This weekend includes a World Day of Prayer for the Sick (February 11th – Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes) and is a timely reminder for a remembrance in prayer for all who are ill at present. What does it mean to pray for the sick? For most of us, it’s fair to say, our prayers centre on curing those who are sick and seeing nothing less than their restoration to full health. It’s not an unreasonable prayer and yet one that quite often seems to go unanswered.
How much moreso must it seem unanswered for those who are sick? Why do the prayers offered and the hope nurtured so often lead to disappointment? Where is Jesus in sickness? Where are the miracles and the cures? Could it be the case that Jesus chooses not to cure when it is within his power to make all well again? Should we just give up?
Certainly more questions than answers this weekend. The gospel and its story of a leper cleansed calls us to a belief in the real possibility of being made well again and that miracles do happen. The scars of leprosy were removed and the bell of the “unclean” needed to be rung no more. The request was simple “if you want to, you can cure me” and the reply direct “of course I want to, be cured”. How we wish it were always like this.
It is likely that curing occurs in places of the heart and soul beyond our view. It is possible that even when we can’t see it there’s a falling away of scars and hurt. The “cure” may not be the one sought or obvious. There is no denying that peace can be more evident in the one who is sick than those around him or her. “Of course I want to …..”, Jesus says. He is here.
We pray for healing and maybe we have to leave that healing and the form it takes in the hands of “The Healer” so that all, especially those who are ill, may be healed and at peace.
I got Leonard Cohen’s new album “Old Ideas” during the week. I’ve not listened too carefully to it but will do so in time. For now, thought there was one tune worth sharing and YouTube delivers yet again. It’s called “Come Healing” and is, in my opinion, a lovely piece. I’d see it at home in any setting where Reconciliation might be celebrated. I’ll include the YouTube piece (more audio than video) and the lyrics of the song/prayer below. Let me know what you think.
“Come Healing”
O gather up the brokenness And bring it to me now The fragrance of those promises You never dared to vow
The splinters that you carry The cross you left behind Come healing of the body Come healing of the mind
And let the heavens hear it The penitential hymn Come healing of the spirit Come healing of the limb
Behold the gates of mercy In arbitrary space And none of us deserving The cruelty or the grace
O solitude of longing Where love has been confined Come healing of the body Come healing of the mind
O see the darkness yielding That tore the light apart Come healing of the reason Come healing of the heart
O troubled dust concealing An undivided love The Heart beneath is teaching To the broken Heart above
O let the heavens falter And let the earth proclaim: Come healing of the Altar Come healing of the Name
O longing of the branches To lift the little bud O longing of the arteries To purify the blood
And let the heavens hear it The penitential hymn Come healing of the spirit Come healing of the limb
O let the heavens hear it The penitential hymn Come healing of the spirit Come healing of the limb
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A follow-up!
I get interested in things from time to time – some stay with me, others don’t. Some I let go of for a while and then come back to them. Some I never re-visit. Leonard Cohen is one of those interests that stays with me but comes and goes a bit as well. Anyway, following on from the song posted above, I looked a bit at Leonard today and came across the following speech he gave at a presentation ceremony in Spain last year. He speaks of “finding his voice” – “finding his song”. I think it’s worth a few minutes of your time. If you haven’t the time now – come back to it ……
TEXT OF SPEECH
It is a great honour to stand here before you tonight. Perhaps, like the great maestro, Riccardo Muti, I’m not used to standing in front of an audience without an orchestra behind me, but I will do my best as a solo artist tonight.
I stayed up all night last night wondering what I might say to this assembly. After I had eaten all the chocolate bars and peanuts from the minibar, I scribbled a few words. I don’t think I have to refer to them. Obviously, I’m deeply touched to be recognized by the Foundation. But I have come here tonight to express another dimension of gratitude; I think I can do it in three or four minutes.
When I was packing in Los Angeles, I had a sense of unease because I’ve always felt some ambiguity about an award for poetry. Poetry comes from a place that no one commands, that no one conquers. So I feel somewhat like a charlatan to accept an award for an activity which I do not command. In other words, if I knew where the good songs came from I would go there more often.
I was compelled in the midst of that ordeal of packing to go and open my guitar. I have a Conde guitar, which was made in Spain in the great workshop at number 7 Gravina Street. I pick up an instrument I acquired over 40 years ago. I took it out of the case, I lifted it, and it seemed to be filled with helium it was so light. And I brought it to my face and I put my face close to the beautifully designed rosette, and I inhaled the fragrance of the living wood. We know that wood never dies. I inhaled the fragrance of the cedar as fresh as the first day that I acquired the guitar. And a voice seemed to say to me, “You are an old man and you have not said thank you, you have not brought your gratitude back to the soil from which this fragrance arose. And so I come here tonight to thank the soil and the soul of this land that has given me so much.
Because I know that just as an identity card is not a man, a credit rating is not a country.
Now, you know of my deep association and confraternity with the poet Frederico Garcia Lorca. I could say that when I was a young man, an adolescent, and I hungered for a voice, I studied the English poets and I knew their work well, and I copied their styles, but I could not find a voice. It was only when I read, even in translation, the works of Lorca that I understood that there was a voice. It is not that I copied his voice; I would not dare. But he gave me permission to find a voice, to locate a voice, that is to locate a self, a self that that is not fixed, a self that struggles for its own existence.
As I grew older, I understood that instructions came with this voice. What were these instructions? The instructions were never to lament casually. And if one is to express the great inevitable defeat that awaits us all, it must be done within the strict confines of dignity and beauty.
And so I had a voice, but I did not have an instrument. I did not have a song.
And now I’m going to tell you very briefly a story of how I got my song.
Because – I was an indifferent guitar player. I banged the chords. I only knew a few of them. I sat around with my college friends, drinking and singing the folk songs and the popular songs of the day, but I never in a thousand years thought of myself as a musician or as a singer.
One day in the early sixties, I was visiting my mother’s house in Montreal. Her house was beside a park and in the park was a tennis court where many people come to watch the beautiful young tennis players enjoy their sport. I wandered back to this park which I’d known since my childhood, and there was a young man playing a guitar. He was playing a flamenco guitar, and he was surrounded by two or three girls and boys who were listening to him. I loved the way he played. There was something about the way he played that captured me. It was the way that I wanted to play and knew that I would never be able to play.
And, I sat there with the other listeners for a few moments and when there was a silence, an appropriate silence, I asked him if he would give me guitar lessons. He was a young man from Spain, and we could only communicate in my broken French and his broken French. He didn’t speak English. And he agreed to give me guitar lessons. I pointed to my mother’s house which you could see from the tennis court, and we made an appointment and settled a price.
He came to my mother’s house the next day and he said, “Let me hear you play something.” I tried to play something, and he said, “You don’t know how to play, do you?’
I said, “No, I don’t know how to play.” He said “First of all, let me tune your guitar. It’s all out of tune.” So he took the guitar, and he tuned it. He said, “It’s not a bad guitar.” It wasn’t the Conde, but it wasn’t a bad guitar. So, he handed it back to me. He said, “Now play.”
I couldn’t play any better.
He said “Let me show you some chords.” And he took the guitar, and he produced a sound from that guitar I had never heard. And he played a sequence of chords with a tremolo, and he said, “Now you do it.” I said, “It’s out of the question. I can’t possibly do it.” He said, “Let me put your fingers on the frets,” and he put my fingers on the frets. And he said, “Now, now play.”
It was a mess. He said, ” I’ll come back tomorrow.”
He came back tomorrow, he put my hands on the guitar, he placed it on my lap in the way that was appropriate, and I began again with those six chords – a six chord progression. Many, many flamenco songs are based on them.
I was a little better that day. The third day – improved, somewhat improved. But I knew the chords now. And, I knew that although I couldn’t coordinate my fingers with my thumb to produce the correct tremolo pattern, I knew the chords; I knew them very, very well.
The next day, he didn’t come. He didn’t come. I had the number of his, of his boarding house in Montreal. I phoned to find out why he had missed the appointment, and they told me that he had taken his life. That he committed suicide.
I knew nothing about the man. I did not know what part of Spain he came from. I did not know why he came to Montreal. I did not know why he played there. I did not know why he he appeared there at that tennis court. I did not know why he took his life.
I was deeply saddened, of course. But now I disclose something that I’ve never spoken in public. It was those six chords, it was that guitar pattern that has been the basis of all my songs and all my music. So, now you will begin to understand the dimensions of the gratitude I have for this country.
Everything that you have found favourable in my work comes from this place. Everything , everything that you have found favourable in my songs and my poetry are inspired by this soil.
So, I thank you so much for the warm hospitality that you have shown my work because it is really yours, and you have allowed me to affix my signature to the bottom of the page
There has been a lot of talk this week about First Holy Communion and Confirmation. Sadly the talk has focused on situations where people feel they have to borrow money or seek government aid to fund these days. The comments have been varied – from the very rational and measured to the irrational and potential for rant that can so often raise its head. At this end of the scale we hear people calling for “separation of Church and State” and letting the Church “pay for its own sacraments”. It might be of some help to spend a few minutes with this.
The Church – insofar as its viewed by those who see it as some form of governing body that dictates every detail of or lives – does not encourage people to go to excessive expense in the celebration of First Holy Communion, Confirmation or, for that matter, marriage. On the contrary the advice tends towards simplicity that allows for focusing on the Sacrament rather than the trappings that have attached themselves to its celebration. Such trappings are just that – “trappings” that trap people into a belief that all these things are essential to the day. This could not be further from the truth. All that’s needed to receive Holy Communion, the outpouring of the Gifts and Fruits of the Holy Spirit and the gift that is another in marriage, is the ability to be there on the day and the desire in heart and Soul to receive God’s Grace. Nothing – absolutely nothing – to do with dresses, sunbeds, suits, lavish meals etc.
Of course it is right to mark these special events and people are free to do so in whatever way is appropriate to themselves but maybe this “debate” is calling us in the direction of simplicity. Even if more could be afforded, simplicity might still be the road to travel since it takes pressure of others who, not wanting to embarrass their children, feel the need to be “as one” with others on the day. This is not the “communion” intended. This is not the meaning of “confirmation” – we are not asked to confirm our ability to look a million dollars, but rather to Confirm within ourselves the presence of the Holy Spirit.
So, to finish, a question or two! What can we do this year as a parish, as families as “Church” to ensure nobody is put under pressure or made to feel in any way inadequate? How best can we enrich our appreciation of the Sacraments and ensure nobody, even if it can easily be done, goes to extremes to celebrate what is dignified and simple, courageous and challenging – a moment in Faith?
Hi, just in from morning Mass in Kilmovee. Lovely to see so many people there and what is certainly a wet and dreary Sunday morning.
There were one or two lines from the readings that I wanted people to take away with them. One was from St Paul’s letter to the Corinthians; “I would like to see you free from all worry” (7:32) I think there’s great consolation and hope in that line. Paul, expressing his belief in God’s wish for us, would like us to be set free from worry. If that’s God’s wish for us, and surely it is, then He will help us towards that end if we allow Him. I think there’s something there about letting God help us sort out and move away from our worries.
The other line is central to the Gospel today where Jesus makes a lasting impression on his hearers because he teaches/speaks “with authority”. (Mark 1:21-28) Authority doesn’t necessarily mean control or power or booming voice but authenticity. What he was saying and how he was saying it was rooted in authenticity. He was what he was about.
Last night I attended a function in St Aidan’s National School, Monasteraden. It marked the retirement of the School’s Principal Teacher, David O’Gara and, in a way, the handing over of the “reigns” to the new Principal Teacher, Anne Moriarty. I’m happy to say I consider both to be good friends of mine and I was glad to be there. David has been in the school for thirty-five years and more. He was a good Principal and best summed up in the closing comments of the Chairman of the Board of Management, Fr Joseph Gavigan, when he said “we came here tonight to pay tribute to David O’Gara, teacher and gentleman”.
David O'Gara with his wife, Maria
Geraldine striking a balance between "daddy" and "sir"
There were fine tributes paid to David and deservedly so. The night was, in some ways, stolen by his eldest daughter Geraldine in her words. She spoke of her father with love and admiration. She said that for twenty of his thirty five years in the school there was at least one member of his family attending as pupils. She talked of travelling to the school with “daddy” and travelling home again with him. For the hours in between he was “sir”. It could have been a confused relationship. Travelling to school in the family car, your father at the wheel and maybe the odd argument to be sorted out along the way and then school and classroom. Daddy as teacher – principal – the one to whom you might be sent if you misbehaved and the one certainly on whom you were depending for the teaching of lessons that would last a lifetime. Geraldine, together with her sisters and brothers managed this relationship. How?
I think the answer lies somewhere in authority. Not control or fear but authority such as Jesus is admired for in the Gospel passage. There was authenticity. David knew his role as father and teacher and lived both with authenticity. For this he is remembered in the words of a thankful and proud daughter.
There’s something of this in our relationship with God. Maybe at times we see Him as teacher – a bit removed, authoritarian, laying down commandments and curbing our freedom. We see Him as one wanting us to learn the lessons of life. There are other times He is “daddy” – close to us and for us. Indeed Geraldine said the only exception to the weekly routine of daddy before and after school and “sir” in between, came on a Friday at lunchtime when the children went to the local shop to buy a few sweets. He was “daddy” then, as she went to him for a few pence to do just that. The father in him overtook the “sir” and she was not denied. That’s surely a fitting image of God. That balance between the one wanting what’s best for us through His teaching and the one who allows us root in His pocket for small change!
Handing on the "authentic" voice - David O'Gara and Anne Moriarty
Authority and authenticity go hand in hand. They leave and make a lasting impression. Rightly so.
On Monday of this week, I visited with a friend from home who now lives in Donegal. Two years ago he was diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease and though, adamant in his conviction that he is, “not SICK”, he lives each day with this condition. It was one of the most humbling experiences I have had in a long time. I sat beside him while he wrote his words and thoughts on a little white board. He erased the words but the thoughts and their message remain. The little board he used was, he told me, bought in a local shop in Ballaghaderreen. I thought afterwards that I’ve most likely walked past that little board so many times in search of other things. It would not even attract my attention. Now it is a central part of his daily communication. How easily we can miss the important things or fail to see their potential to be important. He spoke to me of his condition and his awareness of his journey. He spoke volumes and though, as I said, the words were quickly erased, their memory lingers.
He spoke to me – like the Jesus of today’s Gospel passage – with authority, authenticity because he totally knew what he was talking about and where he was talking from.
I have a lot to think about after this week. Certainly I want to be able to speak to people with “authority” – with “authenticity” and, to do that, I need balance and example. I observed and was touched by both in a Monasteraden School and a Donegal kitchen. God Bless all who come to me – come to us – to make us think again ….
Was looking through some YouTube video clips I’ve posted and this one - an aside and a little joke ….
A man walks into a restaurant and as he goes to a table a lady sitting at another table sneezes. As she does her glass eye flies through the air. The man makes a diving save and grabs it as it flies. He hands it back to the woman and, as he goes to move on, she asks would he like to join her for dinner. Being on his own, he does. The lady orders a full dinner, wine and all that goes with it and insists on paying. The man protests but she is adamant that she is paying. ”Are you always this nice to strangers?” he asks. ”No”, she replied with a smile “but you caught my eye”!!
Anyway, as I was saying, this video “caught my eye” .. it’s a few views from the rooftop of St Aidan’s Church Monasteraden, taken when Michael Roddy was doing a bit of work around the church and allowed me do a bit of photographing.
Yesterday I visited a neighbour and his family in Donegal. They shared the following video clip with me and they know themselves how appropriate it was! Anyway it brought smiles and I thought I might look it up and share here ….. See what you think!
This weekend’s gospel speaks of the calling of the first four disciples – all fishermen. I put a few lines on our parish bulletin this week about vocations and about our Parish Cluster. I suppose this came about as a result of a meeting we had among the priests of our cluster in recent weeks and of the diocese towards the end of last year. In both gatherings it was easy to see that the age profile of our priests is increasing and the number decreasing. Maybe today’s few lines came from that and a hope that God’s call to the four fishermen might be heard again ….
There’s been a poll running on our diocesan website for the past two weeks or so. The question posed is “When was the last priest ordained for the diocese of Achonry?” There are four options: 1998, 2003, 2006, 2010. The response hasn’t been massive but, so far, 25 people have responded. 12% think the last ordination was in 1998, 20% believe it was in 2006, 32% answered 2003 and 36% 2010. The correct answer is 2003. In other words 68% of those who responded to the poll were incorrect in their response and 32% were correct.
Was it about being right or wrong? No! The reason for the question was to perhaps make visitors to our diocesan site reflect on the length of time since a priest was ordained to serve within the diocese of Achonry. The answer – ten years. In those ten years a number of our priests have died. Some more have retired or ceased ministry.
In the cluster of parishes to which we align ourselves (Kiltimagh, Swinford, Bohola, Charlestown, Carracastle and Kilmovee) there are ten priests in parish ministry (three are aged 40-45, two aged 45-50, one aged 50-55, two aged 65-70, one aged 70-75 and one is over 75). In the coming years, allowing for retirements and other diocesan needs as well as unforeseeable circumstances it is certain the number of priests in this cluster will reduce. We have two students in Maynooth at present and that is good news!
There are twenty-five weekend Masses celebrated in this Parish Cluster – many of them at the same time. The weekend Mass is certainly meant to be the highpoint of a Parish’s Liturgical life and a vital cog in the sharing of the Gospel Message. It is a time of gathering, sharing, nourishing, healing, praying and of all that is good and necessary in the life of a Catholic Community. As we look at today’s age-profile of priests in this area it is certain that within a short number of years we will not be in a position to celebrate Masses at the present level. There will be need to re-align times with other parishes, to share priests between parishes and to make practical arrangements at parish level.
As the Lord calls Apostles to his side in this weekend’s Gospel passage, there remains of course the hope that the Spring may find its voice and that some from our diocese might again hear God’s call and join our two students on their “road to priesthood”. There can be no doubt but that He is calling priests to ministry in our diocese. Nine years is a long time …………. “Come follow me”!
Fr Gerry Horan
At Mass this morning (Kilmovee) I spoke of a classmate of mine who was ordained a few months before the rest of our class. He was Gerry Horan – a neighbour from home – who was ordained for the Diocese of Elphin. Gerry had been a solicitor for most of his life, was widowed and had two children. He was nearly 70 when he was ordained. As a young man he had joined the Passionist Order but left before ordination. Somehow this thought of priesthood had remained with him through his life. As I say, he was ordained a few months before the rest of us and worked until he died in Tibohine (Parish of Fairymount)
Gerry preached at Mass one evening when we were in Maynooth. I think it may have been the same Gospel passage we reflected on this weekend. He talked of being a young boy and fishing alongside a friend of his on the shores of Lough Gara. His friend caught a trout and Gerry told us he caught nothing. As they cycled back home to Mullaghroe, Gerry asked his friend how come he had caught a fish when Gerry wasn’t able to. His friend didn’t answer until they were nearly at home and then he told him “I prayed”. Gerry said he laughed at him but the friend insisted. ”You asked me and I told you. I prayed. I said ‘Holy Ghost, direct me to catch a fish’. You asked me and I told you.”
Gerry told us that he was back at Lough Gara on his own the next morning. He said he sat in the same spot and prayed “Holy Ghost direct me to catch a fish” and, as if he could still feel the tug on the line, he smiled as he told us “I caught the two finest trout I ever caught in my life”. He continued, “I put them on my back, cycled home, was late for school, got six slaps but I didn’t give a damn! I had caught two fish and learned how to pray”!
He finished his few words that evening by telling us that in the Gospels the Lord seemed to have a great love for fishermen but not so much for lawyers. ”Maybe”, he said “that’s why I think it’s time to become a fisherman again”.
This week we have mourned with the people of West Cork the loss of five fishermen from the local and Egyptian community. Our hearts go out to them and their families and all who live the life of the sea. Fishermen have great patience and an ability to see beneath the surface – knowing where to cast the net, drop the line, direct the boat ….. Someone once told me that quite often fishermen don’t learn to swim since they know the power of the sea and possibly the futility of struggle. They trust the outcome, even if we don’t fully see or understand it, will be in God’s hands.
Maybe that’s why Jesus chose fishermen. He knew they could and would depend on him. He knew they understood patience and the need for the right bait, the dropped line and hope!
As I say …. just a thought and, as it turns out, a memory of my neighbour and classmate, Fr Gerry Horan. With the fishermen of West Cork, may he rest in peace. Amen.
And now the tune! One of my favourites. We need to be able to see the Green, the black, the grey, the blue, the yellow and not just the colours but also their very many shades …..
Went for a walk with the dog this morning. All went well (as well as it gets!) until we met a woman walking two dogs. Not a whimper from them but my companion felt he had to make his presence felt. I’m sure she spoke softly to her two dogs when we passed by “how bad-mannered was that??” Ah no, in fairness, she was gracious and maybe pitied me a little. Anyway, the walk continued and coming near home, Alpha decided to climb up on a stone wall. He looked well so I took a quick photo. He looked almost like I was in control. There’s an Oscar in it for him I’d say. Anyway, decided to combine a few of those photos with a Johnny Cash classic …. “Walk the Line”. Enjoy! Failing that, ignore ….
