Vocations Sunday 2018

Vocations Sunday 2018

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”.

They’re listening Vincent, speak to them!

Lines repeated

Lines repeated

Earlier today I shared these words at Mass in St Agnes’ Cathedral.  I’d first written them a few years ago for our parish magazine and updated them recently for an article in The Messenger Magazine.  After Mass a number of people told me they liked the lines so thought I’d include them here again.  They’re intended as a reflection on the years since Ordination – thirty years ago now – in 1987.


There was, in poetry, a time

I thought things had to rhyme.

That was, in poetry, the only way

at least that’s what I used to say!

But of that today I’m not so sure

could it be I’m more mature?

As a student in St Nathy’s College, I never fully understood poems that didn’t rhyme. More than that, I disliked them and the “poets” who wrote them seemingly unaware that poems should have a rhyming pattern! 

So is that I’m more mature?

Like you, of that, I’m not so sure

From whence then came the clue

Some don’t rhyme and some just do

The answer I suppose lies in life … as a boy, a student in Maynooth, a newly ordained priest I knew there were questions but I thought answers were easily found. Things had an order about them – a sort of pattern like the rhyming poem.

The rhyme continued. Most people went to Mass. Churches were relatively full most of the time. Prayers were said and it seemed so important to keep the Parish together. I enjoyed those early days. 

“The Lord be with you”, I would say

“And also with you” as one they’d pray

Great to see you; and so it was

Together then we’d stand and pause

Sins confessed, Sacred Story shared

His Body and Blood for all, nothing spared.

First baptism, first wedding – such joyful occasions, shared easily with people oozing joy and happiness owned the day. I don’t remember the First Confession I heard and often think that tells its own reassuring story of the sacredness of that Sacrament. Lines drawn in the sand, and no need to re-live or re-visit – that’s the way it’s meant to be, people move on renewed and refreshed having been forgiven through the gentleness of the Sacrament. First Communion Days and Confirmation in the parish all combined to enrich the rhyme.

He died in a tragic accident. His wife and children were devastated and the community drew to a halt. I went to the hospital for the removal and an elderly woman told me afterwards how sorry she felt for me in my short-sleeved shirt. I could as easily have been a boy in short trousers. Words were scarce and the rhyme was gone … it’s hard to speak in rhyme or think in rhyme when people’s hearts are broken. There were others like that; sudden deaths, car accidents, cancer and sickness, loss of Faith, decline in practice, indifference, hostility, scandals, doubts, anger, negative press, decline of vocations …. and still, through it all, the whispered refrain “I the Lord of sea and sky, I have heard my people cry. I, who made the stars of night, I will make their darkness bright …… Whom shall I send?”

The rhyme was in decline but the poem was still needed. I looked for signs, listened for voices, sought direction – wondered! Somehow, thanks be to God, the heart of the poem remained intact, enriched even by some of life’s questions and held sacred in the lives of many good people who cradled the faith, caressed the verse and, in time, helped me realise: 

poems don’t have to rhyme but

they should speak

to a soul in need of Grace

a wound in need of healing

a heart in need of mending

a darkness in need of light

a thought in need

of sharing

And that’s what I want to say. Despite the difficulties and the sadness, the changes and the uncertainties, the Poem must go on. We must find time to share thoughts and place with one another, to bring people to that point where the Word is heard even if not fully grasped and prayers are prayed even in uncertainty.

Rhyming or not, what we are living is poetry.

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.

In or out of rhyme ….

In or out of rhyme ….

I was asked earlier today to write a few lines for the tenth edition of our Parish Magazine.  I said yes.  There was no suggestion around what I should write but that’s the way the editorial team has been with me over the years.  It’s left to myself.  I was reminded of words I wrote nearly two years ago for the magazine.  They’re elsewhere in this blog but I thought I’d bring them to the front again.  It was a thought around the changes I’ve encountered since ordination but also of the consistency that remains for all of us, found in the day to day living of life and journeying in faith ……


There was, in poetry, a time

I thought things had to rhyme

That was, in poetry, the only way

At least that’s what I used to say!

But of that today I’m not so sure

Could it be I’m more mature?

The lines above speak to something of the truth.  As a student in St Nathy’s College, I never fully understood poems that didn’t rhyme.  More than that, I disliked them and the “poets” who wrote them so obviously unaware that poems should have a rhyming pattern.  I remember pointing this out on one occasion, only to be told by a fellow pupil who understood things at a deeper level than I and who knew, even then, that poems didn’t have to rhyme: “Vincent, that is the basic essence of poetry”!  I disliked him as well that day (had I been on Facebook, I’d probably have de-friended him!!)

It was handy when the poem rhymed!  It was easier to learn, easier to remember and easier to churn out on a page of an Inter or Leaving Certificate answer book.

Back to the poetry!

So is that I’m more mature?

Like you, of that, I’m not so sure

From whence then came the clue

Some don’t rhyme and some just do

The answer I suppose lies in life … as a boy, a student in Maynooth, a newly ordained priest I thought answers were easily found.  Things had an order about them – a sort of pattern like the rhyming poem.  Before I was ordained, people wished me well.  They seemed genuinely interested in what I was doing, felt the need for me to be a priest and, when I was ordained they assured me of their prayers, friendship and lasting support.

Most people went to Mass.  Churches were well filed, if not full most of the time.  Prayers were said and it seemed so important to keep the Parish together.  I enjoyed those early days.  I drove too fast and missed a lot of what was so powerfully on display.  Good and decent people, doing the best they could for family, church and parish – for me; “the new curate!”

The rhyme was in full flow ……

“The Lord be with you”, I would say

“And also with you” as one we’d pray

Great to see you and so it was

And then to think we’d stand and pause

Sins confessed, Sacred Story shared

His Body for all, nothing spared.

First baptism, first wedding – such joyful occasions, shared easily with people oozing joy.  Their new child, their early days of love, how easily to stand with them on days like that when photos were taken, words spoken and happiness owned the day.  I don’t remember the First Confession I heard and often think that tells its own reassuring story of the sacredness of that Sacrament.  Lines drawn in the sand, and no need to re-live or re-visit – that’s the way it’s meant to be, people move on renewed and refreshed having been forgiven by one in need too of God’s forgiveness.  The rhythm of the Sacraments added its own shape to the rhyme.

He died in a tragic accident.  His wife and children were devastated and the community drew to a halt.  I went to the hospital for the removal and an elderly woman told me afterwards how sorry she felt for me in my short-sleeved shirt.  I could as easily have been a boy in short trousers.  Words were scarce and the rhyme was gone … it’s hard to speak in rhyme or think in rhyme when people’s hearts are broken.  There were others like that, sudden deaths, car accidents, cancer and sickness, relationships ended, rows between people, loss of Faith, decline in practice, indifference, hostility, doubts and anger, nobody in Maynooth …. and still the whispered refrain  “I the Lord of sea and sky, I have heard my people cry.  I who made the stars of night, I will make their darkness bright …… Whom shall I send?”

Somewhere in and through all of this, unknown to myself, I leaned that …..

poems don’t have to rhyme but

they should speak

to a soul in need of Grace

a wound in need of healing

a heart in need of mending

a darkness in need of light

a thought in need

of sharing

And that’s what I want to say.  Despite the difficulties and the sadness, the changes and the uncertainties, the Poem must go on.  We must find time to share thoughts and place with one another, to bring people to that point where the Word is heard even if not fully grasped and prayers are prayed even in uncertainty.

I hope this piece isn’t out of place here – It’s just another angle, another verse in a lifelong poem, shared not by a poet but one who is privileged to share this place with all of you in a very special way and by one who depends so heavily on all of you for word and verse, song and tune, prayer and peace!

Rhyming or not, what we are living is poetry.

It’s been four years

It’s been four years

Maynooth Union

This week I'm in Kiltegan at a Priests' Retreat.  Earlier in the week priests from all over Ireland, indeed the world, would have gathered in Manooth to celebrate what's called Maynooth Union.  It's a day that marks significant anniversaries of past pupils of the Seminary.  People celebrating Silver, Golden, Diamond and a variety of anniversaries.  Four years ago, as my class celebrated its Silver Jubilee I was asked to give an after dinner speech.  I've been revamping this site a little the past few evenings and came across those words again just now.  Perhaps they've disappeared into the past of these pages but I thought I might share them afresh.  Someone mentioned recently that for the first time about 400 years we have no student for the diocesan priesthood in Achonry Diocese.  Bishop Brendan emailed earlier to say he has appointed a new priest as Vocations Director in our diocese.  Maybe that put me thinking a bit again about priesthood.  Certainly these days in Kiltegan have made me think about it too.  Anyway, though I realise this is a lengthy piece, you might find time at some stage to have a look.

Vincent 8th June 2016

Sligo Colours

Caroline R.I.P

Mary and Bill, R.I.P

Ordination Day

Eucharist

Sign of Peace

Light a light

Worship Him

Take this ...

Bill

Mary

Jimmy

Knock Mosaic

Holy Ground

Oh that today

we would

listen ....

Harden

not

our 

hearts

 

I want to thank my classmates for entrusting me with this moment on our journey! 

Earlier today I met Brian Flynn, a generous Cavan Man from Kilmore Diocese and was reminded of the few years we both worked in the Marriage Tribunal, he in Armagh and me in Galway.  When I was changed to Ballaghaderreen Parish, Brian said my transfer represented “the loss of a great legal mind”!!  Now he was as sincere in saying that as I am in saying he’s a generous Cavan man!!  Also at that time, I was spending a few weeks in a parish in New York and mentioned that I was moving to a new parish.  A lady asked me the name of the parish and when I told her, she said “I’ve never heard of it but wherever it is, they’re so lucky to be getting you because there is nothing better than an Irish priest”.  I replied; “that may well be true but the place is full of them at home”.

So it was, at a time – full of them but less so these days.  Yet today we rejoice in being Irish Priests and celebrate this evening the journeys we’ve all been part of through the years.  I acknowledge all here celebrating anniversaries and jubilees.  I see Greg Hannan from my own home parish of Gurteen and wish him well on his Golden Jubilee.  When I was ordained he was where I am now but he seemed so much older than me then.  The gap, oddly enough, seems less this evening!

Earlier at Mass in the College Chapel, I was reminded of being there as a young student and wanting so hard to be good at prayer and meditation.  I recall one Saturday evening staying on after Evening Prayer, through Adoration and into Night Prayer.  My intentions were good but I got easily distracted and found myself counting light bulbs, spotting one or two that were blown and just gazing around me.  All the while, just a few seats away, one of my classmates sat with the Bible open on his lap, his hands turned upwards in that receptive prayer gesture and his focus intense.  I wondered why I could not be more like him.  Then he slipped off the seat, the Bible fell to the floor and I realised he was fast asleep!!  I said “Thank you God, I’m not that much different to the rest”.

At the Mass we heard Eamonn Conway read the gospel passage “But, what about us, we left everything to follow you”.  There’s a retired priest living in our diocese who says he can hear Jesus laugh when Peter said this and look back at him saying; “What are you on about?  What had ye only two bad boats when I met ye”!!  Maybe we think a lot about what we gave up to follow Jesus and maybe we exaggerate it too.  This evening we say, “I’m glad I followed you” – no counting of cost or totting up.  In truth, it’s certain, we’ve received much through the following – even if we don’t always fully understand what we’re about or clearly see where we’re going.

I heard a lovely story once of a priest who was given to seeing the glass three-quarters empty when it was at least half-full – he shared a house with another priest and one evening, whilst carrying a suitcase, said to his companion; “I’m going on my holidays.  Will you say a prayer that I might enjoy myself”!!

I remember once meeting a man who could fit that description.  It was at a wedding reception and he had the sort of expression and presence that would make any bride look radiant.  Downturned mouth almost closed eyes and a complete disinterest in what was going on around him. I sat beside him during the meal.  At one stage he leaned over to me and told me a joke that I’ve never forgotten.  He shone in its telling and enjoyed it so much.  He came alive in humour and left me with a totally different impression.  Could it be that we laughed more in the past than we do now?  At times, I think that’s the way and it’s regrettable.  Laughter can achieve so much.  Could we this evening commit ourselves to being good-humoured?

The punch line of the joke was a play on the words “Travelling for Jesus” and maybe we might spend a while wondering what “travelling for Jesus” has meant to us.  It has brought us into contact with so many people down through the years.  I might mention a few of them:

I was not long ordained in 1987 and hearing confessions one Saturday evening before Mass.  A young girl told me that she “fighted” with her brother.  I asked “what is he like?” and she replied “how do you mean?”  I said “would you let me take him away” and she replied “NO”!  When I asked her why, she said “because I love him”.  I told her that was the truth and that she should never forget this love she had for him and even if they rowed she should always make up with him and remember her love for him.  As I closed the slide, I remember thinking that was “good” and that I might use the line again sometime.  I opened the other slide and a little boy told me, almost immediately, that he “fighted” with his sister.  I didn’t think I’d have the opportunity so soon to try out my sensitive line of questioning and spiritual accompaniment.  “What’s she like?” I asked.  “You should know”, he replied “she’s just gone out the other side”!  He was so right.  I’ve often thought about that.  I should have known and, more importantly helped her to know.  That’s part of the “travelling for Jesus”, to help people come to an awareness of who they are and, having come to that awareness, to journey well.  In helping them to uncover their story, we uncover our own and come a deeper awareness of who we are and of our own weaknesses that, addressing them, we might become better, more rounded and committed in our “travelling” and following of Jesus.

Now this will come as a shock!  I failed an exam in second year.  What will be even more shocking was that it was “Logic”!!  I came back to repeat the exam on an All-Ireland Semi-Final Sunday evening and travelled by train.  I did the exam on Monday and when I got on the train on Monday evening it was packed to capacity.  There was but one seat available.  There was an old man sitting beside the window, a young man opposite him, a young girl beside him and the seat opposite her was free.  I took the seat.  Even before the train left the station her voice was grating on me.  It was one of those voices.  She talked as if her life depended on it.  I spoke to the old man beside me, thinking that might be a distraction of sorts.  He half looked around and asked; “Were you at the match?”  When I said no, he turned back to the window.  There was nothing for us to talk about.  Eventually I got up and stood between two carriages, looking out a window.  I heard a shuffle and, turning around, saw the old man looking out the other window.  “She’s some talker”, I said.  “Lord save us”, he replied, “she’s like a gramophone.  Someone must have wound her up in Dublin”.  We both laughed.  Later we returned to our seats and he said to me, “You got on in Maynooth, are you in the college?”  “I am”.  “Are you going for the round collar job?”  “I am”.  He smiled, nodded across the table and said “And better off you are.  You’d never know what sort of a one you might get stuck with”.  We laughed and the rest of that journey flew.  I think companionship on the journey is so important and often think it’s no accident Jesus sent them out “in pairs”.  He knew they’d need someone to talk to and share the day’s events with.  He knew they’d need someone to laugh with.  Again, it seems to me we were better at this in the past.  Surely there’s room for companionship on our own journey and a great need to share a story and shorten the road.  We are thankful this evening for all who have so done with and for us over the years of “travelling for Jesus”.

Two weeks ago, I visited Caroline, a young woman from the parish who was in the Galway Hospice.  She was 41 and had been sick for the past two years.  We became quite friendly during that time.  Caroline was in a very deep sleep, almost coma like, and her sister sat in the room.  I felt I should anoint her but didn’t want to say words out loud, lest I’d waken her or upset her sister.  I sat beside her bed and placed the Oil of The Sick on her forehead.  She had her arms crossed on top of the quilt and as soon as the Oil touched her forehead, she turned her hands upwards (like my Bible reading companion in the College Chapel) in a gesture of receptive prayer.  She knew exactly what was happening and the touch of the Oil brought her to a place of prayer.  We buried her a week later.  May she rest in peace.  I was spending a few days with priests from Killaloe diocese and told them about her and that we are part of a long tradition that is rooted in healing.  I think that’s one of the greatest gifts we can bring in our travelling for Jesus and long may we do so.  It’s a mighty tradition to be part of – that which, even in the touch of the Oils, brings a prayer to the quiet lips of one nearing the twelfth hour.

There’s a man here this evening that I have admired, from a distance, for many years.  He is Leo Morahan.  I remember hearing him on the radio one night speaking about the Stations of The Cross.  I’ve a fondness for them too but maybe don’t journey them as often as I should.  Leo spoke, and I hope I’m doing his story justice, of a school that had a church next door.  An old woman used go into the church to pray the Stations and the children would sneak in, hide and watch as she prayed.  She had no text but travelled the Stations with definite purpose.  She might say nothing at a Station or just a word.  They were very personal to her.  She might stand at the Seventh and say “You’re down again”!  Leo said the Station he most liked was the eleventh “Jesus is nailed to the cross”.  He said she’d stand there for ages, a sad and determined look would envelop her face and she’d say out loud and from the heart “’pon my Soul, if the Gallaghers were there, it wouldn’t have happened you”!  She really believed, given the chance, that her people would have done something to prevent this crucifixion.  There’s no denying that the crucifixion continues.  Jesus and his Church are at the receiving end of sharpened nails and pounding hammers again and, could it be, we – all of us in this room this evening – are “the Gallaghers”?  What can we do to stop the crucifixion?  What can we do to stop the hurt for there’s no doubt there is much hurt on many sides at this time.  Wherever and whenever any member of the Church, any man, woman or child, is suffering there’s an on-going crucifixion. We need to be “the Gallaghers” and do whatever it takes, in honesty and with compassion, to recognise and do something real and lasting about this hurt.

My own “travelling for Jesus”, in Maynooth terms, began on 13th September 1981.  I remember coming to the college that day.  I had always wanted to be a priest even if unsure what that might fully involve.  My parents left me here that evening and I can see the tail lights of their car going out the gate as they headed home.  I felt alone and those tail lights just seemed to bring that very much to the surface.  For the first time, in eighteen years, I was removed from them and though I was where I wanted to be and they knew that, it seemed a defining moment.  Over the days the brightness of those tail lights faded a little and the college became more familiar.  I remember meeting an old man on the cloister – at least he seemed old to me -  and he was wearing a black suit, white shirt and black tie.  I wondered if he was a priest since he seemed too old to be a student.  He wasn’t a priest, well not then anyway but later “Professor Xerox” did become a priest and I remember kneeling on the street in Enniscrone and receiving his blessing.  He was so proud to be a priest and I equally so to receive his Blessing.  God rest you, Paddy Mullaney.  I’m sure he had wanted to be a priest all his life and thank God that happened for him. 

As I say, the college got smaller because I grew more aware of the people in it and, there’s no doubt “people make places”.  I found my way and Paddy Mullaney photocopied articles that I urgently needed but most likely never read!  Students became friends and this place became alive.  So it has remained.  In time though, I stopped calling here – the main reason being I didn’t know many people here anymore.   We had a young man ordained a deacon for our diocese on Sunday last – the first in ten years.  Yet, I wonder should we visit more? 

There’s no denying that motor ways have improved the journey time between East and West, North and South but at a price.  Places we once passed through are now by-passed.  I think of Clonard and I think of here.  Maybe we need to pull off the motorway occasionally and come in to visit here.  Those faces on the class pieces need to be real.  I met a woman in Charlestown a few years ago and she asked who I was.  When I told her she said “Father Sherlock, I’d never know I laid an eye on you”.  I said “The years haven’t been very kind” and, following another head to toe scan, she delivered her final blow, “Well they have not”!!  She’s right, to a point, the years take their toll.  We may not look the same as we did on that class piece photo but we are the same!  It’s the same man in us here today that sat before Lafayette’s camera.  The same man here today that wanted to be a priest then. 

Class piece faces spoke to us when we were here as students and they came alive in the visiting of priests from our diocese to wish us well, spend a bit of time with us, encourage us, feed us and leave a few bob for us.  We need to be that for the seventy or eighty here now.  We need to let our class piece photos come alive for them.  We need to remember that, whatever the years may have brought in terms of failure or success, we are still the “man” in the picture – travelling for Jesus.

I spoke a while ago about tail lights.  My parents drove in and out those gates many times and came to take me home for Ordination in June 1987.  The tail lights were never an issue again but, just for a moment, I’d like to focus our attention on head lights.  They are so important and lighten what is otherwise a dark and dangerous road for us as we travel.  We need them so much – that which gives us light and direction.  They are pure gift.  Yet, there’s little as dangerous as meeting a car that does not dip its main beams.  We are blinded and at risk.  There’s a need for courtesy and kindness in our travelling.  At times it seems to me that we might run that risk of blinding one another – not being willing to dip the headlights and allow for clearer vision.  As we journey together, as we travel for Jesus as priests and bishops and as church, let us not blind one another’s road.  Ideally, maybe we need to be in the one car, heading the same road so that the headlights can light the way ahead, even if uncertain, for us all at the same time.

Finally, I want to take you to Penn Station, New York.  A few years ago I went to use the subway with a friend.  I had a “Metro Card” and swiped him through but when I put the card in again, I was locked out.  Checking the card, I noticed there was $18 credit remaining and I tried again but no joy.  I went to the Information Booth and a large man sat there.  I got the impression he wasn’t too interested in how Sligo might do in the championship so I said “Is there any credit on this card”.  He spoke through a muffled microphone and a finger stained glass booth – “SWIPE it”.  I did but nothing happened.  “SWIPE IT AGAIN”, he bellowed.  I did and the same result.  At this stage there was line of people behind me and I felt that I was holding up all of New York.  I could feel myself blush.  He showed no mercy but roared “SWIPE IT WITH ATTTTTTTITUDE!”  I did!  He looked at me and said “There’s $16 credit on this card and you’ve paid for three rides in the last five minutes.  Have you gone ANYWHERE?”.  “No”, I replied.  He said “I’ll open the gate for you”.  He did and as my friend and I walked away I heard a loud roar; “Hey you”.  Though Penn Station was packed, I had no doubt it was a call to me so I looked around.  He held his hand up in the booth and gave me piece of solid advice.  “Remember”, he said “you’ve got to do it WITH ATTTTTITUDE”!!

So Bishops, I believe I’m meant to conclude with a toast to you.  Maybe that’s it.  Maybe whatever you have to do at this time, for the Gospel and the church, for yourselves and for all our people; “Do it, with attitude”!  

God bless you all and thanks.

 

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