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Painting by Charlie Mackesy |
Sitting
at my kitchen table feeling bruised and sore of soul, the prayer of Psalm 31
comes spontaneously and audibly to my lips – “In you O Lord I take refuge, let
me never be put to shame…into your hands I commend my spirit.” It’s the prayer
of Jesus on the Cross. “With Christ I hang upon the Cross!” – St. Paul locating
me, telling me where I belong. The Cross being the bed of the woman ravaged by
covid-19, gasping, dying of it; it is the grave by which I stand, the grave of
one who died of the virus.
The
seasons, especially the spiritual ones, keep arriving before their time. A
priest from Scotland says that we are in a long Holy Saturday since the
pandemic arrived last year. I feel that I am in a Good Friday, that I am
somehow crucified with Christ as a result of my decision to suspend public
worship. It’s one thing to obey a decision made by Bishops and Government but
it’s quite another to make the decision myself and stand by it. I would
like to please everyone. This, however, is not about pleasing but protecting.
People had said to me, “follow your gut” but my gut is shredded and I can only
discern the right thing in blind faith. I found John Michael Talbot’s version
of Psalm 31 and listened to it in the silent turmoil in which I find myself.
I
phoned Maureen’s son who told me she was still hanging in there so I went
straight away to anoint her. She looked very close to death. Yet when her son
told her that I was there she opened her eyes, looked at him first, then at me
and smiled. She was radiant! And she joined in the prayers, expressing profound
gratitude when we had finished, blessing me in the way elders do. Before
leaving it occurred to me that I should remind her that she was created in the
image and likeness of God, that I see the face of God in her. She cried a
little and said, “what a beautiful thing to say!”
What
a beautiful thing Divine Providence is that God brought about such a moment in
our lives, a reminder to me that, whatever about my self-doubt, it is God who
is guiding me through my days, through closure and isolation, through openness
and encounter, through sickness and health, through weakness and strength.
There
have been a number of other anointings of people suffering with the virus from
as young as 26 and as old as 94. Some of them have died. May they rest in peace
and some have made a kind of recovery. Some are serene and surrendered as a
result of life-long faith in God. Some are naturally afraid of what is
happening to them. And they are all isolated and lonely for their loved ones
who cannot be with them. It is an incredibly lonely reality on a human level,
that sacred humanity which Christ took to himself.
The
nurses are wonderful. It is they who welcome me when I enter a ward and they
patiently help me through the process of putting on the protective clothing
which I am very awkward with, especially in intensive care. There is an air of
calm in them. Someone asked if I am afraid being with patients who have the
virus. I am not afraid at all because I somehow lose myself when I am with each
person. I become the person of Christ for them which is essentially what and
who a priest is. My only fear is that I might bring the virus to others.
And
it’s amazing how Jesus touches other people in the ward when they listen to the
prayers of anointing and the words of Scripture that are spoken. Other patients
who are not Catholics have called me to their bed to thank me for the prayers
and say how much it has help them.
What
has come home to me very strongly during the past week is the importance of the
one person as distinct from the gathering of the many in community at the
Eucharist. The ministry of Jesus is very personal as well as communitarian. He
calls people by their personal name; He ministers to individuals as well as to
the multitude.
He left
the ninety-nine in order to find the one who was lost (Luke 15:4-7). One gets lost in
all sorts of different ways and I believe that this Word of God in the Gospel
is being fulfilled in me at the moment, for the time being. It doesn’t mean
that He abandons the rest of the flock but for the present it is the lost one
who needs to be found and the finding of the one somehow is for the good of the
whole flock who in their charity want the lost to be found and cared for. When
one part suffers, all the rest suffer with it (1 Corinthians 12:26). It is not the healthy who need the doctor but the sick.
It
is hard for sincere Catholics to be deprived of the sacraments at any time and
I am very conscious of the many throughout this parish who have had to live
alone without Jesus in Holy Communion for long periods. What is remarkable is
how uncomplaining older people are. They have a faith solid as a rock that
absolutely trusts God when He is absent in this way, a faith that understands
that He has a way of reaching them in whatever circumstance they find
themselves. These have learned to wait, to understand that waiting is a call
from God and that the spiritual hunger that is deprived of its essential food
is one of the best preparations for a deeper and worthier encounter with God. The
grace of Baptism is active, the grace by which we were all claimed for Christ
and belong to Him in every situation.
What
continues to sustain me is the care people in the parish and beyond have for my
wellbeing. The children who arrive at the door, standing back a safe distance
to give me cards filled with hearts and kisses and of course chocolate and
biscuits. The brother and sister who found a heart shaped stone on the beach
and decide to send it to me “so that you know you are loved” and the dinners
that people have had delivered to my door. In all of this I see the priesthood
of Christ being lived out in His faithful.
In
the temple of my body, within the sanctuary of my soul I come to the table of
the Most Holy Trinity, taking my place there. It is the place from which the
sacrifice of Jesus comes, it is the place of spiritual childhood, the child who
is fed by the Father who opens His holy hands that contain the blessing that is
needed for the day.
“All
of these look to you to give them their food in due season. You give it, they
gather it up. You open your hand; they have their fill.” (Psalm 104)
Thank you Father Eamonn. May God protect you and keep you safe as you attend the dying and the sick. Thank you for your Podcasts. They revive my drooping spirits and never fail to touch my heart.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful reflection Father. Thank you.
DeleteReverend Father! It might be that you are wrong in few places. Christ offered himself on the cross for our salvation and for you to feed your flock with His body. Your action - closure of the church - is rather something very oposite - you made it harder for your parishioners to benefit from His saving passion. Christ passion was not feeling bad for not giving His body to his followers. Being like child is not also to being like a child who, when rightfully scolded, is crying selfishly and seeing himself as an innocent victim.
ReplyDelete