Today’s Gospel passage points towards the Golden Rule of treating others as you’d like them to treat you. The evening finds me again on Lough Derg – as a sort of day-boy – helping out for a day or two but not on pilgrimage. I WILL do it at some stage, just not sure when!
I had Mass this evening and spoke to them, in part, about Fr Pat Burke – a priest of Tuam Archdiocese, who died unexpectedly, and – arguably – many years ahead of his time, yesterday. May he rest in peace. Pat was curate in Westport parish and was due to take up a new appointment in July. His death has come as a shock to all who knew him. He’d mentioned the day before that he was not feeling very well but nobody expected his death. It is a huge loss to his family, his parish, diocese and to all who knew him.
I cannot believe how sad I feel about this. A few months ago, I put a few words on this blog about vocations. It took the form of a letter to myself. The next day I had a message from Pat, telling me he enjoyed it and that it spoke to him “you could have written it to me” he said. I replied, thanking him and telling him that we’d “keep motoring” in priesthood. We had spoken many times about meeting up at some stage, having lunch and a bit of a chat. That’s not going to happen now. I feel great regret about that. It was so doable. Less than an hour would have seen us in one place or the other. It never happened.
My admiration for Pat was in watching him at Knock Shrine where he was curate and Master of Ceremonies at many of the events in the Basilica. He always seemed so unassuming but his role was central. He never sought limelight but helped others find their place in its rays. He was a good man.
Later I met him when I was involved with the priests of Tuam Archdiocese in their annual Diocesan Priests’ Retreat. Pat was the only person younger than myself there and his presence was so supportive. He wrote me a very kind note afterwards, thanking me for the retreat but I told him that he had supported me, by his presence, in a way far more supportive than I could have been of him. I meant it. There was something very reassuring and calming in his presence. He made a difference.
At days end, Pat treated people with kindness – the way we’d like to be treated and his place in this evening’s Mass on Lough Derg, is to encourage us to do likewise. There is also something about not putting things off for another day. That day has a way of overtaking us.
AT THE WATER’S EDGE
Pat,
Earlier today I read about your work on the islands off Mayo and how much you enjoyed it. As I came across on the boat this evening, the stone’s throw of a journey, I wondered about you heading off to celebrate Mass and the sacraments on Innishturk and Clare Island or your visits to Caher Island. You made a difference there. I’m sure you are missed tonight. Your feet, between boat and shore, brought something very special and sacred. You were priest among the people and the people enveloped you as one chosen, one called to be with them and for them. It was good work Pat.
I stood at the water’s edge here on Lough Derg this evening. shoes on and phone in hand – feeling less than worthy as I watched barefooted men and women of all ages, walk around and behind me, focusing on their prayers and being pilgrims. Phones turned off, no photos just searching for something of Heaven and finding it – I hope and pray. I watched the waters but looked beyond them to people gathering in Westport, to walk past you – not barefooted but brokenhearted, bless themselves and offer a prayer and wonder “why?” I heard them whisper to your parents and your brothers how wonderful you were and how shocked they are. “Sorry for your trouble”, they’d have said, one after another. I see them walking towards Charlie McDonnell and the other priests there, shaking their heads in disbelief. There are no words. Your loss to them is immeasurable. Certainly you didn’t know the fullness of all you meant to people. I wonder where you are in all of this? I can’t help but believe you believed in the Resurrection you preached to so many and that you are now fully caught up in it.
Then water splashes onto the slabs at my feet. Water of the lake meeting the solidness of stone. Changing its shade, moistening its hardened surface. Travelling to meet the land. How often you poured the waters of baptism on an infant’s head and watched it trickle back into the font from which it came. Parents smiled and so did you for it was God’s work. Your last Sunday was John The Baptist’s Day. Waters made holy by the one baptized and the one baptizing.
I sensed you stepping ashore Pat as the waters of Lough Derg met the stone beneath the pilgrims’ feet. I walked away from the water’s edge, believing you had found solid ground too and put your own mark on it as the stones were coloured by the lake’s edge this evening.
I told them about you Pat, at Mass. People sympathised with me afterwards on the loss of “your friend” and I felt oddly hypocritical since we didn’t know each other that well and I felt cheated too because I’d like to have known you better. I was proud of you as a priest, grateful for your text on a Monday in April and for your phonecalls every now and again. Yes, we should have met.
Pray for us Pat. We need someone to take your place. Be “vocation” now. Call people to walk where you walked and to cross the waters to the islands where you encountered something of a church we all want – a church of belonging and a church of shared vision.
Rest in peace Pat. You’ve crossed that point where the waters meet the land.
Vincent