Séamus Ahearne: ‘There was never a scene, when I had it out with myself. The loss of faith occurred off stage.’ (Heaney – A Found Poem)
Larry the cat:
For a country that supposedly loves animals, it was disgraceful. Larry the cat, emerged with dignity from the debacle of prime ministerial musical chairs. (UK). Larry had suffered. He presumed that ‘the party apparatchiks’ were visiting Rescue Homes, searching for a suitable PM. Larry hadn’t been asked for his opinion. He did manage to appear on many WhatsApp videos to share his indignation. He misses Boris and thought for a moment of the second coming of Boris. He describes Boris as cheerful and as quite affectionate when he was in the humour. Liz didn’t show much emotion or interest, but hardly had time to defer to the permanent resident in the home. Rishi appeared in a blur.
He is a man on a mission and Larry doesn’t think he has much time for him. He thinks that he might be a technocrat with a fixed and clear mind, focused on the job only. However, Larry is certain that Rishi cannot ignore him and that he too, will adjust to showing proper respect for the one that matters. Larry smiles at the thought that Rishi is coming to live in 10 Downing Street where he had lived as Chancellor. Larry thinks that the Sunaks don’t like Carrie’s décor in Number 11.
Fergal Keane and Brendan Kennelly:
We had our Prayer/Reflection on Wednesday at the weekly Parish Team Meeting. It began with Kilmer’s poem on Trees and then continued with words on Autumn. We were listening to the leaves falling; to those leaves crunching on the ground; to the waning of the light; to the letting go and the losses and the grieving; to the overwhelming darkness. As we shared, some of the women heard similarities in the Reflection, to the cadences of Brendan Kennelly’s voice. And then prayer descended or ascended into swooning. Brendan always had that effect. And it wasn’t only Brendan.
There was also Fergal Keane. His voice stirred most women. I have seen the most formal and staid women simply melt in hearing Fergal’s voice. It didn’t matter whether he was reporting on the greatest tragedy in Rwanda, Sri Lanka, Democratic Republic of Congo, the Balkans or the Ukraine, or was reciting the telephone directory! It was the seduction in his voice. (His new book: The Madness – he writes about his PTSD). These voices matter. All voices matter. What voices stir our souls? The women are more inclined to let themselves be stirred. Paul Graham osa (a friend) writes in The Furrow (November) of Faith in a time of epochal change. He mentions Heaney’s poem – A Found Poem and the-off stage scene. He mentioned the ‘flower’ in Ukraine. Maybe Zacchaeus and his tree suggests something similar for us. We have to leave the obvious and the familiar and find a tree, or a voice or a whisper or a suggestion – to discover the passing God in our days.
Before words: Take off your shoes:
The Working document for the Continental stage of the Synod has appeared. It is refreshing to read. The language catches the Spirit. All the contentious elements are retained but don’t overwhelm the words/the core message. The heart of this is surely how we do things; how we talk to each other; how we reverence one another; how we go about thing; how we let God be the central character of all we do. It isn’t a battle of wits. It isn’t a Forum for the loudest voices or the more articulate contrarians. This document doesn’t take off into religious gush as so many Churchy documents do. As always, this project only makes sense if we begin to use this method in our local churches.
I recall many years ago when the New Missal appeared, being at a meeting. One of the most senior members in the diocesan administration gave a glowing report on this New Book. It was the sacral language that appealed to him and was important. The overly familiar loose words had disappeared. These ‘holy words’ draw us into the Sacred. (He said). I thought I was listening to a Vicar’s voice whose whole tone changed speaking holy words. It was nonsense. We have had dumped on us, a structures of sentences which belong to the Latin idiom which have no place in prayer for us as English speakers. In a Synodal method and approach, such a ridiculous Missal would never have appeared. There is much to do in a further Reform not only of the Missal but of all Liturgy; of our understanding of ministry; of our place in the world of nature; of our understanding of sexuality. It can happen with the Synodal way. Like Michelangelo: ‘I am still learning.’ We are.
Good News and Bad News:
Ireland shocked England in the T20 World Cup; Cricket of course. Team Ireland won 7 medals at the European Championship in Montenegro and overall were the team of the tournament. These women are tough. Whether we like the idea of boxing women or not; this was some achievement. We do need the uplift of good news because the Daily News is a dreary, dull, dish of detritus which wearies everyone.
There are 50,000 Ukrainians in the country. Isn’t that a wonderful celebration of hospitality and care? Instead we hear nothing but moaning. The miraculous achievement of the Good Friday Agreement is a great gift but the DUP can’t grasp that compromise is essential. I wonder if the UK government threaten to cut off all monies to N Ireland unless and until real government began to work… And then there is the USA where Trumpland survives despite the devastation and the evidence. The Right were always the custodians of law until they didn’t like it… There is more to life than The News. Didn’t Jane Clarke read her poem this morning on Countrywide, ‘Laying the Hedge’ and it was moving? And didn’t the Cambridge Singers with John Rutter sing ‘For the Beauty of the Earth’ on Lyric this morning and tease our hearts into song? There are sufficient whispers of wonder every day to keep us alert and alive. If we allow them.
Young Indi:
She is preoccupied. The costumes for Halloween. She loves the colours and thinks that her outfits are the best of all. She has no terror of the ghoulish masks but only sees variety and fun. She has no fear. She is very excited. I have no idea where she heard of fire-works but she clamours for those noisy explosions in the sky.
I did try to tell her that it was the Eve of All Hallows and that meant it was remembering the dead and celebrating the saints. She couldn’t grasp this thing about death. She saw leaves falling and dying. She saw them making big statements as they took to the stage to put on a theatrical performance (with outrageous colours) on their way to death. I didn’t take her wandering into Kennelly’s poem – and will I die?
I couldn’t distract her with talk of Samhain and other Celtic harvest celebrations. I suppose I wanted to tell her never to get caught up in darkness or negativity or sadness but to catch the beauty of the moment and the wonder of our own saints – alive and dead. But I failed in my efforts. She only wanted colour and wanted to dress up. And she is probably right. Celebrate. Have fun. See the colour. Dance. That too is accepting death and being aware of life and who is fully alive and what is alive in every season.
Seamus Ahearne osa 29th October 2022.