Week ending 30th June 2009 www.tourmakeady.com
Today is the morning after the big Fair Day in Tourmakeady, Aonach an tSléibhe, the fair that used to be held on the twenty-ninth of June, Lá Fhéil Peadair is Póil, the feast of Saints Peter and Paul. I never attended the fair but I have heard so much about it during my fourteen years in the area that I sometimes think that I did. I can certainly imagine it from my own experience of fairs in Balla and Castlebar fifty years and more ago. The farmers, the jobbers, the cattle, sheep and pigs, the thimble-riggers, the sellers of sweets and treats, the crowds of people of all ages enjoying the big day.
Today, the day after, was probably hangover day especially for those who only drank alcohol on a big occasion like that. It was recovery day for both human and animal. I can imagine tired sheep-dogs lying with their heads on the ground, fatigued from their exertions. The air is full of sheep bleating like crazed mobile phones and, cows looing for their calves, because their routine has been disturbed by being sold or bought or moved from one place to another. Bonhams are settling into their new stys to be fattened for the winter.
In an older age heads were not just sore from hangovers but from the wallop of an ash-plant or blackthorn stick during a faction fight. The patrons of the day, Saints Peter and Paul would understand. They had a faction fight or two about the direction of the early church. There is no evidence of them coming to blows physically, but they threw off their theological jackets in a row about whether Christians had to become circumcised as Jews before following Jesus. Peter said yes, Paul no, and it was Paul’s side who won the argument, Peter graciously accepting. He had more sense than to wave the keys of infallibility.
Back at the time the Tourmakeady Fair was in full swing and up to about forty years ago, the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul was a Roman Catholic Church holyday of obligation. Like a number of such holydays the obligation was removed to make life easier for people as fewer worked on the land and more in industry, shops, etc. Some saw this a down-grading of the saints involved, but this was certainly not meant to be the case. Peter and Paul remain as twin pillars of the church which probably would not have got off the ground without them. Last year was named the year of Paul to re-emphasise his theology and the energy of his journeys around the Mediterranean spreading the gospel as he worked away at his trade as a tent-maker.
Peter still remains an inspiration to many, big hearted Peter who wanted to give everything to and for Jesus, but who sometimes lost courage at critical moments. The crow of the cock reminded him he had denied Jesus three times, but Jesus saw the big heart rather than the weak knees. Peter went on to live and die for his Lord, crucified upside down for his faith. It is amazing think that two of the greatest Christian icons, Paul and Peter went from villain to saint in their life-times, a great example to all who seek redemption.
Today, the day after, was probably hangover day especially for those who only drank alcohol on a big occasion like that. It was recovery day for both human and animal. I can imagine tired sheep-dogs lying with their heads on the ground, fatigued from their exertions. The air is full of sheep bleating like crazed mobile phones and, cows looing for their calves, because their routine has been disturbed by being sold or bought or moved from one place to another. Bonhams are settling into their new stys to be fattened for the winter.
In an older age heads were not just sore from hangovers but from the wallop of an ash-plant or blackthorn stick during a faction fight. The patrons of the day, Saints Peter and Paul would understand. They had a faction fight or two about the direction of the early church. There is no evidence of them coming to blows physically, but they threw off their theological jackets in a row about whether Christians had to become circumcised as Jews before following Jesus. Peter said yes, Paul no, and it was Paul’s side who won the argument, Peter graciously accepting. He had more sense than to wave the keys of infallibility.
Back at the time the Tourmakeady Fair was in full swing and up to about forty years ago, the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul was a Roman Catholic Church holyday of obligation. Like a number of such holydays the obligation was removed to make life easier for people as fewer worked on the land and more in industry, shops, etc. Some saw this a down-grading of the saints involved, but this was certainly not meant to be the case. Peter and Paul remain as twin pillars of the church which probably would not have got off the ground without them. Last year was named the year of Paul to re-emphasise his theology and the energy of his journeys around the Mediterranean spreading the gospel as he worked away at his trade as a tent-maker.
Peter still remains an inspiration to many, big hearted Peter who wanted to give everything to and for Jesus, but who sometimes lost courage at critical moments. The crow of the cock reminded him he had denied Jesus three times, but Jesus saw the big heart rather than the weak knees. Peter went on to live and die for his Lord, crucified upside down for his faith. It is amazing think that two of the greatest Christian icons, Paul and Peter went from villain to saint in their life-times, a great example to all who seek redemption.
Week eneding 23rd June 2009
The traditional Saint John’s Eve bonfire got an unexpected boost some years ago from a directive that outlawed the burning of rubbish, tree cuttings, etc in public places. This led to any such burning being postponed until a night steeped in pagan and Christian tradition when any attempt to curtail fires could be seen as an attack on religious freedom. Tonight will see smoke and fires on many a horizon even if the exact reason for the celebration is lost in the mists of the past.
People of a younger generation get confused by references to ‘bonfire night’ on radio and television, as this can refer to Guy Fawkes night in England or to the 11th of July, the eve of the glorious Twelfth in Northern Ireland. In the rest of the country Saint John’s Eve, the 23rd of July is the night. It may come as a surprise to some that similar bonfires take place in many countries throughout the world.
On June 23rd for instance Catholics all over Brazil light a big fire, as they claim that was the method used by John the Baptist’s mother, Elizabeth, or Isabel as they call her, to notify her cousin, Mary, due to be mother of Jesus six months later, that she needed help with the birth of her son. It is an image that reminds me of smoke signals used to send a message in stories of American Indians. Whatever the reason, it is a touching tale and a good excuse to keep up the tradition.
In the territories of Catalan language and culture, often referred to as ‘Palsos Catalans’ ancient pre-Christian traditions related to fire festivals, connected with the Summer solstice on the longest day and shortest night of the year. Bonfires are lit in the streets and there are often fireworks with special meals served for the occasion. Similarly in Puerto Rico a weekend long celebration is held on the feast of San Juan (Saint John) There are parades, food and parties. People fall backwards into water seven times to cleanse themselves of sin and seek good luck for the following year.
Those are examples of Saint John’s Eve celebrations from countries with Roman Catholic traditions, although older than Christianity itself. Scandinavia would tend to have a Protestant tradition but celebrate John’s Eve with just as much enthusiasm. People jump over bonfires to prove their courage. Traditionally three jumps cleanses a person from sin and disease. Different towns often have their own distinct tradition relating to the festival.
I found more than 24,000 references to Saint John’s Eve bonfires and celebrations on the Internet. Not a bad collection for a man who was a hermit in the desert for the most part, living ‘on locusts and wild honey.’ I remarked in the past on the fact that John always seemed to play second fiddle in the Bible stories that refer to him, but playing second fiddle to his cousin, Jesus was no mean achievement. John’s greatest significance is that he pointed the finger at Jesus and told us who he is – “the Lamb of God, the one who takes away the sins of the world.”
People of a younger generation get confused by references to ‘bonfire night’ on radio and television, as this can refer to Guy Fawkes night in England or to the 11th of July, the eve of the glorious Twelfth in Northern Ireland. In the rest of the country Saint John’s Eve, the 23rd of July is the night. It may come as a surprise to some that similar bonfires take place in many countries throughout the world.
On June 23rd for instance Catholics all over Brazil light a big fire, as they claim that was the method used by John the Baptist’s mother, Elizabeth, or Isabel as they call her, to notify her cousin, Mary, due to be mother of Jesus six months later, that she needed help with the birth of her son. It is an image that reminds me of smoke signals used to send a message in stories of American Indians. Whatever the reason, it is a touching tale and a good excuse to keep up the tradition.
In the territories of Catalan language and culture, often referred to as ‘Palsos Catalans’ ancient pre-Christian traditions related to fire festivals, connected with the Summer solstice on the longest day and shortest night of the year. Bonfires are lit in the streets and there are often fireworks with special meals served for the occasion. Similarly in Puerto Rico a weekend long celebration is held on the feast of San Juan (Saint John) There are parades, food and parties. People fall backwards into water seven times to cleanse themselves of sin and seek good luck for the following year.
Those are examples of Saint John’s Eve celebrations from countries with Roman Catholic traditions, although older than Christianity itself. Scandinavia would tend to have a Protestant tradition but celebrate John’s Eve with just as much enthusiasm. People jump over bonfires to prove their courage. Traditionally three jumps cleanses a person from sin and disease. Different towns often have their own distinct tradition relating to the festival.
I found more than 24,000 references to Saint John’s Eve bonfires and celebrations on the Internet. Not a bad collection for a man who was a hermit in the desert for the most part, living ‘on locusts and wild honey.’ I remarked in the past on the fact that John always seemed to play second fiddle in the Bible stories that refer to him, but playing second fiddle to his cousin, Jesus was no mean achievement. John’s greatest significance is that he pointed the finger at Jesus and told us who he is – “the Lamb of God, the one who takes away the sins of the world.”
Week ending 16th June 2009
I miss my new best friends. All through the month of May and into early June they sent me colour photos of themselves. Some even called to the house and gave me free biros with which to continue my writing career. Others wrote from as far away as Donegal, Cavan, Leitrim, Sligo and Galway. They made me feel important. I had a say. My vote counted. They valued my vote. They even valued me. Two parties, Fianna Fáil and Sinn Féin had the courtesy to send me literature in the Irish language, as my name is on the register of voters in my native tongue.
The experience reminded me of my first overseas holiday at the age of forty-eight. I had not realised I had so many friends in Crete until I got there in the early nineties of the last century. Every time I walked down the street there were men out to meet me, to shake my hand, to call me ‘friend,’ to invite me to eat in their restaurants. “For you (me) my friend” they would do anything. They still charged me for my Greek salad and goat stew, but they gave me a glass of ouzo to wash it down. I was oozing with ouzo by the end of the holiday, calling everyone my friend, just as they had called me.
My new best friends here at the other end of the European zone did not ply me with ouzo or any other alcoholic beverage before the election but they made me feel equally important. Then it all stopped. The day of the election came and went. No more pictures. No more calls. They were tired. They had to be. All that walking and talking, pressing flesh, kissing babies, taking flak. I hope I didn’t do anything to hurt or annoy them. I couldn’t vote for them all, as much as I might want to. I could only give one number one in each of the elections.
I wondered had my new best friends taken out their cold shoulders from the freezer as soon as the counts were over. Freddie Truman, United States President of sixty years ago is credited with the statement: “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” It isn’t the political heat I feel after the election but the political cold. It is as if I am not needed any more. I’m not important. I don’t and won’t count until the next election. “Get over it,” I told myself, words I find myself using quite a lot lately.
On a more serious note I do respect and admire politicians. I admire anyone who tries to step out from the crowd and make a difference in society. They may not always succeed in what they set out to do, but as in every other walk in life, we can not tar everyone with the same brush. We can not condemn all bankers, all clergy, all politicians, all policemen and women, all journalists because some of their members have brought their callings into disrepute. Thankfully the vast majority of people are fair minded and recognise that fact.
The experience reminded me of my first overseas holiday at the age of forty-eight. I had not realised I had so many friends in Crete until I got there in the early nineties of the last century. Every time I walked down the street there were men out to meet me, to shake my hand, to call me ‘friend,’ to invite me to eat in their restaurants. “For you (me) my friend” they would do anything. They still charged me for my Greek salad and goat stew, but they gave me a glass of ouzo to wash it down. I was oozing with ouzo by the end of the holiday, calling everyone my friend, just as they had called me.
My new best friends here at the other end of the European zone did not ply me with ouzo or any other alcoholic beverage before the election but they made me feel equally important. Then it all stopped. The day of the election came and went. No more pictures. No more calls. They were tired. They had to be. All that walking and talking, pressing flesh, kissing babies, taking flak. I hope I didn’t do anything to hurt or annoy them. I couldn’t vote for them all, as much as I might want to. I could only give one number one in each of the elections.
I wondered had my new best friends taken out their cold shoulders from the freezer as soon as the counts were over. Freddie Truman, United States President of sixty years ago is credited with the statement: “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” It isn’t the political heat I feel after the election but the political cold. It is as if I am not needed any more. I’m not important. I don’t and won’t count until the next election. “Get over it,” I told myself, words I find myself using quite a lot lately.
On a more serious note I do respect and admire politicians. I admire anyone who tries to step out from the crowd and make a difference in society. They may not always succeed in what they set out to do, but as in every other walk in life, we can not tar everyone with the same brush. We can not condemn all bankers, all clergy, all politicians, all policemen and women, all journalists because some of their members have brought their callings into disrepute. Thankfully the vast majority of people are fair minded and recognise that fact.
Week ending 9th June 2009
When holiday time arrives, I tend to use the phrase: “I’m outa here.” It is one of those phrases that have become part of modern life. It can mean anything from ‘I’m getting out of here’ to ‘I’m not here at the moment.’ In my case I am actually out of here, away for part of my annual holiday. Recessionary times mean that holiday will be spent in Ireland, and why not? Like many another I have seen less of my own country down through the years than I should.
I may be ‘outa here’ but I am still here in the pages of the Connaught Telegraph, a few extra articles written for your perusal while I am away. I am glad that I am not ‘outa here’ in the sense that I am preparing to move to a different parish this year. Like the person who reads the obituaries to see if they are among the dead, I have read the Tuam Archdiocesan changes and have found that I am not on the list. “For this relief, much thanks,” as Shakespere used to say. Change will come some time, but as we get older, packing up and moving on becomes more onerous.
The phrase ‘outa here’ reminds me of one of those church feasts we have celebrated in recent weeks, the feast of the Ascension which was followed by Pentecost or Whit, as well as Trinity Sunday last weekend. All are related and have to do with the Holy Spirit. It is not with any disrespect that I say that the Ascension is the feast in which Jesus is ‘out of here’ in one sense of the word. He returns to the Father when he has done all that a man can do, even when that man is the Son of God. He had lived, preached, taught, given example, suffered, died and risen from the dead. That was all that was humanely possible because he was confined by space, time, body.
Jesus left this world as a man to return as a spirit, what we call The Holy Spirit, the spirit of Jesus risen from the dead. The Spirit is not limited and carries on the work of Jesus as promised in that great Ascension statement: ‘I will be with you always, yes, until the end of time – Beidh mé in éineacht libh I gcónaí go dtí deireadh an tsaoil.’ (Mt 28:16) It is one of my favourite lines in the gospels. There are many other promises in Gospels read at this time such as: ‘I will not leave you orphans, I will come back to you.’ (Jn 14:17) It’s not so much ‘I’m outa here’ as ‘I’m with you for the long haul.’
That is as close as I am able to get to trying to understand some of the workings of the Blessed Trinity without removing the mystery altogether. In the meantime I am on my busman’s holiday, ‘outa here’ but keeping an eye on what is happening in houses of God in other places. Churches and cathedrals tend to be art galleries in themselves as well as places of worship and of faith. As the years go on we find that we have many and better quality stained glass windows in our churches than was realised in the past. There are many examples around the country of the work of Harry Clarke and Evie Hone as well as lesser known artists who literally light up our churches when the Sun shines through the windows.
I may be ‘outa here’ but I am still here in the pages of the Connaught Telegraph, a few extra articles written for your perusal while I am away. I am glad that I am not ‘outa here’ in the sense that I am preparing to move to a different parish this year. Like the person who reads the obituaries to see if they are among the dead, I have read the Tuam Archdiocesan changes and have found that I am not on the list. “For this relief, much thanks,” as Shakespere used to say. Change will come some time, but as we get older, packing up and moving on becomes more onerous.
The phrase ‘outa here’ reminds me of one of those church feasts we have celebrated in recent weeks, the feast of the Ascension which was followed by Pentecost or Whit, as well as Trinity Sunday last weekend. All are related and have to do with the Holy Spirit. It is not with any disrespect that I say that the Ascension is the feast in which Jesus is ‘out of here’ in one sense of the word. He returns to the Father when he has done all that a man can do, even when that man is the Son of God. He had lived, preached, taught, given example, suffered, died and risen from the dead. That was all that was humanely possible because he was confined by space, time, body.
Jesus left this world as a man to return as a spirit, what we call The Holy Spirit, the spirit of Jesus risen from the dead. The Spirit is not limited and carries on the work of Jesus as promised in that great Ascension statement: ‘I will be with you always, yes, until the end of time – Beidh mé in éineacht libh I gcónaí go dtí deireadh an tsaoil.’ (Mt 28:16) It is one of my favourite lines in the gospels. There are many other promises in Gospels read at this time such as: ‘I will not leave you orphans, I will come back to you.’ (Jn 14:17) It’s not so much ‘I’m outa here’ as ‘I’m with you for the long haul.’
That is as close as I am able to get to trying to understand some of the workings of the Blessed Trinity without removing the mystery altogether. In the meantime I am on my busman’s holiday, ‘outa here’ but keeping an eye on what is happening in houses of God in other places. Churches and cathedrals tend to be art galleries in themselves as well as places of worship and of faith. As the years go on we find that we have many and better quality stained glass windows in our churches than was realised in the past. There are many examples around the country of the work of Harry Clarke and Evie Hone as well as lesser known artists who literally light up our churches when the Sun shines through the windows.
