My aunt was washing the dishes and, I think, feared I might drop something so she left me the job of drying. Each cup and saucer, each spoon, fork or knife, was washed with a tenderness of touch that was something to behold. I knew that she knew these dishes to and from a depth, I most likely could never begin to understand.
“In my memory I will always see ….”
Turning around, I pulled the dish-towel from its neat and tidy “parking spot” on the handle of the cooker. I took a saucer from her and began to dry – she looked at me and then at the dish-towel in my hand; “Mama made that for me in 1946”, she said. I was holding a piece of material and she was living a memory. “I wanted a red and white kitchen when I was young”, she told me “and Mama made this for me”. She saw beyond where we stood and looked into, what someone called, “A room named remember” and I was happy to stand in it with her. She was standing on “holy ground” and that’s good ground to stand on.
I was reminded of this moment recently, at a diocesan gathering, when a woman spoke to us of renovating her old family home. She spoke of the many tussles she had in wondering what to let go of and what to keep. In a wonderful description, she spoke of moving various bits and pieces along the hallway, towards the skip and then pausing, leaving them in the hallway and pondering some more. It took a long time for the journey to the skip to be made, if indeed it was made at all.
There’s something being said to me in these stories about the sadness I feel – that many feel – when our church’s traditions are belittled and people hasten to the “skip” to throw there all the perceived shackles and trappings of faith. I recently heard a radio presenter saying to a guest who was discussing (in sincerity) the feelings of guilt he had around his parents and not wanting to do anything that would hurt or embarrass them – “Try being an Irish Catholic”! There followed a laugh and I so wanted to shout “Maybe you should – try being an Irish Catholic” because if you did, you’d see and understand something of the hurt and confusion felt by many who wear that badge with honour and humility, with questions and answers, in good days and in bad.
It’s difficult to see people trample on the floors of our “holy ground” with little, if any regard, for the hurt and damage they cause.
All that from a tea-towel! We need to remember, respect and re-imagine.
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