On Sunday, May 20th, I had the privilege of celebrating Mass in St Patrick’s Church, Oram. It was a Month’s Mind Mass for Tom McBride – Big Tom, who had been a family friend since my childhood. I was happy to be asked and grateful to the local priests for making me feel welcome. I did not know what to expect but had assumed it would be family and perhaps a few locals and friends. I was shocked to find the church filled to capacity with people from all over Ireland and possibly overseas as well as some people outside the church. On my way to Oram, I had tried to think a few thoughts I might share. They weren’t written down but I thought I’d try to remember them now and include them here. I think this more or less reflects what was said yesterday. I am thankful to Tom and Rose’s family for asking me to be celebrant at this Mass. It gave me the opportunity to give back something to a man who had much to give and gave it freely. May he rest in peace. Amen.
There was music there in the Derry air like a language that we all could understand I remember the day when I earned my first pay And I played in a small pick-up band There I spent my youth and to tell you the truth I was sad to leave it all behind me For I learned about life and I’d found a wife in the town I loved so well
I used those words earlier today, speaking at Mass in Kilkelly. I used them for this Pentecost Day when we’re told that people could hear God’s word spoken clearly and meaningfully to them in their own language. This surprised and encouraged them.
Phil Coulter taps into this in his memory of his home town of Derry, describing the music as a language “we could all understand”. What was that music? It must have been a sense of place and belonging, a feeling of being at home and with people who mattered and people to whom you mattered. It’s a good description. The music invites lyric – words wrapped around it and through it that meaning may come through.
We gather to remember a man who knew that language and who had the ability to speak it and sing it to people all over Ireland and beyond in a way that all could understand. It’s a wonderful gift and a gift freely accepted by Tom and put to lasting good use by him. It’s that music – that lyric that brings us here today. I firmly believe in the power of music and slong and that God has a central part in the power of both to bring people to a peaceful and certain place – often at times that are not peaceful and in situations that are not certain.
The disciples, we are told, were locked away in a room. Everything in them knew it’s not where they should be, nor was it where they were needed but fear prevented them from going outside. Into that room, on this Pentecost Day, came the power, the gifts and the fruits of the Holy Spirit, throwing open the doors of the locked room and sending the apostles out to be the people they needed to be – preachers of the word, players of the music, shapers of the lyric so that his message could reach the ends of the earth.
We gather with Tom’s family today. We know that they can feel that sense of being locked in the room – locked in a room called “grief”. Few of us here, have not had this experience but for Tom’s family, the experience is doubled by the loss of Rose as well. They are here today as children who have lost their parents, grandchildren who have lost their grandparents, sister who has lost a brother – as people in grief. Like the apostles, it is understandable that they would find it difficult to leave this room, no matter how much they might want to. It’s a difficult room and a difficult place. While we could say that Tom and Rose were not especially young, equally we could say they were not especially old. Age is not the issue today. Loss is. The loss of parents, grandparents, brother – ones very much loving and loved. When my own parents died, people might have asked how old they were. I’d say my mother was eighty-six and there’d be a look almost saying “well what did you expect?” Even moreso when my father died at ninety-one. Of course there’s truth in long lives lived but the reality is their ages don’t matter. They are still a massive loss to us. Parents, the ones who gave us life and shaped our journey.
So we are asking today, that the doors of this room called grief might be opened for Tom’s family. Allowing them move again, be happy and content again and strength-filled again. This is what they deserve. They, like all who loved Tom, must listen for the music in the air – that language we can all understand.
Since Tom’s death, I’ve looked at a lot of YouTube videos – more that I might have looked at were he alive and I’ve enjoyed them. One in particular, where he was playing music and was accompanied by one of his grandsons. I thought it a lovely moment and a real reminder that the gift had been passed on. There’s comfort in that today. The tune must be shared and must be carried beyond locked doors that it gives joy to people again as it has so surely done in the past.
Coulter finishes his song with an acknowledgement that things have changed forever and that there’s no going back but that hope remains. I believe that’s where we are at today. Tom’s life will live on in that music – that lyric – that language that we can all understand.
Now the music’s gone but they carry on For their spirit’s been bruised, never broken They will not forget but their hearts are set on tomorrow and peace once again For what’s done is done and what’s won is won and what’s lost is lost and gone forever I can only pray for a bright, brand new day in the town I loved so well ….
For the man – the song – the music we all loved so well.
Earlier this month I visited the home of a little girl who was very ill and who, sadly, has since died. May she be at peace.
I’d met her and her family a number of times in recent years but had not been to her home before. I felt (and still do) sad for her parents and family but was very taken by the girl’s obvious connection with those around her and, I am totally convinced, with God. As I drove away from her home, trying to make sense of what was going on for this family (and incapable of doing so), a song was playing on the radio. It was the Ronan Collins Show and I’d never heard the song before. I didn’t even realise I was listening to it, to be honest, as my thoughts were in the house and with the family I had just left. Then I heard the chorus:
How can something so fragile leave us helpless We all feel helpless once in a while How can something so fragile leave us humble We all need humble once in a while.
It described exactly what I was feeling – helpless and humble. I wished that I could do more for this girl and her family – we all did – and much was done to try to help but at day’s end we were, all of us, helpless. This little girl humbled me to the core because I knew she experienced a connection with God and with Our Lady that was very personal to her. She had visited with her family many of the Shrines and Pilgrimage Sites that are part of our faith. She had brought from them a comfort that seems to have run very deep. It’s certain that, even in her tender years, she knew more of God’s love for her than many of us and that she found there a strength that she may or may not have put into words.
The song is called “Dragonflies” and I know virtually nothing about them. I’ve wondered though. I checked a little and see now that dragonflies live most of their lives beneath the water in a sort of tadpole state. In the summer they emerge from the water, fully formed and glorious in colour, complex in make-up, and extremely agile. Their lifespan in this state is very short-lived and they disappear, in many cases, almost as quickly as they arrived.
The songwriter ponders their journey, uniqueness and the difference they make. (Today I noticed a story on line that the distinctive movement of dragonflies’ wings can destroy bacteria and that scientists are trying to develop a way of replicating this movement so that bacteria can be broken down before it causes harm). The song, to me, is saying that the dragonfly is noticed, special and forever cherished. Though small and fragile, it makes a massive contribution to our world.
That’s what I want to say about Doireann – the little girl – that’s what I want to say to her parents, sister, grandparents and friends. Yes she humbled us, yes she made us feel helpless but in her six years she made a real difference. Like the dragonfly, most of those years she was a little girl, living primarily under the surface and in the watch of her family and those who loved her most. In sickness, she rose to the surface, and made all of us realise how special and treasured – how unique and gifted – her life. She made a real difference and we are better people because she lived.
The song, by Eddi Reader, is included below. The child, Doireann, is in our hearts. The need to remember her family and to remember her continues.
A lost summer’s day, a lifetime away What do you find Slow turning sun, with somewhere to run On your mind Not the flash that you saw That was gone in the wink of an eye As soon as we’re here, we disappear, like dragonflies.
Their miracle blue can never tell you How it came to be Each different kind, accidental designed Before you and me And we ask the whole of our lives maybe there’s no why As soon as we’re here, we disappear, like dragonflies.
How can something so fragile leave us helpless We all feel helpless once in a while How can something so fragile leave us humble We all need humble once in a while.
Did you think of this That each of us know in our hearts we must go And that’s what beauty is And just as the dream you were in dissolved in the morning sky As soon as we’re here, we disappear, like dragonflies.
How can something so fragile leave us helpless We all feel helpless once in a while How can something so fragile leave us humble We all feel humble once in a while.
And now nature can sing such beautiful wings Did you think of this That each of us know in our hearts we must go And that’s what beauty is And just as the dream you were in dissolved in the morning sky As soon as we’re here, we disappear, like dragonflies.
Saw this yesterday but looked at it on my phone and the internet connection was poor. It sounded so good, to my shame, I thought it was dubbed but when I watched it later on the computer, there’s no doubt! This is the genuine article. What a gift to be able to share and what a joy to see that gift given back so freely. On my way to a talk with parents of a Confirmation class and won’t be using a computer but, if I was, this clip could be as good as it gets! Parents handing on talent (FAITH) to their children. Well done Claire and Dad …..
Everywhere we look or listen this week, there have been reminders of the Titanic and, more tragically, its sinking one hundred years ago this night (14th April). I just had Mass in Urlaur and, by way of reflection and remembrance, shared a song I like a lot. It was written by Johnny McEvoy and tells of a meeting on the docks in Cobh between a young man and a newly married couple who were setting sail for New York. The teller of the story in song felt a sense of envy but also the need to wish the couple every good wish as they set out in search of their dream. There was however, a sound in the air, that left a question ……
We think of all the John Williams and their wives, of sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers who shared that journey and possibly a dream. A hundred years has passed but it’s important to remember. Johnny McEvoy does well on that front. We’ll remember with him …..
When last I saw John Williams, a young man full of pride
His lovely bride of just four days was standing by his side
He smiled and took me by the hand, saying “Boyo can’t you see
I’ve seen the last of windswept bogs and bogs the last of me!
And the peelers and the landlords and the risings of the moon
And if ever I return again, ’twill be too bloody soon”
Rich man, poor man, beggar man, wife
Sailed away into the night
Where they’ll wind up no-one knows
Round and round the story goes
He said “I’ll go and take my chance in far off New York Town
For they say there’s lots of work there and a good man’s not put down
And with my lassie by my side we’ll build a better home
And when the sea trip’s over lads we never more will roam”
So we said farewell upon the quay, there was nothing left to do
But to pray for John and his lovely bride, that their dreams
might all come true
How I envied you, John Williams, and your lovely fair haired bride
To be sailing on that mighty ship across the ocean wide
For she’s the finest liner, that was ever built by man
And they say there’s naught can sink her, no not even God’s own hand
Man’s pride can be his own downfall, that big ship sailed form home
And I thought I heard the banshee cry, and it chilled me to the bone
Rich man, poor man, beggar man, wife
Sailed away into the night
Where they’ll wind up no-one knows
Round and round the story goes
Round and around the icebergs flow.
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