Week ending January 31st 2012
_ Once again
the words of Mayo’s bestknown poet will ring true on the first day of next
month, Saint Bridget’s Day, Lá Fhéil Bríd, the first of February, the
traditional first day of spring: On that day last year then Taoiseach Brian
Cowen completed his valedictory address to Dáil Éireann with the words of
Raiftearaí:“Anois teacht an Earraigh, beidh an lá ag dul chun síneadh agua tar
éis na Féile Bríde ardóidh mé mo sheol (Now with the coming of Spring, the days
will be lengthening, and after Saint Bridget’s Day I will raise ny sail”) Leader of the Opposition, Enda Kenny
completed the quotation for him and before very long it was he who was “i lár
Chontae Mhaigh Eo (in the middle of County Mayo”) as Taoiseach. It may not be
as dramatic a political day this year, but at least the evenings will be
lengthening. The worst of winter will hopefully be over and we will be ready
for growth and renewal.
Apart from the longer evenings and the sprouting shoots of new life I like Saint Bridget’s Day in particular for the revival in popularity of the Saint’s cross. It is not that it ever came close to disappearing, but its value seems to be recognised much more from year to year. Beautifully simple in its various designs, it was a religious symbol made from some of the most available materials, straw, rushes or hazel. It did not cost anything which was a most important consideration in earlier times of hardship and penal laws. Hard times have returned for many families, to the extent that there is hardly a cent to spare, but the materials for the Saint Bridget’s cross are still readily available. I hope they bring many blessings to those who make them and put them up in their homes.
Another blessing available in churches this week is the blessing of candles on Candlemas Day, the second of February. How quickly the forty days since Christmas have flown by. This fortieth day was the one on which Jesus was brought to the Temple according to Jewish custom to be presented to the Lord. It is called Presentation Day for that reason, as well as Candlemas. It was the day on which Mary was told that things were not going to be easy for her son, that a sword would pierce her soul too. Traditionally it has been the day on which candles used in churches are blessed as well as candles lit in homes at times of danger, death or wakes. In almost any shop you enter at this time of year you can see such long wax candles for sale, but there is no hard and fast rule that only wax candles can be blest on the day.
I have worn my ‘going to Blaises’ joke thin over the years, but that is what I and many others will be doing on February 3rd, the feast of Saint Blaise, the saint associated with the blessing of throats. This has become one of the most popular ceremonies of the year in many churches. In times of flu and various other illnesses this blessing is appreciated. It is one of the nearest things we have to the traditional healing method of the laying on of hands. I am not suggesting that you should ignore doctor’s orders and forget the flu vaccine or other medicines. The medicines and the blessings do not contradict but complement each other, as well as building up the self confidence needed to face what is left of winter. The first days of February are great times for such blessings. All of them are free, available and there for the taking.
Apart from the longer evenings and the sprouting shoots of new life I like Saint Bridget’s Day in particular for the revival in popularity of the Saint’s cross. It is not that it ever came close to disappearing, but its value seems to be recognised much more from year to year. Beautifully simple in its various designs, it was a religious symbol made from some of the most available materials, straw, rushes or hazel. It did not cost anything which was a most important consideration in earlier times of hardship and penal laws. Hard times have returned for many families, to the extent that there is hardly a cent to spare, but the materials for the Saint Bridget’s cross are still readily available. I hope they bring many blessings to those who make them and put them up in their homes.
Another blessing available in churches this week is the blessing of candles on Candlemas Day, the second of February. How quickly the forty days since Christmas have flown by. This fortieth day was the one on which Jesus was brought to the Temple according to Jewish custom to be presented to the Lord. It is called Presentation Day for that reason, as well as Candlemas. It was the day on which Mary was told that things were not going to be easy for her son, that a sword would pierce her soul too. Traditionally it has been the day on which candles used in churches are blessed as well as candles lit in homes at times of danger, death or wakes. In almost any shop you enter at this time of year you can see such long wax candles for sale, but there is no hard and fast rule that only wax candles can be blest on the day.
I have worn my ‘going to Blaises’ joke thin over the years, but that is what I and many others will be doing on February 3rd, the feast of Saint Blaise, the saint associated with the blessing of throats. This has become one of the most popular ceremonies of the year in many churches. In times of flu and various other illnesses this blessing is appreciated. It is one of the nearest things we have to the traditional healing method of the laying on of hands. I am not suggesting that you should ignore doctor’s orders and forget the flu vaccine or other medicines. The medicines and the blessings do not contradict but complement each other, as well as building up the self confidence needed to face what is left of winter. The first days of February are great times for such blessings. All of them are free, available and there for the taking.
Week ending January 24th 2012.
_
One of the
great pleasures for a writer is when a reviewer finds something good in your
book which you never realised was there. On such an occasion one might be
forgiven for looking in the mirror for just a moment and saying: “What a clever
boy or girl you are.” I had such an experience recently when a Professor of
Irish in Maynooth, Tadgh Ó Dúshláine reviewed my latest novel “I gCóngar I
gCéin” which can loosely be translated as “Close Far Away” in The Furrow, a
monthly ‘Journal For The Contemporary Church.’ The book is published by Cló
Iar-Chonnacht and can be ordered directly from them – cic@iol.ie. People tell me it is not available in
many bookshops they have tried. One rumour has it that the first edition has
been sold out, but I think it more likely that the distributors have not
reached all of the bookshops which stock Irish language material just yet.
Tadhg recently reminded me of a sermon I gave as a deacon in that same college when he was a junior student there. With a nod to Saint Paul I addressed the assembled first and second years as “Fellow eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom.” This caused some consternation among college authorities. A senior dean asked for the script but could not find anything theologically incriminating there and the controversy petered out. For this and other reasons the reviewer of my book was somewhat of a fan, apart altogether for the story which he could not have praised any higher if I had paid him. Even if I could afford to pay him, I hasten to add that he would not be a man for the brown envelope.
Naturally enough I agreed with all the good things my reviewer had to say. What surprised me was a comment such as the following: “ Stylistically Standún’s powers of visualisation and realisation owes something to the central directions of the practice of formal meditation, ‘the composition of place’ and ‘the application of the senses’ though these are properly universals of the creative imagination, formulated as definitive rules by Ignatius Loyola in The Spiritual Exercises.” Perhaps he is right, but I would never have considered the basic disciplines of traditional spirituality as having an effect on how I write. I have to admit to having dozed through many a period of meditation, but somewhere down there in the subconscious all those periods of quiet reflection and spiritual reading probably had an effect.
To be reviewed at all, positively or negatively is a boon for any writer. At least you are getting some feedback. Informal comments on Twitter are probably the most common forms of review at the present time. National newspapers and radio stations tend to ignore anyone that has not an established reputation, or in some cases does not write for their paper. There was an almost incestious scramble of writers in one Dublin paper before Christmas to review their fellow writers’ books. It is great that they are writing them, but there are other scribblers out there too. The present fifty year celebrations of RTÉ are leading to some blinkered, lazy and cheapshot history, the big bad Church and State censoring the brave writers and programme makers. They do not seem to see the shoe on the other foot. Censorship is alive and well and living in the Pale Media.
Tadhg recently reminded me of a sermon I gave as a deacon in that same college when he was a junior student there. With a nod to Saint Paul I addressed the assembled first and second years as “Fellow eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom.” This caused some consternation among college authorities. A senior dean asked for the script but could not find anything theologically incriminating there and the controversy petered out. For this and other reasons the reviewer of my book was somewhat of a fan, apart altogether for the story which he could not have praised any higher if I had paid him. Even if I could afford to pay him, I hasten to add that he would not be a man for the brown envelope.
Naturally enough I agreed with all the good things my reviewer had to say. What surprised me was a comment such as the following: “ Stylistically Standún’s powers of visualisation and realisation owes something to the central directions of the practice of formal meditation, ‘the composition of place’ and ‘the application of the senses’ though these are properly universals of the creative imagination, formulated as definitive rules by Ignatius Loyola in The Spiritual Exercises.” Perhaps he is right, but I would never have considered the basic disciplines of traditional spirituality as having an effect on how I write. I have to admit to having dozed through many a period of meditation, but somewhere down there in the subconscious all those periods of quiet reflection and spiritual reading probably had an effect.
To be reviewed at all, positively or negatively is a boon for any writer. At least you are getting some feedback. Informal comments on Twitter are probably the most common forms of review at the present time. National newspapers and radio stations tend to ignore anyone that has not an established reputation, or in some cases does not write for their paper. There was an almost incestious scramble of writers in one Dublin paper before Christmas to review their fellow writers’ books. It is great that they are writing them, but there are other scribblers out there too. The present fifty year celebrations of RTÉ are leading to some blinkered, lazy and cheapshot history, the big bad Church and State censoring the brave writers and programme makers. They do not seem to see the shoe on the other foot. Censorship is alive and well and living in the Pale Media.
Week ending January 17th 2012.
_ We are
often told that the mills of God grind slowly, but we know from experience that
they eventually grind out results, none more so than in what we call ecumenism.
More than forty years ago I decided to never let the Octave of Prayer for
Christian Unity go by without mentioning it in article or sermon, or both. It
was not that I was ever in any area of sectarian or religious conflict, but
history had made me aware of the divisiveness it caused. I remember the
sea-change that came about in inter-church relations in the early sixties by
what seemed like a subtle change in attitude by Pope John XX111. I know now
that this process called the ecumenical movement had been going on for a long
time at that stage but it was not really noticed until a Pope more or less told
us we didn’t have to hate Protestants any more.
This came as a great relief to many people. They couldnot understand why they were not permitted to enter a Protestant church for the funeral of a neighbour they held in great respect. Here was a Pope saying we should look more at what we have in common than what separates us. The same Pope’s attitude had probably been shaped somewhat by the time he, as Cardinal Roncalli, had spent in Instanbul or Constantinoble as a diplomat, a place which was a melting-pot of many different religions, Orthodox, Muslim, Catholic, Protestant and Jew, all of whom worshipped the same God in different ways and see Abraham as their father in faith.
I have often mentioned that I did not really understand the word ‘process’ until the peace process started in Northern Ireland. I knew what the word meant, but had never really teased out its implications. I know now that it is basically a slow burner, something that bubbles away at the back of the stove of life, virtually ignored until we wake up one day and realise that subtle changes have taken place in an age-old problem. I had that kind of realisation this New Year’s Day as I prayed for peace in the traditional ay.
I thought of the many New Year’s Days we had all prayed for peace in Northern Ireland while basically thinking that our prayer didn’t have a hope in hell. Murder and mayhem seemed to go on and on. Thankfully it was not hell we were praying to. The process bubbled away for many years, two steps forward and one step backward or vice-versa. Suddenly we realise that all the efforts of politicians on all sides, North and South, Ireland, Britain, the United States and Europe have come to fruition. The process is still slow and painful in many ways, but to a great extent our hopes and prayers for peace have been answered.
The ecumenical movement, the inter-church movement is a similar process, a slow burner. I mentioned one Pope whose attitude virtually changed a world view. When history is written it will be seen that Pope John Paul 11 and Pope Benedict XVI did more than most to defuse anti-Muslim sentiment after the nine/eleven bombings tended to tar all followers of the prophet Mahomed with the same brush. We knew from our own experience that neither all Catholics or all Protestants, nor many of either were terrorists during our own troubles, and that most Muslims wanted nothing to do with terrorism either. Popes reaching out the hand of friendship helped to get that attitude across to the world.
Thank God for slow burners, for processes.
This came as a great relief to many people. They couldnot understand why they were not permitted to enter a Protestant church for the funeral of a neighbour they held in great respect. Here was a Pope saying we should look more at what we have in common than what separates us. The same Pope’s attitude had probably been shaped somewhat by the time he, as Cardinal Roncalli, had spent in Instanbul or Constantinoble as a diplomat, a place which was a melting-pot of many different religions, Orthodox, Muslim, Catholic, Protestant and Jew, all of whom worshipped the same God in different ways and see Abraham as their father in faith.
I have often mentioned that I did not really understand the word ‘process’ until the peace process started in Northern Ireland. I knew what the word meant, but had never really teased out its implications. I know now that it is basically a slow burner, something that bubbles away at the back of the stove of life, virtually ignored until we wake up one day and realise that subtle changes have taken place in an age-old problem. I had that kind of realisation this New Year’s Day as I prayed for peace in the traditional ay.
I thought of the many New Year’s Days we had all prayed for peace in Northern Ireland while basically thinking that our prayer didn’t have a hope in hell. Murder and mayhem seemed to go on and on. Thankfully it was not hell we were praying to. The process bubbled away for many years, two steps forward and one step backward or vice-versa. Suddenly we realise that all the efforts of politicians on all sides, North and South, Ireland, Britain, the United States and Europe have come to fruition. The process is still slow and painful in many ways, but to a great extent our hopes and prayers for peace have been answered.
The ecumenical movement, the inter-church movement is a similar process, a slow burner. I mentioned one Pope whose attitude virtually changed a world view. When history is written it will be seen that Pope John Paul 11 and Pope Benedict XVI did more than most to defuse anti-Muslim sentiment after the nine/eleven bombings tended to tar all followers of the prophet Mahomed with the same brush. We knew from our own experience that neither all Catholics or all Protestants, nor many of either were terrorists during our own troubles, and that most Muslims wanted nothing to do with terrorism either. Popes reaching out the hand of friendship helped to get that attitude across to the world.
Thank God for slow burners, for processes.
Week ending January 10th 2012
One of the iconic advertisements for the ‘News Of The World’ newspaper which self-destructed recently because of allegations of phone tapping and invasion of pivacy was “All Human Life Is There.” I don’t know if that ad was used in recent years, but in my student days around Birmingham and London it was a common sight next to Railway and Tube Stations. The words came back to me recently during a busy week in which I went from christening to wedding to funeral and back again, in addition to the ongoing celebration of Christmas. When dealing with the realities of life and death I realised how well chosen the words of that ad. were, even if they were not meant to apply to exactly the same situations.
No two weddings, funerals or christenings are the same, even if after forty years a priest should be able to deal with them in his sleep. Funerals are of course the most difficult as they are the situations in which emotions run deepest. It is somewhat of a relief to have the funeral of someone who has lived a long and filfilled life and died a natural death, but here too you have somedody’s mother or father, brother, or sister, someone deeply loved and the parting is not easy. All too often death is of someone far too young. We realise the inadequacy of words and of human attempts to try and make sense of life and of death. What tends to stand out most of all is family and community support when it is most needed.
One of the most difficult things of all is to leave a sad funeral to take part in the joyful celebration of a christening or a wedding the same evening. It is very hard to switch off from one set of emotions and on to another, even though both deserve the same attention and respect. That busy week recently was one of the most difficult in my life as a priest, as the ageing process kicks in and tiredness takes effect. Adrenalin carries a person through, but it is a great relief to wake up on the first day on which you do not have to go out and deal with a fairly difficult situation. Other weeks thankfully are much less busy and leave time to relax and walk the beaches, to chill out and take in the views of the mountains.
Year after year I am amazed at how quickly we put Christmas behind us and move on. It is very much a matter of here today and gone tomorrow. The glitz, the lights, the decorations are put away and it is as if we are suddenly in a different world. It surprises me how quickly the churches move on, even though it might seem sensible to milk the Christmas for all it is worth. We have probably done that anyway, but we go in a very big jump from the Three Wise Men bearing gifts to Bethlehem to the thirty year old Jesus beside the river Jordan waiting to be baptised by his cousin, John the Baptist.
We have gone from the beginning of Jesus’ life on earth to the beginning of his public life of teaching, preaching and bearing witness. It is as much as if to say that real life starts here once the tinsel has been put away. Jesus himself has come to a crossroads, and there is no turning back, even though he knows that the road he has taken will lead to the cross. The dye is cast, the Rubicon crossed, the boats burnt, but there is an excitement. The crowds come out to listen, to be enthralled, to be healed. They want to make him king, make him leader, throw out the Romans, restore the kingdom of Israel. Tempting, but he knows that is not his role. His kingdom is not of this world. We know how the story ends, but what’s wrong with retelling a good story?
No two weddings, funerals or christenings are the same, even if after forty years a priest should be able to deal with them in his sleep. Funerals are of course the most difficult as they are the situations in which emotions run deepest. It is somewhat of a relief to have the funeral of someone who has lived a long and filfilled life and died a natural death, but here too you have somedody’s mother or father, brother, or sister, someone deeply loved and the parting is not easy. All too often death is of someone far too young. We realise the inadequacy of words and of human attempts to try and make sense of life and of death. What tends to stand out most of all is family and community support when it is most needed.
One of the most difficult things of all is to leave a sad funeral to take part in the joyful celebration of a christening or a wedding the same evening. It is very hard to switch off from one set of emotions and on to another, even though both deserve the same attention and respect. That busy week recently was one of the most difficult in my life as a priest, as the ageing process kicks in and tiredness takes effect. Adrenalin carries a person through, but it is a great relief to wake up on the first day on which you do not have to go out and deal with a fairly difficult situation. Other weeks thankfully are much less busy and leave time to relax and walk the beaches, to chill out and take in the views of the mountains.
Year after year I am amazed at how quickly we put Christmas behind us and move on. It is very much a matter of here today and gone tomorrow. The glitz, the lights, the decorations are put away and it is as if we are suddenly in a different world. It surprises me how quickly the churches move on, even though it might seem sensible to milk the Christmas for all it is worth. We have probably done that anyway, but we go in a very big jump from the Three Wise Men bearing gifts to Bethlehem to the thirty year old Jesus beside the river Jordan waiting to be baptised by his cousin, John the Baptist.
We have gone from the beginning of Jesus’ life on earth to the beginning of his public life of teaching, preaching and bearing witness. It is as much as if to say that real life starts here once the tinsel has been put away. Jesus himself has come to a crossroads, and there is no turning back, even though he knows that the road he has taken will lead to the cross. The dye is cast, the Rubicon crossed, the boats burnt, but there is an excitement. The crowds come out to listen, to be enthralled, to be healed. They want to make him king, make him leader, throw out the Romans, restore the kingdom of Israel. Tempting, but he knows that is not his role. His kingdom is not of this world. We know how the story ends, but what’s wrong with retelling a good story?
Week ending January 3rd 2012.
In more than forty years behind the altar I have never been accused of being ‘a holy priest.’ I just don’t seem to give off the right vibe, cultivate the right image. The thing about real holy priests of course is that they don’t have to cultivate anything. They look the part. They are the part already. Whatever odour I emit is definitely not the odour of sanctity. When a parishioner tells me that they have been looking for me all over the place, and I ask: “Did you not try the church?” the answer inevitibly is: “I never thought of looking there.”
Reputation is a tough taskmaster. A person is stuck with whatever reputation they wittingly or otherwise gain at virtually the first glance. If a clergyman gains a reputation for ‘liking a pint’ the cans of draught come out after the Station Mass. He might prefer a whiskey or brandy so that the gas will not keep him awake half the night, but feels it inappropriate to appear ungrateful for the beer. It is much the same with the holiness tag – you have it or you don’t, and no amount of prayer, fasting or abstinence is going to gain it for you.
I am thinking of turning to an image consultant in this The New Year. Surely some of those image quacks who advise politicians to lower their voices and get the bad news out first can help put a halo around my head and give me a pair of knees that look as if they have been really knelt on. Any sportsman or woman who is worth their salt has had to recover from at least one cruciate knee ligament injury. If someone in my business could manage to manufacture a couple of those injuries from dropping on his knees to pray, he would have to gain a reputation for holiness.
I have always been of the opinion that people need a sinner of a priest who can identify with them and they with him more than someone ‘holier than thou’ whose head is up among the angels most of the time. The rogue is needed more than the saint, in the tradition of the one who said that he came not to call saints but sinners to repent. It is what can be called the incarnational approach, the Son of God/Son of humanity getting down and dirty among tax collectors and sinners, the toxic people of his day in the eyes of the wise, or is it the unwise?
Jesus was so exasperated at one stage at the unwarranted criticism levelled at him that he pointed to the fact that his cousin John the Baptist had been faulted for being a rough diamond, the voice in the wilderness who gave off the image of abstinence and austerity. Jesus on the other hand was called a drunk and a glutton because he ate and drank in the company of both rich and poor. You can’t win, even if you are Son of God/Son of Mary and your cousin wears a hairshirt in the desert.
Reputation is a tough taskmaster. A person is stuck with whatever reputation they wittingly or otherwise gain at virtually the first glance. If a clergyman gains a reputation for ‘liking a pint’ the cans of draught come out after the Station Mass. He might prefer a whiskey or brandy so that the gas will not keep him awake half the night, but feels it inappropriate to appear ungrateful for the beer. It is much the same with the holiness tag – you have it or you don’t, and no amount of prayer, fasting or abstinence is going to gain it for you.
I am thinking of turning to an image consultant in this The New Year. Surely some of those image quacks who advise politicians to lower their voices and get the bad news out first can help put a halo around my head and give me a pair of knees that look as if they have been really knelt on. Any sportsman or woman who is worth their salt has had to recover from at least one cruciate knee ligament injury. If someone in my business could manage to manufacture a couple of those injuries from dropping on his knees to pray, he would have to gain a reputation for holiness.
I have always been of the opinion that people need a sinner of a priest who can identify with them and they with him more than someone ‘holier than thou’ whose head is up among the angels most of the time. The rogue is needed more than the saint, in the tradition of the one who said that he came not to call saints but sinners to repent. It is what can be called the incarnational approach, the Son of God/Son of humanity getting down and dirty among tax collectors and sinners, the toxic people of his day in the eyes of the wise, or is it the unwise?
Jesus was so exasperated at one stage at the unwarranted criticism levelled at him that he pointed to the fact that his cousin John the Baptist had been faulted for being a rough diamond, the voice in the wilderness who gave off the image of abstinence and austerity. Jesus on the other hand was called a drunk and a glutton because he ate and drank in the company of both rich and poor. You can’t win, even if you are Son of God/Son of Mary and your cousin wears a hairshirt in the desert.
