Séamus Ahearne: SOME (MEN/WOMEN) SEE THINGS AS THEY ARE AND SAY ‘WHY?’ I DREAM THINGS THAT NEVER WERE AND SAY ‘WHY NOT?’ George Bernard Shaw.
THE NEWS:
Romi Goner, Doron Steinbrecher, Emily Damari were released. 90 Palestinians were let out. The bombing stopped. The sheer awfulness of that war is frightening. The lack of proportionality tears our notion of humanity, to smithereens. Fianna Fáil have agreed the Programme for Government. Fine Gael are likely to follow. We may have a Government on Wednesday. Cuala and Na Fianna have won the Club All-Irelands. The mood of today rushes towards SAD – Not Seasonal Affective Disorder. But rather a deep sad despair at the American people who have supported Donald Trump, leading to his Inauguration. How is it possible that so many, could elect such a man, who obviously lacks self-awareness? Who appears to have no insight. Who is deluded in regard to the truth. Who is a bully. Who is bombastic. Who has no filter. Who is above the law. Who believes that everyone else is wrong but he is always right. He is totally disorderly and disassociated from reality. Are the Americans completely stupid?
THE PRIVILEGE OF BEING WITH THE DYING:
I was called to a home last evening. Betty was dying. She had only a few hours to live. She was a feisty Scot, and married to an English man. We gathered as family. We prayed. The ‘Book’ would be useless. These people are lovely but aren’t church-going people. They talked. They shared. They blessed. They spoke with such warmth and love. The family did. The grandchildren did, with their poems. The neighbours spoke with deep affection. It was the ‘oil of gladness and goodness.’ The Ritual – would have been a total imposition and would not have related in any way to the people gathered. As always – the Word has to become flesh in such moments. (And all this follows for funerals).
FRANCIS AND THE LITURGIST:
Justin Welby and Pope Francis apparently exchanged some jokes, including that one about the Liturgist and the Terrorist. This has emerged in some commentary on Francis’ recent book. He is an extraordinary man – both simple and profound. He is mischievous too. However he does remind me of one of my hobby horses. Liturgy. Despite all the tinkering over the past 59 years, our present Liturgy is too heavy and is suffering from too many accretions. There is a total overload in the weekend Liturgy. Three Readings. Ridiculous and nonsensical Prayers (laden with bad language and supposed solemnity) which are totally out of tune with the people present. We have created a monster of passive celebration. Where sometimes there is no singing; where the psychology of a rounded and involved celebration is missing; where getting it done and getting it over is now the sign of a good Mass. How do we, and how can we, celebrate the wonder of God being present?
THE REST PICK BLACKBERRIES:
I had a caller two weeks ago. May was on her way back to England. As Charlie Haughey used to say: “I knew your father well.” I did know May’s father well and shared a past with him. During our chat, she kept delving into that past, and wanted to know more about that earlier time of her father. But then she told me of her pastime: she goes scuba diving. She was glowing with excitement as she described what she saw when she was down in the deep. That whole world of revelation was full of surprises and delights. She loved it. I loved hearing her. She was seeing. She was sharing. And so must all of us. And now as some new life begins to appear – we feel that backbone of winter is somewhat broken. The daffodils are peeping out, as if wondering is it safe.
THE PSALMS HAVE THE HILLS DANCING AND THE RIVERS SINGING:
The Isaiah Reading at the weekend was lavish in its promises. Not abandoned. Not forsaken. My delight. The land ‘wedded.’ Such exciting language. And then we had Cana. We get distracted and confined by the notion of the Ma being embarrassed by Jesus and his cronies who had scoffed all the wine. And then Jesus ran to the off-licence (to quieten the Ma) and there were buckets of drink for everyone. But it is the feast that matters. The promise being fulfilled. It is the extravagance of God. God is flaithiúlach. Everything is flúirseach. It is the poetry of life. It is the extraordinary in the ordinary. It is a version of Babette’s Feast as an example. It is Elizabeth Barrett Browning: ‘Earth is crammed with heaven and every common bush afire with God; but only s(he) who sees takes off his/her shoes!’ There is last weekend. There is ministry. Catching the poetry in life. Taking off those shoes. And seeing. God is expansive, explosive, extraordinary. So must all of us be. So must our celebrations be. Lord help me to see.
And Trump is being crowned. God help us all. Shortly. I won’t watch it. I can’t.
Seamus Ahearne osa 20th January 2025.