a teenager herself, but remembered forever his kindness to her family, after her father’s death when she was just seven years old. I’m the Spirit in you that made you think there was a place for you in priesthood and encouraged you to go ahead – to give it a try.
I am the family and neighbours around you who wished you well that September and who cared more about where you were going than your leaving cert results. I am a grandmother of a school friend who lit candles for you every time she passed the church throughout your years in Maynooth. I am the friends you met – men and women – who made you feel special and loved. I am the dream within you that accompanied you through the years and assured you that the road chosen, like the one to Emmaus, was an open road but a safe one too where you’d not walk alone.
I am the twenty-four year old in you who knelt before Bishop Flynn in June 1987, put your hands in his and promised to do your best and who lay mouth-under, on the floor of Gurteen Church, as the saints were called down on top of you in a litany of prayer – “Bless this chosen man”, “Bless this chosen man, make him holy”. “Bless this chosen man, make him holy and consecrate him for his sacred duties” …. I am that young priest who was welcomed to his first parish by decent people who helped him believe he’d done the right thing with his life, though he had much to learn.
I am the fifty-five year old in you. Standing this weekend in a parish, surrounded by a community at prayer. People looking to the priest in you to offer a word, to be a friend and above all to break open the Scriptures and to nourish through Eucharist. I am the priest in you who wants you to push yourself and to have courage and self-conviction. I am the ongoing dreamer in you who believes the Church can find her voice a-fresh and that the world can be a better place and will be a better place when it opens itself to see again the presence of God and the real difference a lived faith can make.
I am your vocation Vincent, encouraging you to take all that’s good from your past, to accept your mistakes and to reach out again and again, to hope and believe again and again, that the story, the dream of the boy may find words in the mouth of the man and say, even if you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve said it …. “this is a good life”.
I haven’t seen the movie “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri” but just watched the trailer now. A woman, feeling she has been deprived of justice, following the murder of her daughter, leaves no stone un-turned in her pursuit of justice. From the clip I just watched, it would seem she left no feathers or personages unruffled either. You can see where she’s coming from.
The three billboards outside Ebbing are there to be seen (or ignored) by all who pass the road. Her desire, her absolute need, of course, is that they will be seen and evoke response.
In looking through photos just now, I saw again these three candles and thought the link too good to pass up on!! These candles too call people to response. Like the billboards, they have their message. Maybe one of them is calling us to spend time with God The Father today, the second encouraging us to hear again the words of Jesus Christ and maybe the third is calling us to an encounter with The Holy Spirit. Again, maybe one is asking us to come to terms with the past, a second to embrace the present and the third to put trust in God’s guidance of our future.
Endless possibilities as to what these three candles might have to say. The difference between them and the billboards is that we have to pull off the road for a while, enter a church (like Kilmovee, Co. Mayo) and see the signs that are there for all who choose to enter.
The link … the absolute love of a parent …. of God …. for the child.
I celebrated Mass this morning and remembered my mother, Mary, who died eight years ago today. She died on the Feastday of Our Lady of Knock and, as I write these lines, I am looking at Mass from Knock Shrine marking the launch of a year’s journey towards the Word Meeting of Families, to be held in Dublin next August. As I ask God to bless my mother’s memory, so too I ask God to bless that preparation and all families.
The Gospel at Mass today is the story of the “rich young man” who asked Jesus what had he to do to enter God’s Kingdom. Jesus lists some of the commandments and the man replies that he already keeps these and wonders what else he need do. Jesus tell him to sell his possessions, give the money to the poor and then to follow him. The man walks away, saddened by these words, because he is a man of great wealth.
There’s talk of a Solar Eclipse taking place later today – when the sun’s light is “blocked” and day literally becomes night for a little while, though the sun shines.
In the few words I shared at Mass, I tried to draw a link between these three realities. My mother’s death brought a barrier that cannot be crossed this side of Eternity. I catch glimpses of her, welcome glimpses, in dreams, photos and videos and in the words that come into mind, words she’d speak and in the tone she’d have used. These remain glimpses nonetheless and I cannot see her the way I used to. I miss that of course and always will. The truth remains, in and from our Faith, that my mother continues to be – in a way I cannot fully grasp or imagine but remains nonetheless.
The Gospel man, who had come to know Christ as “good” wants to do the right thing by him but finds himself at a loss and walks away from Jesus. In that walk, Jesus too is eclipsed and can no longer be seen by the man who truly wants to see. It strikes me that Jesus, though not visible to the man now, has not gone anywhere. All the man need to is turn around and walk towards Jesus again.
Equally the eclipsed Sun, though darkened by the passing of the planets and the wonders of nature, continues to shine though we cannot see it.
In all these then, eclipse is a temporary barrier to the LIGHT but the light remains and has to shine – always to shine – if only we can turn around or be patient as we await its re-emergence.
My mother, the Gospel man and the eclipsed sun have much in common today. May the “sun” and THE SON shine for all of us. Amen.
Our website uses cookies to provide you the best experience. However, by continuing to use our website, you agree to our use of cookies. For more information, read our Cookie Policy.
