Week ending 27th January 2015
A recent RTÉ programme about Oíche na Gaoithe Móire, the Night of the Big Wind reminded people of last year’s storms, though none of those were as bad as that night of the 6th of January 1839 which devastated much of the country as well as living long in folk memory. Even though some recent storms were almost as severe, most houses are much more strongly built than the hovels in which people had to live in 1839. Generally speaking people will remember 2014 as a good year, and if we get a similar summer and autumn this year we will have little to complain about. Many piers here in southwest Conamara which had survived since the time of the Congested District’s Board were severely damaged in last year’s gales and tide surges. For quite a while it looked as if they were gone forever, but money passed earlier in the year came on stream around September and led to much repair work being done in quite a short time. Machinery and lorries which had lain idle for nearly five years were back on the roads again which was in itself a boost to people’s morale.
The traditional first day of spring, the first of February, may well be one of the coldest days of winter, but the stretch of the day, described by Mayo’s most famous poet, Antaine Ó Raiftearaí as “an lá ag dul chun síneadh” will raise hearts and hopes. Apart from the longer evenings and the sprouting shoots of new life I like Saint Bridget’s Day (1st Feb) 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 in recent years, 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 next 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
The traditional first day of spring, the first of February, may well be one of the coldest days of winter, but the stretch of the day, described by Mayo’s most famous poet, Antaine Ó Raiftearaí as “an lá ag dul chun síneadh” will raise hearts and hopes. Apart from the longer evenings and the sprouting shoots of new life I like Saint Bridget’s Day (1st Feb) 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 in recent years, 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 next 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 20th January 2015
I was unable to travel to the far side of Spiddal for the launch of my thirteenth Irish language novel a couple of weeks before Christmas. People tend to assume that every part of Conamara is close to the next part, but I would have had a one hundred and forty kilometre return journey on a frosty night, apart altogether from evening Masses in Carna and Kilkerrin, which would have left me late for the launch anyway. I had to also think of a christening and three Saturday Masses the following day. Old men need to pace themselves. I was not missed as my book was sent off to sail the seven seas by Aran Islander Mairtín Jamesie Ó Flátharta, a former stalwart of Radio na Gaeltachta, who also launched a book of short stories by Joe Steve Ó Neachtain (Peadar from ‘Ros na Rún’) “Idir Neamh is Talamh” as well as translations of a number of children’s books by Enid Blyton and “Clíona Cailleach” bu Gwyneth Wynn.
I had first met Máirtín Jamesie about forty years ago when he and a couple of other young men from Inis Mór came to collect a currach they had bought in Inis Oirr. Máirtín’s brother, Séamus was a lighthouse-keeper on Inis Oirr at the time and I had got to know him as well as fellow keeper of the light, Paddy Ryan whose wife, whom we used to call Miss Hogan, had helped prepare me for my first Holy Communion in Clogher school more than sixty years ago. I had a couple of drinks with the men from Inis Mór before they had headed home to the west, so I was delighted that Máirtín was launching my novel. I had also got to know Joe Steve whose stories were also being launched on the night, about forty years ago.
Earlier that day on a Radio na Gaeltachta’s “Iris Aniar” Joe had recalled a day on which I had loaned him a raincoat as he was being brought across to Inis Meáin in a currach. It was not raining, but I was well aware of the wetting he would get as splashes from a fairly rough sea would be blown across him. He has often joked since that it was probably time for him to return my raincoat. I had my answer ready this time, as I pointed out that many of our saint’s claim to sainthood was because they had given their coats to poor people who had no coats. “My mistake,” I suggested, was that “I had given my coat to a rich man.” I think the joke was accepted in the spirit in which it was intended. It is hard to believe that forty years have passed since those enjoyable times.
Joe Steve and a number of others who worked for Gaeltarra Éireann, which preceded Údarás na Gaeltachta had come to Inis Oirr that week in a quick response to a picket I had placed on CIE in Galway in protest at poor transport services to the Aran Islands. The “Naomh Éanna” ferryboat was owned by CIE and there was a lot of frustration because of its failure to sail on even good days sometimes. It was the quickest and most effective response I have seen to any protest I have been involved in. Work started immediately to measure a sandy area known as the muirbheach, which was to become the site for the island airstrip. Originally a grass strip it was later tarmac-ed and has served the island well for nearly forty years. Now within six years of retirement, if I live that long, I have many happy memories of times spent in Gaeltacht parishes of Galway and Mayo.
I had first met Máirtín Jamesie about forty years ago when he and a couple of other young men from Inis Mór came to collect a currach they had bought in Inis Oirr. Máirtín’s brother, Séamus was a lighthouse-keeper on Inis Oirr at the time and I had got to know him as well as fellow keeper of the light, Paddy Ryan whose wife, whom we used to call Miss Hogan, had helped prepare me for my first Holy Communion in Clogher school more than sixty years ago. I had a couple of drinks with the men from Inis Mór before they had headed home to the west, so I was delighted that Máirtín was launching my novel. I had also got to know Joe Steve whose stories were also being launched on the night, about forty years ago.
Earlier that day on a Radio na Gaeltachta’s “Iris Aniar” Joe had recalled a day on which I had loaned him a raincoat as he was being brought across to Inis Meáin in a currach. It was not raining, but I was well aware of the wetting he would get as splashes from a fairly rough sea would be blown across him. He has often joked since that it was probably time for him to return my raincoat. I had my answer ready this time, as I pointed out that many of our saint’s claim to sainthood was because they had given their coats to poor people who had no coats. “My mistake,” I suggested, was that “I had given my coat to a rich man.” I think the joke was accepted in the spirit in which it was intended. It is hard to believe that forty years have passed since those enjoyable times.
Joe Steve and a number of others who worked for Gaeltarra Éireann, which preceded Údarás na Gaeltachta had come to Inis Oirr that week in a quick response to a picket I had placed on CIE in Galway in protest at poor transport services to the Aran Islands. The “Naomh Éanna” ferryboat was owned by CIE and there was a lot of frustration because of its failure to sail on even good days sometimes. It was the quickest and most effective response I have seen to any protest I have been involved in. Work started immediately to measure a sandy area known as the muirbheach, which was to become the site for the island airstrip. Originally a grass strip it was later tarmac-ed and has served the island well for nearly forty years. Now within six years of retirement, if I live that long, I have many happy memories of times spent in Gaeltacht parishes of Galway and Mayo.
Week ending 13th January 2015
Minister for Foreign Affairs, Charlie Flanagan and Northern Secretary Theresa Villiers probably did not get the credit they deserved for the part they played in helping to broker an agreement with all the parties in Northern Ireland just before Christmas, twenty years after the IRA ceasefire. 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 prayers of the faithful, or all three. It was not that I was ever based 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 Roman Catholic people. They could not 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 sometimes recall the many New Year’s Days we 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, even though dissidents still lurk in the background and issues from the past have still to be resolved in practice as well as on paper.
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 which tended to tar all followers of the prophet Mahomed with the same brush. Pope Francis is following in the same tradition. 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 have helped to get that attitude across to the world. Thank God for slow burners, for processes.
This came as a great relief to many Roman Catholic people. They could not 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 sometimes recall the many New Year’s Days we 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, even though dissidents still lurk in the background and issues from the past have still to be resolved in practice as well as on paper.
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 which tended to tar all followers of the prophet Mahomed with the same brush. Pope Francis is following in the same tradition. 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 have helped to get that attitude across to the world. Thank God for slow burners, for processes.
Week ending 6th January 2015
When we say that somebody is “holding a torch” for someone else, we tend to give that phrase a romantic meaning. When a man held a torch for me recently, that is exactly what he did. He held a torch in his hand. Not only did he hold the torch, he actually gave it to me, to light my way to my car which was parked on a dark hillside as I prayed the rosary at a wake. The torch looked like a large biro with the lights down the side. The owner told me to keep it for such situations, and it was a great help in picking out my car from about twenty others parked by the roadside. I found it to be a most considerate gesture from a kind and understanding man.
Christmas came and so did my torch-bearer. Like many people who love gadgets he had found an even more suitable pocket light for me, a small torch with a powerful light to carry in my pocket in case of emergencies. He was aware that many of my evening Masses are in Cill Chiaráin, about six miles from Carna. It is a return journey I make about five nights a week, beautiful in summer because of the Atlantic views, but hazardous enough on a winter’s night when in a hurry to another ceremony within the hour. I often carry a torch in the car in case of a puncture or some kind of mechanical breakdown, but then I take it out to walk the dog on a long dark night and forget to put it back, so the pocket torch is a great help. Not exactly gold, frankincence or myhrr as presented by The Three Wise Men on the twelfth day of Christmas, bur – between ourselves – an even more useful and practical present.
Non practical or luxury presents can of course be themselves a great lift to the heart, as can any kind of present. A man who had spent nearly fifty years of his life in the United States before returning to Conamara recently presented me with a blackthorn walking stick. I am not sure whether he thought I needed something to lean on, or had not enough control of my parishioners. With the torch and the walking stick I could recreate the role of the clergyman in olden days, out chasing courting couples or separating close dancers. Too many priests felt it was something they were expected to do and greatly regretted it afterwards. One such man once told me of how he had gone into a house in which a “time” was being held. He took the accordion from the hands of the man playing the music, carried it out before throwing it over a bridge into the tide. “Weren’t they great people that did not throw me in after it,” he said.
Another Christmas has reached the end of its twelve days. I am often amazed at how quickly we move on as soon as it is over. Even in church terms we move thirty years in a week, from the visit of the Magi (The Three Wise Men) to Jesus being baptised by John the Baptist in the Jordan, the beginning of his public life. He puts his hand to the plough and there is no turning back. A new year, new possibilities. Time to move on. Have a good one.
Christmas came and so did my torch-bearer. Like many people who love gadgets he had found an even more suitable pocket light for me, a small torch with a powerful light to carry in my pocket in case of emergencies. He was aware that many of my evening Masses are in Cill Chiaráin, about six miles from Carna. It is a return journey I make about five nights a week, beautiful in summer because of the Atlantic views, but hazardous enough on a winter’s night when in a hurry to another ceremony within the hour. I often carry a torch in the car in case of a puncture or some kind of mechanical breakdown, but then I take it out to walk the dog on a long dark night and forget to put it back, so the pocket torch is a great help. Not exactly gold, frankincence or myhrr as presented by The Three Wise Men on the twelfth day of Christmas, bur – between ourselves – an even more useful and practical present.
Non practical or luxury presents can of course be themselves a great lift to the heart, as can any kind of present. A man who had spent nearly fifty years of his life in the United States before returning to Conamara recently presented me with a blackthorn walking stick. I am not sure whether he thought I needed something to lean on, or had not enough control of my parishioners. With the torch and the walking stick I could recreate the role of the clergyman in olden days, out chasing courting couples or separating close dancers. Too many priests felt it was something they were expected to do and greatly regretted it afterwards. One such man once told me of how he had gone into a house in which a “time” was being held. He took the accordion from the hands of the man playing the music, carried it out before throwing it over a bridge into the tide. “Weren’t they great people that did not throw me in after it,” he said.
Another Christmas has reached the end of its twelve days. I am often amazed at how quickly we move on as soon as it is over. Even in church terms we move thirty years in a week, from the visit of the Magi (The Three Wise Men) to Jesus being baptised by John the Baptist in the Jordan, the beginning of his public life. He puts his hand to the plough and there is no turning back. A new year, new possibilities. Time to move on. Have a good one.