Week ending 28th July 2009 www.tourmakeady.com
Jesus never specifically told us to take a break, and he certainly never said to have a Kit-Kat or take a chill pill, but he certainly gave the impression that it was a good idea to get away from it all from time to time. He didn’t mention re-charging batteries either, but then batteries had not been invented at the time. A recent Sunday Gospel has him telling his disciples: “You must come away to some lonely place and rest for a while,” because “there were so many coming and going that the apostles had no time even to eat.” (Mk 6: 32)
As it turned out the followers of Jesus were unable to take that break, because even though they went off in a boat, the crowds followed them around the coast of the lake and were there to meet them when they came ashore. Still, they had the right idea – everybody needs a break. Other Gospel stories tell of Jesus going off into the hills to pray, and when Martha asked him to get her sister Mary to help her with the catering, he supported Mary’s right to sit down and listen.
I’m sure I sound like someone desperately trying to justify his summer’s holidays, but as I have had those already, that is not the case. The case I am trying to make is for people not to overdo things. One of the downsides of the Celtic tiger economy of recent years is that many people worked themselves to the bone and eventually ended up with less than they had already because of negative equity. Jesus’ phrase; “Sufficient for the day” is apt in this context.
I came across the wish: “May you always have enough” in a church newsletter recently, and I thought it made a lot of sense. Most people would be happy with “enough.” It would be nice to win the lottery or some other major scoop but “enough” is a more modest and realistic wish. It is probably a good wish for recessionary times, as many worry about not having enough to feed their families or to make ends meet. May the Government as it makes up its collective mind on the cuts proposed by An Bord Snip Nua leave people with “enough?”
The idea of taking time out for yourself always reminds me of the story associated with Carl Jung, the great psychologist. It goes something like this: One day a woman asked the famous doctor for a consultation only to be told that he was not available at that time as he had another appointment. The woman was less than pleased when she came across the good doctor sitting on a bench in a park taking the sun. “I thought you were supposed to have an appointment,” the woman said, sarcastically. “I have,” Dr. Jung replied. “I have an appointment with myself.”
Many of us need to have an appointment with ourselves, to allow ourselves slow down, smell the wild roses and the honeysuckle in the hedgerows, and as the good shepherd psalm tells us to walk by restful waters “to revive my drooping spirit.” (Psalm 22)
As it turned out the followers of Jesus were unable to take that break, because even though they went off in a boat, the crowds followed them around the coast of the lake and were there to meet them when they came ashore. Still, they had the right idea – everybody needs a break. Other Gospel stories tell of Jesus going off into the hills to pray, and when Martha asked him to get her sister Mary to help her with the catering, he supported Mary’s right to sit down and listen.
I’m sure I sound like someone desperately trying to justify his summer’s holidays, but as I have had those already, that is not the case. The case I am trying to make is for people not to overdo things. One of the downsides of the Celtic tiger economy of recent years is that many people worked themselves to the bone and eventually ended up with less than they had already because of negative equity. Jesus’ phrase; “Sufficient for the day” is apt in this context.
I came across the wish: “May you always have enough” in a church newsletter recently, and I thought it made a lot of sense. Most people would be happy with “enough.” It would be nice to win the lottery or some other major scoop but “enough” is a more modest and realistic wish. It is probably a good wish for recessionary times, as many worry about not having enough to feed their families or to make ends meet. May the Government as it makes up its collective mind on the cuts proposed by An Bord Snip Nua leave people with “enough?”
The idea of taking time out for yourself always reminds me of the story associated with Carl Jung, the great psychologist. It goes something like this: One day a woman asked the famous doctor for a consultation only to be told that he was not available at that time as he had another appointment. The woman was less than pleased when she came across the good doctor sitting on a bench in a park taking the sun. “I thought you were supposed to have an appointment,” the woman said, sarcastically. “I have,” Dr. Jung replied. “I have an appointment with myself.”
Many of us need to have an appointment with ourselves, to allow ourselves slow down, smell the wild roses and the honeysuckle in the hedgerows, and as the good shepherd psalm tells us to walk by restful waters “to revive my drooping spirit.” (Psalm 22)
Week ending 21st July 2009
The Twelfth of July came and went, virtually unnoticed by many of us. Then came the thirteenth when rioting and stone throwing in a few isolated areas reminded us of the violence we thought had been left behind. The Battle of the Boyne became the battle of the Ardoyne. Despite the best efforts of politicians, stewards and police, youths threw stones, petrol bombs and other missiles which reminded those of us old enough to remember of scenes from forty years ago.
This was one of a number of relatively isolated incidents that marred a day on which up to half a million Orangemen marched peacefully, enjoyed the day with their families in much the same way as Saint Patrick’s Day is enjoyed by their fellow Irishmen and women throughout the globe. Let them at it. Live and let live. Despite the sporadic outbreaks of violence we have come a long way, thanks to the concerted efforts of so many politicians, North, South, in Ireland, Britain, the United States and further afield.
Recent television pictures of former US Senator George Mitchell and John Hume outside Queen’s University, Belfast where Mr. Mitchell finished his tenure as Chancellor after ten years in the office reminded us of two of the principal peacemakers whose patient and untiring work played such a vital part in the peace process. There were many more, from Sinn Fein, the SDLP, the UUP, the DUP, Alliance, parties on both sides of the houses of Parliament in the Dail and Westminster.
There were people like Redemptorist priest, Fr. Alex Reid, recently honoured on the other side of the Atlantic for his quiet and determined work for peace. There were bishops and clergy of all denominations who had officiated at too many funerals, and who continued to condemn violence even though their lonely voices seemed to fall on deaf ears. There were the people who prayed, day after day, week after week, for a peace that seemed unattainable for so long.
Looking back through ‘Prayers of the faithful’ over many years, they always included ‘peace in the troubled parts of the world, but especially in our own country.’ This seemed like a forlorn hope for many of those years, but thankfully the time came that the peace-makers were blessed. It is still a peace process, and that word ‘process’ was one I thought I knew and understood, but the meaning of which has only really come home to me in its inch by inch workings over the years.
We have still a long way to go, but we are surely on the right track. Sectarian and other divisions still run deep. The sight of a Rangers or a Celtic shirt can still cause a riot or a murder in some quarters, but the vast majority of people seem to have come to a live and let live attitude. Most people in this part of the country realise that it took us a long time to get over Civil War divisions without the added split of religion or tradition to deal with as well. Time is usually the great healer.
This was one of a number of relatively isolated incidents that marred a day on which up to half a million Orangemen marched peacefully, enjoyed the day with their families in much the same way as Saint Patrick’s Day is enjoyed by their fellow Irishmen and women throughout the globe. Let them at it. Live and let live. Despite the sporadic outbreaks of violence we have come a long way, thanks to the concerted efforts of so many politicians, North, South, in Ireland, Britain, the United States and further afield.
Recent television pictures of former US Senator George Mitchell and John Hume outside Queen’s University, Belfast where Mr. Mitchell finished his tenure as Chancellor after ten years in the office reminded us of two of the principal peacemakers whose patient and untiring work played such a vital part in the peace process. There were many more, from Sinn Fein, the SDLP, the UUP, the DUP, Alliance, parties on both sides of the houses of Parliament in the Dail and Westminster.
There were people like Redemptorist priest, Fr. Alex Reid, recently honoured on the other side of the Atlantic for his quiet and determined work for peace. There were bishops and clergy of all denominations who had officiated at too many funerals, and who continued to condemn violence even though their lonely voices seemed to fall on deaf ears. There were the people who prayed, day after day, week after week, for a peace that seemed unattainable for so long.
Looking back through ‘Prayers of the faithful’ over many years, they always included ‘peace in the troubled parts of the world, but especially in our own country.’ This seemed like a forlorn hope for many of those years, but thankfully the time came that the peace-makers were blessed. It is still a peace process, and that word ‘process’ was one I thought I knew and understood, but the meaning of which has only really come home to me in its inch by inch workings over the years.
We have still a long way to go, but we are surely on the right track. Sectarian and other divisions still run deep. The sight of a Rangers or a Celtic shirt can still cause a riot or a murder in some quarters, but the vast majority of people seem to have come to a live and let live attitude. Most people in this part of the country realise that it took us a long time to get over Civil War divisions without the added split of religion or tradition to deal with as well. Time is usually the great healer.
Week ending 14th July 2009
On my way back from Knock recently I took my dog for a walk down a roadway which was for me as much a memory lane as a road to God knows where. Apart from God and those who have access to their land from this particular road, its existence is probably unknown to the rest of the world. I only know it from many years as a youngster bringing cattle to water at one end of it. I had not stepped on the roadway we used to know as ‘the green boreen’ for more than forty years.
Like much of the land striped and divided more than a hundred years ago as a result of the Land Acts which gave ownership of the land to the tenants, our holding was scattered into three different sections inside about a mile of each other. This was inconvenient for the movement of animals or for haymaking or other activities, but we didn’t think too much about that as we got on with the job in hand. After school activity entailed walking a mile or so across other people’s fields to check cattle or walk them a quarter of a mile to water at one end of that green road.
This was sometimes a chore, but more often than not an outlet for the imagination, ducking and diving, hiding and seeking, playing cowboys or swashbucking muskateers from one of Alexander Dumas’s novels. Other memories are of haymaking, and the extradorinary taste that food has when eaten outdoors in bog or hayfield. Hunger is a great sauce, and bottles of tea from homespun woolen socks washed down the days dust as satisfyingly as any good wine.
Another section of our land was a bit closer to Tuffys and Maddens at Doonamona crossroads. Children were dispatched on rare occasions for a sweetcan of porter, more often for a loaf of bread and a pot of strawberry jam. I remember distinctly the smell of the‘tar rope’ when it came out and did away with the need to wind two hay ropes to tie down every cock of hay. As I drive by the remains of the castle in Doonamona nowadays I am amazed to see it still there, virtually defying gravity, looking much as it did half a century ago.
I can see now in my minds eye the round caravans parked at the end of the green boreen as we made our way to Clogher school, the piebald ponies a source of some wonder. Some of the Maughan children spent a lot of time at our school, and called in to visit many years later when I was based in Carraroe. An earlier memory is of a sports day across the road in Fortlawn. A photograph taken on the day would place it as far back as 1950, or slightly earlier.
Such are the memories which accompany me and my dog Mocca as we walk the boreen only to find the part of it I really wanded to see virtually inaccesible due to overgrowth of the undergrowth. The dog doesn’t seem to be bothered one way or another, and I am not either. In one sense I left that world behind me many years ago. In another I brought it with me. One of the great joys in life is carrying our store of memories with us the way the seilimide carries its house on its back.
Like much of the land striped and divided more than a hundred years ago as a result of the Land Acts which gave ownership of the land to the tenants, our holding was scattered into three different sections inside about a mile of each other. This was inconvenient for the movement of animals or for haymaking or other activities, but we didn’t think too much about that as we got on with the job in hand. After school activity entailed walking a mile or so across other people’s fields to check cattle or walk them a quarter of a mile to water at one end of that green road.
This was sometimes a chore, but more often than not an outlet for the imagination, ducking and diving, hiding and seeking, playing cowboys or swashbucking muskateers from one of Alexander Dumas’s novels. Other memories are of haymaking, and the extradorinary taste that food has when eaten outdoors in bog or hayfield. Hunger is a great sauce, and bottles of tea from homespun woolen socks washed down the days dust as satisfyingly as any good wine.
Another section of our land was a bit closer to Tuffys and Maddens at Doonamona crossroads. Children were dispatched on rare occasions for a sweetcan of porter, more often for a loaf of bread and a pot of strawberry jam. I remember distinctly the smell of the‘tar rope’ when it came out and did away with the need to wind two hay ropes to tie down every cock of hay. As I drive by the remains of the castle in Doonamona nowadays I am amazed to see it still there, virtually defying gravity, looking much as it did half a century ago.
I can see now in my minds eye the round caravans parked at the end of the green boreen as we made our way to Clogher school, the piebald ponies a source of some wonder. Some of the Maughan children spent a lot of time at our school, and called in to visit many years later when I was based in Carraroe. An earlier memory is of a sports day across the road in Fortlawn. A photograph taken on the day would place it as far back as 1950, or slightly earlier.
Such are the memories which accompany me and my dog Mocca as we walk the boreen only to find the part of it I really wanded to see virtually inaccesible due to overgrowth of the undergrowth. The dog doesn’t seem to be bothered one way or another, and I am not either. In one sense I left that world behind me many years ago. In another I brought it with me. One of the great joys in life is carrying our store of memories with us the way the seilimide carries its house on its back.
Week ending 7th July 2009
I happened to see the Corpus Christi procession in the Southern Italian town of Sorrento a couple of weeks ago, and I must say that it was impressive. It brought festive colour, noise, music and a wonderful smell of incense to people of many nationalities who were sitting down to their evening meals both in restaurants and out of doors. Waiters and other staff seemed to become concerned as people abandoned their tables and went to the end of the street to view the procession. It was over as quickly as a cycle race, as the action moved on and tourists returned to their meals with another happening to report..
Later in the evening the ringing of church bells and a fireworks display reminded people that this was a festival. It was treated with respect by people of various religions and none at all. It seemed to be taken for granted that local people were entitled to express their religion and culture without interfering with others (apart from the bell ringing) or being interfered with by them. It is their town and we tourists were the strangers, so Anglo-Saxon notions of political correctness did not enter the equation.
When writing about holidays a number of weeks ago I was of the opinion that in these ecessionary times I would not be leaving Ireland. The final tranche of a grant from Bord na Leabhar Gaeilge which supports writing in the Irish language brought a different perspective. I tend to squeeze a novel from any foreign holiday I take. Visits to Venice and Amsterdam in recent times have led to drafts of stories which should see the light of day over the coming years. Sorrento too has left me with a plan to work on in the coming year if God spares me the health.
Such holidays more than pay for themselves as well as hopefully broadening my own outlook on life. We can often appreciate our own homeland a bit more when we visit other countries. We are not the only ones with monetary and unemployment problems. Passing through the city of Naples on bus or train certainly made me realise that most of our housing is of a much better quality than can be seen in many areas there. On the other hand prices of everyday goods seem much cheaper in the Italian shops there than our own inflated ones. A person could certainly get by on a much smaller income.
The universlity of the Roman Catholic church to which I belong is also striking in countries such as Italy, Portugal or Spain. I just have not visited many others so I can not compare them. I remember sitting at the exposition of the Blesed Sacrament in a little church in Sesimbra in Portugal which was no different from a similar few hours of adoration in any church in Ireland. It brought home to me the number of people who quietly pray inside and outside churches every day and sometimes all day. They are unnoticed and overlooked by millions, not that notice matters to them, but they quietly get on with prayer, for themselves, their families and the rest of the world. They have endured the flak, the shame and the blame for the failings of the minority of church people whose brutality in Institutions has been highlighted in recent times, but those who pray quietly week in and week out and help carry the rest of us through difficult times.
Later in the evening the ringing of church bells and a fireworks display reminded people that this was a festival. It was treated with respect by people of various religions and none at all. It seemed to be taken for granted that local people were entitled to express their religion and culture without interfering with others (apart from the bell ringing) or being interfered with by them. It is their town and we tourists were the strangers, so Anglo-Saxon notions of political correctness did not enter the equation.
When writing about holidays a number of weeks ago I was of the opinion that in these ecessionary times I would not be leaving Ireland. The final tranche of a grant from Bord na Leabhar Gaeilge which supports writing in the Irish language brought a different perspective. I tend to squeeze a novel from any foreign holiday I take. Visits to Venice and Amsterdam in recent times have led to drafts of stories which should see the light of day over the coming years. Sorrento too has left me with a plan to work on in the coming year if God spares me the health.
Such holidays more than pay for themselves as well as hopefully broadening my own outlook on life. We can often appreciate our own homeland a bit more when we visit other countries. We are not the only ones with monetary and unemployment problems. Passing through the city of Naples on bus or train certainly made me realise that most of our housing is of a much better quality than can be seen in many areas there. On the other hand prices of everyday goods seem much cheaper in the Italian shops there than our own inflated ones. A person could certainly get by on a much smaller income.
The universlity of the Roman Catholic church to which I belong is also striking in countries such as Italy, Portugal or Spain. I just have not visited many others so I can not compare them. I remember sitting at the exposition of the Blesed Sacrament in a little church in Sesimbra in Portugal which was no different from a similar few hours of adoration in any church in Ireland. It brought home to me the number of people who quietly pray inside and outside churches every day and sometimes all day. They are unnoticed and overlooked by millions, not that notice matters to them, but they quietly get on with prayer, for themselves, their families and the rest of the world. They have endured the flak, the shame and the blame for the failings of the minority of church people whose brutality in Institutions has been highlighted in recent times, but those who pray quietly week in and week out and help carry the rest of us through difficult times.