Week ending 29th December 2015
2016 is almost upon us. We will hear a lot about politics, new and old, as we face a General Election, followed on soon afterwards by the commemoration of the Easter Rising of a hundred years ago. By the time that is behind us thoughts will turn to the Euro soccer championship and the road to Croke Park in hurling and football. I have no intention of trying to predict election results though I fancied myself as enough of a prophet thirty years ago to try and imagine what life would be like in Ireland in 2016. The second Irish language novel I had published was called “ad 2016” (Cló Chonamara, 1998) in which I tried to imagine what life would be like in Ireland if two of the great aspirations of a relatively young nation, the re-unification of Ireland and the restoration of the Irish language were to come to fruition.
Although not published until four years later, I started that novel in 1984, influenced by George Orwell’s novel called after that year. He had tried to imagine the future direction of Britain and the world, mainly in the light of what had happened in countries which had come into being because of communist revolutions. British Prime Minister of the time Margaret Thatcher had poo poohed Orwell’s work and declared that he had not got anything right. In fact the main thing he had got right was the extent to which people everywhere would be under observation and surveillance, as summed up in the phrase: “Big Brother is watching you.” It was not TV’s Big Brother he was referring too, of course, but all-pervasive Government interference in people’s lives.
In trying to take on the role of prophet I was aware of various types of prophecy in The Old Testament. Because there is such a big effort in the New Testament to show Jesus as one who fulfilled prophecies, we are often inclined to think of prophecy only in that light, prediction of the future. Prophecy in fact had more to do with warning people of the consequences of their actions or the directions they were taking in life than of foretelling the future in an exact way. Prophecy tended to say: “If you go down this road, you will end up in trouble.” The small number of economists in Ireland who warned about the crash in Banks and house prices were that kind of prophet. They went unheeded but we know better now, or do we?
In my story a man of seventy, the age I would be in 2016, sets out from my original home place in Mayo to walk to Dublin for the 1916 celebrations in order to express his disgust at what has happened to his country. He is to walk the greenway on which the railway once ran, staying in the converted stations, now hostels. These in a way are the stations of his cross, as he is pregnant with a cancer in his stomach and knows he is on his last legs. On the way he meets various people, young and old. Some of the older ones are other versions of himself or how he might have turned out if he had made different choices, other persons from his own not so blessed trinity/ The big question is of course how is United Ireland getting on? Not unsurprisingly the Nationalists are treating the former Unionists as they had treated themselves in the past – badly. People gathering for Easter Monday celebrations find a new symbolic rebellion. The red flag of Ulster is flying above the GPO.
Happy 2016.
Although not published until four years later, I started that novel in 1984, influenced by George Orwell’s novel called after that year. He had tried to imagine the future direction of Britain and the world, mainly in the light of what had happened in countries which had come into being because of communist revolutions. British Prime Minister of the time Margaret Thatcher had poo poohed Orwell’s work and declared that he had not got anything right. In fact the main thing he had got right was the extent to which people everywhere would be under observation and surveillance, as summed up in the phrase: “Big Brother is watching you.” It was not TV’s Big Brother he was referring too, of course, but all-pervasive Government interference in people’s lives.
In trying to take on the role of prophet I was aware of various types of prophecy in The Old Testament. Because there is such a big effort in the New Testament to show Jesus as one who fulfilled prophecies, we are often inclined to think of prophecy only in that light, prediction of the future. Prophecy in fact had more to do with warning people of the consequences of their actions or the directions they were taking in life than of foretelling the future in an exact way. Prophecy tended to say: “If you go down this road, you will end up in trouble.” The small number of economists in Ireland who warned about the crash in Banks and house prices were that kind of prophet. They went unheeded but we know better now, or do we?
In my story a man of seventy, the age I would be in 2016, sets out from my original home place in Mayo to walk to Dublin for the 1916 celebrations in order to express his disgust at what has happened to his country. He is to walk the greenway on which the railway once ran, staying in the converted stations, now hostels. These in a way are the stations of his cross, as he is pregnant with a cancer in his stomach and knows he is on his last legs. On the way he meets various people, young and old. Some of the older ones are other versions of himself or how he might have turned out if he had made different choices, other persons from his own not so blessed trinity/ The big question is of course how is United Ireland getting on? Not unsurprisingly the Nationalists are treating the former Unionists as they had treated themselves in the past – badly. People gathering for Easter Monday celebrations find a new symbolic rebellion. The red flag of Ulster is flying above the GPO.
Happy 2016.
Week ending 22nd December 2015
It was for Christmas 1995 that I first wrote an article for “The Connaught Telegraph,” and in the intervening twenty years I must have clocked up more than a thousand “Standún’s Stations.” I deeply appreciate the fact that I have been given the space to do this in a truly historic local newspaper, and despite moving from Mayo to Galway in the priestly changes of 2010, I am still allowed to contribute columns from the other side of the Twelve Bens. That first article was mainly about my memories of Santa Claus who has not seem to have aged a bit since I first heard of him as a little
Santa Claus and I go back a long way. Back at least until the middle of the last century. The centre of the world then, or my world at least, was a house on a rounded drumlin hill in the middle of a village called Ballydavock, about halfway between Clogher and Belcarra. Electricity or radio had not yet reached us, but fair play to Santa, he knew where we were, and he made his deliveries in good times and bad. The first time I remember nearly getting a glimpse of him was on a frosty night in which stars shone as bright as Bethlehem. Our father, lanthern in hand, led us three children to the barn in which he gave an extra helping of hay to the two cows and a number of calves tied there in their stalls.
The barn was always a lovely warm place, where you could almost live yourself in the warmth of animal’s breaths and bodies, apart from the smell of manure. That aspect of the stable at Bethlehem I didn’t envy Jesus, though I could have put up with the rest of it. Our Dad used a graip to pull away the droppings that had accumulated behind the cattle. Clean straw was spread beneath them and the farmwork was done for that day. As we made our way back slowly to the house my father announced excitedly: “There goes Santa’s sleigh.” We had barely time to catch a glimpse of it as it flashed across the sky like a shooting star. Sure enough it was Santa alright. The presents were there to meet us when we got back to the house. He must have slipped down the chimney while our mother was in the scullery collecting the Christmas cake for the supper.
The evening meal on Christmas Eve was the main meal for the feast back then. There would be a goose or a big chicken on Christmas Day, but the most important part of the festival was the evening before. The table would be carefully set, with a big red candle in the centre, and a beautifully iced cake waiting to be cut. A prayer would be said for the living and the dead. Our father then took the tongs from beside the open fire and broke a lighted sod of turf on the hearth. This was a symbolic breaking of the devil’s back, as the baby Jesus came among us to break the power of evil.
The years rolled slowly on. Christmasses came and went, and then one year didn’t Santa actually come to our front door while we were there finishing the supper. There was a loud knocking which was almost scary. The man himself seemed even scarier when he came in as he talked very loudly and laughed a lot. Our mother and father laughed along with him, and chatted away as if they had known him all their lives, so that put us at our ease, and of course the cap-guns and other presents took our full attention. Our sister Mary, the youngest, turned out to be the most observant. “Wasn’t Santa’s suitcase just like the one under mammy and daddy’s bed,” she observed. This will be the first Christmas without her, but I’m sure she will make her warm and witty presence felt among us from that place of eternal glory.
A very happy and peaceful Christmas to all “Connaught” readers
Santa Claus and I go back a long way. Back at least until the middle of the last century. The centre of the world then, or my world at least, was a house on a rounded drumlin hill in the middle of a village called Ballydavock, about halfway between Clogher and Belcarra. Electricity or radio had not yet reached us, but fair play to Santa, he knew where we were, and he made his deliveries in good times and bad. The first time I remember nearly getting a glimpse of him was on a frosty night in which stars shone as bright as Bethlehem. Our father, lanthern in hand, led us three children to the barn in which he gave an extra helping of hay to the two cows and a number of calves tied there in their stalls.
The barn was always a lovely warm place, where you could almost live yourself in the warmth of animal’s breaths and bodies, apart from the smell of manure. That aspect of the stable at Bethlehem I didn’t envy Jesus, though I could have put up with the rest of it. Our Dad used a graip to pull away the droppings that had accumulated behind the cattle. Clean straw was spread beneath them and the farmwork was done for that day. As we made our way back slowly to the house my father announced excitedly: “There goes Santa’s sleigh.” We had barely time to catch a glimpse of it as it flashed across the sky like a shooting star. Sure enough it was Santa alright. The presents were there to meet us when we got back to the house. He must have slipped down the chimney while our mother was in the scullery collecting the Christmas cake for the supper.
The evening meal on Christmas Eve was the main meal for the feast back then. There would be a goose or a big chicken on Christmas Day, but the most important part of the festival was the evening before. The table would be carefully set, with a big red candle in the centre, and a beautifully iced cake waiting to be cut. A prayer would be said for the living and the dead. Our father then took the tongs from beside the open fire and broke a lighted sod of turf on the hearth. This was a symbolic breaking of the devil’s back, as the baby Jesus came among us to break the power of evil.
The years rolled slowly on. Christmasses came and went, and then one year didn’t Santa actually come to our front door while we were there finishing the supper. There was a loud knocking which was almost scary. The man himself seemed even scarier when he came in as he talked very loudly and laughed a lot. Our mother and father laughed along with him, and chatted away as if they had known him all their lives, so that put us at our ease, and of course the cap-guns and other presents took our full attention. Our sister Mary, the youngest, turned out to be the most observant. “Wasn’t Santa’s suitcase just like the one under mammy and daddy’s bed,” she observed. This will be the first Christmas without her, but I’m sure she will make her warm and witty presence felt among us from that place of eternal glory.
A very happy and peaceful Christmas to all “Connaught” readers
Week ending 15th December 2015
As Christmas approaches, I think again of the line in baptismal prayers that one of the reasons Jesus came among us was to bring us the freedom of the children of God, I wonder what exactly is meant by that phrase. Is it the freedom to believe or not to believe, to practice religion or not? Most people freely choose one or other of those life choices, but some carry a guilt when they leave the religion they have inherited. There can be a sense of betrayal, a feeling of almost treason, of what in Irish is called: “cúl le cine,” a turning of your back on your own people. For others it is a liberation, a cutting of umbilical chains, a feeling of genuine freedom. As in other complicated scenarios, there can be a mixture of those emotions, but it basically comes back to a person’s conscience: Which is the right choice for me in my life? “My conscience, right or wrong” has been a longstanding principle in church teaching.
Ongoing discussions about different forms of school patronage in this State raise such questions for many parents. For some it is crystal clear. They want their children to be educated in schools which help to pass on their faith to their children. Others want to send their children to schools which do not have a religious ethos. Some, who do not practice religion themselves want their children to have the Roman Catholic or Church of Ireland education they themselves came through, even though they may have become lukewarm or rejected the faith itself. Let the young people make their own decisions when they are old enough is their attitude. Some say the real success of Roman Catholic religious education, from James Joyce to present day atheists and agnostics is that people who came through the system can reject the ethos behind it. It is seen as a proof that they were not brainwashed.
The marriage equality referendum earlier this year was seen by many as a watershed moment in Irish life, the moment the “freedom of the children of God” came to full fruition. For many Roman Catholics, myself included, voting “yes” was not a rejection of their faith. We still believed in God and said the creed with gusto at Mass the following Sunday. In fact it was faith that helped many people choose to extend civil marriage equality to all. It was faith in love (Remember St John’s “God is love”) whether this is love between man and woman, two women or two men. The fact that most of the leadership of their church had not yet reached that point of acceptance of difference was in itself a step towards broad-mindening the freedom of the children of God for both laity and clergy.
Many in the Roman Catholic church see secularism as a bad thing. An interesting article by a Jesuit priest, Fr. David Harold-Barry who is based in Zambia, in the Maynooth published magazine “The Furrow” suggests the opposite/ He gently points out ways in which secular views have enhanced Christian ways of looking at things down through the centuries. He cites over defensive church attitudes: - “During the earlier crises we burned Tyndale for translating the Bible, arrested Gallileo for upholding a measurable fact and called in French troops to defend the Papacy.” He refers to other ages which challenged the Church’s self understanding as our modern situation does today, and points out aspects from which churches learned and benefited. As we welcome the baby in the manger in a couple of week’s time, let us listen as well to voices other than our own, and welcome too the “freedom of the children of God.”
Ongoing discussions about different forms of school patronage in this State raise such questions for many parents. For some it is crystal clear. They want their children to be educated in schools which help to pass on their faith to their children. Others want to send their children to schools which do not have a religious ethos. Some, who do not practice religion themselves want their children to have the Roman Catholic or Church of Ireland education they themselves came through, even though they may have become lukewarm or rejected the faith itself. Let the young people make their own decisions when they are old enough is their attitude. Some say the real success of Roman Catholic religious education, from James Joyce to present day atheists and agnostics is that people who came through the system can reject the ethos behind it. It is seen as a proof that they were not brainwashed.
The marriage equality referendum earlier this year was seen by many as a watershed moment in Irish life, the moment the “freedom of the children of God” came to full fruition. For many Roman Catholics, myself included, voting “yes” was not a rejection of their faith. We still believed in God and said the creed with gusto at Mass the following Sunday. In fact it was faith that helped many people choose to extend civil marriage equality to all. It was faith in love (Remember St John’s “God is love”) whether this is love between man and woman, two women or two men. The fact that most of the leadership of their church had not yet reached that point of acceptance of difference was in itself a step towards broad-mindening the freedom of the children of God for both laity and clergy.
Many in the Roman Catholic church see secularism as a bad thing. An interesting article by a Jesuit priest, Fr. David Harold-Barry who is based in Zambia, in the Maynooth published magazine “The Furrow” suggests the opposite/ He gently points out ways in which secular views have enhanced Christian ways of looking at things down through the centuries. He cites over defensive church attitudes: - “During the earlier crises we burned Tyndale for translating the Bible, arrested Gallileo for upholding a measurable fact and called in French troops to defend the Papacy.” He refers to other ages which challenged the Church’s self understanding as our modern situation does today, and points out aspects from which churches learned and benefited. As we welcome the baby in the manger in a couple of week’s time, let us listen as well to voices other than our own, and welcome too the “freedom of the children of God.”
Week ending 8th December 2015
Our Professor of Sacred Scripture Maynooth in so far as the New Testament was concerned was a priest of the Archdiocese of Tuam, Fr. John O’Flynn. A native of Annaghadown by the shore of Lough Corrib not ten miles from Galway City, “Johnno” as we used to refer to him was at first sight a broken man by the time I reached the seminary fifty-one and a half years ago. He had suffered from a stroke, wore dark glasses and walked with the aid of a stick. It was reported that he had lost years of scriptural study and a major thesis when fire destroyed the wing of the college in which he lived. He had not, however, lost his respect for sacred scripture, and I remember with fondness the respect with which he read ‘the word of God.’ I often think of him as I to make sense of the next week’s readings.
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. I mentioned words and phrases of Isaiah last week, as relevant now as in his own time. These two giants of Judeo-Christian scripture obviously didn’t know each other personally as they lived hundreds of years apart, but they seemed to know each other well with regards to prophecy. 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 suggest 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 relevence 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 John’s role in identifying who Jesus really was and is: “Behold the lamb of God…”
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. I mentioned words and phrases of Isaiah last week, as relevant now as in his own time. These two giants of Judeo-Christian scripture obviously didn’t know each other personally as they lived hundreds of years apart, but they seemed to know each other well with regards to prophecy. 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 suggest 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 relevence 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 John’s role in identifying who Jesus really was and is: “Behold the lamb of God…”
Week ending 1st December 2015
Words of the prophet Isaiah will echo through the readings and prayers of next Sunday’s Masses: “Prepare a way for the Lord, make straight his paths, and all will see the salvation of God.” Although this week’s gospel readings for Saturday night and Sunday Masses come from Saint Luke, who has just taken over from Mark as this year’s evangelist, the words themselves are much older. Isaiah lived approximately seven hundred years before the time of Christ. Some of the writings attributed to him may not have been his own. I am not suggesting that he stole them from others, but that he used quotations from other wise prophets of his own time or earlier. Either way the words we read or hear now are the best part of three thousand years old, and are none the worse for that.
I sometimes try to imagine Isaiah or other prophets. I’m inclined to see them in my mind’s eye at the marketplace, old, greybearded and rugged, their voices raised in the hustle and bustle going on around them, their ‘God-words’ getting lost in the din of those selling copper saucepans or rolls of silk. I may have it completely wrong. Isaiah was young once, and life expectancy was short at the time. He may have spoken quietly in the Synagogue, but either way his words have echoed across the centuries, urging is to prepare a way for the Lord, make his path straight. The phrase in one version of Sunday’s reading: “Make a straight highway for our God” gives me a vision of God hurtling towards us down the motorway, but that is a far cry from the thought of the God-son being born in a quiet stable to a teenage girl, because there was no room for herself or her family “in the Inn.”
There is a further reminder of Mary, the mother of Jesus in the following week, because the Feast of her Immaculate Conception is celebrated on the eight of December. This feast is often confused with the notion of the virgin birth, but it has nothing to do with that. What it means is that Mary had no personal connection with sin at any stage of her life, a particular honour bestowed on the woman who was to bring together human and divine in the baby she bore in a Bethlehem stable. It is difficult for us in this day and age to grasp some of the concepts that have come down to us through writings and tradition that in many cases have a different mindset and understanding of the world than ours. We tend to belong to a Greek/Roman tradition that has a very different understanding than the more storied and subtle traditions we find in the Bible.
In a simplistic way this is basically the East/West divide that exists to this day which makes thr solving of intractable problems in the Middle East so difficult. The names of towns and cities we hear ftom the conflict in Syria and Israel are familiar from the New Testament and the Bible generally. We find it difficult to understand each other’s mindsets or ways at looking at things. We have had a similar problem on a smaller scale in our own peace process. Protestant and Catholic traditionally look differently at thr meaning of words – in the Bible or outside it. Each view is as legitimate as the other, but it is more difficult to forge an agreement in such circumstances. In a similar way people with a logical Graeco/Roman/Enlightenment view of the world are inclined to dismiss the notion of a virgin birth or angels over Bethlehem, while those with a different imaginative approach see a delightful story that carries a beautiful message. For the next couple of weeks the message is: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his path straight…”
I sometimes try to imagine Isaiah or other prophets. I’m inclined to see them in my mind’s eye at the marketplace, old, greybearded and rugged, their voices raised in the hustle and bustle going on around them, their ‘God-words’ getting lost in the din of those selling copper saucepans or rolls of silk. I may have it completely wrong. Isaiah was young once, and life expectancy was short at the time. He may have spoken quietly in the Synagogue, but either way his words have echoed across the centuries, urging is to prepare a way for the Lord, make his path straight. The phrase in one version of Sunday’s reading: “Make a straight highway for our God” gives me a vision of God hurtling towards us down the motorway, but that is a far cry from the thought of the God-son being born in a quiet stable to a teenage girl, because there was no room for herself or her family “in the Inn.”
There is a further reminder of Mary, the mother of Jesus in the following week, because the Feast of her Immaculate Conception is celebrated on the eight of December. This feast is often confused with the notion of the virgin birth, but it has nothing to do with that. What it means is that Mary had no personal connection with sin at any stage of her life, a particular honour bestowed on the woman who was to bring together human and divine in the baby she bore in a Bethlehem stable. It is difficult for us in this day and age to grasp some of the concepts that have come down to us through writings and tradition that in many cases have a different mindset and understanding of the world than ours. We tend to belong to a Greek/Roman tradition that has a very different understanding than the more storied and subtle traditions we find in the Bible.
In a simplistic way this is basically the East/West divide that exists to this day which makes thr solving of intractable problems in the Middle East so difficult. The names of towns and cities we hear ftom the conflict in Syria and Israel are familiar from the New Testament and the Bible generally. We find it difficult to understand each other’s mindsets or ways at looking at things. We have had a similar problem on a smaller scale in our own peace process. Protestant and Catholic traditionally look differently at thr meaning of words – in the Bible or outside it. Each view is as legitimate as the other, but it is more difficult to forge an agreement in such circumstances. In a similar way people with a logical Graeco/Roman/Enlightenment view of the world are inclined to dismiss the notion of a virgin birth or angels over Bethlehem, while those with a different imaginative approach see a delightful story that carries a beautiful message. For the next couple of weeks the message is: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his path straight…”