I Am Said I

The Dun Aengus

The Lord called me before I was born, from my mother’s womb He pronounced my name. It is He who created me, knit me together in my mother’s womb. Already He knew my soul, my body held no secret from Him when I was being fashioned in secret, moulded in the depths. He searches me and knows my resting and rising, my purpose. All my ways lie open to Him.

I am not the one you imagine me to be.

From the time I was a boy in the Aran Islands I knew that God was with me there, and it seems that He spoke to me through island, sea, sand and rock and sky. And it seems that the island was listening to me, that He listened to me through the same island.

We spoke the same language, dreamed the same dream and yearned with infinite desire for simple unattainable experiences, experiences that would express something of who we are in each other’s presence; who I would become in Him – He being the greater.

As with many important things in life I resisted the sea at first. Resistance is part of my default setting. I resisted being born, I resist life, resist God. I was three years old, boarding the Dun Aengus steamer at Galway docks for my first journey by sea, my first journey to Aran.

On the gangway I looked down the gap between the ship and the dock and the black water below terrified me. So I froze and screamed, refusing to move forward until the captain came down with a packet of fruit pasteels. He lifted me up and carried me aboard and I was captivated by ship and sea from then on. Aran would become part of who I am. Perhaps that’s logical since my Dad’s mother was a native of Inis Mor, a place that was to reveal to me the beauty, majesty and mystery of God. The greatness of God.

The sea expresses something of the vastness and majesty of God, something of the expanse of my own soul, hinting at the great unfathomable mystery of God and of each one created in His image and likeness. We are the likeness of majesty, mystery - unfathomable.

As with John the Baptist He would increase and I would decrease. I would ascend to the heights by descending, by waiting and waiting and waiting. I waited, I waited for the Lord and He stooped down to me. (Psalm 30)

I am not the one you imagine me to be! I am mystery, unfathomable even to myself and much more are we mystery to each other, a mystery to be honoured with silence, a mystery that does not need to be worked out in all its detail.

The beauty is in the mystery. And yet we try to rob each other of both mystery and beauty in our search for knowing. It was the original mistake in the Garden of Eden – they wanted to know too much, to possess too much and in the process lost almost everything. And life became more difficult than it needed to be. Became intolerably difficult at times.

Mystery, desire and prayer require us to wait for the unfolding of what God is offering; to wait rather than to reach out and grab what we want, what we want to become. We run ahead of ourselves, we run ahead of God in our eagerness to get life right and we forget about gift and grace. This is true of our eagerness to repent and be converted, our eagerness to become better people.

I have discovered that everything I desired comes to me in its time, usually after many years of waiting, years even of forgetting what it was that I desired until the moment when it was fulfilled.

Katie took me by the hand when she was eight years old and we went walking to the river in Holycross. She told me how she has wished for things but that they don’t happen and I suggested that she tell her wishes to God and then wait like I waited for years. But it’s impossible for a child to think in terms of the waiting of a 60-year-old adult. I told her some of the things that I desired as a child that came to pass in my adult life.

It’s not easy to shake off your country, the place of your birth. Last May 2018, in the wake of the Referendum, I decided to shake the dust of Ireland from my feet because I could not in conscience be part of what most of my fellow Irish citizens had decided, though conscience is not now held in high esteem. I could not be part of the aggressive joy displayed by the victors and cannot see that the result means the liberation of women. The celebrations in Dublin Castle shocked me to the core and they shocked people here in England. And what sticks in my mind is that most of the people I know probably voted for abortion and, because I no longer know who’s who, I find I want nothing to do with anyone apart from my family and a few close friends. It’s a profoundly emotional response but it’s real; it is what it is. And I feel for all those who are now alienated and unrepresented at home.

I never wanted to live in England but have become very happy here, partly because it has given me a welcome escape from Ireland but mostly because I love being where I am and love the people with whom I share life here in Hastings. But when England beat Ireland in rugby recently it pulled at some primal part of me and I knew I’m not as free of my country as I would like, even though I have little or no interest in rugby.

Being in my mid-sixties it seems a little late in life to be wondering who I am, asking questions about my identity but I am serious about reshaping and reforming my identity, allowing the reshaping of who I am to happen.

My thoughts go back to the very beginning of the Camino to Santiago – a defining experience in my life - to the hostel in San Jean Pied de Port and the woman of the house. At breakfast during a lovely conversation I asked her, “where are you from?” and she replied, “I allow no country to claim me!” It’s an answer that impressed me, the liberty of it, though at the time I didn’t see much meaning in it for me.  However, it has come back to me often and it strikes me now that I am being called to the same kind of liberty.

The question of identity also brings me back about twenty years to the church of Santa Anna in the Vatican. Sr. Hieronyma, a Swiss Pallottine Sister, boldly marched me in there, past the Swiss Guards one day to pray. I would never have ventured there on my own, feeling that it was somehow off limits. But it was while kneeling there gazing at the Tabernacle that my identity emerged in a significant way.

Having grown up with a sense of my own inferiority I was surprised by the awareness that the Holy Spirit seemed to stir in me. It began with a love for my name, first my Christian name and then my family name, followed by the place where I grew up, my home town and country. It was as if God were reminding me how precious and important it is for me to savour my identity as Eamonn Monson from Mervue, Galway, Ireland and then it seemed like I was being drawn into the Tabernacle with the words, “all of these aspects of your identity are precious but your real identity is to be found hidden in Jesus in the Eucharist in the Tabernacle.”

ALEPH: Silence of the Beginning

Rocket Man, Starman, Life On Mars, I Am I said. Songs of my youth. Songs of identity, that interior aspect of me which reaches for the beyond. I am captivated by Voyager 1, the probe sent into space on September 5, 1977, five years to the day after I entered religious life  and on the very day I returned to the community, having been away for more than a year. 

Back then I had no knowledge of Voyager but we have somehow been travelling together these 40 years. There are journeys and journeys, I like to say. For every journey we undertake there is a deeper, spiritual significance that we are not always aware of. I have been a voyager, a wanderer pilgrim in spirit all my life – making journeys of significance and mostly journeying into the interior space of who I am; who I am in relation to others and mostly who I am in relation to God. My Mother called me Siddhartha, the nomad. 

Voyager 1 has become a kind of teacher to me, a teacher of what is beyond. The sheer immensity of its journey! When it was launched, it had an initial mission of about four years, after which it continued on an extended mission that brought it to inter stellar space, the first human object to travel that far and it has left scientists amazed that it still works. It travels at about 60,000 kilometres per hour, having travelled a distance of over 13 million miles. If it keeps travelling it will reach what is called the Oort cloud in 300 hundred years, taking it another 30,000 years to pass through it! 

Voyager has been witness to the vastness of the universe; the sheer scale of it is staggering and it leaves me gasping in awe. And if the creation is so immense, then how much more immense is the Creator, how staggering and awesome! This is what happens to me when I read the first lines of the Prologue in John’s Gospel, “In the beginning was the Word, the Word was with God and the Word was God.” (John 1:1) and it is there that I always have to pause and from there my meditation takes off into the awe-inspiring magnitude, the wonder of what it was like in that “beginning”, which is not a beginning at all but infinity, eternity.

In the beginning there was silence, that great silence in which the Word was begotten, the Word through whom everything came into existence. Silence! Jesus says of himself, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. (Revelation 22:13) The first letter of the Hebrew alphabet is Aleph which corresponds with Alpha and Tav corresponds with Omega. Aleph is soundless, silent, suggesting that Jesus is the silence in the eternal beginning before being the spoken Word that gave birth to the creation. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. And God said...” (Genesis 1:1-3) 

How deep are the rich mysteries of God; how inadequate language is - the words we use to express a reality that is so far beyond expression. And yet within each of us there is an innate need to reach out and grasp something of God. 

So I contemplate the great silence that is infinitely more expansive than the distance travelled by Voyager. I contemplate who God is in that reality. For compass and guide I take flight with Voyager and I am immersed in the Bible, the sacred Word of God that is alive and active with layers of deeper meaning, unfathomable depths. “I thought of my God and I sighed!” from Psalm 77 - Blessed Pope Paul VI identifies this as summing up the whole Prayer of the Church. To pray is to think of God; to think of God is to sigh with groaning beyond utterance which is nothing other than the prayer of the Holy Spirit within us (Romans 8:26).

Above the moon and stars
Beyond the edge
Of what is known
The space between all things
The quiet dark
The womb of light
Where speed and stillness merge
And distance has no measure
A thousand years
A single day
Is all the same
Where Love And Hope and Faith
Remain pure and perfect
Vision

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth (Genesis 1:1)

WILD

He arrived

With a Connemara kind

Of wildness

That intimidated

My timidity

His was an open

Tumult of a space

Mine a pent up

Cul-de-sac

He despised

The snobbery of my breeding

I bore the scar of it

And for all of that

We are born

Of Mothers stretching

To make ends meet

Struggling with loss

Sometimes victorious

I AM (A Mud Hut)

It grew from the earth
Sprouting grass for roof

Sagging soon a lump
Mud hut retiring

In shy apology 

For the way things are
Underdeveloped

I hope you don’t mind

THAT WHICH WAS TETHERED

Tethered

Do I have to make it known 

That I have suffered?

Wearing it

Like some sixth sorrowful

Mystery

While lover’s lives like cloaks

Caress the stony ground

On which He treads

To cries of exultation

And that which was tethered

In me taut and tense

Is being untied unravelled

And undone

Because He needs to take it

On the downward slope

To hell beyond the Passion

In resolute resign and rising

To a New Jerusalem

(Image 'Tethered' from Silences Of Stone http://silencesofstone.wordpress.com/2012/03/29/pure-gospel/)

PRODIGAL (Sons And Father)

My son kneels

In the mystic’s cave

Eyes intensely shut

I would smooth

His furrowed face

And tell him

That which he

Over-zealously seeks

Cannot be taken

By force nor gained

By might

It is a gift

It is my gift of love

To ache for him

Leaving him

To learn the lesson

In its time and his

Watching him

Wander down dead

Ends

Widening the gap

The silence

Separating us

Feeling his turning

Against me

And I choosing to turn

Away from him

Shaking the dust

Of his path from my feet

Turning them

To a new direction

On a road that is mine

Perhaps when we have walked
The path marked out
For each of us

Our roads and we
Will meet again
In freedom

You Have Gone

O friend of mine
Whom I love

Companion of my soul

You have gone
To the rightful place
Of your belonging

And I to mine

Jet-streaming across the sky
All sign of you has vanished

Still I watch
Across the distance
Between us

It is empty space
And silence

The way of pilgrims
You might say

The truth
So simply said
So painful

I WOULD RATHER NOT GO

In all truth I tell you, when you were young you put on your own belt and walked where you liked; but when you grow old you will stretch out your hands, and somebody else will put a belt round you and take you where you would rather not go.' (John 21:18)

It may come to pass

That when I grow old

I will always be cold

By the fire

In the draft

Of an open door

Afraid when left

On my own

By my own disowned

And when I lose myself

My self control

They will take me

To a place where

I would rather not go

Leaving me there

Until I go senseless

And then I will cry like a child

With an ache that is not understood

Not having the words to define it

And all I will know

Is a far distant fear

Ever near

That I am unfit for Communion

And raising the cap

I no longer possess with respect

I will cry like a child

Until Christ be in everything
And everything within me

CISTERCIAN WOODS 2002

MOUNT ST. JOSEPH’S MONASTERY ROSCREA

Ten years ago (2002) I was given permission to spend Advent at the Cistercian Monastery in Roscrea. For many years I've wanted to be a monk in this place but it seems God did not have such a vocation in mind for me. However, I have gone there over the years to get my monastic "fix". This is the diary of that Advent.

December 2, 2002

His time is close at hand, and his days will not be prolonged

(Isaiah 13,22)

The long driveway into the monastery is lined on either side with young trees which should look majestic in years to come. Immediately to the right is farmland and wood, to the left are the rugby pitches of the secondary school, the school itself being a little further up on the same side. It is home to 300 boarders and is one of the most sought after schools in the country. A number of its past pupils have become famous, including Minister for Foreign Affairs Brian Cowen.

Further up again on the left is the monastery itself, built of limestone in rectangular form. The church is like a Cathedral in the shape of a cross and to many it appears austere and cold. I love it and, while it is often cold physically, it’s atmosphere is never cold for me. It’s majesty and silence are inviting.

The first part, on entering, is for the public. Then the choir, which is reserved for the monks, is divided from the public area by a red rope and it takes up most of the length of the Church. Two rows of choir stalls facing each other. This is all timber while the rest of the church, apart from pews, is all bare stone. Beyond the choir is the sanctuary with its stone altar behind which the tabernacle stands on a pillar and behind that again are three very tall stained glass windows depicting scenes from the life of Christ. These are very beautiful. The areas to the left and right of the sanctuary are open to the public during community Mass.

On the other side of the driveway is the grotto of Our Lady which leads to the stepped waterfall. At the very end of the driveway is the guest house  originally a mansion which was bought for the monks by Arthur Moore. This will be home to me for three weeks, please God, and to others who will stay for shorter periods.

Arriving at about 3.30 p.m. I am welcomed by Br. Dominic who sits with me over tea and then shows me upstairs.

My room is No. 22 at the top of the guest house  facing West over the bare trees, across the fields flooded by the river. So in my bed and at my table by the window I will always be facing homeward. The West will always be home while I’m on this earth and after that, hopefully, heaven will be home.

Dusk is falling and the wind is pounding on the roof. There seems to be no heating and no hot water so far, but Br. Dominic has given me an electric heater.

This is my resting-place …

Here have I chosen to live

(Psalm 132)

In the half-light of the empty church where I sit before Vespers, I gaze beyond the choir into the darkness of the sanctuary. The gentle pulse of the red sanctuary lamp comforts me with its reminder of the hidden presence of the Lord.

Into the darkness totters Br. Peter, now 96, to kneel in humble adoration.

The only other guests are Billy and Fidelma who were married here five years ago. They’ve just returned from five weeks in Spain and will be returning there again after a couple of weeks. Billy was a novice here 40 years ago and considers this his home. Fidelma seems a lot younger than him. They possess childlike simplicity.

8.00 p.m. back in my room after Compline. How lovely is the haunting lilt of the Salve Regina, with all the lights turned off except for a spotlight on the bronze statue of the Virgin and child.

The heating is on. I’ve set the clock for 5.30 a.m. in time for Lauds. Well and good if I wake for Vigils at 4.00!

The monks begin the day with Vigils (Office of Readings), followed by meditation in the Church and Lexio Divina in their cells. Lauds (Morning Prayer) is at 6.30 followed by Mass at 7.00. Tierce (Prayer Before Noon) is at 9.00, Sext (Midday Prayer) at 12.00 noon, None (Afternoon Prayer) at 12.45, Vespers (Evening Prayer) at 5.15 and Compline (Night Prayer) at 7.30. Then it’s bed time.

December 3, 2002: St. Francis Xavier

At 4.45 a.m. I was wakened by the bell sounding the end of Vigils and went to pray in the dark church at 6.00 a.m. It’s very cold and peaceful. Lauds, apart from the monks, are attended by a man who prays out loud in the silence beforehand. Marise Skeehan from Thurles is also there and she shows me how to use the books. She has been a consecrated virgin for many years now and comes here every morning at 4.00 for Vigils. Some commitment!

After Lauds Fr. Nivard summons me with a beck of his hand and leads me to the sacristy where he dresses me in a very long alb. A number of the monks, including Abbot Laurence, come over to shake hands with me and seem happy to have me there.

Mass is leisurely and dignified and lasts 45 minutes. Afterwards Fr. Anthony asks how I can manage to smile so well at such an early hour. “And I’m not usually a morning person” I replied. “You’d never guess,” he said. Maybe it’s just that I’m happy to be here, though I feel quite unclean. But, as I said to the Lord, I trust that He himself has brought me here.

Coming out of the church at 8.00 the sun is rising into a blazing red sky and the crows are very active and loud in their own lovely way. It looks like it might rain. Lionel is already at his desk in reception.

There’s hot water! So after breakfast and a short walk I have a nice hot shower.

A large, large procession of white and black cows is making its way from the farmyard, down to God knows where.

***

At 12.30 p.m. the heating is still on and very cosy here in 22.

After doing a bit of typing I went for a walk in the soft mist that has turned to a steady fall of rain. For over an hour I went through the farmyard into the fields and through the woods. There’s not a sinner to be seen or heard, except for the sound of someone using a chain saw for a brief while. Otherwise it’s the cows and me and God.

Abbot Laurence sent Br. Dominic to invite me to join the monks in choir, since I’m staying around for so long. I feel like a spare tool, a thumb sticking out but it’s go with the flow time. And I am pleased to be welcomed in this way.

I found Tony Flannery’s book Waiting In Hope in the bookshop here.

***

O my Lord…

Don’t you think it would be good…

If the inn where You have so continually to dwell

Were not to get so dirty?

(St. Teresa of Avila, The Collected Works Vol. I, Chapter 1, p. 56)

December 4, 2002

And Israel shall dwell in confidence

(Jeremiah)

Where has the day gone? I’m still a bit awkward about being in choir with the monks - wondering what the other non-monks in the church might be thinking; wondering do the monks mind; is the monk to my right irritated by my uncertain presence; does an tAthar Ciaran see through to my unworthy soul as he looks across from the other side??? So, an inner voice tells me to learn to live with the fact that people might not like me being up in the choir. Learn to live with not being liked, not being understood, to live even with being rejected. These thoughts connect not only with here but most of all with all the people I’m trying to please in life. I didn’t think I was trying to please anyone much but here in this place I realize I am. And it’s no use. But it’s also painful to think that I could lose people who matter to me if I don’t continue pleasing.

After Mass this morning Br. Peter came to shake my hand, without a word but with a beautiful smile and twinkling eyes. He doesn’t give a damn about what anyone thinks. He’s at that stage of age when he hums at odd times without knowing he’s doing it. It happens in the middle of Mass. This evening in the empty choir before Compline he was humming “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” and it was lovely. I believe he still hangs out around the farmyard so I must go down to see him.

It was a lovely crisp day all day. After my walk this morning Fr. Nivard came to have a coffee with me just to see was I ok and to remind me that I needn’t get up in the mornings if I don’t feel like it and to feel free to go to Thurles if I need to. I don’t want to! But I might need to go out sometime.

In the afternoon I slept for three hours. It’ll ruin my night. Derry had sent me a book in the post and it arrived before lunch so I got into bed with it to get warm and - zonk! The book is called Travelling Light by Daniel O’Leary and it contains 31 meditations. We’ll see how it goes. It looks a bit new agey! But I do need to travel lighter.

This evening we were joined by two new guests, both men from Dublin. Conversation with Billy, Fidelma and I was beginning to run a bit thin so it helps to have others to add to the mix.

At the end of Compline when the lights in the church go off, with just one spot on the statue of Our Lady, and the Salve Regina is sung - I might just be in heaven.

December 5, 2002

Once a certain anxious person, who oftentimes wavered between hope and fear, once overcome with sadness, threw himself upon the ground before one of the altars in the church and thinking these things in his mind said, “Oh, if only I knew how to persevere,” that very instant he heard within him this heavenly answer: “And if you did know this, what would you do? Do now what you would do and you shall be perfectly secure.”

(Imitation of Christ, Book 1, Chapter 25)

Yesterday at table I asked Billy if he’s looking forward to going to Spain. “I don’t look forward” he said, “I just live in the present.” “I don’t agree with that” said Fidelma “it’s important to look forward.”

There’s this tension in me, in all of us I suppose, between living in the present and the whole thing of expectant anticipation which is part of Advent. Perhaps what we need to get rid of is the kind of anxious looking forward which is so much part of us.

The way forward, the path to follow, can only be revealed

Within our attentive presence to the present moment.

(Daniel O’Leary, Travelling Light, p.34)

The stars glittered in the dark frosty morning sky, the morning star being particularly bright. When the sun came up a veil of white frost lay upon the grass, fog lingered on the river and the flood waters had turned to ice. It was time to tramp through the fields over the hardened mud and through the woods again contemplating withered leaves underfoot, leaves dying into the earth.

We are all like withered leaves

And our sins blow us away like the wind…

(Isaiah)

Take time to enter into the image of the withered leaf.

…in your weakness and failure you feel helpless and afraid.

It is good to let these feelings come to us at times.

They bring us down to earth, rid us of our stupid pride.

And, most of all, they open us up to the awareness of something greater.

(Tony Flannery, Waiting In Hope, pp.13-14)

We were leaves on top of a fresh tree, still full of sap, still green with the light of the sun shining through us, the light of God shining in us. And then we withered, beaten by the wind, blown away and falling down, dry brown then wet brown on the winter ground, trampled underfoot, trampled into earth again.

Contemplating the withered leaves as I walked I thought of the spirit of timidity which is part of my nature. What is the opposite of timidity? Whatever it is I need more of it even though I’m not half as timid as I used to be.

God did not give us a spirit of timidity but

The Spirit of power and love and self-control

(2 Timothy 1,7)

Timid souls take heart

(from the antiphon for Vespers)

***

At lunch Billy and Fidelma told us how the British tabloids ran a story about them when they were married - the story was that a monk, Billy, had jumped over the monastery wall to marry this young girl. The truth is that Billy was a novice here 40 years ago but he left after the noviciate.

For afternoon tea I was with Fergus, a Dublin business man who joined us yesterday. He was telling me how he was sorted out here 10 years ago- or is still being sorted out as he corrected. We’re all still being sorted. Sitting with him had the feeling of being in a home for the recovering sick and I am one of the recovering sick. A startling thought because up till then I felt I was better but I realized in that moment that I’m still not fully well, though much better than I was two months ago.

During my afternoon walk I came on Br. Peter who was climbing through a wire fence, having settled his donkey for the night. We stood by his crib which is made of plastic bags tied in tent shape to a tree. The figures are made out of paper. Our Lady, Joseph and Jesus are lying down on the hay together. It looks very snug. He said a lot of Travellers come to the crib to pray.

Peter came here from Enniskillen 47 years ago after his girlfriend refused to marry him. She also joined a convent and they are still in touch. Before coming here he worked for 15 years as a rep for Beleek china and Galway was one of his favourite places. He delivered china to Glynn’s shop. It’s no longer there but the mention of it brought its smell back to me and going to visit Santa there.

He is renowned here for his poverty and his childlike paintings which he sells to make money for the poor. To look at he’s very scruffy with a wild head of hair and a beard and eyes that are pure blue and sparkling.

Sr. Carmel Donnelly from Newport has come here for the weekend. Good to see her.

There is not a more troublesome or worrisome enemy to the soul

Than yourself when you are not agreeing with the spirit.

(Imitation of Christ, Book 3, Chapter 13)

December 7, 2002: St. Ambrose

Ten members of a Limerick prayer group have arrived for the weekend and a group of 60 Legion of Mary people are in for Mass and a bit of a party. Busy spot tonight.

St. Ambrose was elected bishop by the people before he was even baptised. Fergus thinks that all bishops should be elected by acclamation. He has a point but then look at the politicians we elect. Most of our bishops, though not star performers, are essentially men of integrity.

At communion we sang Cead Mile Failte, reminding me of Maura and Rosaleen’s singing of it at her funeral. This time it brought a smile of comfort.

Fergus went away after breakfast.

***

When the Lord has given you the bread of suffering

And the water of distress,

He who is your teacher will hide no longer,

And you will see your teacher with your own eyes

(Isaiah 30, 20)

***

It is only with the heart that one can see rightly.

What is essential is invisible to the eye

(A. St. Exupery, The Little Prince)

***

Console my people, console them.

Speak to the heart of Jerusalem, and call to her

That her time of service is ended

And her sin is atoned for.

(Isaiah)

Walked with Carmel for an hour around the country roads and on our way back met Michael McEgan who had just arrived to join the group from Limerick.

At 11.00 Br. Dominic brought me on a tour of monastery. For such an old building it’s in great shape and the library is just beautiful. It was built 120 years ago - not so old, I suppose, as monasteries go.

The emblem of the monastery is the eagle. The eagle that flies to the highest heaven facing directly into the sun. If I’m to become an eagle then that’s what I must learn to do.

The time is flying by.

December 8, 2002

I will lie down in peace

And sleep comes at once.

(Psalm 4)

These lines, which are sung here every night at Compline, remind me of Maura and the ease with which she slept always but even more now they speak of her last laying down, the sleep in which she died.

The experience of singing the office with the monks is silencing and I’m finding little to say. The psalms wash over and seep into the very core of one’s being.

If you have lost the person you loved,

Someone with whom you shared many Christmases

But is now dead,

All the grief and loneliness can come back to haunt you.

And yet…

We are called on to be happy,

To be people of joy.

(Tony Flannery, Waiting in Hope, pp.29-30)

December 10, 2002

We are neither as peculiar nor as special

As we would like to think

(Colman)

***

I’m just one of the many.

I’m just one of the human race.

This is what it’s like to be human.

Good days, not-so-good days.

Just like everyone else.

Why do I expect to be the exception?

(Daniel O’Leary, Travelling Light, p.55)

It is our suffering

that is the most basic element

That we share with others,

The factor that unifies us

With all living creatures.

(The Dali Lama)

***

Suffering and sickness

Is the great school of patience,

And it is a school that everyone

Will have to attend…

It is only very slowly

That we begin to recognise

The presence of God in our suffering

(Tony Flannery, Waiting in Hope, p.35)

***

When my sin, my personal problems and suffering get blown up out of all proportion, I have to remind myself again to place them in the context of the whole of human life beyond myself. And not just in the context of human life but all life. It’s a lesson Maura taught me years and years ago, one that has to be learned time after time.

***

Went to visit Brother Neil in the bookshop. He’s a great talker who appreciates a listener. In his former life he was an accountant and married with two children.

His wife died when he was 70 years old and when a Vincentian friend suggested he become a priest and go to Australia, he didn’t like the idea at all, particularly the part about going to Australia. One day at Mass, on his way up to Communion, he was wondering if he had a religious vocation when the organ started playing a piece of music that was special to his father. He took it as a sign and came to Roscrea to see if they would take him. They eventually did, seventeen years ago.

***

Lionel is the man I met here in September when I came to see if I could spend these three weeks here. He’s from Wales, trained in history, and has been working here at the guest house for two and a half years in the role of caretaker, receptionist, waiter at tables. And, as a diversion, he prunes the pear trees in the monastery garden.

He is the male equivalent of Shirley, God rest her. So sincerely full of kind concern, polite and helpful. Being from Wales, there’s a good chance that he’s not Catholic and he doesn’t attend any of the prayers or Masses in the church here, as far as I can tell.

He had overheard a discussion on my surname at table today and later told me he’d read of a General Monson in the British-Indian army in India in the 1800’s, a man strongly opposed to Governor Hastings at the time. Lionel is qualified in history which he taught for twenty years.

Tonight he spoke lovingly of the men of the road who come to stay here from time to time, spoke of his sadness on hearing of the death of Derek in a park in Dublin a couple of weeks ago. How he wished he could have been able to help him more.

***

Fr. Bonaventure, from Co. Galway, says that I’ve fitted in very well with the monks - like a hand in a glove. He was very pleased to hear that I’ve always wanted to spend time here. Maybe it’s an affirmation of their vocation in a time when numbers are getting so small. The two younger members of the community arrived back from Oxford where they’re studying for the priesthood. They offer a positive sign.

Three of the community who I thought were around my age, or maybe fifty at the most, turn out to be 59, 64 and 66. They look so young!

December 11, 2002

Come to me all you who labour and are overburdened

And I will give you rest.

Tony is suffering from manic depression. He comes to Lauds and Mass here in the morning and today we had breakfast together. He claims to have seen Jesus, Our Lady, St. Theresa and St. Bridget many times. Our Lady, he says, doesn’t like women wearing trousers - they are not her girls. Having asked me for a blessing, he promised to add me to his list of priests he prays for - I’m number 28 or 29 - saying that my life will now take a turn. I’ll pray especially to St. Peregrine that you won’t die of cancer. You won’t die of cancer, he promised.

Got a card from John Fitzpatrick this morning telling me that Remy Mattanga died on Saturday December 7 in hospital in Arusha and was buried in Galapo on Monday. The news saddened me but I’m also glad he is released and hope he died peacefully. The first retreat I ever gave was to Remy and Fortunatus in Galapo in 1984. May he rest in peace.

***

We spent an hour and a half at lunch today talking about past students of St. Patrick’s College, some of whom are now dead - Joe Walsh, Tony Spellman, John Egan and Paddy Shivenan. Michael told us of his own experience with cancer over the past year, a very traumatic time. He seems to be doing well now and hopefully will continue that way.

***

This morning when reflecting on the retreat I have to give to the MMM’s I thought of how God is already moving towards us, seeking us out, even as we are searching and waiting for Him. The thought was confirmed when I went to do my meditation from Travelling Light.

In our journey towards wholeness or inner freedom,

It is often reassuring to realise that

God is also busy seeking us

…the beckoning God of surprises…

Is far more eager to be intimate with us

than we are with God

(Travelling Light, p.60)

Daniel O’Leary goes on to say that it is God himself who moves us to begin the journey and to illustrate what our seeking is like he quotes St. John of the Cross, using the passage, extracts of which are on Maura’s memorial card:

One dark night,

Fired by love’s urgent longings…

I went out unseen,

My house being now all stilled…

With no other light to guide

Than the one that burned in my heart

I abandoned and forgot myself,

Laying my face on my beloved;

All things ceased; I went out from myself,

Leaving my cares

Forgotten among the lilies.

It is the light of the Divine presence, the power of God’s love within us which moves us to go in search of God - we are urged on by Love - and there is nothing we can do to make progress except to let this urging of Love have it’s way. The only power we possess is to block God’s Love, to prevent it working in us. We have the power to resist, and don’t we exercise that power very well!

The task of today’s meditation is to discover the face of God in the very thoughts and feelings that cloud your heart. But we do not just deal with abstract thoughts and feelings:

picture the person who is currently giving you the most hassle and grief

…draw an imaginary circle of light around that person’s head.

…let your negative (and maybe justified) feelings fall away.

Reflect on the…benefits that this person has brought your way.

When you bless this person

You release them from the grip of your anger

(Travelling Light, p.64)

A final association with Maura is the quoting of the writer Tagorewho I think she liked:

Yours is the light that breaks from the

Dark, and the good that sprouts from the deft heart

Of strife.

Yours is the gift that still is gain when

Everything is a loss, and the life that flows through

The caverns of death.

Yours is the heaven that lies in the common

Dust, and You are there for me; You are there

For all.

(Tagore, quoted in Travelling Light, p.63)

***

It is usually in disguise

That God comes to meet us;

And the disguised God often lives

At the strangest addresses.

(Travelling Light, p.63)

Our enemy is really our precious teacher;

That is why Jesus asks us to love our enemy

(Travelling Light, p.62)

***

Michael has gone and we’re joined by Brendan and Julian. Brendan is an elderly farmer from Fethard who got animated when we started talking about nature, telling us the story of his cocker spaniel, Blackie, who was with him for 13 years but died of a brain tumour two weeks ago. He misses the dog so much. According to him we’re in for bad weather, maybe even snow, because of the way the moon is sitting in the sky.

Julian is very incensed by the hatred the Protestants in the North have for Catholics and wonders why Our Lord, who led Israel out of Egypt, cannot or does not do something about it. I suggested that we might have to follow the example of Jesus, the Lamb that was led to the slaughter, and find some power hidden in that. He thought, with Jesus risen, that that would not apply now.

John Joe from Kerry arrived after supper.

 

December 12: Our Lady of Guadalupe

Clear a pathway, Lord, in our hearts

To make ready for your only Son

(Concluding Prayer in the Office)

Spent most of the day, in between singing the Office with the monks, preparing the retreat for the Medical Missionaries.

At lunch Julian went into a long monologue about how the clergy are never there to answer people’s questions and doubts, how we do nothing about the false beliefs that are common among young people, beliefs such as re-incarnation. He wanted Sr. Cait and I - he referred to us as the experts -to tell him what the Church’s teaching is on re-incarnation or where one could find it. I suggested he look up the Catechism of the Church. The old catechism or the one that came out in the 70’s? , he asked. The one that came out in the last ten years, I said, it’s the only catechism there is now.

That was as much as anyone could get in. He already knows the answer and is only interested in discussion but the undertone was negative and aggressive towards clergy and he wasn‘t really interested in anyone‘s opinion. And his monologue went on and on. To be fair to him, he suffers from depression and is very intelligent but I didn’t come here for this. I could feel myself getting angry (where’s that coming from?) so I excused myself.

***

Went down for a cup of tea at 4.00 p.m. and met Michael Farrell, a brother of Liam “Corky” Farrell. Liam has been calling to our door in Thurles for the best part of 25 years and is someone we are very fond of. He’s been on the road all his adult life and struggles with the drink but is always very nice to us. They were both fostered out but their foster parents died and there was nothing to hold them.

Michael worked here in the monastery for a couple of years and has great praise for his time here - for the monks and for being close to nature. He went to London while still in his teens and lived rough for 30 years. When drink was beginning to threaten his life he got himself dried out two years ago and he‘s now with AA.

He’s accompanied by a BBC crew who are doing a documentary on him, part of which involves him coming home to meet Liam who he hasn’t seen for 17 years. They met today in Roscrea. Liam is now living and working with the Mercy sisters in New Inn.

***

May the God who gives us peace

Make you completely His,

And keep your whole being,

Spirit, soul and body,

Free from all fault,

At the coming of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

(1 Thessalonians 5,23)

Friday December 13, 2002: Sr. Juliana Anniversary

Dream:

Maura, Harry and I were driving in Tanzania when we had a car crash in which Maura died. Her body was brought to Magugu Mission and laid out in the open, under the sunshine, on a white mattress and covered with a white sheet. It was a Friday and we carried on as though nothing happened. Mick Barry had built two new houses and Freda from Galapo was staying in one of them. Harry was delighted to see her again.

Hilda, who died over sixteen years ago, was working in a fenced-in garden. I was delighted to see her but Mick told me she doesn’t talk much to people anymore. She looked well and happy.

On Sunday we decided it was time to bury Maura beside the church and Mick said I should explain to the people why she wasn’t being brought home to be buried. I couldn’t think why. The funeral was in Swahili and I was using the Misale ya Waumini which Freda got for me. I was dressed in white vestments and Shirley was standing in front of me wearing a blue coat and the wig she wore when she was sick. I started to cry and couldn’t stop. I put my head down on Shirley’s left shoulder and she held me.

***

…a person truly devout to the Blessed Lady

Is neither changeable, irritable, scrupulous or timid

(Louis Marie de Montfort)

Neither changeable, irritable or timid! How I wish!

***

Do not remember the misdeeds of our fathers,

But remember now your power and your name,

For you are the Lord our God

(Baruch 3,5-6)

***

Brendan, Julian, John Joe and the lady next door have gone and two groups are arriving for the weekend. I won’t be with them since I’ll be leaving for Drogheda early in the morning, please God. I’m giving a two-day retreat to the Medical Missionaries.

Maggie arrived home from Chicago this morning for her Christmas break. Carmel Donnelly went to collect her. Her friend Anne Kiely is here on retreat for the weekend.

***

Had a call from Derry to tell me that Bill Cusack, one of our men, died today on board a plane that was taking him to hospital in Nairobi. God preserve us all and may he rest in peace.

Monday December 16, 2002

The Lord waits to be gracious to you;

Therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you.

For the Lord is a God of justice;

Blessed are all those who wait for him.

(Isaiah 30,18)

In a heavy frost I left Roscrea at 6.45 a.m. on Saturday for Drogheda where I was giving a two-day retreat to the Medical Missionaries of Mary. Two very full and enjoyable days. About 80 sisters attended.

Eileen Keoghan, an old friend of Shirley, came to ask me if I speak to Shirley. I don’t speak to any of the dead but find it interesting that she should ask this just a day after I’d dreamed of Shirley. Maybe it’s time.

Rose told me on the phone that she and Bernard went to Achill Island on Saturday for a Christmas celebration. They travelled there and back by helicopter, flying over the clouds on the outward journey and flying over Croke Patrick and Lough Corrib on the way back. She was so excited by it and I’m so pleased for her.

After finishing the retreat yesterday I went down to Dundrum where Derry and I talked till 1.15 a.m. over a bottle of wine. He misses his life in Argentina, its busyness and its fulfilment.

This morning I went to visit Maggie who looks so well after her first few months in Chicago. We went for lunch in Roscrea. It’s great to listen to her and the mature way she responds to situations is admirable and even enviable. We came back here to the monastery where Anne Kiely came to collect her. They stayed for supper and we shared table with Sr. Una, Sr. Anne (sister of Br. Oliver, the baker) and Michael from Roscommon who works in the telecom industry. He’s a very quiet man but seems nice. The two sisters will be leaving in the morning.

The monks and staff received me well again and seem genuinely glad to have me back. In choir before Compline Fr. Anthony whispered, “welcome home.” Nice touch. And I’m certainly glad to be back. Lionel has a bad dose of the flu and the weather is very cold, though very beautiful.

In Murroe on Thursday evening there will be requiem Mass for Bill Cusack and, because John Fitzpatrick is in the U.S., it falls to me to be main celebrant, a task I could do without. But it can’t be shirked and I pray for Our Lady’s help. She was such a strong part of Bill’s journey to priesthood at the start. Bill was buried today in Mbugwe where he worked for many years.

It’s good to be away again from the rush of traffic and life in general. In the dark, the Christmas lights came as a surprise, a lovely sight that is good to behold and good to leave behind. This place leaves one free to come to Christmas with less clutter, with mind and heart focused on the one thing necessary.

Tuesday December 17, 2002

O Wisdom,

You come forth from the mouth of the Most High.

You fill the universe and hold all things together

In a strong yet gentle manner.

O come to teach us the way of truth.

(Magnificat Antiphon)

The frost this morning is thick and white as snow on grass, trees and rooftops. It would make a perfect Christmas morning. It’s perfect to walk in, well muffled up.

Liam Farrell, man of the road and friend, was here when I returned from my walk so we sat in the dining room and had tea together and a nice chat. He said of the two women from the BBC who accompanied his brother last week, that all he could think of was getting into bed with them. How honest! The documentary they were making didn’t impress him much.

In the liturgy today we enter into the final build-up to Christmas, into a higher state of anticipation. O come, O come Emmanuel!

So I pray for the gift of humour,

Of not taking my life so seriously,

Of realising how little I can do to control or predict it.

There is an affinity between laughter and humility.

(Travelling Light, pp 76, 78)

Br. Dominic is always looking for reasons to laugh and make others laugh. In fact many of the monks here go around with big smiles on their faces.

At lunch there was only Michael and myself. There’s a smile on his face today and a light in his eyes that makes such a difference. People tell me I should smile more too because it changes me for the better. He’s 38 years old and I was thinking he might be planning to join the monastery but no, he’s here to try to work out whether or not he should go back to live in New Zealand. His mother died in her fifties a few years ago and was unconscious by the time he got home. He regrets not having been able to speak to her then, regrets that he didn’t treat her as well as he should have while she was alive. He is very close to his father and is determined to have no regrets about him. We sat at table for nearly an hour and a half.

The third guest, Willie, is fasting for two days. He’s a brother of the manager of The Corrs and is involved in the music business himself but at what level I can’t say. He has a pleasant, happy face. One or other of them is planning to do a recording of the monks singing the Office. That would be lovely.

The singing here does not have the perfection of the Benedictines in Glenstal and it is often out of tune but it is powerful, prayerful and utterly sincere. These are a very down-to-earth group of men.

Ah, the light dances, my Darling, at the

centre of my life; the light strikes, my Darling,

the chords of my love; the sky opens; the wind

runs wild; laughter passes over the earth.

Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf, my Darling,

and gladness without measure. The heaven’s river

has drowned its banks, and the flood of joy is

abroad.

(The Heart of God: Prayers of Rabindranath Tagore, HF Vetter [ed])

I was beside the master craftsman,

Delighting him day by day,

Ever at play in his presence,

At play everywhere on his earth

(Proverbs 8,30-31)

***

Every one enrolled in the book of life shall be called holy

(Isaiah 4,3)

***

At 3.00 p.m. a rich golden light flows through the trees across the fields. Liam wants me to drive him into town and it’ll give me a chance to see if I can buy any presents or decent Christmas cards.

Wednesday December 18, 2002: St. Flannan, Patron of Kilalloe.

O Adonai

And leader of Israel,

You appeared to Moses in a burning bush

And you gave him the law on Sinai.

O come and save us with your mighty power.

After Mass this morning Fr. Anthony asked me if I would like to lead Mass on Saturday and I must have looked startled because he said, I don’t want it to be a burden to you. I ask you as an honour. I said, I accept it as an honour.

Of course my first inner reaction is one of fear, a feeling of inadequacy to stand in front of these holy men, yet some days ago I did have the thought that it would be a lovely thing to be able to lead the celebration of Mass here.

…we perceive life coming to meet us

either as gift or  threat.

…we are motivated…

Either by love or fear.

Our goal is to be always motivated by love.

A first step

Is not to be afraid of fear or to resist it.

Those with no fear can never be brave.

(Travelling Light, p 82)

Life comes to meet me as a threat and my response is often motivated by fear while I desire to be open to the gift and respond to it with love. There are times when gift and love have their way. It’s not all threat and fear.

***

And love light up our mortal frame

Till others catch the living flame

(Hymn for Tierce)

***

Went to town to post Christmas cards and went into a record shop to see if I could buy some presents. I managed to get a CD of Red Hurley for Mam. While there, Willie Nelson was singing Scarlet Ribbons which Maura used to sing as a child at school. It’s a very haunting song.

Emmet arrived in the afternoon for a surprise visit on his way to Thurles. He’s looking very well and we had a nice chat for about an hour and a half. He told me how worried he was about me over the past couple of years and was even afraid that I might leave. I told him that leaving never entered my head and that I don’t really mind how much I have to suffer. He’ll be here for the Youth 2000 weekend which begins the day after tomorrow.

An elderly woman, Annie Reynolds, drove all the way from Longford this evening to see Fr. Flannan who happens to be out, so she has to drive all the way back in the dark - a two-hour journey. She was quite philosophical about it. Hearing that I’m a Pallottine she talked about Pat Dwyer and what a good man he is.

And I suppose you’re as good, she said to me.

Well, I’ve a long way to go to be as good as Pat, I said.

You have it in another way, was her reply, we all have something that the other doesn’t have.

***

During the singing of the Salve Regina tonight I could feel myself soar and sang like a lark - at least I felt I sang that well but in reality probably didn’t. It was a beautiful experience and I didn’t want the hymn to end.

Thursday December 19, 2002

O stock of Jesse

You stand as a signal for the nations;

Kings fall silent before you

Whom the peoples acclaim.

O come to deliver us, and do not delay.

***

This morning Abbott Laurence brought me in for a short chat to see how I’m getting on and he told me that my presence is having a positive effect on the community. My instinct is to wonder at that, yet I have to accept it as well. Whatever about my effect on them, theirs on me is very positive. And is there part of me that would like to stay here? Indeed there is! But my life is given to God as a Pallottine and I believe that is where he called me. Anyway I don’t think I have the stamina to live this life permanently.

Michael left this afternoon. It was nice having him here. The woman who was next door to me last week is back but I think she is fasting again so that will make meal time easier - I’ll be alone until Youth 2000 arrive tomorrow evening.

***

When there is peace one expects to be stronger in the sense of being less sensitive and vulnerable. Stronger I may be in some ways but I notice that, if anything, I am more sensitive and vulnerable. Maybe that’s a Godly thing.

As I sit looking out my window trying to get a homily together for Bill Cusack’s Mass tonight, I see old Br. Peter fiddling at a fence in the bitter wind that’s blowing. What a man!

Thinking of Bill. He was always kind to me when he visited Galapo nearly every week and quite challenging too. He was critical of my way of being a priest, seeing it as too much centred on the spiritual and not enough on the material development of the people. More bluntly, he told me I was wasting my time, wasting it on a people who would not live the gospel I was trying to preach. I didn’t and still don’t believe I was wasting my time but others too said I was wasting my time.

***

Getting the homily ready for Bill’s requiem Mass was difficult but it came together somehow in the end.

I called in to Clonbealy, Newport to see Maggie, Carmel and Consilio and rested there for a while before going on to Murroe which is only a few miles further down the road. The church there is lovely and the Parish Priest, Tom Ryan, is very friendly and did everything to make us relaxed. He was very fond of Willie, as they call Bill here, and even spoke to him by phone a few weeks ago. The assistant is Tom Hearne, ordained seven years, and I knew him when he was a student in St. Patrick’s, Thurles.

The church was full, a sign of the esteem in which Bill and his family are held. Priests who attended were: the two local priests plus Liam Holmes from the Archdiocese of Cashel and Emly; Dominic Johnston OSB from Glenstal Abbey. The Pallottines were: Mike Kiely, Pat Dwyer, John Coen, Sean Sweeney, Derry Murphy, Joe McLoughlin, Michael Irwin, Aloisi Kijanga and I was the main celebrant.

I was surprised and pleased that Pat Dwyer turned up. He was surprised that I came out from the monastery. If I were in a monastery I would not come out until my time was finished. But since I heard you were coming I brought you your post. That was nice of him and it was nice to see him and Joe as well as all the others.

Bill Cusack sca

1931-2002

Homily

The mission on which Jesus sent his first disciples was to bring the message of Peace to his people. It is the mission of the Church today, the mission which we all share. As we are gathered in prayer this evening, our mission is to bring peace to the grief of Bill Cusack’s family, to share with them memories of Bill, to talk about him. And in the days to come it will be important that there are people who will bring them peace and consolation.

The death of any family member is always a wrench, no matter how old the person is, and it is particularly difficult when the one you love is buried in a far away place and you haven’t had the chance to see him.

Bill Cusack was born in Murroe on July 7, 1931 by God’s choice. His parents, and then his family, were his first missionaries because it was through them that he had his first experience of Love, his first experience of God. And it was through them that he learned to believe in God, to trust in Him. It was within the parish of Murroe that his faith matured and developed.

On June 15, 1958 he was ordained a Pallottine priest, and became a missionary in Tanzania, East Africa, where he was to spend the rest of his life - 44 years.

The names of the places where he worked will sound strange and may mean nothing but they deserve to be mentioned - Galapo, Karatu, Kirondatal, before coming to Mbugwe where he was to spend more than half of his missionary life. It is there in Mbugwe that he was buried last Monday, after his funeral Mass in the old Mission church. He is buried, as he wished, under the famous big tree that he loved. A lovely image to keep in mind and to think about - a burial under a favourite tree.

Fr. Mike Kiely who read the gospel is a contemporary of Bill’s and is much more qualified to speak about him, but it has fallen to me to speak.

I knew Bill for a period of five years when I worked in Tanzania in the early eighty’s and I remember especially his regular visits to Galapo where we would spend afternoons chatting about all sorts of things. He was very kind to me then and this is something that has been said by a number of people - that he was a kind man. Kind and hospitable. He loved visiting and being visited and is said to have had a great way with the local Tanzanian people.

Our conversations were not always nice little chats. Bill could be quite challenging. A man who knew his own mind and was determined to get what he wanted - in his own quiet way.

This can be seen in the way that he liked to be a pioneer, building up undeveloped parishes like Kirondatal, building bush schools, catechetical centres, farming, and he was an expert at getting funds for his development projects.

There was a time when Bill taught the faith to a particular man who in turn became a catechist himself and is now the father of a priest, Fr. Aloisi Kijanga who is here with us this evening, the fruit of the mission given to Bill.

He was a worker and he worked tirelessly but there came a time in his life when the work was taken from him, when God took it away and passed it on to others. This will happen to any of us who live long enough.

It’s a great thing, most of the time, to be a priest and a missionary. It’s a very fulfilling life but it’s quite another thing when we no longer have work to fulfil ourselves, nothing to show, nothing that will attract praise from others. There comes a time when we all have to suffer, to go through the school of suffering in order to know God in a new way, to become dependent on Him in a way that has not happened before. Bill was visited by suffering and sickness in the last number of years.

It is then, in the hidden depths of the soul, that God works away quietly, away from the notice and the praise of others. In those dark depths God is drawing the person to himself, through the mystery of life, through the complexity of our sinfulness and need of mercy - God is drawing us to himself.

In a unique way a priest shares in the mystery of Christ’s suffering because of the way in which he is called to participate in the Eucharist. Praying the consecration over bread and wine, transforming them into the Body and Blood of Christ, the priest himself becomes that life of Christ, a life broken and poured out. Because he is entrusted with this mystery, because much has been given, then much is expected of the priest.

We are in need of mercy. Here I’d like to make a request, that you would pray for priests in their life and in their death - the priests of the parish, priests that you know, all of us here. Pray for us.

It worries me sometimes when I ask people to pray for me and so often the reply is, sure you don’t need prayers. Will anyone pray for me, for us priests when we die? We are seen as holy, even as saints but we’re not. Like everyone else we are frail men and we are sinners in need of mercy. If anything is clear about the Church in Ireland over the past ten years it is that. So, please pray for priests when they are living in this world and when they are dead. Pray for the soul of Fr. Bill Cusack.

Finally, I would like to commend Bill to the care of Our Lady who had such an important role in his vocation. During a retreat in Galapo a number of years ago, we were all asked to share how our vocation came about. The only person’s story I remember from that is Bill’s. When he was a young man he desperately wanted to be ordained but sickness prevented it. So he prayed earnestly and begged Our Lady to cure him. The prayer was answered. Since she was part of the beginning of his vocation we pray that she will now bring it to its fulfilment in Christ.

May he rest in peace.

***

After Mass we went to the bar across the road for tea and sandwiches. Derry is in much better form and I’m glad of that. We left for our various destinations shortly after 10.00 p.m. and I was back here in an hour. The guesthouse closes at 9.30 p.m. but Lionel had given me a key to a side entrance. Thank God everything passed off all right and I hope we struck the right balance in the Liturgy.

Friday December 20, 2002

O key of David and sceptre of Israel,

What you open no one can close again;

What you close no one can open.

O come to lead the captive from prison;

Free those who sit in darkness

And in the shadow of death.

Didn’t get to sleep till well after 2.00 a.m. but still woke shortly after five and got up for prayers. I was probably too wound up about Bill Cusack’s Mass.

Today I feel a great joy and relief that for the next five days here I have no serious event to anticipate or worry about. The rain pours down but it’s milder.

***

I shared lunch with the three Grey Friars who have come to give the Youth 2000 retreat. Youth 2000 are seriously addicted to the Grey Friars. They’re the real thing with their grey habits, long beards and shaved heads. And they’re young.

Brother Francis is a six-foot-eight Englishman who’s been with the Friars for almost eight years. He’s a good looking boyish character who reminds me a lot of my nephew John Foster. Brother John Paul is from Nevada and very familiar with the Pallottines and our origins, coming from Reno where we once had a parish. He appears to be the leader - being the older of the three - and seems to have control over when the other two may leave the table. Brother Emmanuel is from London, has spent four years with the Friars and is due to take Final Vows. His bushy beard looks ridiculous below his shaved head but he has very honest eyes and a gentle nature. Not as sure of himself as the other two.

Wouldn’t you know - God has a sense of humour. Coming up to the guesthouse after prayer in the church on my way to lunch, there was this old man who could hardly walk. He’d been brought to the monastery by a man he didn’t know. He’d bummed a lift. Something in me - maybe it was the way he looked at me - said that I’d be asked to give this man a lift to somewhere.

Sure enough, as we were coming to the end of lunch Fr. Nivard came up to me and said, I hate to bother you like this. But there is this old man who came for confession and he can hardly walk. He must have Parkinson’s or something. Would you ever be a good Samaritan and give him a lift. He’s from Thurles.

THURLES! I nearly screamed! I wasn’t ready for Thurles yet! The old man was very feeble and you’d wonder how he managed to make his way here at all. It took an absolute age to get him from the guesthouse to the car. In the end Nivard had to come and we practically carried him out to the car.

In Thurles Mr. MacElgun said he didn’t want to go home and would I leave him off in the Square. Someone else would offer him a lift home. And I wondered had I been taken for a ride. It doesn’t matter. I decided not to call in to the college.

***

Sr. Una has returned for the retreat and we are joined at supper by Alice, a heavy, loud and happy looking American who is studying in Cambridge. Her subject is Authority and Power in Medieval history.

Later we are joined by a married couple from Galway who are accompanying their 22 year-old daughter. She’s here for the retreat and, though a nice girl, gives off very negative and troubled vibes. Of course, before I know it, I’ve soaked in her vibes and feel quite stressed by the time I leave the table. A lot of her negativity seems to be directed at her parents. Compline relieved me of the stress.

Emmet and Johnny turned up for the retreat, both looking well. Johnny is leading the Mass tonight. They seem to expect or want me to attend but it’s not what I’m here for.

December 21, 2002

I hear my beloved,

See how he comes

Leaping…

Come, then, my love

My lovely one come…

(Song of Songs)

***

Travelling Light talks about consciously and deliberately taking into ourselves all the negativity and sins that are in the people around us, to filter and transform them into blessings, to become a reconciler. I’m wary of doing such an exercise because one could be taking in stuff that one can’t handle. Daniel O’Leary does warn against ingesting the poison of some people, especially if we are feeling vulnerable. There are toxic people whom we do well to avoid until we are stronger. There is an evil that most of us cannot handle.That sounds very true and wise.

During meditation I became aware that I already ingest the stuff that’s in people around me, like I did with the girl last night. Often I just take it in and it goes round inside me. What I need to do is to filter it though prayer so that it is no longer destructive. It can only be done in God and, with His strength, it can be done.

***

After meditation in the church I went to the sacristy to check things out for Mass. I told Br. Oliver that I was leading the Mass.

Well, I hope you have a very happy Christmas, he said, holding out his hand to shake mine. I realised the mistake.

Into the morning silence I had to shout a bit, I’m not LEAVING, I’m LEADING!

Oh, he said, you’re the chief celebrant!

Yes! why couldn’t I just have said chief celebrant.

Being chief celebrant in this setting was a joy. It’s like achieving the dream of a lifetime and I can’t say what to what it compares.

In the sacristy I was vesting between the retired Abbot Colmcille and Abbot Laurence. There’s practically no talking done while the ten or so monks vest for Mass. Everyone is focused - with no eyes averted - and silent. Heads are hooded for the brief moment of putting on vestments and when my head emerged from its hood Abbot Laurence turned to say something and he giggled, oh it’s you. Not that he minded it being me but he was expecting someone else and he wanted someone to be prayed for at the Mass. Things that are mildly humorous, or not humorous at all in “ordinary” life, seem very funny to them. I like that.

The readings for Mass were just beautiful - the above quotation from the Song of Songs is taken from the first reading and the gospel was the Visitation - the leaping of the Beloved and the leaping of John the Baptist in his mother’s womb, at the approach of Jesus in Mary. What is offered to us is hearts that leap for joy at His coming.

Last week someone sympathised with me on being with the Cistercians whose Liturgy she considers mundane compared to that of the Benedictines. Her sympathy was lost on me because my love is for the earthiness and simplicity of the Cistercian way.

It was pointed out to me today that the eagle in the emblem of Mount St. Joseph’s has its claws on the earth and its head in the stars which represent heaven.

Tony Flannery has this to say about the reading from the Song of Songs:

This is an image and a language that the average Catholic is not familiar with, at least not in a religious context.

The great painters of the Renaissance mostly used religious themes in their paintings. But I am always struck by how sensuous is their presentation of the bodies of the saints and Biblical figures. Clearly these artistic masters admired and loved the human body, even in a deeply religious age. Obviously the Catholic tradition of the recent past, which emphasised the dichotomy between soul and body, and saw the body as the source of sin and evil, was not always dominant in the Church. But it did shape the attitudes of our generation towards sexuality, and all types of physical expression. For many of us it was a struggle to accept our physical selves and to learn to be at home in our bodies.

(Waiting in Hope, pp 51-52)

During Mass I remember that this was also the first reading at Sr. Juliana’s funeral a year ago.

Back in the sacristy monks smiled and nodded at me - even those who had previously made no attempt at contact.

***

Emmet and Johnny came by my room at 10.00 and we went for coffee which lasted over an hour. It was like being back in former times. Johnny and I went for a walk and a chat in the rain and ended up at Br. Peter’s crib down on the farm.

Met some of Youth 2000 down at the college. Some find the location cold and not as homely as Esker while others think it’s just a lovely setting. We’re all made differently.

At lunch Br. Emmanuel came to ask if he could have a chat with me so we agreed on 2.00 p.m. in the parlour where we sat by the large window that looks out onto the grounds. He’s a fine person with a sensitive spirit and we had a lot to talk about. We connected well.

Alice and I were the only two for supper and we got talking about her work and about St. Bernard who she described as a man with a perfect love and a perfect hate. Not one for half measures. Perfect hate is referred to in Psalm 139 - I hate them with a perfect hatred. An idea most of us are not too familiar with. It’s the hatred of evil.

There’s a thing called the Lactations of Bernard. At first I didn’t cop what it meant and thought lactations might be some of his writings. Lactations, of course, have to do with milk, the milk of Our Lady. It’s part of his spirituality of getting nourishment from Our Lady and in paintings he’s depicted as drinking the milk that’s coming from her breasts. He might have had a vision of something like this. The way Alice described it was quite funny.

***

During Compline I had the sense that monastic prayer is very distinctive and uncluttered. It’s not at all devotional or sentimental. It seems healthy and the kind of prayer that suits me. But it does not suit every one.

Lord guard us as the apple of your eye,

Hide us in the shadow of your wings

(sung at Compline every night)

***

O rising sun,

You are the splendour of eternal light

And the sun of justice.

O come and enlighten

Those who sit in darkness

And in the shadow of death.

***

Show me your face,

Let me hear your voice.

For your voice is sweet

And your face is beautiful.

(Song of Songs)

December 23, 2002

I will myself bring him near

And so he shall approach me, says the Lord

(Jeremiah 30)

Sr. Una has left this morning to spend the day with her family in Dublin. She will spend Christmas alone. The life of a hermit is an amazing calling. We have talked with great ease during our meals together. Alice leaves in a short while. Then I will be the only guest remaining.

We talked a bit about the singing of the monks. Young Br. Richard has the most beautiful voice but it is the sound that comes from Fr. Anthony that is special. He has been Cantor here for 40 years, is a man who suffers and he sings from the depths of his soul. It is most inspiring to listen to him. Nothing can compare with a lifetime lived, a lifetime lived for the Lord, and the prayer emanating from that is quite unparalleld.

A wild warm wind is blowing and the sky hangs low with the threat of rain. After Tierce I will go for a stroll in the fields and the woods.

O Immanuel,

You are our king and judge,

The one whom the peoples await and their Saviour.

O come and save us,

Lord our God.

Fr. Anthony O’Brien, the younger of the two Anthony’s, tells me he’s off to Norway in June to become chaplain to a monastery of nuns. That should be interesting and I’m sure something he never dreamed of. He worked on the farm for 20 years.

I heard in Drogheda that Shirley’s friend Michelle Slattery is back in Glencairn. Michelle had worked in Africa and was MMM novice mistress in Drogheda before she moved to the Cistercians and as soon as she made final profession as a Cistercian she was sent to Nigeria as novice mistress. I thought at the time how funny and strange and wise God is. To leave a missionary congregation for a contemplative one, only to find yourself sent back to the missions. Anyway I’m sure she’s glad to be back in her own monastery. Shirley and I visited her in Glencairn once or twice.

I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord,

Plans for welfare and not for evil,

To give you a future and a hope.

You will seek me and find me

When you seek me with all your heart.

(Jeremiah 29,11.13)

He…renews your youth like an eagle’s

(Psalm 103,5)

Walking through the woods on this gloomy day that is swept by wind and rain, I thought it might be Barnabas unseen, ahead, leaving in his wake an angelic lucent trail that caused to glow underfoot the brown leaves, and stones emerald in moss. It really seemed that they were lit up. Dead leaves glowing embers in a golden fire. And I got thoroughly soaked, though I didn’t mind at all.

***

Alone for the start of lunch, I was soon joined by two young men who came to visit Br. Richard. One of them is at the Irish College in Rome and served at Emmet’s diaconate. The other is on a year out from Maynooth and appears earnest and innocent. A while later John Guidera, cousin of our man of the same name. He lives in Dublin and I’ve met him many times in Pallotti House.

Spent the afternoon trying to write a bit of poetry and had supper alone in the evening.

December 24, 2002

For you have preserved my soul

From the pit of nothingness,

You have thrust all my sins behind you.

(Isaiah 38,17)

My last full day here. I could happily stay but, knowing that the time to leave is approaching, I’m nearly ready to go. There’s a time for everything. I can’t believe where the time has gone.

The sky in the east looks clear for the sunrise and the morning star shines now directly above the church like a promise, a single bird sings with great life. I’m alone in the guesthouse. It’s very tranquil.

***

The morning has been absolutely beautiful, sunshine and no cold -just like Spring. The Lord has been very kind in these weeks, having led me to this lovely place of peace and prayer, a place in which I have felt completely at home. It’s a little miracle in itself that, despite the cold, my head, sinus and gums have been fine, thank God.

Catriona, the 13 year old girl with Leukemia, whom Emmet asked me to pray for, is now in a coma. He has gone to anoint her. What a time for her parents. God help them and her.

There’s a wind rising, with clouds gathering and a pale sun filters through the trees.

The guesthouse has been very peaceful with only Lionel and myself around. Maggie came for a visit in the afternoon, stayed for vespers and tea. It was nice and relaxing and we had a good chat. I talked a lot about Maura and I feel well about her this year. Travelling Light is on forgiveness today. I forgive and will have to keep on forgiving a certain man but I think he scorns every attempt we have made to be on good terms with him and the more we have tried the more he despises us. I think we are too willing to let him and others walk all over us. And having thought that, I prayed the Office of Readings which had this to say:

…of your back you made a pavement,

A street for them to walk on

(Isaiah 52)

***

At 10.30 p.m. I joined the monks for Vigils - my first time getting to them since arriving - and afterwards was invited by Nivard to have a mug of tea in the refectory. Another little privilege! A spoon of tealeaves into the mug with hot water on top. He gave me a chair at one of the long tables and I got a piece of cake. All the monks sit with their backs to the wall, with no one facing them at table, and they always eat in silence, except that every so often one would break the silence and come to ask in a whisper if I needed anything else. There were smiles all around. A huge Christmas tree with coloured blinking lights stands behind the table where the Abbot sits.

Tomorrow they will celebrate here, without turkey, and they will sit around for the evening singing. Lionel will join them.

For Midnight Mass the church was full, the celebration being led by Abbot Laurence who “twined” our celebration with that of the women prisoners taking place at the same time in Mountjoy.

Again the flow and pace of the Liturgy is very inspiring and reflective, drawing forth from deep within a sense of joy, a joy that is waiting to dance. Going to receive the chalice I felt like dancing - imagined Shirley asking, May I have this dance? There is something about joy that is not given immediate expression. It becomes a force, a power, like the Word imprisoned like fire in the bones of Jeremiah - it breaks forth in its own moment.

Got to bed at 1.30 a.m.

Through gloom of day

In wind-swept woods and rain,

It might be Barnabas

My Guardian going on ahead 

Unseen, angelic lucent trail

That caused the stones

In emerald moss to gleam

And dead brown leaves

To glow beneath my feet

Dead things in the dark

Become embers burning

In the golden fire of soul

By Love inflamed.