On Saturday last, I had Mass in Urlaur. It was a Month’s Mind Mass for a lady named Gertie Duffy, R.I.P.
I mentioned that I went to see her in hospital when I heard she was sick. The “news” as they say, was not good and from an early stage her husband and family were prepared for the worst. I went then with some degree of caution, not fully knowing how I’d find her or how open she’d be to my visit. I need not have worried.
When I went into the ward, she was there with her sister – a sister I’d not met before. She looked at me, smiled, welcomed me and said to her sister “This is the man who looks after us”. We chatted for a little while, I gave her a blessing, spoke a little with her family and came on home.
In the car, I thought about the introduction – “This is the man who looks after us ….” I wondered what I’d said to her that might have remained with her and, even now, don’t know. I do however know that her words have stayed with me.
That’s what I am meant to be. On Vocations Sunday, “Good Shepherd” Sunday, I am reminded through her words that I am meant to be the one who looks after people. That’s why I became a priest. I’m grateful to her for that lovely, appropriate and ultimately challenging introduction.
What does it mean to “look after” people? I think it means loving people enough to want to see the very best for them. It’s something to do with hoping people are safe and secure and they know you’re available to them when needed. Be it for a chat or moan, a prayer or a blessing … whatever. It doesn’t mean, as far as I’m concerned, that I am better than others in any way shape or form. All I can do is be the “me” that I am and bring to the table the gifts I have to offer. I am constantly aware that there are people in my life, in my parish who lose and find me in spirituality and prayer, in selflessness and giving, in charity and support … Just as I am reminded of that truth, I become all the more convinced that I must do my best with what I have to be a priest among the people.
Gertie was right – I am thankful on this Vocations Sunday for the many people who allow me the privilege of “looking after” them insofar as I do. It’s a happy task for it includes being with people in times of joy and sorrow, certainty and doubt, peace and anger, sickness and health and ….
It’s a rewarding place to be – not without its own moments of doubt and self-questioning when the focus can be darkened by feelings of not doing enough, of seeming to lose people along the way, of not being relevant to some of our younger people who draw their inspiration from other sources and dip their buckets in other wells and seem to number me, and my kind, as some outdated relic from a world that is no longer theirs. That really hurts the heart of my being a priest for, at times, it’s their ears I want to find words for but words don’t easily come. The hope remains that they’d know, if need be, when need be, they can come to my door. Should that moment arrive, I pray that I’d not make them ever regret that decision.
It was right that I visit Gertie. Needless to say, like her people, I wish the outcome had been different. It was nonetheless the role of the priest in her parish to call to her in a moment of need. I’m glad I did. Glad that though we’d not had an awful amount of contact in life, other than seeing her in church, the odd chat here and there, that she saw me as one who had a part to play in her life.
The question today, for me – for us all, on Vocations Sunday, is who will continue to be that person in the future life of our church, its parishes and communities? What shape is this Vocation going to take?
I believe the need remains. I believe the call is still going out “Pray, the Lord of the harvest to send labourers to His harvest” …. who is going to hear that call? Who is going to help others hear that call?
Just caught closing minutes of a documentary on Joan Baez and this song featured. I’d never heard it before. Glad I heard it today.
“GOD IS GOD” (Lyrics)
(Steve Earle)
I believe in prophecy
Some folks see things
Not everybody can see
And once in a while
They pass the secret along
To you and me
And I believe in miracles
Something sacred burning
In every bush and tree
We can all learn to sing
The songs the angels sing
Yeah I believe in God
And God ain’t me
I’ve traveled around the world
Stood on mighty mountains
And gazed across the wilderness
Never seen a line in the sand
Or a diamond in the dust
And as our fate unfurls
Every day that passes
I’m sure about a little bit less
Even my money keeps telling me
It’s God I need to trust
And I believe in God
But God ain’t us
God of my little understanding
Don’t care what name I call
Whether or not I believe
Doesn’t matter at all
I receive the blessings
That every day on earth’s
another chance to get it right
Let this little light of mine
Shine and rage against the night
Just another lesson
Maybe someone’s watching
And wondering what I got
Maybe this is why I’m here on earth
And maybe not
Following on from the few words posted for this weekend around the Road FROM Emmaus, I thought I’d re-post an entry from some time ago. There is a link!
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I was at a weekend retreat in Killenard, Co. Laois a few years ago. In the dining room there hung a painting entiled something along the lines “Servant Girl At Emmaus” and it depicted a rather puzzled looking girl at a table. There were some items on the table but there was nobody at it. I assumed it was the table at which Jesus had sat with the two travelling companions and that they had left in a hurry – Jesus having “vanished” from their sight and the two men legging it back to Jerusalem to tell the others they had seen him. I remember thinking did she wonder “who’s going to have to pay for this?”
I mentioned the painting to a priest friend sometime later – one who is more appreciative of the arts than I. He knew the painting from my description and, though he shared my joke about the girl wondering would she have to pay for the meal since the diners had apparently done a runner, he let me know (gentlty, in fairness) that I had missed the point. The girl is actually in the kitchen and Jesus and the two may still be seen at a corner table. She is listening and wondering because she believes it is Jesus but realises his table companions haven’t recognised him. Here’s the painting …. have a look at the girl and the men in the corner …
The Servant-Girl at Emmaus (A Painting by Valasquez)
Earlier this evening, I googled this painting and came across the following poem by Denise Levertov that sums it up so well … The Gospel passage ends with us being told that they recognised him in the “breaking of bread” – this girl, it seems, recognised him in the serving of bread. Oh, to have eyes to see, ears to hear and Faith to believe …..
She listens, listens, holding
her breath. Surely that voice
is his – the one
who had looked at her, once, across the crowd,
as no one ever had looked?
Had seer her? Had spoken as if to her?
Surely those hands were his,
taking the platter of bread from hers just now?
Hands he’d laid on the dying and made them well?
Surely that face-?
The man they’d crucified for sedition and blasphemy.
The man whose body disappeared from its tomb.
The man it was rumored now some women had seen this morning, alive?
Those who had brought this stranger home to their table
don’t recognize yet with whom they sit.
But she in the kitchen, absently touching the winejug she’s to take in,
“The disciples told their story …..” There’s something fresh and wonderful about that. It’s like being at a movie or out for a meal and wanting to share that moment with others. We’re almost not happy until we get a commitment from the ones being told – “Yeah, I must go to see that. I look forward to going there sometime … thanks for letting me know”. The story they told was one of a personal encounter with Jesus. It was an encounter, like many of the best ones, which took them by surprise. He was quite literally the last person they expected to see. How many times had they told and re-told that story? “We were walking along. It was a long and difficult walk. Our hearts were broken and we just couldn’t get our heads around the thought that he was gone. Then this man was with us. He asked us what we were talking about. Oddly enough it didn’t seem wrong for him to ask and we began to tell him. The road seemed shorter and the conversation went to a place we’d not expected. Our hearts burned within us. And then, we finished up in a restaurant and he gave us broken bread … that’s the moment we knew who he was …..”
We need somehow, with these men, to make this story our own. We need that encounter with Jesus. We need to feel him beside us, hear the sound of his footsteps on the gravel of our roads too. For that to happen we need to be talking about our faith. It was in response to their faith-based conversation, the Lord entered their journey. If they’d been talking about sport, last night’s episode of our favourite soap or catching up on someone’s latest rant on some topic removed from them, how difficult it would have been to enter their moment. But no, they were talking about their faith being shaken, their Lord being taken and he heard where they were and it was only natural that he’d join them. There’s a message in all of this for us today. If we want him to talk with us, we must be prepared to talk about him – to talk with him, walk with him, sit at table with him and allow ourselves be nourished by the broken bread that is his body.
He does it again, just now. As they’re telling their story he walks into their midst. He assures them he is flesh. He’s not at some sort of heavenly remove or untouchable. On the contrary he says that they should touch him, feel the very essence of him and be convinced and hear again the message that all he said, all that was written about him had to be fulfilled and has to be fulfilled. The Lord desperately wants us to know He’s here for us and with us. There’s no high level of security keeping us at a pre-determined remove. That’s one of the things we like so much about Pope Francis – his gift of connect. He knows his place is among people and he knows this is where the Lord wants him to be.
Where to for all of us today on the road from Emmaus? The road to it was one thing but the real difference is made on the road taken afterwards. The same can be said of our coming to Mass today. Where to from here? How ready are we to talk about him as we go? How open are we to his joining in our conversation? How tuned in are we to the reality that unless we are prepared to talk about him and to him, it’s very difficult for him to enter our journey?
You are witnesses to this!
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Homilies for April – “The Furrow” – Vincent Sherlock
There’s a sense of church at its best going on this weekend. It’s that early enthusiastic excitement of a new relationship or hobby. We’ve got all the gear and are ready to spend ourselves fully in the pursuit of love of person, sport or activity. We couldn’t imagine missing a meeting, training session or opportunity to progress our interest. “The whole group of believers was united, heart and soul..”, “the apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord with great power …” Certainly it was a great time to be alive in the wake of a wake and the awe-filled wonder of an emptied tomb.
We move then to John’s letter and he laying it on the line for us. Commandments and the keeping of them are discussed. Recipes are given for overcoming the world. “Only the one who believes that Jesus is the son of God” can overcome the world. It looks like the cycling gear, the fitness regime, the daily texts or calls of friendship and love are gathering a bit of dessert dust.
Enter Thomas – the Twin! Rather don’t enter, for he wasn’t there when the Lord came. He had his doubts much and all as he wanted to believe. He knew the marks had to be left on Jesus and unless he could see them, touch them (maybe even weep because of them) he could not believe. Yes, he’d heard the tomb was empty. He’d heard of the Emmaus conversation and broken bread but it wasn’t sinking in. “Unless I see the holes that the nails made in his hands ….”
“Peace be with you”, Jesus had told them but Thomas wasn’t there to hear. He had to rely on others and he found it difficult to accept their version of events. Chances are he wanted to but couldn’t. What did the others lack in their telling that stalled the transmission of Jesus’ message? “Where did we go wrong?” parents sometimes wonder when their children give up on the faith. Sometimes we priests wonder too when people seem to drift away from church and practice. The closer people can be to the direct word the better. Hearsay evidence is only part of the story. It’s a pity Thomas wasn’t there with the others, even in the confusion of that room. Maybe that’s why the church places such strong emphasis on the weekly call to Sunday worship – so that it’s not hearsay for people but first hand.
Despite all this Thomas had his moment. Wounded flesh touched, he came to know the man he had walked and worked with for three years in a way that hadn’t fully dawned before. Yes he knew him as friend, one for whom he had mourned, but more than that, he recognised him as “My Lord and my God”. It’s appropriate that in Ireland we have made these words our own. God is recognised.
For this, Thomas gets the title “The doubting Thomas” and it seems so unfair to label him – anyone for that matter, based on a single event. Thomas asked the question and received an answer that took us to a deeper place. It wasn’t the first time he’d done that. “I’m going to prepare a place for you”, said Jesus, “and after I’ve prepared it you can come with me. You know the way to the place where I am going”. They hadn’t a clue but stood there and said nothing. Not Thomas though – “We don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way …” and this led to the words that are central to all we’re about today; “I am the way, the truth and the life, no one can come to the Father, except through me”.
Good man Thomas! From hearsay, to recognition and the new enthusiasm that is Faith in action.
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