I was in Dublin yesterday. I had a few hours to kill and parked the car in Trinity Street Car Park. A quick text to a friend led to a short but welcome lunch. After that I wandered around for a while with absolutely no “agenda”! I spent an hour or more on Grafton Street and bought nothing – well an ice cream – so helped the economy in a very small way I was reminded of Nanci Griffith’s song “On Grafton Street” and imagined her, as a visitor to Dublin, finding some space there on what is a very crowded street. Yet she did find space ….
Nanci speaks of “buskers” in her song and there certainly was a fair share of them yesterday. Such talent on an open street. There was a very lively group called “Key West” or maybe “Quay West” – not sure which way they spell it – absolutely excellent. I recorded a piece of one of their songs but won’t post it since it would not do them justice. If you’re passing and they’re playing, stop a while. Around another corner there was a woman sitting on a window sill and a man on the footpath. One had a fiddle and the other a guitar and they were playing “The Foggy Dew” – pure class. I think I was the only one standing there and they played as if they were playing to a packed house in the O2 Stadium. What is it that allows people get lost in a tune? Whatever it is, long may it remain. Along the street there was a variety of musicians and musical styles. Little groups stood a while and listened to each, respecting the talent offered and maybe throwing an odd coin into a waiting guitar case. (No, the ice cream was my only outlay yesterday. I’m blushing a little now with that realisation!) A man had a dog lying on the pavement, looking at a tennis ball. The dog, the towel he lay upon, the ball were all made out of sand …… Somehow rushing feet left this untouched, even one that was un-attended. Respect for an art form – proper order too!
I think the buskers/street entertainers that most caught my eye, never said a word. It was a sculpture in stone, of sorts, featuring five people, three standing and two sitting. One held a guitar. It was the hottest day of the year and the sculpture stood calm, solid but engagingly welcoming on “Grafton Street”. I stood and watched. An Australian woman said to me, “Do you see what happens when you put in a coin?” ”No”, I replied, She rushed forward, leaving her group of fellow-visitors, to put a coin in the bucket but I said “No, you’ve done that already, I’ll do it” (Ah, I did spend something more than on an ice cream – my blush fades a little now) so I put in – well that doesn’t matter – and the sculpture bowed in appreciation.
A moment on Grafton Street – May 25th, 2012
I have to say I enjoyed the bit of time yesterday. I went to the Carmelite Church too and was amazed to see so many people there, in the middle of a sunny day, just sitting quietly and praying before the Blessed Sacrament. I thought of the “sculpture” down the street and felt certain that Jesus too would acknowledge the recognition and bow, even a little, to those approaching him in prayer.
Last night (May 3rd) I attended the annual concert of the Mayo Concert Orchestra. My friends Anne Moriarty and Fionnuala Tynan are members and I was happy to see them “in action” with their colleagues. Indeed the MCO performed a concert in Kilmovee Parish Church to help with the celebration of its 150th Anniversary. The Orchestra was joined last night by some guest performers, including a singing group from Sligo called NoteOrious4. I recorded a few quick clips and thought I might share here. Well done to all involved.
Everywhere we look or listen this week, there have been reminders of the Titanic and, more tragically, its sinking one hundred years ago this night (14th April). I just had Mass in Urlaur and, by way of reflection and remembrance, shared a song I like a lot. It was written by Johnny McEvoy and tells of a meeting on the docks in Cobh between a young man and a newly married couple who were setting sail for New York. The teller of the story in song felt a sense of envy but also the need to wish the couple every good wish as they set out in search of their dream. There was however, a sound in the air, that left a question ……
We think of all the John Williams and their wives, of sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers who shared that journey and possibly a dream. A hundred years has passed but it’s important to remember. Johnny McEvoy does well on that front. We’ll remember with him …..
When last I saw John Williams, a young man full of pride
His lovely bride of just four days was standing by his side
He smiled and took me by the hand, saying “Boyo can’t you see
I’ve seen the last of windswept bogs and bogs the last of me!
And the peelers and the landlords and the risings of the moon
And if ever I return again, ’twill be too bloody soon”
Rich man, poor man, beggar man, wife
Sailed away into the night
Where they’ll wind up no-one knows
Round and round the story goes
He said “I’ll go and take my chance in far off New York Town
For they say there’s lots of work there and a good man’s not put down
And with my lassie by my side we’ll build a better home
And when the sea trip’s over lads we never more will roam”
So we said farewell upon the quay, there was nothing left to do
But to pray for John and his lovely bride, that their dreams
might all come true
How I envied you, John Williams, and your lovely fair haired bride
To be sailing on that mighty ship across the ocean wide
For she’s the finest liner, that was ever built by man
And they say there’s naught can sink her, no not even God’s own hand
Man’s pride can be his own downfall, that big ship sailed form home
And I thought I heard the banshee cry, and it chilled me to the bone
Rich man, poor man, beggar man, wife
Sailed away into the night
Where they’ll wind up no-one knows
Round and round the story goes
Round and around the icebergs flow.
Erin Korves, a friend in Washington, sent me the sheet music for this song last week. Sadly I can’t read music at all but a YouTube search brought the song and Erin’s intention behind it to life! The introduction had taken place. Thanks Erin. Thought I’d share the song here for Holy Week 2012. There are few versions of it on YouTube but I like this one because it’s “live” and because the composer tells us something of its writing. I always like when that happens.
LYRICS
The gates and doors were barred And all the windows fastened down I spent the night in sleeplessness And rose at every sound Half in hopeless sorrow And half in fear the day Would find the soldiers breakin’ through To drag us all away
And just before the sunrise I heard something at the wall The gate began to rattle And a voice began to call I hurried to the window Looked down into the street Expecting swords and torches And the sound of soldiers’ feet
But there was no one there but Mary So I went down to let her in John stood there beside me As she told me where she’d been She said they might have moved Him in the night And none of us knows where The stone’s been rolled away And now His body isn’t there
We both ran toward the garden Then John ran on ahead We found the stone and empty tomb Just the way that Mary said But the winding sheet they wrapped Him in Was just an empty shell And how or where they’d taken Him Was more than I could tell
Oh something strange had happened there Just what I did not know John believed a miracle But I just turned to go Circumstance and speculation Couldn’t lift me very high ‘Cause I’d seen them crucify him Then I saw him die
Back inside the house again The guilt and anguish came Everything I’d promised Him Just added to my shame When at last it came to choices I denied I knew His name And even if He was alive It wouldn’t be the same
But suddenly the air was filled With a strange and sweet perfume Light that came from everywhere Drove the shadows from the room And Jesus stood before me With his arms held open wide And I fell down on my knees And I just clung to Him and cried
Then He raised me to my feet And as I looked into His eyes The love was shining out from Him Like sunlight from the skies Guilt in my confusion Dissappeared in sweet release And every fear I’d ever had Just melted into peace
He’s alive yes He’s alive Yes He’s alive and I’m forgiven Heaven’s gates are open wide He’s alive yes He’s alive Oh He’s alive and I’m forgiven Heaven’s gates are open wide He’s alive yes He’s alive Hallelujah He’s alive He’s alive and I’m forgiven Heaven’s gates are open wide He’s alive He’s alive He’s alive I believe it He’s alive Sweet Jesus
I was sent this last night and thought it might be worth an inclusion! Hard to believe this video clip was uploaded a week ago and has been viewed over a million times since then! I’m afraid I don’t have traffic like that!!
Do I dance? Alas, I have it in the head but can’t seem to get the message to the feet
I went into Ballaghaderreen earlier to the annual St Patrick’s Day Parade. There was a great turnout of people and of participants in the parade. Well done to all involved. I brought the camera and took a few photos. Well “few” is a bit of an understatement. When I came home and put them on the computer I realised I’d taken 411 There was nothing for it other than whittle them down a bit. That done, they’re posted on YouTube in four clips so if you have an interest, dip in and out of them. If not, no problem – Happy St Patrick’s Day. Below is a compilation of them all with “Through the eyes of an Irishman” sung by Dominic Kirwin.
When doing the newsletter for this weekend, I came across a web image of a mobile phone with a text message that ran “none b4 me srsly”!! It was a text message of the Commandment “I am the Lord your God you shall not put strange gods before me”. My fellow priest in the parish (John Maloney) wondered if all the commandments were available in this format. I did a bit of a search but didn’t find them. Anyway, decided to have a go so the video below is an attempt. We might come back to it at some stage and do it a bit better. For now, it’s a start ….. The song is “Try a little kindness” sung by Dominic Kirwin.
I got Leonard Cohen’s new album “Old Ideas” during the week. The songs, as usual, are thought provoking but one, in particular caught my attention. 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.
“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
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
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.
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 …..
I was reminded of Nanci Griffith’s song “On Grafton Street” and imagined her, as a visitor to Dublin, finding some space there on what is a very crowded street. Yet she did find space ….
