Week ending 28th December 2010 www.tourmakeady.com
New Year – New Parish: At the start of 2010 I little thought that I would be five months in Cárna by the year’s end. I had a fair idea that I would be changed, as I was almost fifteen years in Tourmakeady at the time. I greatly enjoyed those years but knew that nothing lasts forever. I had intended to live out my life as a curate somewhere in the Archdiocese of Tuam. As a disciple of Father Tommy Gibbons who was curate in Belcarra when I was a boy, I liked the idea of the ‘passover.’ Rumour has it that Fr. Tommy, then curate in Annaghdown was once asked what brought him to Galway. His reply went down in clerical history – ‘I’m celebrating the feast of the Passover. I have just been passed over as Parish Priest.’
I had not been passed over so much as refused the job of PP. I explained the reasons in an earlier article. I had hoped this would help reduce the age of appointment, then close to sixty. I had also hoped to remain in the Gaeltacht in which I had begun and continued to serve my time as a priest. The shortage of priests changed all that. Young fellows in their late thirties are now having the PP tag hung around their necks, and I in my mid-sixties have become one of them. The burden has not been impossible to bear so far, or the tag attached to my dog-collar has not succeeded in choking me completely.
I was just finding my feet in Cárna when they began to slide from beneath me. This however was not due to the pressures of work so much as the icy roads and footpaths. The old jackboots that Parish Priests are often accused of wearing and kicking with do not have the best of grips on ice. Hobnails are best suited to ice-rinks. Being ‘footloose’ takes on a whole new meaning on slippery surfaces. Blasts from the past come in the form of people I knew in An Cheathrú Rua (Carraroe) when curate their in the seventies and eighties. Weddings and funerals bring some of them to Cárna, as did a hooker’s dinner one Saturday night. The hookers in question are of course the Galway variety of sailing-boat. It is nice to meet people after many years, as it will be nice to meet Tourmakeady people when I eventually get time to visit.
New Year – New Book: By the time the New Year begins I hope to have a new novel, not so much on the shelves, as available to order online. It is called ‘Godfool’ and is an English version of an Oireachtas prizewinning Irish language novel ‘Díbirt Dé’ published by Cló Iar-Chonnacht in 2007. As many bookshops do not stock books in Irish this can be ordered directly from the publishers at cic@iol.ie. Godfool will be available from AuthorHouse, a firm to which an author contributes towards publication. I have never done this before, but publishing has many problems now due to the recession. A couple of Irish based publishers did show interest, but could not publish for a few years. The old grow impatient as we like to see the fruits of our labours between bookcovers before we die.
Many people down through the years have asked when they are going to see a novel of mine in English. Now is their chance. They can log on to AuthorHouse.ie and go to ‘bookshop’. Another alternative is to Google ‘Godfool’ At the moment you will probably get books about Saint Francis (God’s Fool) but I hope that my own ‘Godfool’ will be up there with them before long.
Happy New Year to all my readers.
I had not been passed over so much as refused the job of PP. I explained the reasons in an earlier article. I had hoped this would help reduce the age of appointment, then close to sixty. I had also hoped to remain in the Gaeltacht in which I had begun and continued to serve my time as a priest. The shortage of priests changed all that. Young fellows in their late thirties are now having the PP tag hung around their necks, and I in my mid-sixties have become one of them. The burden has not been impossible to bear so far, or the tag attached to my dog-collar has not succeeded in choking me completely.
I was just finding my feet in Cárna when they began to slide from beneath me. This however was not due to the pressures of work so much as the icy roads and footpaths. The old jackboots that Parish Priests are often accused of wearing and kicking with do not have the best of grips on ice. Hobnails are best suited to ice-rinks. Being ‘footloose’ takes on a whole new meaning on slippery surfaces. Blasts from the past come in the form of people I knew in An Cheathrú Rua (Carraroe) when curate their in the seventies and eighties. Weddings and funerals bring some of them to Cárna, as did a hooker’s dinner one Saturday night. The hookers in question are of course the Galway variety of sailing-boat. It is nice to meet people after many years, as it will be nice to meet Tourmakeady people when I eventually get time to visit.
New Year – New Book: By the time the New Year begins I hope to have a new novel, not so much on the shelves, as available to order online. It is called ‘Godfool’ and is an English version of an Oireachtas prizewinning Irish language novel ‘Díbirt Dé’ published by Cló Iar-Chonnacht in 2007. As many bookshops do not stock books in Irish this can be ordered directly from the publishers at cic@iol.ie. Godfool will be available from AuthorHouse, a firm to which an author contributes towards publication. I have never done this before, but publishing has many problems now due to the recession. A couple of Irish based publishers did show interest, but could not publish for a few years. The old grow impatient as we like to see the fruits of our labours between bookcovers before we die.
Many people down through the years have asked when they are going to see a novel of mine in English. Now is their chance. They can log on to AuthorHouse.ie and go to ‘bookshop’. Another alternative is to Google ‘Godfool’ At the moment you will probably get books about Saint Francis (God’s Fool) but I hope that my own ‘Godfool’ will be up there with them before long.
Happy New Year to all my readers.
Week ending 21st December 2010 www.tourmakeady.com
Once again we struggle along the rocky road to Bethlehem. The donkey picks its steps carefully, not unlike the way that most of us learned to walk during the frosty spell. Mary and Joseph are happy tp be away from the prying eyes of Nazareth. The gossip mongers had a field day when innocent little holy Mary began to show signs of her pregnancy. When was Joseph going to do the right thing and marry her? ‘Wasn’t he the dark horse all the same, and you would think that butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.’ That’s if he was the father. Rumour had it that Joseph and herself had never been together. If not, who was the father? Where was DNA when you needed it? ‘Fair play to Joseph all the same. He was sticking with her which was more than a lot of fellows would do.’
Here they were on their adventure far from home, enjoying the fresh air and the company of the people they met around the watering holes, or at the open fires when they stopped for something to eat. They were returning to Joseph’s roots, going back for the census, a once in a lifetime event, a kind of pilgrimage to the past, back to the King David connection from centuries before that his people had always talked about. What was it about royalty that so many people wanted to be connected to? Anyway that was then and this is now. This baby was likely to come into the world far from home. They were ready for it. They wouldn’t be sleeping under the stars that night. They had the money for an Inn, tightly wrapped in a little handkerchief in the very middle of the swaddling clothes Mary had brought with her to put around the baby as soon as it was born and washed.
Was it all a dream? Mary wondered sometimes. This baby from out of the blue. This baby from God as that vision had told her all of nine months ago. Could it have been some kind of a hallucination? The baby that had grown within her was real enough. But God? That was beyond a joke. Why me? What was God up to? If he was as great as people said couldn’t he have found a less complicated way to send his son into the world. Couldn’t he have just dropped him into some palace where he would have a bit of comfort. Why had he to go natural way, the nine months, the birth? ‘He must be a glutton for punishment,’ she smiles to herself, worried, apprehensive and happy, all at the same time.’
Joseph tells himself that people must think that he is a right eejit, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. He trusts Mary. If she says this is a child of God, that is enough for him. He is not too sure what ‘child of God’ means, but if it is of God, sure it has to be good. He finds it hard to understand why Mary is so sure that her baby is going to be a boy. That’s what God’s messenger told her, apparently. Does that mean she will be disappointed if it turns out to be a girl? Whatever…Whichever it is they are going to love it. Joseph can see himself in his mind’s eye teaching a curly haired young fellow all that he knows about timber, keeping the sharp chisels away from him until he knows how to handle them. And if it is a girl, what harm will it do her to know a bit of carpentry?
They’re on their way. We all are. The blessing’s of the Christ-child on all who read this, particularly those who are facing a sad or a difficult Christmas.
Here they were on their adventure far from home, enjoying the fresh air and the company of the people they met around the watering holes, or at the open fires when they stopped for something to eat. They were returning to Joseph’s roots, going back for the census, a once in a lifetime event, a kind of pilgrimage to the past, back to the King David connection from centuries before that his people had always talked about. What was it about royalty that so many people wanted to be connected to? Anyway that was then and this is now. This baby was likely to come into the world far from home. They were ready for it. They wouldn’t be sleeping under the stars that night. They had the money for an Inn, tightly wrapped in a little handkerchief in the very middle of the swaddling clothes Mary had brought with her to put around the baby as soon as it was born and washed.
Was it all a dream? Mary wondered sometimes. This baby from out of the blue. This baby from God as that vision had told her all of nine months ago. Could it have been some kind of a hallucination? The baby that had grown within her was real enough. But God? That was beyond a joke. Why me? What was God up to? If he was as great as people said couldn’t he have found a less complicated way to send his son into the world. Couldn’t he have just dropped him into some palace where he would have a bit of comfort. Why had he to go natural way, the nine months, the birth? ‘He must be a glutton for punishment,’ she smiles to herself, worried, apprehensive and happy, all at the same time.’
Joseph tells himself that people must think that he is a right eejit, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. He trusts Mary. If she says this is a child of God, that is enough for him. He is not too sure what ‘child of God’ means, but if it is of God, sure it has to be good. He finds it hard to understand why Mary is so sure that her baby is going to be a boy. That’s what God’s messenger told her, apparently. Does that mean she will be disappointed if it turns out to be a girl? Whatever…Whichever it is they are going to love it. Joseph can see himself in his mind’s eye teaching a curly haired young fellow all that he knows about timber, keeping the sharp chisels away from him until he knows how to handle them. And if it is a girl, what harm will it do her to know a bit of carpentry?
They’re on their way. We all are. The blessing’s of the Christ-child on all who read this, particularly those who are facing a sad or a difficult Christmas.
Week ending 14th December 2010 www.tourmakeady.com
Cárna got away lighter than most during the cold spell. No doubt we will pay for it with Atlantic storms at some stage, as the weather has a habit of balancing things up. It is not that we did not get some frost and snow, but television pictures show that many parts of the country fared much worse than we did here. On a day on which Dublin Airport was closed and most Dublin Bus services out of action, I drove to Clifden in nearly perfect road conditions. There was no point in going anywhere else on the same day, as anywhere north or east of Maam Cross was virtually a no-go area with snow and ice, unless a person really had to travel.
Where is global warming when we need it? If anything the last two winters remind me of 1962 and ’63, only worse. The pay-off came with some good summer weather, particularly in May and June. I wrote at some stage last January that a natural winter might bring about a natural summer, and to all extents and purposes, it did. More of the same next year, I hope. I tried to do my own little bit for the environment by availing of a Government grant and topping it up to get two solar panels to provide hopefully endless hot water. I may be a hundred years old before it has fully paid for itself in terms of savings on electricity and oil, but I will be a well washed centenarian with a green bill of health.
The company installing the panels didn’t pick the best time of the year to go about their business. Looking back now it was the day after the IMF-EU bailout was finally agreed. Perhaps they wanted to get everything in place fast before the rug was pulled and the grant discontinued. The more charitable view is that they just wanted to get the job done fast. The upshot of it all was that my central heating system was messed up in the process and I ended up on some of the coldest nights of the year with central heating that had a mind of its own. It was not that it did not come on from time to time, but it seemed to overheat and go off again without reference to timer or manual instructions. The company operatives were snowbound many miles away as I bit my tongue to prevent the F-words from escaping. All was eventually sorted.
It was good to see the many reports from around the country of good neighbourliness during the cold spell, of people going out of their way to look after the elderly and others in isolated areas. Th army did a good job in getting nurses, doctors and other medical personnel to their places of work, or to areas almost completely cut off. Tragedy or difficulty always brings out the best in people. It is one of the things that has inspired me most throughout my priestly life. I wrote of this recently after a sea tragedy near Inishboffin, and I have witnessed this goodness many times on both islands and mainland. Far too often we harp on about the negative aspects of life. That has to be done too, to try and prevent history repeating itself, but there is also great goodness in people, of which we will probably see much more in this time of recession.
Where is global warming when we need it? If anything the last two winters remind me of 1962 and ’63, only worse. The pay-off came with some good summer weather, particularly in May and June. I wrote at some stage last January that a natural winter might bring about a natural summer, and to all extents and purposes, it did. More of the same next year, I hope. I tried to do my own little bit for the environment by availing of a Government grant and topping it up to get two solar panels to provide hopefully endless hot water. I may be a hundred years old before it has fully paid for itself in terms of savings on electricity and oil, but I will be a well washed centenarian with a green bill of health.
The company installing the panels didn’t pick the best time of the year to go about their business. Looking back now it was the day after the IMF-EU bailout was finally agreed. Perhaps they wanted to get everything in place fast before the rug was pulled and the grant discontinued. The more charitable view is that they just wanted to get the job done fast. The upshot of it all was that my central heating system was messed up in the process and I ended up on some of the coldest nights of the year with central heating that had a mind of its own. It was not that it did not come on from time to time, but it seemed to overheat and go off again without reference to timer or manual instructions. The company operatives were snowbound many miles away as I bit my tongue to prevent the F-words from escaping. All was eventually sorted.
It was good to see the many reports from around the country of good neighbourliness during the cold spell, of people going out of their way to look after the elderly and others in isolated areas. Th army did a good job in getting nurses, doctors and other medical personnel to their places of work, or to areas almost completely cut off. Tragedy or difficulty always brings out the best in people. It is one of the things that has inspired me most throughout my priestly life. I wrote of this recently after a sea tragedy near Inishboffin, and I have witnessed this goodness many times on both islands and mainland. Far too often we harp on about the negative aspects of life. That has to be done too, to try and prevent history repeating itself, but there is also great goodness in people, of which we will probably see much more in this time of recession.
Week ending 7th December 2010 www.tourmakeady.com
Two of my favourite Biblical characters, the prophet Isaiah and John the Baptist provide a bit of a double act during the season of Advent. They obviously didn’t know each other personally as they lived hundreds of years apart, but they seemed to know each other well in prophetic circles. John certainly knew the words of Isaiah: “A voice cries in the wilderness: Prepare a way for the Lord, make his paths straight.” (Mt 3:3) John himself is seen as the voice crying in the wilderness, a voice we still hear echoing Isaiah’s words as we prepare a way for the Lord during Advent as Christmas approaches.
I have my own mind-pictures of Isaiah and John, partly from artistic representations, and partly from imagination. These pictures may be a long way from the mark with regard to the appearances of the men in question, but they help to personalise them. Like all heroes I suppose I see them as larger than life, Isaiah with a great shock of grey hair and a tangled beard surrounding those intense eyes. John, we are told was clothed in camel hair which suggests very rough garments. He ate locusts and wild honey. I wouldn’t know a locust if I got one as a Christmas present, but in my mind’s eye I can see the red bees with the wild honey we disturbed in haymaking days. No honey was sweeter, so I am pleased that rugged, badly done by John had the pleasure of that taste.
Neither Isaiah or John come across as honey-tongued, sweet-talking types. They told it like it was, or at least as they saw it. John’s “brood of vipers” barb echoes across the centuries, while his execution came about because he objected to King Herod marrying his brother’s wife. No politically correct, softly softly preacher he, and he paid for it with his life, the result of a whim and a foolish promise. Still he had made his mark, had pointed the finger in the right direction, had pointed out who Jesus really is, in words we still use in every Mass: “Behold the Lamb of God. This is the one who takes away the sins of the world.”
These words have a particular relevance when we look into the crib at Christmas. We ‘ooh’ and ‘aah,’ ‘coo’ and smile at the beautiful baby, but the reason we do so year after year can be summed up in the words of the Baptist: “This is the lamb of God, the one who takes away the sins of the world.” The baby born in that Bethlehem stable would be long forgotten if millions upon millions of people down through the ages had not believed the words of John. The Baptist is known as the Pre-cursor, which has nothing to do with cursing, but recognises the importance of his role in identifying who Jesus really was and is.
The Feast of the Immaculate Conception this week on the 8th of December is another stepping stone in our preparing the way of the Lord, as Isaiah and John put it. It has nothing to do with virgin birth as many people assume, but with the belief that Mary was free of all sin. The woman who joined Heaven and earth in bringing the Son of God into the world to be one of us as well as one of them (God) did not pass on the sin DNA to Jesus. That is not to say that Jesus did not willingly take on the sin of the world and leave it crucified on the cross as he rose sinless from the tomb. But that is Easter stuff. We have to contemplate Christmas first.
I have my own mind-pictures of Isaiah and John, partly from artistic representations, and partly from imagination. These pictures may be a long way from the mark with regard to the appearances of the men in question, but they help to personalise them. Like all heroes I suppose I see them as larger than life, Isaiah with a great shock of grey hair and a tangled beard surrounding those intense eyes. John, we are told was clothed in camel hair which suggests very rough garments. He ate locusts and wild honey. I wouldn’t know a locust if I got one as a Christmas present, but in my mind’s eye I can see the red bees with the wild honey we disturbed in haymaking days. No honey was sweeter, so I am pleased that rugged, badly done by John had the pleasure of that taste.
Neither Isaiah or John come across as honey-tongued, sweet-talking types. They told it like it was, or at least as they saw it. John’s “brood of vipers” barb echoes across the centuries, while his execution came about because he objected to King Herod marrying his brother’s wife. No politically correct, softly softly preacher he, and he paid for it with his life, the result of a whim and a foolish promise. Still he had made his mark, had pointed the finger in the right direction, had pointed out who Jesus really is, in words we still use in every Mass: “Behold the Lamb of God. This is the one who takes away the sins of the world.”
These words have a particular relevance when we look into the crib at Christmas. We ‘ooh’ and ‘aah,’ ‘coo’ and smile at the beautiful baby, but the reason we do so year after year can be summed up in the words of the Baptist: “This is the lamb of God, the one who takes away the sins of the world.” The baby born in that Bethlehem stable would be long forgotten if millions upon millions of people down through the ages had not believed the words of John. The Baptist is known as the Pre-cursor, which has nothing to do with cursing, but recognises the importance of his role in identifying who Jesus really was and is.
The Feast of the Immaculate Conception this week on the 8th of December is another stepping stone in our preparing the way of the Lord, as Isaiah and John put it. It has nothing to do with virgin birth as many people assume, but with the belief that Mary was free of all sin. The woman who joined Heaven and earth in bringing the Son of God into the world to be one of us as well as one of them (God) did not pass on the sin DNA to Jesus. That is not to say that Jesus did not willingly take on the sin of the world and leave it crucified on the cross as he rose sinless from the tomb. But that is Easter stuff. We have to contemplate Christmas first.
