Séamus Ahearne: ‘I look; morning to night, I am never done looking. Looking I mean, not just standing around, but standing around, as though with your arms open.’ (Mary Oliver – Where does the Temple begin?)

The Graves speak:

I was down in Glasnevin this afternoon to visit the Augustinian graves. The names and the dates shocked me. All those old men who had died were very young. They were ancient to many of us when they left this world. Now I find that they were much younger than I am at present. And I see myself as young!

Liturgy in Nigeria, Liturgy in Ireland:

At Mass this morning during our usual chat, I asked Michael to speak of his trip to Nigeria. He had been out there to lead a Retreat and to Ordain. It was 33 years since he left. He spoke with delight at the exuberance of the celebrations everywhere and on every occasion. Was it four thousand who were present for the Ordinations? I think that is what he said. The singing was superb. The dancing was lively. The colourful display was inspiring. The bringing up of the Book of the Gospels was very moving. The Presentation of Gifts was an obvious present of joy and giving. The youthfulness of it all was exhilarating. I recalled an article written by a Nigerian priest after some years in Ireland. (It was read to us at our weekly meeting a fortnight ago). It went something like this: “Mass in Ireland is drab and depressing. There is no life whatsoever in it. There is a priest up there often doing everything and droning on. Singing is mostly absent or is done by a distant choir with no active participation by the crowd/congregation. Sometimes the priest even does all the readings.” The poor Nigerian wanted to run home before whatever Spirit he had in him was killed off completely. I am sure this is not a totally fair assessment. But it is understandable how he might write something like this. As always life is a mixed grill! We however can allow ourselves be jealous at times or, preferably, note that the Church thrives elsewhere and that we too had our day and we did everything well. It is important not to be too absolute in any assessment.

A woman dies and the hymn of her life is sung:

I was called to the Nursing Home last Saturday. A lady was dying. I was in a rush for Mass at St Canice’s. We gathered around the bed. The family were there. What I really like is that some of the staff always come in. Three of them stood there. We chatted on Vera’s life story and prayed. The chat was part of the prayer. I asked if someone might sing. The staff nodded their heads negatively! Then one of them said that Vera’s song was this: ‘You are the sunshine of my life.’ Will you sing it, was my request? They said ‘But it isn’t a hymn.’ They sang it. One girl said that Vera had taught her the second verse. It was beautiful. My comment was this: ‘You said it wasn’t a hymn. But it was the hymn of her life.’ The family were really overwhelmed. Vera died with that song ringing in her ears. I just loved what had happened and again was so pleased and impressed to have the staff present.

Hearing the whispers of God:

‘The sound of a gentle breeze.’  It was read at my father’s funeral 25 years ago and was so apt. We talked last weekend about walking on water or even treading water. We didn’t get distracted by the drama or the miraculous but shared on the storms in life. However, it was Rita who was happy to tell us of her experience of the ‘sound of a gentle breeze.’ She walks down to Mass each morning. ‘I look around. I think of all the people in my past and in my life. I look at the hills in the distance. I see the birds and the trees waving in praise of God. I say to God – thank you. The breeze of God whispers in my soul.’ Rita is only 91. She has a big mouth. I call her ‘the mouth of the South.’ We tell each other that we will get married when she is 100.

Funereal:

Sinéad O’Connor’s funeral had me cringing. Can grief be toxic? I don’t find communal grief a reality. Was Sinéad being used? Like a Diana. And then a means of having a go at the Church. As if she was some kind of prophet. A woman who tapped into the psyche of an Ireland that had suffered due to the stranglehold the Church had on life in Ireland. Sinéad was a beautiful singer. Angelic even. She was a searching girl for something more. For God. Maybe. As a priest. As a bishop. As an Islamist. She was a sad girl who didn’t quite find all her answers. She was very sick. Why pile on anything else onto to her memory? We should stay with the beauty of her singing voice. She wasn’t a spokesperson for all the hurts of the ages. Tearing up a photo of the pope is fairly irrelevant in the scheme of things. But then we all need to be careful of a selective reading of history and a superficial summary of our culture. The church was there for education. Would many of us have been educated except for the church? Who were the counsellors for care-in-the-community (and still are)? Who was there for the nursing and the medical minding of people? Who was there for the follow up when officialdom finishes so quickly with office hours? Certainly, there is much for all of us to apologise for. But a society without the Church and without God is not an improvement.

The Three Graces:

I was with a family last week. The brother had died. He was a drug addict. The three sisters were wonderful. They loved him and wanted to throttle him. I called them the Three Degrees. Their lives sang. I called them The Three Graces. I reminded them of Botticelli, Raphael and Rubens. (So many more too). Those sisters had kindness, creativity and beauty. They were so honest. So spontaneous. So beautiful. There was no hiding of the problem or the disaster dumped on the family or the story of what he got up to. But their central comment was, ‘He wanted to be clean. His soul and mind craved this. However his body couldn’t do it.’ Isn’t it such a privilege to be let into the intimate story of a family? Of course the funeral has to be shaped by that story and not confined or curtailed by the formalities of religious practice.

The drama Queen Indi:

Young Indi called yesterday. She was bursting with chat. I had eavesdropped on her arguments with her mother earlier in the week. The ma had told her that she was a ‘drama queen.’ Indi countered that she wasn’t but that the mother was; She was an adult drama queen. The ma suggested that Indi didn’t know what a drama queen was. Indi protested. She began to describe a drama queen and filled out the profile but personalised the ma. She said: ‘You think that you are always right. Your voice gets louder. You act as if you are on a stage. You give orders to everyone. You are certain that you know better. You wave your hands around.’ The mother laughed. Then Indi agreed that both of them put on a show and liked to be the centre of attention. But this young lady of three years wasn’t going to completely give in and give up. She said to the ma: ‘God wants me to make a noise. To let people know that I am around. To bring my little self to the world. I am me. I love me. God loves me. I want to tell everyone who God is and what God thinks of me.’ How about that?

Seamus Ahearne osa      16^th August 2023.