Séamus Ahearne: I’M BEWILDERED HAVING  JUST RETURNED FROM THE QUARTEIRA MARKET

THE TOLKA: 

My local heron chats in an offhanded way, with me, every morning, down by the Tolka. S(he) does tire rather quickly of conversation, as  Breakfast is more important than my small talk. I move on and meet the ducks. They are casually disinterested in me. They waddle along and ignore me. The Weeping Willow is always eager for me to linger. It tries to tell me that all this rushing, is not good for me. It does say that for itself, it simply watches and waves, at all passers-by. It has words to say, but not many listen. Its pose and poise coaxes me to slow down a little. It is a magnificent tree and likes company. And now I sit at the sea. I have left the Tolka. The Heron may have mentioned to its colleagues in Portugal, that I was moving to the Algarve.

THE ALGARVE: 

The egrets (in the Algarve) greet me suspiciously in the morning. I am the first person passing by at six,  but they haven’t heard or accepted what they might have heard about me; a gentle quiet person who talks and listens to all, on the journey. The Stilts take off and are beautiful to admire. The gracefulness of their flight is alluring. The little sand birds are very busy and dart about, clearly intent, on what they are doing. The larger sea birds have regular meetings but aren’t amused by a passing intruder into their private business. 

THE LANGUAGE OF THE SEA: 

I walk for an hour. I sit for half-an-hour. The sea talks. The waves are all different. They change the contours of the sand. The sounds and the smells have a language of their own. It isn’t just power. It isn’t only the relentlessness. The Drama is mesmeric. I am the only human being now around. I don’t speak. The sea doesn’t like to be interrupted. The vastness of the ocean. The  endless beach. Is a prayer. It talks of a world bigger than me. Bigger than my puny thoughts. Bigger than the expressions of many, with their tidy and organised minds, who want to have everything organised and in control. Many people of faith;  many formal statements of religion;  many who are full of certainties, need to listen to the sea and the waves, and the air, and let the wind speak. It is humbling. And I haven’t met a flamingo as yet this year. There is more. I recall my mother May. When she was past walking. She sat at the window in the kitchen and looked out at the Copper Beech tree. It spoke to her. She spoke to it. They involved the whole world in their chat. She was then attuned to the chatter of God. That memory feeds me. 

A HUNGRY POPE SHOULD BE LEFT IN PEACE: 

Poor Pope Bob (Leo) was hungry at the weekend. He dropped in for some grub to St Monica’s at OSA HQ. He was rushing from a session with families and then had to meet those involved in the Giro d’Italia. He hadn’t time to take off his white uniform. But I was annoyed. There had to be photos. Why can’t the man be given a small chance for normality; calling in for something when he is hungry, and when he wants to be with the camaraderie of his Augustinian brothers? I know there are formalities. I know there are security issues. But space is needed for this poor man whose life has been forfeited for the cause.

AUGUSTINE AND THE AUGUSTINIANS: 

Robert Francis Prevost is Pope. However, he is adamant that he is an Augustinian and will always be one. These Augustinians are attracting some attention. Many ask what do they do, and what are they like? We have a long history of being in Monasteries. Monks indeed. The Hermits of Augustine. We were brought together in 1256 at the Grand Union. We became somewhat itinerant friars. We claim an inspiration from Augustine. How consistent we are in following Augustine, I’m not sure. Augustine was a busy man. He took his time in finding Christ. His mother Monica was persistent and Ambrose consoled her by telling her that a child of so many tears would never be lost. He found his way. He gathered people around him. A community of ‘restless people’ who would thrash out the questions of the day and learn from each other. 

THE MASTER OF RHETORIC: 

Whatever about the Augustinians, Augustine stayed true in his search. He seems never to have an unwritten thought. Many dismiss Augustine for the multiple positions he took up. Some see ‘original sin’ as part of his legacy. Others see the focus on sexual matters as over influencing the long history of faith. Essentially Augustine was a Rhetorician. An Orator. A Contrarian. A Debater. His language can be excessive; can be flamboyant; can spew out his type of certainty, on every and any topic. But his flexibility to the call of the everyday, is impressive. 

AUGUSTINE AND NOW: 

He has no systematic theological approach. He scatters his views everywhere and on everything. His writing is brilliant. He can be read today, more for his approach than anything else. He is an example of what all of us might be doing. He didn’t claim all the answers. But he demanded that God-talk had to exist in the community on the issues of the day and we had to learn from each other. I’m no apologist or specialist in Augustine but I see him and hear him in our every approach to the God of the market place. ‘Faith seeking understanding wasn’t his phrase’. But was his approach. If only we could be catching that methodology ourselves. I think Pope Leo will do that. 

THE CLUTTER OF LITURGY: 

As a ‘putative Liturgical guru’ (!) for Pope Bob, I might suggest what I see to be Augustine’s approach to living faith. His was a practical theology. He was a practical theologian. The ‘Official Liturgists’ have given us a false language. It is frothy. It is full of clutter. It distances many from their ordinary lives. It doesn’t hint at mystery and clouds it over. The life is sucked out of faith, in the formality. Some say now that a changed culture means that people don’t know how to behave in Church; have no idea of reverence; have no concept of the sacred, or the sense of Communion. They are not familiar with our concept of Mystery. We have to broaden our understanding of faith and our sense of grace and Godliness. That is the heart of our Ministry. (Augustine can teach us). We only have to look at the clumsy language of the ‘prayers’ at Mass; the Preface; the Confiteor; the Glory; the Creed; the multiple of Readings. Where is the poetry, that can take us into the wonder and beauty of God? The awesomeness of the moment? That place where our little lives are at home? The Table of memories and of character and gift? We have a new journey to make. We can look and feel sad at how unimportant our Religion and its celebration is to many, but we must change our understanding. I believe the questioning spirit of Augustine might help us along the way. 

ENDING POINTS – SPLASHING GOOD NEWS: 

Mary Trump (niece) at Hay-on-Wye, (27^th May 2025), spoke of her uncle as a man, “who has never evolved, which is dangerous; who isn’t close to anyone.“ She says that a leader should never be chosen who hasn’t evolved…People like Donald shouldn’t be allowed to create a common place language of whingers and whiners. The Trumpian culture, screams at us to find the gold of inspiration and hope. We can join the naysayers or accept the challenge of the age. Be bearers of ‘The Good News’ of life and God. Splash the poetry of faith everywhere. I don’t know but something did happen in Rome recently which shows the world of the media, is crying out for a different story. We all need it. There was an uplift. There was hope. There was interest. Explore and exploit. 

PADDY KAVANAGH: 

I am reading Paddy Kavanagh at present. (Patrick Kavanagh – a Poet’s Country; Selected Prose. Edited by Antoinette Quinn). He was a curmudgeon character. He fell out with almost everyone. He was an alcoholic. I remember being ‘attacked’ after a Christmas Mass when we had a Reflection from Paddy. The lady who set on me, came from Paddy’s countryside and almost ‘hated’ the man for what he was like. She was ashamed of him. She saw him as despicable. But again despite his contrariness, something in there in him and his poetry, speaks of the hidden God who likes to whisper. Anything and anyone who helps us to see that, lifts our hearts to the holy. We have to ‘dip our fingers in the pockets of God.’ “Until one day, we will recognise our Christmas God of surprises and disguises everywhere.”

There is the raiméis of a man in recovery after the market experience with two women!

Seamus Ahearne OSA 

4th June 2025.