Dear Nuala

Dear Nuala

Nuala Hawkins

<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>

Heartbreaking

Heartbreaking

Like all who have heard the story from Co. Cavan concerning the death of a family in tragic circumstances, I am deeply saddned.

There is, at times like this, a call for privacy that is as necessary as it’s understandable.  People, the families involved, need so much space and time now that cameras and recorders should maintain a respectful distance.

Some years ago, following the death by suicide of a man well known in a community, a mother told me that she told her son and daughter he had died, knowing that they would hear the news at school.  She told me her son asked “How did he do it?”  Her daughter asked “Why did he do it?”  I thought the questions were telling.  The “how” speaks to detail whereas the “why” brings us to a place of reflection and seeking to understand.

In this case, it is possible that neither question is appropriate to most of us.  The answer is truly of no lasting benefit to us.  The role we play now is not that of interviewer or observer but one of fellow traveller, needing to stop and reflect on life and to offer whatever support we can be to those who need and deserve answers more than we do.

It is with prayer, empathy and sympathy we envelop those involved.

A prayer then rather than a question – Peace for those who have died and peace for those left with crosses and questions.  Amen!

Hashtags and healing

Hashtags and healing

The last few days the place I remember and call Maynooth has become a hashtag #maynooth or #maynoothscandal.  Someone just asked me how I feel about this.  The answer is sad, very sad – because the truth is my abiding memories of Maynooth centre around happy days when I looked forward to becoming a priest, of good friends, enthusiasm around church, dreams for the future and a belief that I was in the right place and doing the right thing with my life.

When I started in Maynooth there were seventy-five in my class, most of them my own age with a few, some years older, having worked in other places before making the decision to explore God’s Call.  I’d imagine there were 300-400 students in the college at the time, people from all over Ireland.  I believed we were there because it’s where we felt we were meant to be.  At that time, as far as I recall, there were seminaries in Thurles, Carlow, Waterford, Kilkenny, Wexford as well as All Hallows in Dublin and Clonliffe College which was the seminary specific to students for the Archdiocese of Dublin.  There was too, the Irish College in Rome. With the exception of Maynooth and the Irish College in Rome, all are now closed.  I’ve no doubt many of the buildings are still there, perhaps other roles were found for them but I’m certain that memories specific to each place remain for those who walked their corridors, sat in their lecture halls and sought to find and deepen the faith “within” in their chapels.

Through the years I have visited Maynooth. In the earlier years of being a priest I’d have visited the students as we had people from the diocese studying there.  As time passed, I found that happening less and less.  I have however attended meetings there to do with bits of work I do here in the diocese, so I haven’t lost contact with the place entirely.  I know there are people that left Maynooth who never re-visited but I think it more the case that most past pupils of the college, whether they were ordained or not, would allow it hold a special place in the heart and feel comfortable enough to wander around its corridors and grounds. The Classpiece pictures (lines of them) along the corridors, remind us of faces from the past, some known to us and many not, and give witness to the reality of vocation and response.  I often think about those pictures, my own included, and have come to the conviction that we remain the “man” in that photo.  By that I mean, whatever has happened in life, successes and failures, good days and bad, we are still the one who sat in front of a camera and allowed the shutter to close on the face of one preparing for ordination.  Whatever hopes and dreams we had at that moment, whatever goodness was in us at that moment, whatever belief in priesthood was in us at that moment, remains the truth of that moment. It is a truth we have to re-visit and, at times, reclaim.

What do I remember of the journey in Maynooth?  I remember struggles with prayer and with study, I remember confusion around feelings and somewhere too, of course, wondering about celibacy.  I knew that priesthood meant I would not have a wife but at eighteen years of age a wife wasn’t the first thing on my mind!!  Even at twenty-four, I’m sure I might not have given too much thought to that.  There were nonetheless those “stirrings” in us that seemed at odds with being “holy”, “men apart” and yes, they gave rise to questions and quite likely doubts.  I recall someone telling us once during a talk, a retreat maybe, that our feelings around sexuality were normal.  As men (women too I’m sure) it was natural to wonder about this side of life and to have to make choices.  He said “your hormones don’t even know you’re Catholics, never mind celibates”.  I’m sure we laughed but he was making a good point.  Hormones are hormones and feelings are feelings, irrespective of creed or calling.  It’s what we do with and about them that ultimately shapes us. Somewhere and somehow in vocation and priesthood, with the Grace and help of God, the support and understanding of people and inner will, we have to try to align the hormones with the calling, and bring them to a place where they know “we are catholic and striving to be celibate”.

I don’t recall a “gay culture” in Maynooth when I was there.  Neither do I recall “a heterosexual culture”.  I felt as people we were rounded, balanced and doing the best we could.  I think what I recall was a sincere effort to respond to the call to be a priest. People left along the way.  It was the rule of thumb that about half the first year class would leave before ordination and, give or take that was the story with our class too.  Why would people leave?  Some, I am sure because they came to the realisation that priesthood was not their calling.  This may or may not have had to do with celibacy.  Others quite likely came to the point where they knew they could not live life without sharing it specifically with another.  The idea of parenthood, handing on life through a loving relationship held more value for them and understandably so.  It’s certain some might have realised their orientation was homosexual and that seeking and responding to the love of another was something they could not live without.  There were, in fairness, many reasons to leave and many too, to stay.  It would also have been the case that people might have been asked to leave for various reasons.  That surely had to be the role of the Seminary formation team, that it journeyed with the students and observed the lifestyle and the choices being made and if these were considered incompatible with priesthood, then the recommendation would have been made that another life choice might be more in keeping.  I suspect similar would happen in any field of training, from the Teacher Training College to nursing, medicine, military, Gardaí and so forth.

The time in Seminary is a time of discernment.  What does that mean?  It’s something to do with looking at life, seeing where the road is leading and arriving at a decision that the road ahead looks as if it’s leading to the destination you seek.  Equally it might lead us to a moment where we need to stop, gather our thoughts, and admit this is not the road for me.  It’s a good road and an important road but if I continue on it I will arrive at a destination, yes, but not the one I need.  What I am searching for, where I am being led, is not to be found on this road.  It’s no harm I’ve travelled this road and chances are I will remember much from the journey but it’s time to look to another path.  That’s discernment.  It’s about reflection and choice.

So what about the Maynooth of these days?  As I said, I’ve lost contact a bit with students.  We don’t have any student for our diocese at this time.  My interaction then with present day Maynooth in terms of students and indeed staff is practically non-existent. I was involved a number of years ago in giving a retreat to the students and I wondered what that would be like.  I recall meeting a small number of them in advance of the retreat to have a chat about it and when I asked what I should do, one of the students said “Don’t apologise for being here”.  I am sure we laughed at that too but his point was also valid.  What he was saying to me was don’t come in thinking you are not worthy to be here or that you haven’t something to say.  Come to us as you are.  I very much appreciated that comment and have tried to apply it to other situations in life since then.  I went to Maynooth for that retreat expecting to find people at a low ebb (it was at the height of other scandals in our church), where morale would be low and people at a loss.  That was not my experience.  I met lovely people there.  Many of them spoke with me on a one to one basis during times of reconciliation or between talks.  I was amazed by their enthusiasm.  The hundreds had shrunk to numbers less than a hundred but I found again a sense of purpose among these men.  They seemed at ease with themselves and I came away thinking they never knew the Maynooth of hundreds or seminaries scattered across Ireland.  This is the only seminary life they’ve experienced and they are making their own of it. I’d like to think I gave something to the students over those few days but I know for certain they gave a lot to me, not least hope.

It is the choice of a bishop to send seminarians to any college he feels would be good to and for them.  The Irish College in Rome is an equal partner in the seminary formation of the Irish Church.  Indeed when we were in Maynooth, Bishop Flynn (R.I.P.) let it be known that should any of us like to go to Rome to study we were welcome to do so.  Furthermore he encouraged this and some of my fellow students chose or maybe were asked to attend the Irish College. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this decision.  I’m sure from a practical point of view, the bishops were trying to support both colleges through sending students there.  For that reason, I would not like to see Rome and Maynooth being pitched against each other now.  It’s my belief they both seek to assist those who feel God’s call to priesthood and it’s for the good of both that a student body is maintained in each. Furthermore, it is my belief that any diocese lucky enough to have a number of students could well benefit from sending some of those students to each or, as was the case in the past, encouraging that they spend time between both.

I am very sorry for anyone who has been hurt in Maynooth. I truly am and I feel much of what is happening these days is sincerely born of personal hurt and a belief that the seminary could and should be better.  It is my hope that this hurt will be healed. Whatever needs to be said or done should not be left unsaid or undone.  I believe there are very sincere people, staff and students, clerical and lay, men and women still walking the corridors of St Patrick’s College.

Though there is sincerity in the recent comments about Maynooth, I don’t like some of the approaches taken as the story unfolds.  It seems certain that some linked with this story have made questionable decisions around social media. At least the allegations made suggest as much.  What lies behind those alleged decisions and possible needs of those involved is the journey of discernment.  It has to be personal though and to seek to embarrass people through innuendo and invasion seems at odds with a Christian approach to seeking a lasting peace for all involved. My hope is that Maynooth will be to and for all involved a certain companion who will walk the road, listen and offer guidance. Equally may it listen to the voice of students and those believing there is room for change.

At day’s end, I believe Maynooth will continue to shape and be shaped by those who call it “home” during their time there. I would be deeply saddened were it to remain a hashtag when it has offered, offers and has the potential to offer much, much more.

What’s another year?  Another year!

What’s another year? Another year!

In June 1981, Fr Stephen O’Mahony was ordained a priest for the diocese of Achonry. Five years earlier, his brother Dan, was also ordained. A year before that, in the Summer of 1975, Padraig Costello was ordained for our diocese and five years before that, Dominic Towey was ordained for the Diocese of Motherwell. Four men from the parish ordained priests in eleven years.

Thirty five years have passed since Stephen’s Ordination. Is “times have changed” the only response we have? Did God decide he needed no more priests from our parish? Did we? The answer, I believe, is found in neither question. The truth is God needs priests. Our parishes and diocese needs priests and religious.

What was different back then? Did people talk more about vocations? Pray more? Think more? Respond more? The same goodness is there today as at any time in our past. The same generosity is there too.

Thirty five years is a life time ….. Is there anyone out there willing to be “out there” in ministry?

_______________________________________________

The lines above are on the front of this week’s Kilmovee Parish Bulletin.  Wanted to share them here too and maybe stir a thought in our hearts around Vocations to the Priesthood and Religious Life.

Recently a mother in the parish told me she saw her son walking down the hallway in their home. I’d say he’s about five or six years old.  He had good clothes on him and when she asked what he was doing, he turned to her and said “Shh, I’m going to Mass”!! Intrigued, she followed a few minutes later and found him in another room, alongside his sister and they were “playing Mass”. She said he was making his own of one of the hymns I sing at Mass:) I was pleased to hear this because in some way it meant the children had taken the Mass home with them.  To think it formed part of their play time was, in its own way, very consoling.  It’s good to imagine that it has a place in their imagination, alongside Cowboys and Indians, Doctors and Nurses, Cops and Robbers, Hide and Seek and a myriad of other games.  Perhaps the memory of that “mass” will linger and sow a seed, whose crop we might treasure.

I remember playing “priest” as a child.  Indeed my brother felt the need to share this with those gathered for my ordination.  He said that when he and my other brother would go home from school, they’d change into overalls and help in the garage but that more often than not I’d be seen in a black jacket with a shirt turned back to front!!  I blushed at the memory but there’s a truth in it.  Priests were an important part of my life and, maybe in the game, the thoughts of becoming one found some growth.  Maybe that’s why the mother’s story sparked something of gratitude in me.

When I was ordained in 1987, another man from home was ordained a few months before me.  He had been a solicitor, married and widowed – a grandfather and a Maynooth Classmate called Gerry Horan.  Oliver McDonagh, a neighbour too, was ordained the Sunday before me for the diocese of Elphin (sadly Gerry and  Oliver have both died, may they rest in peace).  The year after a third neighbour, John Geelan, was ordained and just a few years before that, John Finn from Gurteen.  Five men from the area in about seven years.  Like Kilmovee, none since.

A lifetime has passed you could say and nobody has seen a neighbour enter the seminary, study for a number of years and come home to be ordained.  I think this is part of the reality of our present situation.  People go to college, train to be teachers, doctors or nurses, others join the guards or take courses in farm management.  Still others further their skills as carpenters, builders, plumbers and so much more.  They talk to their friends about their courses, the life in college, the hopes they have and, in that talk, they spark the thoughts in others “maybe I could do that too” ….

Not so priesthood or religious life.  There are so few, and the few there are are so far scattered throughout the country, that the potential for their vocations impacting on others is lessened or eroded. People don’t hear of or know people who are exploring God’s Call.

What can we do?  I firmly believe we should pray and encourage.  I believe if in a Leaving Cert Class a student expressed thoughts around priesthood or religious life that his or her classmates should support the student and say “yes, why not give it a go”.  I think likewise parents and parishioners should encourage thoughts around vocation and not, through negativity or fear, quench the sparks of a flame that might be there.

I believe we need to be positive and when we hear negative comment around church, priesthood etc, if that comment does not reflect our own experience we should say so. “That may be your experience but it’s not mine”.  Silence in the face of negative comment suggests support for it.  I think that’s a pity.  A young man told me in recent years that he was at the dentist and that the dentist told him how much he disliked the church, priests etc.  I consider this young man a friend.  I knew him as a boy and know him as a man.  I said to him “I hope you told him you have a good friend who is a priest”.  He looked and me and said, “I did not! He had a drill in my mouth at the time!”  Drills aside, it seems to me that much harm is done through negative comment and much harm too, through not at least offering an alternative view.

Priesthood is a good life.  We have the privilege of being with people on good and difficult days.  Last week I celebrated a wedding and just before Mass this evening received a text from the bride saying how much they had enjoyed the day.  I was so happy to hear from her. During the week, I was called to the sudden death of a young man in our parish and allowed share in the grief of his family and community.  I do not take this lightly.  It matters that we matter and have a place to play in the day to day living of people’s lives.

I believe there is a place for priests in our world.  I don’t know what the future will bring to priesthood.  Undoubtedly it will bring its own changes and shape but, for now, we can only try to live the priesthood that is in our midst.  For now, that is the only priesthood we can seek to encourage.

I think it’s worth doing ……

Happy Easter

Happy Easter

Wishing anyone who glances at this page today, the Peace and Joy of Easter.  May you draw strength form His strength, hope from His hope and peace in all you do.  Know that, with family and friends, you were remembered in Holy Week and Easter Ceremonies.

God Bless you always,

Vincent

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A few images and memories from Easter 2016

 

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