OF YOU MY HEART HAS SPOKEN

In the past I understood AI in relation to farming and the person making it happen was sometimes referred to as “the bull”, but now AI has another meaning – artificial intelligence – and I have used it to alter photos, removing bits that I don’t like. Sometimes with serious intent and other times just doing it for fun. As I approach another milestone in my life I am naturally looking back over the years I have lived out in this world and part of me would like to alter some of what has taken place. If I could, I would delete aspects of my personal history – the embarrassing things, things of which I am ashamed. And I would also like to delete evidence of my vanity, much of which is public in both photos and writing – and I could, even might delete some of these, especially the writings. Such an amount of vanity and self in them! Then, last Monday, I thought – so what! So what if I am vain! It would be better not to be, but deleting the evidence of my vanity would be dishonest becaus...

  Sometimes I have to haul myself up out of the pit of my body – with great effort – in order to keep going and do what must be done. It was like that at Mass on Sunday and my voice felt raw, deep, and oddly too strong. Too loud. This morning it seems like I have no voice at all. And I need it. But sorrow seems to have sucked it out of me. In the end it was all right, as it often is, though it still demanded that I dig deep. But it was all right. The funeral was remarkably tranquil. Dignified and heartfelt. Perhaps we all felt that his time had come. His time for rest. Many years ago, someone told me that animals have an instinct for good people, even for what is Godly in them. It must have been like that to a near perfect degree with St. Francis. Simon had a way with dogs – the wounded and the strong. They were safe with him and, perhaps, he with them. The first time we met, about thirty-five years ago, there opened up in my heart a special place for him. His mother aske...

  My name Is not a word To be pronounced More a sound Emanating From God Most High Like the silence Of interstellar space The calm deep of ocean Washing the shore The quiet falling Of an Autumn leaf And then again The roaring of wind Waves crashing on rocks Groaning of the elements A pristine primordial cry And the laughter of delighted children My name is a mystery And I have heard God call it In the unfathomable  Sacrament of the Altar  And in those hidden places Where only He has ventured

  Darkness presents itself as light Death as life Ignorance parades as wisdom Wrong declares itself to be right The wolf is dressed like a lamb Hell pretends to be Heaven "Their speech sweet as honey Their throat a wide open grave" Tears of partial compassion A cult of softness. Preferring the deception We do not test the spirits Surrendering ourselves To our own destruction The destruction of our children

  From the pocket of my jeans I take the bunch of keys Fumbling bundle of responsibilities That are carried with me everywhere The discomfort of them Prodding my flesh The clumsy weight of them Too many of them And I thrust them To the bottom of my backpack And throw it to the bottom Of the wardrobe Free now for the quiet Of this strange bleak place Drab and most dreary of days But free nonetheless For brotherhood And solitude with the One And only necessary Good For whom Through whom From whom All else flows And all my follies forgotten 

At a meeting on the new Parish that will be established in November, I was struck by the fact that most of the questions and discussions focused on finance and structure, matters for which there are no adequate answers yet. Not yet. My attention went in the direction of inspiration, specifically on what Bishop Richard refers to as “communities of saints.” This is what we are called to become, though becoming saints is probably the farthest thing from most people’s minds, engrossed as we are in the throes of daily living. From childhood I have been drawn to the idea of holiness, the call of God in the Bible when He says, “be holy, for I the Lord am holy.” (Leviticus 21:8 and 1 Peter 1:16) Becoming holy and becoming saints are the same thing. For centuries in the Church, it was thought that, in order to become holy, one had to become a priest, a nun, a brother, a monk or a hermit. These were the vocations of saints yet when you look at the Bible, the very first vocation mentioned is to m...

  “You had not yet come forth into the light, Not even the world itself had come into existence When already I was loving you. Throughout my Eternal Existence I have loved you” (Words of God spoken by Saint Alphonsus Ligouri)   On the fourth day of my Aran retreat, before the boats had arrived from the mainland, I took the Pump Road, turning left up past the water works, a path I had never taken before. It narrows into a beautiful lane, framed by stone walls and beautifully decorated by hundreds, maybe thousands of wildflowers.   The path led me to the cliff facing the Atlantic Ocean with the Black Fort further up to my left. This is a route I’ve wanted to take for years, and it is utterly solitary, a road not travelled before, symbolic of seeking God in places where I had not searched before.   The search is always the same but sometimes it is necessary to get a different perspective. “It is Your Face O Lord that I seek.” (Psalm 27)   Out there near the...

Samuel, "the man who listens to God" - that's the meaning of his name. Samuel who pitched tent outside our church in the winter of a few years ago. Samuel, who returns from time to time and gives thanks that we gave him a welcome. And I give thanks that he is now settled in his own home and has a job. The man who listens to God, the one by whom God is heard, turned up appropriately enough with his girl friend yesterday before the Sunday vigil Mass. Appropriate because she is deaf and unable to speak clearly. Appropriate because the Gospel of this weekend has Jesus addressing the deafness of a man and healing him. Samuel's friend is not here to be healed. She isn't healed of her deafness but what is beautiful is to see the communication that takes place between the two of them; communication on all sorts of levels; a loving communication. He is heard by her, and she is understood by him. "Be opened!" This is how Jesus addresses the deafness of the man. Be...

Down to the edge Of the island We will go Once more Beyond the reach Of electric power Out of touch  With everything Where Elements Alone remain Salt sea water Washing my face My sinners soul Transformed by grace Mother of Mercy Is present here Speaking of surrender To the Spirit Here is the wind The waves The crashing And the upward surge Of everything

  "I shall make my weaknesses my special boast” (2 Corinthians 12:9) There's a struggle going on in me, the tiredness that comes with the end of the year, the tiredness I see in teachers and pupils as they come to the conclusion of their academic year. A tiredness and an excited anticipation of endings and freedom. I'm a bit unsteady in myself when I enter the church for the first Sunday morning Mass. I have the pleasure of my sister's company this weekend, but in normal times the first word I speak in the day is spoken when I come for Mass which is preceded by three hours of silence. Silent breakfast, silent prayer, silent preparation. I love that silence and I love the first word that is spoken in the day. The connection with the people of the parish. This particular Sunday morning a young Mum places her new-born baby in my arms. The effect on me is instant. Holding this child close to my chest, all unsteadiness is steadied, all turbulence calmed by a peace that ta...

From my earliest years as a young child, there has been a close connection between the Divine and the ordinary things of life. I understood and accepted that God was everywhere, so I prayed to him anywhere, told him my simplest desires. Many of these have been answered, some taking years – like the yacht that I’ve written about before - and others almost instantly. An instant answer happened the other day as I was out on my walk. Something in me said it would be good to have a real scallop shell for Baptisms and I wondered if I should use my Camino shell which is at home in Mervue, but I felt that it has its place and memory. And as I approached the Goat Ledge outdoor café, I noticed William decorating one of the walls with hundreds of scallop shells. Stopping to chat with him, I mentioned my desire for one. He promptly produced a box full of them and offered me two to take away. Another experience has to do with the blue and white Volkswagen toy Minibus I had when I was about three or...

  Love is the boat  That ferries us Love the sea  On which we sail  Strong-hearted waves Jesus the sure sailor Holy Spirit the enfolding wind God the Father the Island  Destiny of all desire (For Derry my Aran companion, August 2019)

‘Love was his meaning’: a conversation about Julian of Norwich between Dr Claire Gilbert and Fr Eamonn Monson. Click on the link below to listen to the conversation https://drive.google.com/file/d/16euftBoLdrM3X1YvEAhK3RznhdAI1LFj/view?usp=drivesdk Claire Gilbert wrote her doctoral thesis on Julian in relation to the ecological crisis, but when she was diagnosed with myeloma, a cancer of the blood, Julian stopped being the subject of her academic study and became her spiritual companion and guide through two and a half years of gruelling treatment.  Claire wrote about this in letters to friends, published as  Miles to Go Before I Sleep .  At the end of the treatment she heard a call to tell Julian’s story and wrote  I, Julian , a fictional autobiography which seeks to do justice to this extraordinary woman’s life. Dr Claire Gilbert is an author.  She is the founding director of the Westminster Abbey Institute, and has worked for the Archbishops’ Council of the C...

April 29, 2024. Forty-five years ago today I made my Final Profession as a Pallottine on the Feast day of St. Catherine of Siena who expresses well what goes on in me when she speaks these words to God, “ You are a mystery as deep as the sea; the more I search, the more I find, and the more I find the more I search for you. But I can never be satisfied; what I receive will ever leave me desiring more. When you fill my soul I have an even greater hunger, and I grow more famished for your light. I desire above all to see you, the true light, as you really are. ” But I can never be satisfied; what I receive will ever leave me desiring more. Desire! For a long time, I have thought that every desire of my humanity is at its heart a desire for God but maybe that’s not the case. Maybe I glamourize my desires when, in fact, they are actually mundane, and even base, having nothing to do with God at all. Vocation Sunday leaves me questioning the sincerity of my own vocation. Not the vocation...

No speech No word No sound Is found To scream out My displacement In this World The cultural Religious  Personal Estrangement An Eastertide Gethsemane A lostness of soul An intense black cloud Hovering over This sunny afternoon And You would not Allow even a brief respite In the Cloister For which You my Lord Have bid me crave Be brave You say Be stretched Beyond all boundaries Content with the colour Of the moment A simple child At play

Witness. The word appears a few times in the first reading for Easter Sunday. Here in Hastings, we had the annual ecumenical Procession of Witness – the Way of the Cross – which made its way from St. Clement’s church, up High Street, into our own St. Mary Star of the Sea and then on to All Saints. To be a witness is not simply something we see with our eyes, not only something we give testimony to in our words, but it is most of all something we experience, a reality into which our entire being is immersed, so that we somehow become the reality that we witness. I have mixed feelings about the Procession of Witness. It is always good to walk with Deacon Duncan, to see familiar faces in the crowd and this year to walk for the first time with Father Mat and his family. And I have great admiration for all those who give themselves so generously to the process. But the thing itself embarrasses me and is much too loud for my liking yet, in spite of my dislike, I find myself drawn into ...