OF YOU MY HEART HAS SPOKEN

  "He who sits in the heavens laughs" (Psalm 2) I’m not used to masculine violence – the sheer strength and force of it. It happened once before when I was about fifteen years old. A lad headbutted my face in the Community Centre under the church in Mervue, leaving me nicely bruised and I told the lie that I had banged my face off the countertop, ashamed to say what had actually happened. That was then and now, last week on the Monday before Christmas, I encountered the violence of men again. Accidentally. In the wrong place at the wrong time. Standing in the doorway of Iceland, two men went for each other with their fists, and I happened to be in the way. Stood between them. And for the space of a minute or less I was rattled back and forth like a rag doll. Another man entered the fray, and I suffered a severe blow to the left side of my lower back. The force of it shocked me. Then the fight ended and I limped away, dazed and in great pain. It was a rude awakening from t...

A Voice cries   In the  Wild             Wilder Wilderness   The Voice of God             In the wilderness of war             In the desert desolation   Of many a human life   A Voice that speaks to the heart A Voice that speaks of peace   ‘Console my people Console them’   And no one hears at all             Bewild             Bewilder             Bewildered   ‘O that today you would listen to His Voice Harden not your hearts’   The voice in the wilderness, the unheard voice brought Neil Diamond’s ‘I Am, I Said’ to mind. This is not just my favourite song of all time but from the...

 Recorded for St. Richard's Catholic College, December 13, 2023

“Oh, that you would tear the heavens open and come down!” (Isaiah 64) This is the aching cry Of a single soul Plea of the people Groaning of creation Oh, that you would! I prayed this Word of God with great intensity as a young man’ prayed it for years. Yearned for Jesus to come decisively, definitively – to loosen the bonds of my clinging sins, the tenacious chains of addictions. That He would come down to this body seeking consummation. It is the prayer of Advent. Come! Come Lord Jesus! He came He is here He is yet to come My own need is not so great now, so I pray this Word for the person in distress, the world at war, the people who live in darkness. For the earth itself. I pray it for the heavily pregnant woman whose time is near, that she may have the support and strength of Mary, the blessedness of Jesus for her baby. The prayer of Advent. Maranatha, come Lord Jesus! It is the prayer of parents for the child who has left, the prayer of waiting for the return. It is the pra...

The house feels empty this evening and the High Street is strangely silent. Quiet too is the space down by the Cage at the seafront. Quiet and unusually dark. An enveloping darkness that is almost comforting. There’s a gift in the silence, the darkness, the emptiness. An opportunity. The Gospel of the Talents last Sunday is a reminder of what God has given us to live fulfilled lives in this world and to prepare us for Eternal Life in Heaven. It is stated very simply that if we accept, co-operate with, and develop the gifts of God then we will find our way into Heaven, whereas if we reject or neglect God’s gifts then we may well find ourselves left outside. It’s a sobering thought. We tend to think of talents in terms of the things we are able to do such as art, music, sport, crafting, writing and while all of these give expression to who we are, the gifts of God go much deeper. The greatest gift that God has given us is the person of Jesus Himself and it is clear that to reject...

  The church bell has been silent for most of five years. I managed to get it going for a brief period back in April and all attempts since then have utterly failed. It’s a real bell with a beautiful sound and it’s rung by a hammer that’s controlled by an electronic panel in the Sacristy and last week I had an earnest desire to hear it again. So, on my way out to celebrate Mass one morning I waved my hand in blessing over it and on the following day I stood before the panel and said a prayer to Barnabas, my Guardian Angel, asking him to do something. What happened was quite interesting. No, there was no miraculous ringing, but something happened to me, as if something within me stepped back into a remarkable stillness. The pressure to fix it left me and my entire being went pure silent, a sense of perfect clarity and calm. Then I took the manual in my hands as I had often done before and, following its instructions got the bell working very quickly, a bit out of time at first b...

  Every day has its mood and its music. Today, feast of the Holy Souls, it’s Faure’s Requiem. Every other sound seems to jar. Maura and I discovered this Requiem on cassette tape in Birkenhead not long after Dad died back in 1990 and we listened to it over and over as it brought tears and solace to our grief. This morning in the throes of Storm Ciaran, in the interior half-light, I plug Faure into the church sound system, and it is magnificent as I go around putting down buckets and towels to catch the water that is dripping, sometimes flowing down from the church ceiling. There is no grief in me now, not much anyway and even the “not much” is softened. The music of course brings Maura close and all the many others who have gone. Mam and Dad. I sit to write their names in the November list – two foolscap pages – and they all seem to float about the sanctuary. Family, Pallottines, close friends, neighbours. We’re of an age now when more seem to have gone than remain. It’s sobering...

  "Lady of the silences Calm and distressed Torn and most whole Rose of memory Rose of forgetfulness Exhausted and life-giving Worried reposeful" (TS Eliot) Just before Mass this morning, Grace brought me a lovely plaque of the Virgin and Child which she found in a second-hand shop. It reminded her of me and thought it appropriate for this difficult time in Israel and Palestine. As I opened it, Dominic asked when my birthday is, thinking it might be now, but I told him it was in late January and the mention of it brought me back to the last weeks of my mother’s pregnancy. She told me that, on December 8 th , 1954, six or so weeks before my birth, she walked two miles to Mass in deep snow. That very act of walking so far in difficult weather while heavily pregnant speaks of a commitment to the Mass that is very striking. She wasn’t overly religious but was part of a generation for whom fidelity was as natural and unquestioned as breathing and she probably never missed a Sund...

The still steadiness of it Serene and well-ordered Unflappable Unruffled Residing in the cool Clear waters of the mind There are times when I dearly wish it were mine This heart of stone But I am a child Of Ezekiel’s prophecy Possessing a heart of flesh Instead Residing in the cauldron Of my being Soul of fire In a silent stillness That heaves Pulsating Passionate Feeling wounds too strongly Bearing burdens too heavy Mine and those of others And sheltered in the One Who sustains the entire universe Christ the Sacred Heartbeat Of all life It is His gift Whether I like it Or not

He lays me to rest In the Garden Where dew falls At dawn And trees That shade the scorching noon Grasp the whispering Wind Where the setting sun The stars and rising moon Glance gently He feeds me Milk To still the child And Wine To take away man’s pain. Coming in He breathes softly On my face His tears A living Spring To wash my wounds Speaking, urging gently Rest my love Drink deep and sleep My dearest friend Till we are I (Galapo 1985)

Lord, it is easier for me to walk with You rather than to sit in front of You to leave rather than to remain to be nomadic rather than sedentary to avoid Your gaze rather than to face it to wear a mask rather than cast it aside I am not the one whom people imagine me to be. There is a me that no-one ever sees No-one but You and my fear is that You do not like what You see But that is not true Because you love even what seems to be unlovable drawing order out of chaos light out of darkness for You see the struggle of it and the hope contained in it for You are at home here whether I sit or whether I walk whether I stand or whether I lay down whether I remain or whether I leave You are my hope You are my home You are everything You are in everything

It was a warm blustery  Sunday evening o n Hastings pier... Waiting for news of Carmel Waiting for Carmel to leave Not that I wanted her to go I would like her to stay on and on We all would But she had to go It was her time Her time was coming And God was calling And I was five hundred miles Away She is my aunt -in-law But really my aunt In affection Sixty odd years  of it When I was a boy of eight or so She came to Raford from Birmingham Young wife and mother Josie's wife Marian's mother Josie was my uncle Raford is the Carty homestead It became Carmel's home Over the past 36 years It has been hers Since Josie died She came to embody Raford She became Raford For me For my family To the eight-year-old boy She was bright, beautiful and warm Very caring We were down by the big metal gate Closing it And my heel got caught in it I cried more loudly than was necessary And Carmel brought me in, took off my white ankle socks, bathed and bandag...