A need for healing … and revolution

It was the 40th anniversary of St Finian’s MNS. We began with Mass in the School Hall. The history was traced and stories were told. At Communion, the team gathered to ‘give out’ Communion. As we hesitated prayerfully, we saw flames of fire. There were gasps and some spontaneous prayers! The decorative candles set fire to the back of a dress. Some saw tongues of fire and thought it was the Holy Spirit. The wearer thought that the radiator was too hot! The fire was put out but the lesson was learned. Modern clothes and modern hair can catch fire easily.
It was a wonderful celebration of a great school Community. I left for the house and then collapsed and ended up in hospital. Three weeks have almost passed. It was a vague but enlightening time. I got respite this morning and I escaped for the day.
My poet friend Padraig Daly texted me : “I hope you’re coping with the boredom of a hospital weekend.” My returned text said: “I have reached the promised land – Finglas (for the day).” So despite being in the news for unruly behaviour outside another school, where Michael D was barracked, Finglas is the ‘Promised Land’ for me.
Hospital life is strange. I can’t trust the truth of what I say but these stray ideas churn around in my scattered mind. I went in for a blood test and was confined. Now I must untangle some of what went on, over those days.
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t read. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t pray. I couldn’t talk (socially) I shut down. This different world took control of me. The ‘nakedness’ of the ward took over. I was institutionalised. The rhythm of hospital life absorbed me. I had no control over anything.
Food was a pit-stop, to break the monotony of the routine. Fasting and waiting for tests went on forever. I was an impatient patient. The hospital clock did not work like my watch (not a complaint.) These are the facts of life in a hospital. Everything depends on something or someone else. The Cat scan; the Ultra sound; the Scope; the MRI. These may happen ‘today’ or ‘tomorrow’ or the next day or ‘whenever.’ Nothing happens at the weekend. Everything stops.
What struck me were these impressions: The youthfulness of everyone. All are so young – The Doctors, Consultants were youngsters. I thought some of them were transition students? The lassies seem to have taken over; Many with pencil thin heels and mini skirts. It looked like a cat-walk at times. Swinging handbags ran amok. Everyone was on first names. And then there was the cultural diversity. It was the United Nations. The language all the time was about ‘Team.’ ‘The Team’ will be around. The Team for x, y, z will see you. The nurses, the students, the care assistants and the ‘specials’ all worked as a Team. The food people; the cleaners were part of the cohesion of the place. Again all were so young. The banter and chatter was good. The kindness and care by everyone was lovely. The hard work done by all, was extraordinary. The response to the permanent cry ‘nurse, nurse,’ was immediate and warm. (Do we do that in ministry?) The long hours and good humour was special. So the words echoing in my mind are – ‘youthfulness’ and ‘Team’ and ‘Catholic.’ The whole world was here which was very catholic.
I was helpless. I could do nothing for myself. I couldn’t even walk. And the thinking (mind) was gone. Now on Parole, my mind has woken up in the Promised Land. And these crazy ideas jump out of my fingers.
Our Church is old and possibly needs hospitalisation! This Church of ours needs healing and revolution. How can we find that youthfulness which explodes into life in a hospital community? How can we find that Catholicity of effort in parish life or in clustering that I saw (or think I saw in hospital life).
How can we create similar Team work (again I think I saw) in the working out of the ministry of the Gospel. How can we begin to create something very new and fresh in the life of the church which is essential? (The structural order in Church has to be readdressed and drastically changed). The model of management and leadership has to be remade. The whole formality of our institution has to be changed. It has to be re-thought or re-founded. The gender imbalance in the leadership is nonsensical. A masculine ministry or a reserved priesthood is unacceptable. All of us know that where there is Team in parish life or in Diocesan life; something different happens. All of us know that when males/females work together, something rich and different happens. ‘Father doesn’t know best.’ The age imbalance among us is nonsensical. Old men (and celibates) can’t face a rapidly changing world. We have to find that youthfulness. Now I know and realise that even in the simplicity of a dull mind; the problems of institutional malaise in the HSE are legion; but something lively & lovely is happening as I see it. How can we cause that to reach the innards of our own sick institution?
Now one of the worrying aspects of the public ward of course is the total openness of life. The patient is stripped. Every word is heard and therefore shared. (If I was a Roddy Doyle, I could be rich!) The floating Teams talk quietly but the voices are heard. There is no privacy. It isn’t the stripping off that is important but the utter intimacies of the revelations involved. The mixed wards too brought a smile to my face and no blush to my ears. Men and women together is how it all works better in life too! I make a virtue out of necessity – openness; vulnerability; no hiding place; sharing. Those surely must be the meaning of the words – Communion and Eucharist and Community and Ministry. In the public thoroughfare of a ward, something of the mess of family life happens. It is very incarnational.
I found it disturbing in my heart when Communion was brought; A host felt very inadequate. (No comment on those who came). But Communion is much bigger than that. Somehow it cannot be detached or cannot be a magical moment if it is disconnected. Some much of our Sacramental theology is semi-detached; so much of our Liturgy is detached; so much of our Scriptural understanding is detached.
My parole time is almost over. I must return. My brain has re-engaged a little. The wind has scattered some thoughts. My hospitalisation has stirred something in me. I can’t cope with confinement. I can’t cope with being out of control of my time and my day. I can’t handle it. Can I cope with ageing or sickness? I don’t know. However, neither can the church cope with being sick. The church becomes absorbed by the immediate. It can become paranoid (CDF). In the hospital (as patients) we become preoccupied with minutiae and almost obsessed. The bottle, the obs, the meds, the commode becomes the centre of our life. We tell the same story to so many. The immediate takes over. Has that happened ourselves in Ministry? We need to wake up and or see the bigger picture. How often we have spent years and energy fighting lost causes and answering questions that are no longer issues: I recall some of the many words said by Francis. I like the freshness of his words and his dangerous asides. However, I know some of the words he said to Curia people apply to me. I know that I couldn’t even take an hour off or a day off or a week off and now the world in the parish runs without me and will have to for some time. But now – how can we help a sick Church grow healthy and help it appreciate how sick it is. Can we learn.? I end my blethering. If I can even begin to read again, I might attempt to look at ‘Exploring Faith with new eyes: addressing the crisis of faith in a new age.’ 2014 Jose Pagola.
Seamus Ahearne osa