by Vincent | Jun 15, 2019 | Reflections, Religion
Dear Fathers,
On this Trinity Sunday, we celebrate too, Fathers’ Day and maybe that relationship between father and child has a place in today’s feast. To be a father, it seems to me, is to make of a person three persons – the man, the father and the spirit that exists between him and his child or children.
The man in you knows what it was to be child and dependent, to search, to lose and to find. The man in you knows uncertainty and the gratitude that comes from being loved and trusted. The man in you knows the fullness of life with its countless twists and turns. The man in you knows what it means to be hurt, confused and vulnerable – even when all around you thinks you are strong, independent and in control. That’s the man you are today – on Fathers’ Day. You are the man to whom your child looks for the kind word, for good example and direction in life.
The father in you wants to do your very best by your family – to be a true provider, not just in euro and cent, but in every aspect of your child or children’s journey. The father in you wants to give what maybe you did not always receive or, better again, to give what you did receive from your own father who tried his best for you always. The father in you wants to show love and respect for all your family. That’s the father we need today, tomorrow and every day.
The spirit in you is that which makes you get up when you might find it easier to lie down and to go to work when it might be more desirable to stay at home. The spirit in you is that breath that is taken away from you when your child finds the word “Daddy” or your daughter walks, wedding dressed, beside you towards the Altar where you carried her as a baby and stood behind her on First Holy Communion and Confirmation days. The Spirit in you is at its best when you rejoice in your child’s successes on the football field, in the classroom and in life’s many choices.
In the mane of Father, Son and Spirit – Happy Fathers’ Day!
by Vincent | Jun 14, 2019 | General Interest, Reflections, Religion
Following the murder of Lyra McKee in Derry, like many others, I looked at her letter to her “14 year old self”. It was an amazing letter and a wonderful piece of videography. She was looking back at her life from the perspective of age and experience and encouraging the uncertainty she felt in her earlier years. She certainly had a wonderful ability to express herself that maybe eluded the 14-year old at the time she most needed it.
Thirty-two years ago today, I was ordained in Gurteen Church. For thirty-two years I have had the privilege of being a priest of the Diocese of Achonry and, all things considered, have enjoyed my life very much. Not wishing to steal Lyra’s words or sentiments, but wanting to share a few thoughts here today, I thought I might borrow her theme …..
Dear 24 Year-Old Self,
As you travel to Gurteen with one of your brothers and your parents, you feel gratitude but also a touch of nervousness you had not expected. You always hoped this day would come and now that it has, you’re happy about that but you know that you didn’t waken that morning and reach for your breviary or spend a lot of time in prayer. Something in you is saying that should have happened. Yes, there was a lot to do and the days were busy but on your ordination day, you’d like to have felt more “holy” and less worldly. You look at your father and mother and see the smiles and the joy that comes so naturally to them. The black suit and collar sit well and you feel at home in them, maybe even protected by them but hopefully you know now, even if you didn’t know then, that they are not the full story. A girl in Marks & Spencers will make that clear to you in time. No, you don’t know her and will only meet her once but what she says will matter. We will come back to that …
The church is filling with people and, even though it’s your Parish Church, it’s not the church you attended with your family as a boy and during your time in Maynooth. Cloonloo was your church – the “half-parish” as it was called, and you always felt very much at home there. Do you remember the day you wrote on a small piece of paper and asked God to make you a priest? You folded that piece of paper and “posted” it through the little opening in the back of the Altar in St Joseph’s. Chances are it’s still there. Gurteen was a bigger church though and this was a big day – so many people coming to share it with you. You will remember them from time to time: Mattie and Mae Callaghan (your Godmother), Alfie and Mel Gallagher who had always been such good friends of your parents, Tom and Mary Fox, Seán, Madge and all the Tahenys, Frank and Maureen O’Neill, Mick and Anne McKeon, Bernard and Eileen McDonnell – yes, you will think of these and so many other people from time to time, not least as some of them enter Eternity but they will always have a place in your heart. They were proud of you – proud that you were becoming a priest. You will need to remember that because, in time, you will find out that everybody doesn’t share their joy in your priesthood or in priesthood at all. You will remember your relations too, and how much they mean to you. There are priests there – so many who have been part of your life and you feel a homeliness about them and being with them. Without knowing it, many of them, brought you to this day. In the main, you will keep contact with them all through the years and shed a few tears as some of them too, enter the fullness of God’s Kingdom.
Later that day, you will hear your father say that he is not a man for many words and, though you might not realise it at the time, you will know that he spoke from his heart. He will stifle back a tear, clear a lump in his throat and say “This is my happiest day ever” and you will know that he means it. You will never forget he said it and you will try to make him happy. The day he dies, you will walk into a room in the Hospice where, thankfully he has spent only a few days, and you will look at him and he at you, as your family says the Rosary and he will die. Your niece will say: “He waited for you Vinnie”, and he will. You will sit between your father and mother and feel their joy and know that your mother is thinking of “Fr Casey” through whom she prayed decades for decades. She will thank God that maybe her son might mean as much to some family as Fr Casey meant to hers following her father’s death when she was only seven years old. She may never say this to you – well not in those exact words, but you will come to know the truth of them and know that her love and respect for priests came from the lived experience of being helped by one when help was most needed. There are days when this will give you the strength you need – even if you haven’t reached for the breviary or woken up feeling more holy than worldly. This memory will help you celebrate your mother’s Funeral Mass too, knowing that she would want it no other way.
You will enjoy parish life and come to know people well in places like Carracastle and Rooskey, Collooney and Ballinacarrow, in Galway, Ballaghaderreen, Monsasteraden, in Brusna and Derrinacartha. People there will welcome you and you will have the chance to share some of the happiest and most difficult days of their lives. You will return to Kilmovee, having spent a few months there in those early days, and come to know it a-new, alongside Urlaur, Glann and Kilkelly. There will be another side to your life too – that side that takes you to Long Island and to the parish of Rockville Centre and you will enjoy that, not least the chance it gives you to visit your aunt and to meet friends who will mean very much to you through the years.
Twenty-Four Year Old Self, it all sounds so good but sadly there will be much darkness too. Clouds will loom over you for different reasons – some personal but many of them to do with the church in whose name you are to be ordained. Within a few years, much will change and many of the experiences you share with others will be around hurt and shame about things that have happened. There will be a lot of hostility and days will come when you cannot bring yourself to read another newspaper article or watch the evening news. Days will come when the life you live will be turned on its head and people’s confidence is shattered. Yours too. You will feel the hurt people feel and regret all that has happened. There are times when you too will feel hurt, as the priesthood you believe in – the God you believe in and the Church through which you try to live your life, are all misunderstood, belittled and ridiculed. You could not have seen this on that June Day. Few could.
You will question your own life and the answers won’t always be easy to accept but somehow you will find enough reminders to let you know you made the right choice and that the little folded piece of paper lying, most likely dust-covered, in the depths of Cloonloo’s Altar, contain the right words – the only words – by which you could try to live your life: “Make me a priest.” You will realise that those words are as real today as they were when you wrote them and that, each day, you must ask God to “make you a priest” because the priesthood needs to be baked a-fresh each day. You will come to know that. It is not something you put on you and that’s that. Rather it is a daily call to be the best you can be – to do what you can do – to be.
You will learn that you have few of the answers that you once thought you had and that the questions are different than you could ever imagine. Time will soften your attitude too, and that’s a good thing. You will become less judgemental and more understanding and realise that even the black suit can be swapped on days for other colours – you will discover that, apart from Sligo’s colours, few things in life are black and white. You will realise that’s a good thing. Thankfully too, you will realise that the fundamental truth remains the same and always will – God is Love. You became a priest to do good not bad and we don’t always get it right. Sometimes we cause hurt but hopefully never with intent. There is always room for an apology and always gratitude for forgiveness received.
The passing of the years will bring so many changes that you could not possibly imagine. Numbers will fall and vocations will decline. But don’t panic! Think back to that day when you travelled with your brother and parents to Gurteen, knowing that your other brother and his family were in another car and that people were travelling from North, South, East and West, from other countries – from your own townland and Parish, to be with you – to be there for you. There will always be people there for you. You will meet the best of people along the way.
The girl in Marks & Spencers – one day, as you pay for a few items in a shop you never stood in before, she will mention your collar and you will think she’s going to have a go at the Church and at priests. She will say to you: “We never needed you more” – not just you – not even you, but the priesthood and the best of what it has to offer. You will remember her often and as you say thanks to her, she will think you are thanking her for the change she has given you but no – she may never know the depth of your gratitude but you will tell many people – that she reassured you. There will always be people like that.
Listen to them …. God speaks through them. Be thankful.
Vincent
by Vincent | Jun 8, 2019 | Reflections, Religion
From locked room to waiting street
They were locked in a room
and burdened with fear,
joined one with the other
in continuous prayer.
“The Advocate”, he told them,
“would descend from on high”
but why he had to leave them
they still wondered why.
Below them people gathered
with them Mary prayed;
it was her desire
their fears be allayed
Courage was needed
Reverence and Wisdom as well
Right Judgement and Wonder
His story to tell.
Into that room
on that Pentecost Day
came a powerful Understanding
and it took them away
from the locked room upstairs
His people to greet
filling with Wonder and Awe
all gathered on the street.
(VS Pentecost Sunday 2019)
by Vincent | Jun 2, 2019 | Reflections, Religion
I wrote these few lines earlier today, in preparation for Masses in Kilmovee and Kilkelly. I tried to imagine Jesus writing to us, following the Ascension. I’m sure there’s so much He could say but these are the few thoughts that came to me and were shared earlier. I hope they have a place here too and maybe help us to think a little – pray a little and to be grateful.
Dear Friends,
I arrived safely and the welcome I received was second to none. My Father, no more than the father in the story I once told you, seemed to be watching out for me, even when I was still a long way off. He even got them to put the best robe on me. Unlike that story, though, there was no jealousy to be seen here – everyone seemed so happy to see me and wanted to hear all about my time with you. I was amazed how easily I could recall the details – even the little ones and there was no rush in sharing the story. Every bit of it mattered and it felt so good to be able to share it with people – with my Father especially and there was a wonderful Spirit there too. I’ll come back to that ….
I told them of Joseph, the carpenter. I called him “dad” and my Father never blinked or reacted to that. He knew well enough how much Joseph had done for my mother and I. He was such a wonderful man – is such a wonderful man. He left no stone un-turned in his care and love for us. I’m proud of him and of his hard-working hands and solid presence. Just as he shaped the wood in his shed, there is no doubt, he shaped me too. The man you met and came to know in me, was in many ways the man I came to know and respect in him. Loyalty, that was his gift and deep faith was his truest asset. He saw what another might not. My mother often said that about him.
I talked about the early days – the moving and the uncertainty, seeking welcome in places that were not our own and I couldn’t help but think of all the people that are still having to do that. I see my own journey in so many of them and rejoice in those places where they are welcomed and given a chance.
My cousin John – “The Baptist” they called him, I told them about him and how he refused to baptize me! They smiled at that – imagine had I not being baptized. It is such a gift and John felt unworthy to share it with me but, in fairness, he gave in and did the right thing on the day. My Father and the Spirit nodded in agreement – “Didn’t we split the clouds that day?”, they said. Indeed, they did! I’m thinking of children who will be baptized today – including two in this very parish – and wanting them and their families to know that the clouds will split too and there will be a joining of minds and hearts and a journey begun.
I spoke to them about the twelve and how glad I was that they said “yes” when I asked them to follow me. I don’t think they will ever fully grasp how much that meant. At its core, it meant I was not walking alone but in the company of like-minded people. I remembered, as I talked, some of the confusion the twelve felt and I thought of Judas too. I don’t remember him just for his final act but for that first “yes” and the many steps he took with us. I had a real sense of all here knowing what I meant.
Miracles! There were so many to recall and they were not all about blind people seeing, deaf people hearing or the lame finding their feet. Many of them were so subtle that only the ones involved knew – we talked about the woman in the crowd and the healing that came – not through her touching the hem of a garment that could be discarded but rather through her reaching out to and through me because she saw something deeper. I loved that miracle – that moment and the look on her face when I asked: “Who touched me?” I don’t think she fully knew what I meant by that – I meant that she had touched my heart through her recognising her chance for healing. How I wished more would recognise that opportunity and, like her that day, reach out for it. Everyone here, nodded at that memory and, no more than that day, a few tears were shed.
There was so much to tell – the small boy in the large crowd with his few loaves and fish, that supper we shared in the borrowed room and its place in all you are doing right now. Yes, I spoke about the final days and the confusion, but my Father drew my attention to the moments of kindness and faith those days contained – the centurion, Simon, Veronica, the “good” thief, Joseph of Arimathea and of course, my Mother. Yes, there was much good to be found, even in the darkest hour.
So maybe that’s enough for today. I’m where I need to be but I’m with you too. You remember the Spirit I mentioned earlier – keep your eyes and hearts open, I have a real sense that The Spirit has a message for all of you. Don’t lock the door!
Peace be with you,
Jesus.
by Vincent | May 5, 2019 | Reflections, Religion
About to shut down here but wanted to share a few words from this evening’s Mass in Urlaur Church to celebrate the 50th Anniversary of its opening. A packed church spoke volumes as people travelled from near and far to be together to mark this milestone in the Parish’s life. Thirteen priests concelebrated Mass:
- Monsignor Tommy Johnston
- Monsignor John Doherty
- Fr Farrell Cawley (former Parish Priest of Kilmovee)
- Fr Paddy Kilcoyne (former curate in the parish)
- Fr Tom Mulligan (former curate in the parish)
- Fr Padraig Costello (native of the parish)
- Fr Dan O’Mahony (native of the parish)
- Fr Stephen O’Mahony (native of the parish)
- Fr Padraig Hawkins (native of the parish)
- Fr Tommy Towey
- Fr Gerry Davey
- Fr Michael Quinn
- Fr Vincent Sherlock
and Rev Martin Lynch, one of our Permanent Deacons, proclaimed the Gospel. We had apologies from some other priests who could not be there and good wishes expressed by another native of the parish, Fr Dominic Towey (Motherwell Diocese) who could not attend either.
The Gallery was filled to capacity with both local and visiting choir members (from other churches in the parish) and the church had been most beautifully decorated with flowers, plants and looked totally amazing. It was impossible not to be proud of the local effort made and to feel a real sense of place. I’m so glad it all happened and so grateful to the very many people who were involved in the liturgy. Our Altar Servers, those who proclaimed the word of God, all who led us in the Prayer of The Faithful, those who brought forward gifts – including a prayer book belonging to Sr Mary of The Blessed Trinity (whose letter was very central to the building of the church), a candle, plant, hymn book, book of Eucharistic Adoration time sign-in sheets and bread and wine – carried in a Chalice most likely linked with Urlaur Abbey and dating from 1703. All was as it should be.
Chalice from 1703 – used at Mass of Thanksgiving
The readings were from the Mass of the 3rd Sunday of Easter and the gospel passage from John’s gospel:
A reading from the holy gospel according to John
Jesus showed himself again to the disciples. It was by the Sea of Tiberias, and it happened like this: Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee and two more of his disciples were together. Simon Peter said, ‘I’m going fishing.’ They replied, ‘We’ll come with you.’ They went out and got into the boat but caught nothing that night.
It was light by now and there stood Jesus on the shore, though the disciples did not realise that it was Jesus. Jesus called out, ‘Have you caught anything, friends?’ And when they answered, ‘No’, he said, ‘Throw the net out to starboard and you’ll find something.’ So they dropped the net, and there were so many fish that they could not haul it in. The disciple Jesus loved said to Peter, ‘It is the Lord.’ At these words ‘It is the Lord’, Simon Peter, who had practically nothing on, wrapped his cloak round him and jumped into the water. The other disciples came on in the boat, towing the net and the fish; they were only about a hundred yards from land.
As soon as they came ashore they saw that there was some bread there, and a charcoal fire with fish cooking on it. Jesus said, ‘Bring some of the fish you have just caught.’ Simon Peter went aboard and dragged the net to the shore, full of big fish, one hundred and fifty-three of them; and in spite of there being so many the net was not broken. Jesus said to them, ‘Come and have breakfast.’ None of the disciples was bold enough to ask, ‘Who are you?’; they knew quite well it was the Lord. Jesus then stepped forward, took the bread and gave it to them, and the same with the fish. This was the third time that Jesus showed himself to the disciples after rising from the dead.
The Gospel of The Lord
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.
These are the words I shared around that gospel …
In today’s Gospel names are mentioned: Simon Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, the sons of Zebedee and two more …. it’s dangerous to mention names for fear some would be left out and yet these are listed – I think they total seven.
In the story around this church, many names could be mentioned. Many of them thankfully, are represented in flesh, blood and family line here this evening. Others have passed to their Eternal reward and some never really lived among us … Names like Arthur Sulsberger, Nat Goldstein, Pat Reynolds, Paul Scully, Joe DiDinato, Joseph Del Negro – that’s six – and there’s one more – Sr Mary of The Blessed Trinity (Margaret Cafferkey), a young woman from the parish who left when she was sixteen years of age and later became a Cloistered Nun of the Dominican Order.
“I’m going fishing”, Peter said. “We’ll come with you”, replied the rest. It seems Sr Mary had the same idea. Her pond was far removed though from Urlaur Lake and, I’m reminded of Seamus Heaney’s “Digging”:
“Between my finger and thumb/the squat pen rests./I’ll dig with it”
She may not have dug with the pen, but she fished with it! We know well the story of her letter to The New York Times and of that letter being passed on – its contents shared, so that the fullness of its message could be realised and find a generous response. Sulsberger passed it to Reynolds, who spoke to Goldstein and he asked Scully to get someone to meet with Sr Mary. DiDinato and Del Negro travelled to Newark and met a shy woman who spoke to them firstly about their own families, wondering if they had children and when one said he had three, she said “I hope they will be priests”. He told her two of them were girls and she laughed but didn’t give up – she encouraged the sisterhood!! They said this talk helped them all relax and then she spoke to them of home and of her priest wanting to help build a place where her people could worship. She told them something of history too and maybe, in fairness exaggerated a bit!! She talked, it seems of the Abbey being destroyed by the invaders some 600 years earlier and this led to Goldstein asking friends to help make an Irish fairytale come true and to bring to the people of Urlaur a church that was “600 years overdue”. Sr Mary told her visitors that she had not received a visitor in the room in which she met them in more than fifty years. One of the reporters recalled it was twenty minutes later the reality of that statement hit home with them. They thought of how easily they had called to make an appointment and how difficult it must have been for Sr Mary to walk into this room for the first time in fifty years.
We are lucky she did! The story was told. “Have you caught anything friends?” Jesus asked the fishermen “nothing”, they replied. “Throw out to starboard and you will catch something”. Were Sr Mary asked the same question, she could have answered with a very enthusiastic “yes” because both journalists agreed there was no way “you could say no” to this woman. Her net was cast to the starboard. They were caught.
The story took on a life of its own and $10,000 – more than half the price of the church – came from that letter and because of the interest of people of the Jewish faith – the same faith in which Jesus and his disciples had their roots. Goldstein later said the line that caught his attention in a letter from Fr Hunt was that he wanted to build a little church “where the people can pray and worship”. He said he firmly believed the world would be a better place if it had more places of worship.
There is, of course more to this story but there’s something very precious in that part of it. Tonight is about acknowledging the fullness of the story so all have a part to play and all are fully remembered and prayed for in our gathering.
There has been a great feeling of joy around the place in recent weeks and I have to say that has given me great hope. The three locals who cycled to meet Bishop Fergus in 1952 to see if they could have Mass celebrated in the local school because it was difficult to get to another church and people were deeply saddened if they could not attend Mass have a part in this story. So does Bishop Fergus who said yes to that request. Fr Hunt, Sr Mary of The Blessed Trinity, Nat Goldstein and all the many locals here who travelled to sell tickets, raised funds and witnessed the turning of the sod, more than a decade later, had one aim in common – to build a “place of worship”.
I was here yesterday, and just walked around the church – inside and outside – to get a sense of it. Sometimes when we see something every day, pass by it often, it can just “be there” without us really noticing and recognising it for what it is. It can be like the unrecognised Jesus on the shore in today’s Gospel. If this celebration is about anything this evening, I am convinced it is about recognising where we are as a “Place of Worship”. I looked at bricks in the interior walls and wondered if the entire church is built of brick but I don’t think it is. Let’s imagine for a moment that it is. Look at the bricks around you. Now imagine pulling out a few of them – maybe near the bottom, then a few rows up – gaps appearing, emptiness where there should be solid stone. Then the balance gets shifted and some of the bricks further up begin go lose their holding and slip. Is it possible the building would fall, were enough of its bricks removed? I’m inclined to think so and that’s where we are at maybe …….
Those bricks lower down might represent our youth … they are strong and supporting what rests above and what has gone before but if removed, there’s a glaring gap and an unsteady building. Urlaur Abbey, was destroyed by invaders. Its treasures were plundered and its voice was silenced. Sadly and truthfully today, the plundering is more subtle and the invaders don’t necessarily come from other places. The suppression can be more subtle and still there’s a desire to quieten the voice – I’m convinced we have to recognise that today as we give thanks for this church and all it has stood for. We must ensure that all the bricks are in place, lending support to each other and that gaps are, insofar as possible, avoided so that the structure remains solid and the place of worship remains just that.
Seven apostles mentioned in today’s Gospel. They thought they might “go fishing” – go back to where they had been before but that really wasn’t an option. Jesus had become part of their lives and, once they allowed that happen, they could not very go back to their old ways. Seven people mentioned in relation to Sr Mary’s letter – neither could any of them go back to their own ways once those words were read and once that meeting had taken place – the church, be it 600 or 300 years overdue had to be built. Fifty years on – recalling the fifty years Sr Mary waited to enter the “visitors’ room” in that Newark Convent we commit to visiting this place of worship and ensuring that it be a place of joy-filled faith, of untiring hope and unfailing love. We commit to the truth that, having encountered Christ here, we can never go back.
God bless all who made it possible and God guide all of us to raise our voices in thankful praise.
Amen!
by Vincent | Apr 28, 2019 | Reflections, Religion
A cousin was speaking with me yesterday and she told me she was in London last weekend, with her two young sons, to visit her sister and family. They went for a day trip to London and travelled on a number of trains and by underground. Later in the evening, her younger son told her he’d lost his phone. He was upset as was she. Not life or death, of course, but she’d prefer if it had not been lost and felt upset for her son. They reported the missing phone via an on-line app but she held out little hope.
The next morning she noticed a missed call on her phone and a text. It read something like “I found a phone and I think it may belong to a member of your family”. She called and the person on the other end of the call told her that he’d found the phone the night before. Its battery had run flat so he plugged it in to charge it. When power came back, he noticed it was locked but on the screen there were some words “MISSED CALL MAM” and her number. Hence the contact. She thanked him and said “Red or White?” He was confused and asked what she meant. She said she wanted to thank him and wondered did he like red or white wine. “Neither”, he replied “I’m seventeen”. Seventeen!
In today’s gospel, Thomas was doubtful about Christ’s resurrection and insisted on what was needed for proof. Later, when offered that proof, he no longer required it: “My Lord and my God”, he said. His faith in “Divinity” was restored. My storyteller told me that her experience from last weekend had restored her faith in “humanity”. It’s good to have faith restored.
I thought about that lad afterwards and what it was that made him contact my cousin? There were other options. Though the phone was locked, he could have had it unlocked and sold it or kept it for himself. He could have sold it to a friend and made a quick profit for himself. He could have dumped it. He opted for none of these but called the number of a person he felt would be able to restore it to its rightful owner. He did the decent and right thing. I wondered was it the word “MAM” that struck a chord with him? Could he imagine his own mother calling him or worrying for him if he lost something? Whatever the reason, he did the right thing.
That’s where we’re at, I think – a place and world full of choices, choices we meet on a daily basis and the choice can quite often be between right and wrong? There’s something in this story, as I hear it and tell it, about opting for the right – opting for the good. Something about restoring faith in humanity and Divinity.
Choices!
