by Vincent | Nov 20, 2016 | General Interest, Reflections, Religion, Songs
In the past few days people have received calls from Donald Trump, inviting them to Trump Towers and they went in the expectation of receiving an appointment to his administration. He’s now in “power” and will gather around him people who seek power. He’s no different to many others in similar situations. For more than two years he has sought power, as did those who campaigned against him, for there is something in power that attracts people. That’s the way it’s always been and is certain to continue.
On the last Sunday of the Church’s Year we are given the image of Christ The King. There is little that speaks more to power than “KING” – from our childhood days we heard stories of Kings and Queens, Princes and Princesses and their lifestyle. We imagined their castles, thrones, kingdoms and rejoiced with the good ones who did well by their people and hissed disapproval at the evil and warped ones who sought to make life difficult for others “Look out, he’s behind you”, was the pantomime roar. “Oh no he’s not” – “Oh yes, he is”!
Christ the King is found neither in castle or on throne. He’s crucified between two thieves. He’s mocked, jeered, spat at and offered vinegar to drink. A sign says he is “king of the Jews” but those gathered around have no regard for him or his “kingship”. It’s total humiliation. It’s awful. He is at his lowest moment and begins to doubt even the Father’s love “why have you abandoned me?”.
In the midst of all this awfulness there is a moment of light. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom”. How those words must have lifted his fallen spirit. In the absence of pomp and ceremony, robes and crown, someone was still able to grasp the truth. “There’s more going on here deeper than meets the eye”. What was it that sparked that moment of recognition in the “good thief”? Where did he find those words? Where did he unwrap that gift of faith that allowed him see beneath the lashes and bruising, the nails and the blood to the one beneath and above it all? Somehow he managed it! Hands tied and in undoubted pain, he realised the man beside him was more than man. He was KING! Some kings had the name of being merciful and surely he’d be numbered among them – “Jesus”, he said, “remember me when you come into your kingdom”.
His words, far from falling on deaf ears, gave hope to a dying man and helped him realise his words had not fallen unheeded to the ground. In the midst of all this hostility and hatred, there was sill hope – still faith and a desire for something better.
“Indeed”, replied the King “this day you will be with me in Paradise”.
Trump Towers or Calvary? Power is at its best in fragility and weakness for it is from these it can draw and transform people. Power, when recognised where you’d least expect it, is a special and life-altering gift.
Remember!
Later today we will have a Remembrance Service in our parish for all who died in the past year. The words of Christie Hennessy’s “Remember Me” come to mind yet again and maybe they have a place in your day too.
“Remember me whenever you are blue, remember me when there’s no one holding you, anytime you feel like you can’t make it through, remember me and I will be with you.”
https://youtu.be/j4ZswHM1YS0?rel=0
by Vincent | Nov 13, 2016 | General Interest, Reflections, Religion, Photography
Over the few days in Honduras I took photos. I’ve already shared some of them in previous posts. I’m going to include a good few of them here now, without words, since photos tell their own story. I won’t mention Honduras or Trocaire again until Lent 2017. So this is it!!
Meeting with a youth group and its leaders
A village visited
Short video clip of the only road allowing access to this village. When the floods rise this road becomes totally impassible.
Shores and homes
Sharing Sunday Eucharist
Community Concerns
Should be Paradise
Farmers, farming, food and life
So that’s it! Many others took photos too and chances are I am in a few of them. These were from the other side of the lens. They don’t tell the full story but I’d like to think give a flavour of the places we visited, the people we met and the stories we heard. If there are sounds to accompany these photos, they might include, laughter, bits of music from time to time, an odd song, sadness in people’s voices as they related stories of fear, intimidation and uncertainty for their future, hope, solidarity, purpose, water and always welcomes with the sharing of food and kindness.
Someone jokingly asked if I’d be on next year’s Trocaire Box! The answer is no. The little girl who will be on it is found in these photos. I’d like to think that come Lent 2017 my heart will be in the Trocaire Box and that I can encourage people to maintain that level of generosity that comes so naturally to the people of Ireland and that I now see the necessity for in a way, truth told, I had not fully grasped until this week.
Thanks for sharing these days with me and allowing me share them with you in the words written and the photos taken.
Thanks also to the group I was honoured to be part of: from Trocaire; Kevin and Anna, from the dioceses of Ireland, Rose, Claudine, Eddie, Damian, Dominic and Paul, from Trocaire in Central America; Harvé, Alexis, Santiago and Kristian, members of the “partner” NGO’s we met, our bus drivers and all who cared for and welcomed us.
God bless the work. God bless the world.
Vincent
by Vincent | Sep 9, 2016 | General Interest, Reflections, Religion, homily
(A brother reflects on a decision …… A thought around The Prodigal Son)
It’s a fair question! I don’t know. And maybe I do for there was jealousy at work.
Yes he had gone away and left us all in the lurch. Yes he had eaten into my father’s property but there was more to it than that.
I resented him, not just because he had gone away but more-so because he came back. At least when he was gone, I had my father’s ear and could impress him with all the work I did around the place.
Strange that, for though I had his ear, I knew his mind wandered to where the brother was and how he was doing. I knew his heart was broken and that part of him died that day he watched him fade into the distance
That said, he never ignored me or made me feel he didn’t love me deeply but I couldn’t get my head around the fact that he still missed “the waster” as I called him. There was no denying it though, my father was heart-broken.
There were times when I missed him too of course. I wondered what he was doing and who he was with. That’s when I let my mind wander and I wrote stories in my head that most likely weren’t real at all. I imagined him with women, getting drunk “letting the family down” and it never crossed my mind that he was sitting alone and hungry, surrounded by pigs who ate what he’d have eaten “though nobody offered him anything”.
It’s strange the way we write novels in our heads about other people and never, even for a second, try to get into their hearts or allow their hurt touch ours.
There was part of me that doubted always that he’d come back. For my father’s sake, I hoped he would, because it was heart-breaking to see him stand and look to the distance and though he never said what he was looking for, I knew exactly not the “what” but the “who” for whom he longed. My brother.
And despite that, I couldn’t share my father’s joy when someone told me “your brother is back”. The stuff about the “fatted calf” and the celebrations weren’t a concern to me but I just couldn’t bring myself to rise above my small-mindedness and see the bigger picture. We were “family again”.
When my father asked me to join the celebrations, I couldn’t do it. I’ve regretted that so often because I knew it’s what my father wanted more than anything. “All I have is yours” he told me and he meant it. He never denied me anything.
I’m haunted, haunted by that moment. I should have gone in …..
by Vincent | Aug 30, 2016 | General Interest, Reflections, Religion
Like all who have heard the story from Co. Cavan concerning the death of a family in tragic circumstances, I am deeply saddned.
There is, at times like this, a call for privacy that is as necessary as it’s understandable. People, the families involved, need so much space and time now that cameras and recorders should maintain a respectful distance.
Some years ago, following the death by suicide of a man well known in a community, a mother told me that she told her son and daughter he had died, knowing that they would hear the news at school. She told me her son asked “How did he do it?” Her daughter asked “Why did he do it?” I thought the questions were telling. The “how” speaks to detail whereas the “why” brings us to a place of reflection and seeking to understand.
In this case, it is possible that neither question is appropriate to most of us. The answer is truly of no lasting benefit to us. The role we play now is not that of interviewer or observer but one of fellow traveller, needing to stop and reflect on life and to offer whatever support we can be to those who need and deserve answers more than we do.
It is with prayer, empathy and sympathy we envelop those involved.
A prayer then rather than a question – Peace for those who have died and peace for those left with crosses and questions. Amen!
by Vincent | Aug 9, 2016 | General Interest, Reflections, Religion, Poetry
I was sad to hear of the death of Bishop Eddie Daly, R.I.P. He’s one of those people that always seems to have been there in my lifetime. How many times we’ve seen the image of him, hunched with white waving handkerchief in hand, seeking to lead people to safety in the midst of a blood-stained Derry Sunday on January 30th 1972. I was nine years old then but remember that image and moment. Pure horror and a man seeking to make a difference in the midst of it all.
Some ten years later I recall trying to annoy one of my Derry classmates who (rightly) saw Eddie as hero. I asked would he like to see my impersonation of him and when he said yes, I took a hankie from my pocket and waved it in the air. He was not impressed! It’s a powerful moment, cherished in the memory of all who saw it and, for many, a shared memory that is all too real. My “impersonation” was at a very superficial level and served little by way of justice and depth, to the respect I had and have for Bishop Daly.
Scaffolding in place around works at St Agnes’ Cathedral, Rockville Centre
I was reminded today of Seamus Heaney’s poem “Scaffolding” and it strikes me that Bishop Daly and many others like him have sought to protect and maintain a sense of place and church in our midst. For years, as priest and bishop, he lived where he loved, served his own people and knew their ways. He was inspirational. He became “scaffolding” allowing people maintain and indeed overcome the “walls” of Derry that they might become places of meeting rather than division, peace instead of conflict and hope instead of despair. Maurice Harron’s famous sculpture on the outskirts of the city shows two men reaching out to one another from the walls of their tradition. The hands almost touch and I believe that Eddie Daly in the scaffolding he provided allowed for that touch to finally become real.
“Hands across the divide” by Maurice Harron
May he rest in peace. Amen
___________________
SCAFFOLDING
Masons, when they start upon a building,
Are careful to test out the scaffolding;
Make sure that planks won’t slip at busy points,
Secure all ladders, tighten bolted joints.
And yet all this comes down when the job’s done
Showing off walls of sure and solid stone.
So if, my dear, there sometimes seems to be
Old bridges breaking between you and me
Never fear. We may let the scaffolds fall
Confident that we have built our wall.
Seamus Heaney
