COLM - Something More Noble

The noble face of a Brazilian Pallottine,
taken in Vale Veneto 2008

Frangled is what I feel. Like every nerve in my body is frazzled and jangled. Thought frangled was a non-word but discovered it does in fact exist in the Urban dictionary where it is defined as, “Mixed up or lightly tossed; a cross between frizzle and mangled”

Lightly tossed is what I am not. Mangled maybe! I feel hemmed in, trapped in a traffic jam in my car and it seems like Hastings is besieged on all sides by endless roadworks and there is no escape. My frustration boils over within the confines of my own space and I feel demeaned by it, ashamed.

So I force my mind back to something more noble. My encounter with Colm in St. Raphael’s ward at St. Anne’s Mental Health Centre. Interesting that a secular place of healing should be dedicated to two Saints.

Colm is seated on a chair in the corridor, head bowed, cap shading his eyes, faced in the direction of the locked door. He is surely hemmed in – within this physical space, within himself.

It is a modern day Upper Room, a Cenacle in time. The troubled disciple waits behind a locked door, praying, and through those doors Jesus comes as He did that first Easter evening. And I am the bearer of this Visitation. It is the grace given me. Peace be with you says Jesus and He says it again.

Colm doesn’t want to move to his room or to any private place for this time of ministry. So, in order to see his face I go down on my knees to look up at him, having declined the offer of a chair. A servant kneels. That is what I am. Servant to Colm, servant to Christ.

There is no conversation. We simply pray – Mercy, Repentance, Absolution, Our Father, Hail Mary. As men of his generation do, he takes off his cap in an act of reverence. Blesses himself. Joins his hands. Childlike.

Holy Communion is what he has been waiting for and when he receives his Eucharistic Lord, I suggest we pray in silence. Colm closes his eyes. Tears cascade down his face, full flowing like a river. He has no doubt whatsoever about Who he has received. Colm is the Tabernacle. I tell him this.

“The Lord whom you are seeking will suddenly enter His Temple, and the Angel of the Covenant whom you are longing for, yes, He is coming” (Malachai 3:1)

There isn’t a sound.

I am aware then that we are at the centre of an immense Monstrance, the epicentre of all life, that place where Jesus is exposed for our Adoration. We are together in Him in this briefest moment of Transfiguration with all the rays of our frustrating entrapment radiating away from us, from this sacred centre.

Then I anoint him, his hard-worked open hands, his troubled head and finish with Aaron’s Blessing. “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His Face to shine on you. The Lord lift up His countenance to you and give you His Peace. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

The nurses who have been observing and listening from a distance, come forward, surrounding him. One of them in tears.

We say goodbye and I leave him looking at the door that would lock behind me. The whole encounter took less than ten minutes but had the quality of infinity about it.

Transfiguration. We did a type of Lectio Divina on St. Luke's Transfiguration at the RCIA class on Tuesday. Reading the passage aloud, then in silence and sharing the word or phrase that resonated. It was very dynamic, fascinating how ready for the Word people are. Fascinating too to witness the freshness of new faith, the spontaneous workings of God in their lives. The signs, even little miracles given by God as reminders that we are on the right road.

There was a kind of Transfiguration too in the visit of our Rector General, Father Zenon Hanas SAC, last weekend. We became our very best selves as a Parish Community and he spoke beautifully to us about the Infinite Love of God, a phrase and reality so dear to St. Vincent Pallotti. So much part of who we have become, fruit of more than 140 years of Pallottine life here.

Personally, in this year of many Jubilees, Father Zenon reminded me of a Jubilee of my own that I had forgotten. September 12th will mark 50 years since I made my First Profession as a Pallottine and he presented me with a beautiful letter for the occasion. I am surprised again by wonder.

Thanks be to God.

For this Transfiguration Sunday of Lent we find ourselves in Limavady, Co. Derry for the funeral of Jean McClarey, Mother of our Provincial Father Liam. It's his second time to celebrate the funeral of his parent, his Father having died just over three years ago. It's a very difficult thing to do as a priest, and yet a great honour.

She is his Mammy and all his tenderness is on display. We are witnesses to something beautiful. Sorrowful and beautiful. And sometimes funny. We are given a glimpse into their ordinary interactions, their conversations. We enter there thoughtfully and respectfully at his invitation. These two words were at the entrance to the ward in the hospital, he tells us. What a blessed way to approach any person or place.

I feel for Liam in his position of responsibility. The demands of his work will have no sympathy for the grief of this son, this now orphaned adult. So I will pray all the more for him. 

St. Finloughs church is magnificently located, with it's view of the Foyle and beyond to Insihowen. The earth sweeps down into the hollow where the cemetery is. Beautifully kept, with a river flowing by it. A consoling backdrop to a family's grief.

Here is the radiance of Christ Transfigured and here the cloud comes down, the cloud that holds the voice of favour. Here is my Son, my chosen One. Listen...