Week ending 25th May 2010 www.tourmakeady.com
While trawling through old papers recently to see what I can discard before moving to another parish, I came across two interesting documents. One was the copy of a cheque sent to me from Radio na Gaeltachta almost thirty-three years ago, dated 8/6/1977. It is for one pound, or as it is written: “Aon Phunt Glan”. The cheque is made out to: “An tSiúr Standún, An Cheathrú Rua, Co na Gaillimhe.” (Sister Standún, Carraroe, Co Galway) As I was the only Standún of any sex in the parish it arrived in my post. Although a pound was a pound at the time I held on to it as a souvenir
Some years later the same radio station started an agony uncle programme with two of the great wits of the area, Máirtín Jamesie Ó Flátharta from Inis Mór in the Aran Islands, and Johnny Chóil Mhaidc Ó Coisdealbha from An Tulaigh, Baile ha hAbhainn, now unfortunately deceased, as the harbingers of good advice. People wrote to or rang the programme with mostly imaginary ailments or problems. I sent them a copy of the cheque with the query whether Radio na Gaeltachta knew something about my gender of which I was not aware myself. I forget their words of wisdom, but Máirtín returned the cheque some years later as I prepared to move from An Cheathrú Rua to Inis Meáin in 1987. It has cropped up again to adorn my latest move.
The other document refers to the only time I ever seem to have been confused with the Pope. It was addressed to: “The Holy Father, Inishmaan, Southern Ireland” and came from the British “Inland Revenue, Investigation Section, Technical Division, 4th Floor Graeme House, Chorlton Place, Wilbraham Road, Chorlton-Cum-Hardy, Manchester M21 18U.” It was sent in the hope that I would identify a man who had worked for some time in the Manchester area, and from whom they sought a miniscule amount of tax. I had laboured for some summers in England and of course had no intention of ratting on a parishioner. The “Holy Father” never replied.
I would imagine that my one pound cheque in 1977 would have had the buying power of twenty euro now. I remember that when I went to the island of Inis Oirr in 1971 a pint of Guinness cost fifteen pence, seventeen in most places outside the islands. There was a surge of inflation after that, particularly in the early eighties. By the middle of that decade the pint was a pound. An old friend of mine, Pádraig na Cora Ó Súilleabháin who spoke no English used to delight in holding up a pound to the light before parting with it. Looking at the portrait of Lady Lavery he used to say: “Nach deas an bhean í, ach bíonn sí imithe uait ar maidin.” (“Isn’t she a grand woman, but she is gone from you in the morning.”)
My thoughts seem to be turning increasingly towards South Conamara, where my future now seems to lie. I will be lonely as I leave Tourmakeady, but it was with a heavy heart that I left each place in which I was stationed as a priest. Leaving always make me feel I am at my own wake and funeral. Thankfully I am not yet in the box so I can always revisit the places that evoked such happy memories.
Some years later the same radio station started an agony uncle programme with two of the great wits of the area, Máirtín Jamesie Ó Flátharta from Inis Mór in the Aran Islands, and Johnny Chóil Mhaidc Ó Coisdealbha from An Tulaigh, Baile ha hAbhainn, now unfortunately deceased, as the harbingers of good advice. People wrote to or rang the programme with mostly imaginary ailments or problems. I sent them a copy of the cheque with the query whether Radio na Gaeltachta knew something about my gender of which I was not aware myself. I forget their words of wisdom, but Máirtín returned the cheque some years later as I prepared to move from An Cheathrú Rua to Inis Meáin in 1987. It has cropped up again to adorn my latest move.
The other document refers to the only time I ever seem to have been confused with the Pope. It was addressed to: “The Holy Father, Inishmaan, Southern Ireland” and came from the British “Inland Revenue, Investigation Section, Technical Division, 4th Floor Graeme House, Chorlton Place, Wilbraham Road, Chorlton-Cum-Hardy, Manchester M21 18U.” It was sent in the hope that I would identify a man who had worked for some time in the Manchester area, and from whom they sought a miniscule amount of tax. I had laboured for some summers in England and of course had no intention of ratting on a parishioner. The “Holy Father” never replied.
I would imagine that my one pound cheque in 1977 would have had the buying power of twenty euro now. I remember that when I went to the island of Inis Oirr in 1971 a pint of Guinness cost fifteen pence, seventeen in most places outside the islands. There was a surge of inflation after that, particularly in the early eighties. By the middle of that decade the pint was a pound. An old friend of mine, Pádraig na Cora Ó Súilleabháin who spoke no English used to delight in holding up a pound to the light before parting with it. Looking at the portrait of Lady Lavery he used to say: “Nach deas an bhean í, ach bíonn sí imithe uait ar maidin.” (“Isn’t she a grand woman, but she is gone from you in the morning.”)
My thoughts seem to be turning increasingly towards South Conamara, where my future now seems to lie. I will be lonely as I leave Tourmakeady, but it was with a heavy heart that I left each place in which I was stationed as a priest. Leaving always make me feel I am at my own wake and funeral. Thankfully I am not yet in the box so I can always revisit the places that evoked such happy memories.
Week ending 18th May 2010
I sometimes describe Pentecost or Whit as the Christmas of the Holy Spirit. Just as we celebrate the birth of Jesus, the second person of the Blessed Trinity at Christmas, we celebrate the arrival of the Holy Spirit with tongues of fire and a sound like thunder at Whit. I raised a few eyebrows once by describing the Holy Spirit as ‘Thundering Jesus,’ but a theological case can be made for that description. The Spirit is the spirit of Jesus risen from the dead coming in the ‘Acts of the Apostles’ with a sound like thunder. We need to use the descriptive phrase from time to time to draw attention, and ‘Thundering Jesus’ turned ears as well as raised eyebrows.
We tend to still associate thunder and lightning with the feast of the Holy Spirit. The phrase ‘Whit weather’ or in Irish ‘Aimsir Chincíse’ is often used to describe the thundery sunshowers, blasts of scorching heat followed by rumbles of thunder and sudden downpours that are a common weather feature at this time of year. It is not uncommon for church feasts to reflect the seasons of the year, with Christmas strategically placed as days begin to lengthen and Easter to reflect new life and growth, resurrection in nature as well as in religion.
Whit or Pentecost, is a moveable feast and it occurs late or early according to the date of Easter. There can be some confusion in that both Irish and English Bank holidays are sometimes referred to on radio and television as ‘Whit weekend,’ while the religious Whit may be on a different Sunday. Some years ago the Irish Bank Holiday and the church’s whit happened on the same dates but not this year. It is not a big issue but it can be confusing.
In last week’s article I tried to link up some of the feasts associated with the Blessed Trinity like the Ascension of Jesus, the coming of the Spirit and the feast of the Blessed Trinity. I won’t go there again in case I increase the ‘mystery’ of the Blessed Trinity or do away with it altogether. One of the ways I try to draw attention to the workings of the Holy Spirit is to say that I would love to catch it in my hands and show it to my congregation. I can not do so, but there is a sense in which the Spirit is in my hands and in yours. Not just in our hands but in our hearts and our tongues. Every good we do, every grace or love we show, every blessing, every good wish we give is part of the working of the Holy Spirit.
I know that these are not adequate explanations, just an effort to make human words and concepts stretch to grasp and to try and explain the divine. I know that I have not even managed to catch the Holy Spirit by the tail, to use another human image of the Spirit as a dove, as expressed in scripture. In the long run all attempts to explain mysteries are bound to be inadequate. It is enough to believe. Leave the details for the other side when we expect all will be revealed, and as Masses for the dead put it: “we shall see him as he really is.”
We tend to still associate thunder and lightning with the feast of the Holy Spirit. The phrase ‘Whit weather’ or in Irish ‘Aimsir Chincíse’ is often used to describe the thundery sunshowers, blasts of scorching heat followed by rumbles of thunder and sudden downpours that are a common weather feature at this time of year. It is not uncommon for church feasts to reflect the seasons of the year, with Christmas strategically placed as days begin to lengthen and Easter to reflect new life and growth, resurrection in nature as well as in religion.
Whit or Pentecost, is a moveable feast and it occurs late or early according to the date of Easter. There can be some confusion in that both Irish and English Bank holidays are sometimes referred to on radio and television as ‘Whit weekend,’ while the religious Whit may be on a different Sunday. Some years ago the Irish Bank Holiday and the church’s whit happened on the same dates but not this year. It is not a big issue but it can be confusing.
In last week’s article I tried to link up some of the feasts associated with the Blessed Trinity like the Ascension of Jesus, the coming of the Spirit and the feast of the Blessed Trinity. I won’t go there again in case I increase the ‘mystery’ of the Blessed Trinity or do away with it altogether. One of the ways I try to draw attention to the workings of the Holy Spirit is to say that I would love to catch it in my hands and show it to my congregation. I can not do so, but there is a sense in which the Spirit is in my hands and in yours. Not just in our hands but in our hearts and our tongues. Every good we do, every grace or love we show, every blessing, every good wish we give is part of the working of the Holy Spirit.
I know that these are not adequate explanations, just an effort to make human words and concepts stretch to grasp and to try and explain the divine. I know that I have not even managed to catch the Holy Spirit by the tail, to use another human image of the Spirit as a dove, as expressed in scripture. In the long run all attempts to explain mysteries are bound to be inadequate. It is enough to believe. Leave the details for the other side when we expect all will be revealed, and as Masses for the dead put it: “we shall see him as he really is.”
Week ending 11th May 2010
There was a headline on this column ten years ago in which I speculated that I was “for the high jump, but not in the Olympics” (It was an Olympic year.) Happily I have avoided the high jump ever since, but it seems to be on the way at a time I can barely walk, never mind jump. The Diocesan changes will probably be announced before those few words are published. After fifteen years in Tourmakeady I can hardly complain about a change, but as of now I await confirmation of what the future holds. I remember former Archbishop of Tuam, Joseph Cassidy describing priests waiting to go home after a retreat in Knock as being like “birds on a wire.” The swallows and the cuckoo have arrived as some of the clergy ready themselves to fly, or at least crawl away.
One way or another I am off on holiday for a couple of weeks as the actual changes will not take place until July. The holiday was arranged quite some time ago. If changed it is probably the last one I will have for a while as it will take some time to settle in and get to know my new congregation. It also gives the opportunity to rest up before the trauma of the actual change. I hate packing up and moving almost as much as leaving parish and parishioners, but change tends to be good for priests and people. A new challenge usually does us all good.
When going on holiday I have always liked to keep an interest in what is happening in the church sense while I am away, so I tend to give my own take on the feast-days I am missing. Next weekend for instance is the feast of the Ascension. (16th May) It is not with any disrespect that I say that is the feast in which Jesus ‘gets away’ in a sense. He returns to the Father when he has done all that a man can do, even when that man is the Son of God. He had lived, preached, taught, given example, suffered, died and risen from the dead. That was all that was humanely possible because he was confined by space, time, body.
Jesus left this world as a man to return as a spirit, what we call The Holy Spirit, the spirit of Jesus risen from the dead. The Spirit is not limited and carries on the work of Jesus as promised in that great Ascension statement: ‘I will be with you always, yes, until the end of time – Beidh mé in éineacht libh I gcónaí go dtí deireadh an tsaoil.’ (Mt 28:16) It is one of my favourite lines in the gospels. There are many other promises in Gospels read at this time such as: ‘I will not leave you orphans, I will come back to you.’ (Jn 14:17) It’s not so much ‘I’m outa here’ as ‘I’m with you for the long haul.’
That is as close as I am able to get to trying to understand some of the workings of the Blessed Trinity without removing the mystery altogether. In the meantime I am on my busman’s holiday, away but keeping an eye on what is happening in houses of God in other places. Churches and cathedrals throughout Europe tend to be art galleries in themselves as well as places of worship and of faith. I was intrigued last year by a Corpus Christi procession in Sorrento, by an Orthodox Easter in Crete another year. I am looking forward to something different this year, if not snookered by a volcano.
One way or another I am off on holiday for a couple of weeks as the actual changes will not take place until July. The holiday was arranged quite some time ago. If changed it is probably the last one I will have for a while as it will take some time to settle in and get to know my new congregation. It also gives the opportunity to rest up before the trauma of the actual change. I hate packing up and moving almost as much as leaving parish and parishioners, but change tends to be good for priests and people. A new challenge usually does us all good.
When going on holiday I have always liked to keep an interest in what is happening in the church sense while I am away, so I tend to give my own take on the feast-days I am missing. Next weekend for instance is the feast of the Ascension. (16th May) It is not with any disrespect that I say that is the feast in which Jesus ‘gets away’ in a sense. He returns to the Father when he has done all that a man can do, even when that man is the Son of God. He had lived, preached, taught, given example, suffered, died and risen from the dead. That was all that was humanely possible because he was confined by space, time, body.
Jesus left this world as a man to return as a spirit, what we call The Holy Spirit, the spirit of Jesus risen from the dead. The Spirit is not limited and carries on the work of Jesus as promised in that great Ascension statement: ‘I will be with you always, yes, until the end of time – Beidh mé in éineacht libh I gcónaí go dtí deireadh an tsaoil.’ (Mt 28:16) It is one of my favourite lines in the gospels. There are many other promises in Gospels read at this time such as: ‘I will not leave you orphans, I will come back to you.’ (Jn 14:17) It’s not so much ‘I’m outa here’ as ‘I’m with you for the long haul.’
That is as close as I am able to get to trying to understand some of the workings of the Blessed Trinity without removing the mystery altogether. In the meantime I am on my busman’s holiday, away but keeping an eye on what is happening in houses of God in other places. Churches and cathedrals throughout Europe tend to be art galleries in themselves as well as places of worship and of faith. I was intrigued last year by a Corpus Christi procession in Sorrento, by an Orthodox Easter in Crete another year. I am looking forward to something different this year, if not snookered by a volcano.
Week ending 4th may 2010
As I listened to reports of the Labour Party’s most recent Conference in Galway, my mind wandered back to a seventies conference of theirs in Salthill’s Leisureland, outside of which I was the lone picketer. There was a while of an evening in which Charlie Bird and myself manned the entrance, he as a journalist, me as a maverick priest. Inside Dr. Noel Browne waxed lyrical about the evils of coalition government as far as the Party was concerned. One of his more damning phrases referred to Ministers being “shoehorned into the back of Ministerial Mercedes cars.” Some years earlier it had been proclaimed that: “the seventies will be socialist” while cynics said it would not happen until “the socialists were seventy.”
I was a curate in the Aran Island of Inis Oirr at the time. I had got stranded during a visit to the mainland and was frustrated enough to try and take it out on the nearest representatives of the government of the day. Brendan Corish was Tánaiste and Labour leader at the time and he was courteous enough to have his Mercedes stop at the entrance to listen to my complaint and read my placard: “While in Galway visit Inis Oirr and get stranded.” The people of the island were looking for an airstrip at a time the neighbouring islands of Inis Mór and Inis Meáin already had a service from a young Aer Arann.
There had always been a radical tradition among clergy of the Archdiocese of Tuam. Archbishop John McHale was one of six bishops in the world to vote against the promulgation of Papal Infallibility. Priests like Pat Lavelle in Tourmakeady, who was later in Cong had supported their communities efforts to fight evictions and get the land for the tenants. In more recent times Monsignor James Horan had succeeded in getting an airport near Knock against all the odds. As a young priest I considered myself to be part of that tradition and, as a child of the sixties, picketing was my forte.
As students in Maynooth, some of us had cut our political and picketing teeth in opposition to the visit of the South African Springbok rugby tour because of opposition to apartheid. The visit of President Richard Nixon was equally opposed, while civil rights marches everywhere from the USA to Northern Ireland to the Galway Gaeltacht suggested that rights could be won by peaceful protest. A colleague in high places recently told me of a senior parish priest who had described me as ‘Robin Hood’ because I was pictured in my island raingear with the hood raised during a protest. How could I complain about today’s hoodies?
To get back to the most recent Labour Party conference I was glad to see Dr. Gerry Cowley join the Party. I don’t know the man personally, but I am aware of his work while an Independent TD. One of the things I have missed politically in my fifteen year sojourn as a priest in my home county of Mayo was the choice available during my time as a curate in Conamara and the Aran Islands. It was not just a choice between the two larger parties, but over the years I remember Labour, The Worker’s Party in its various incarnations, a couple of varieties of Sinn Féin, the community group Cumhacht and Independents of various hues all being on the ballot paper. The more choices the people have, the better.
I was a curate in the Aran Island of Inis Oirr at the time. I had got stranded during a visit to the mainland and was frustrated enough to try and take it out on the nearest representatives of the government of the day. Brendan Corish was Tánaiste and Labour leader at the time and he was courteous enough to have his Mercedes stop at the entrance to listen to my complaint and read my placard: “While in Galway visit Inis Oirr and get stranded.” The people of the island were looking for an airstrip at a time the neighbouring islands of Inis Mór and Inis Meáin already had a service from a young Aer Arann.
There had always been a radical tradition among clergy of the Archdiocese of Tuam. Archbishop John McHale was one of six bishops in the world to vote against the promulgation of Papal Infallibility. Priests like Pat Lavelle in Tourmakeady, who was later in Cong had supported their communities efforts to fight evictions and get the land for the tenants. In more recent times Monsignor James Horan had succeeded in getting an airport near Knock against all the odds. As a young priest I considered myself to be part of that tradition and, as a child of the sixties, picketing was my forte.
As students in Maynooth, some of us had cut our political and picketing teeth in opposition to the visit of the South African Springbok rugby tour because of opposition to apartheid. The visit of President Richard Nixon was equally opposed, while civil rights marches everywhere from the USA to Northern Ireland to the Galway Gaeltacht suggested that rights could be won by peaceful protest. A colleague in high places recently told me of a senior parish priest who had described me as ‘Robin Hood’ because I was pictured in my island raingear with the hood raised during a protest. How could I complain about today’s hoodies?
To get back to the most recent Labour Party conference I was glad to see Dr. Gerry Cowley join the Party. I don’t know the man personally, but I am aware of his work while an Independent TD. One of the things I have missed politically in my fifteen year sojourn as a priest in my home county of Mayo was the choice available during my time as a curate in Conamara and the Aran Islands. It was not just a choice between the two larger parties, but over the years I remember Labour, The Worker’s Party in its various incarnations, a couple of varieties of Sinn Féin, the community group Cumhacht and Independents of various hues all being on the ballot paper. The more choices the people have, the better.