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Something Precious: Remembering Patricia

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It’s Friday evening, feast of Our Lady of the Rosary, and I’m restless. The restlessness of the bereaved. I don’t know what to do with myself. And end up in the almost empty church. I kneel. I stand. Do the stations of the cross. And there it is, a point of connection. Mary holding the dead body of her son. She is every mother and father. They are all in her and she in them. The parents whose child has died too soon. A child’s death is always too soon. We were here in the church this morning for the funeral of Patricia who, with her twin sister, turned ten a few weeks ago. Eleven months ago she was diagnosed with cancer and I first met her in February when she was brought to the church in a wheelchair. I prayed with her, anointed her,  wished with all my heart that I could save her, heal her . She wondered why a good girl like her had to be so sick.   At Mass last Sunday  we heard these words from the Bible “ You have been trusted to look after something precious; guard it with the hel

THE PROMISE

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  I see the face of God In the one I love Bride and groom In prayer we gaze Into each other's eyes The face of God Shining there Love breaking through What a sacred thing it is To seek and find the face Of the one you love In the intimacy Holy Matrimony Flesh and sweat Bone and soul To become familiar with The distinctive Voice Sound of the beloved's Very person The other entering The front door Particular footfall God in all of this Presence promised On the altar Promise of heaven In our daily bread Broken Sometimes torn apart Given and Restored (Galway 2016)