Séamus Ahearne: See how your people look to me; And my voiced is still, My hands are empty. (Glimpsing More – Pádraig Daly).
LEGLESS BUT FLYING:
Birgid Skarstein. Has 11 World Championship medals. 7 in Rowing and 4 in Cross country skiing. She is a Paralympic. She is Norwegian. She had an accident when she was 21, diving into a swimming pool. When her leg was being repaired, she was overdosed with the anaesthetic and was left paralysed. She was interviewed on BBC Radio 4 one night last week. She was magnificent. She was so positive. She was delighting in the wonder of living. Nothing was too much for her. She described getting out to college each morning. She put a knapsack on her back; climbed the hill by crawling, pulling her wheelchair up through the snow. Many often offered to help, but she could do it herself and needs to do so. She didn’t see herself as ‘handicapped’. She didn’t see herself as disabled. She was able to do things differently. It was a moving experience to listen to her. She definitely kept me awake!
DOLORES O’RIORDAN, CHRISTY DIGNAM, SINÉAD O’CONNOR:
Dolores O’Riordan died. Of the Cranberries. It was a sad ending. She had brought such inspiration to many and was lovely. Her gift flowered. But she was fragile. She was a star and a fallen star. Christy Dignam died. He had his story. The Finglas people celebrated his life at his going with such love. His life was colourful. And yet there was such simplicity in him. Home and family were everything plus Celtic. He was a star and a fallen star. Sinéad O’Connor has died. Her singing was beautiful. She was very vulnerable and so fragile. Some used the language of an icon about her. For women. For Ireland. I’m unsure. Her song was everything. She carried the burden of being outspoken. She tore up a photo of the pope. And people go on forever about it. Why make a fuss of that? She became a priest and a bishop. She sported a Roman colour. She embraced Islam. That is fine. Leave her be. She was a star and a fallen star. It is possible that too many exploited the flawed side of Dolores, Christy and Sinéad. We have to be gentle. Such words as these come to mind: ‘Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.’ ‘There is so much good in the worst of us, and so much bad in the best of us, that it ill behoves any of us to find fault with the rest of us.’ We celebrate what was best in Dolores, Christy and Sinéad. We shouldn’t ask for more. We expect too much. A flawed genius. Clay feet. Yes. But that is true for all of us. We always have to be so careful.
THE BEAUTY OF HURLING:
It was exhilarating. The poetry of it all. The sheer music of the game. The work of art that it is. This is a game of beauty. Our hurling game. As played by the genius that is Limerick and Kilkenny. The All-Ireland. It is the jazz of sport. Improvisation. Adaptation. Flexibility. Wonder. ‘Nothing compares to you.’ (U2 and Sinéad). Soccer is a form of tiddlywinks by comparison. And dare I suggest this? The female version of soccer has little similarity to the men’s game. It is more hide and seek that much else. But relative to hurling? It is feeble. Again aren’t we blessed when any game and every sport flourishes? I pass along by Érin’s Isle GAA Club at the weekend and see all the children everywhere. What a beautiful sight it is. It is the body beautiful and a celebration of people working as a collective. A real community.
FAITH AS POETRY:
Faith too might be better expressed as poetry. Hints and whispers of something and someone more. The artist in us has to wake up to the possibilities. The music of our soul has to be alert and be prompted to wonder. There is an ‘awakening.’ There is the treasure that we seek. It is love. It is beauty. It is our effort to express the inexpressible. It is the awesomeness of the day. It is the mountain we climb for a view. It is the sea we look at, and see power and movement and sheer immensity and enormity. It is the flock of birds, searching for food or just singing. It is the bundle of joy in a baby. It is the wisdom of the old. It is the craziness of a couple in love. It is the emotional gratitude for friendship and family and neighbours and community. It is the prayerfulness of the ancients. It is the parenting of the little ones who are special. It is the song of Dolores, Christy and Sinéad (and their ilk) which stirs the music within us.
THE CHURCH AS A REVELATION OF THE POETS AMONG US:
And the Church then is that Community which harnesses the best in us; which provides the opportunity for our own genius (like hurling) to come alive to the God of our lives. Its task is to reveal the poetry in all of us. And it is the Church who has the informality of jazz to adapt and improvise as the dancing God of life, speaks in a new language, and a new way every day, and in every era. There is never just prose in Faith. It is always stretching out and searching. It is always airy and free. It is never restrictive or rigid. It is full of laughter and amusement because it knows that every moment and every person and everything has only a glimpse of the greatness of God. We are very little. We don’t then get worked up about things. Because we understand so little and know only suggestions of the divine. Yes. Poets. Artists of the Gospel. Let our song ring out in tune or out of tune. We too are God’s work of art. So Dolores, Christy, Sinéad, Limerick and Kilkenny. All who provoke us to the rhythm and the beat of the jazz music of God in life, are our prophets today.
Seamus Ahearne osa
27th July 2023.