GOT MY FEET ON HOLY GROUND

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The Sugrue Crib

It's the season of waiting. Waiting for Christmas, for some new arrival of Jesus. Waiting to see the cardiologist. A long, long wait. And I have all the time in the world. Chris Rea sings 'Driving Home For Christmas' on the radio in the waiting room, a song that is always a reminder of Maura. Little did we think that Chris would die before Christmas, God rest him.

My sister-in-law's Dad, Jim, has also died and we had his funeral yesterday. His family kept vigil with him for days as he quietly made his way home to God. Most blessed of all waiting. True Advent. A very meaningful waiting. 

I am privileged to be drawn into their time of waiting, with them as friend and priest, and to witness the quality of their collective loving. And the gift of him being at home and they all being with him, caring for him right to the end. Each grandchild having their personal time with him, to say what they wished him to hear. Hearing is what he did. They were all heard by him.

His way with the grandchildren was quite something. From the moment they were born, he was the one who could get them to sleep and through the years he made each one feel uniquely special. I witnessed him holding all but one of his grandchildren when they were little babies, something they themselves have no memory of but the reality of that tender holding is within them and will never leave them. It is part of that wordless reality that has made them who they are.

He was a man of deep faith who knelt to pray every morning and night, went to Mass every day. And like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, it was in the Eucharist that he recognised who Jesus really is. Jesus hidden and present. Our hearts burn within us in unspeakable recognition.

A strong man physically and in every other way, with the strength that had a capacity for tenderness in it. A Garda chief superintendent, not just as a job or career, but long after retirement he remained a guard as we say, which makes me realize that it was a calling, a vocation from God.

Jim went peacefully with his wife and six children gathered around him. Holy rest and peace.

It makes for a very different kind of Christmas, a sadder kind of "driving home." But one that is also graced by gratitude. And it is God's time for Jim, even if it is not the time of our liking. We wouldn't choose for the one we love to become ill, to die. We would not have chosen the days before Christmas for it to happen but it is Jim's own ultimate Advent, the season of his waiting coming to its fulfilment. Jesus speaking silently in the soul of this great man, "behold I am coming soon" and the soul, out of our hearing responds "amen, come Lord Jesus." 

The deepest mysteries hidden, Jesus present but unseen. Sometimes seen but not recognised. Jesus speaking but we don't understand what He is saying. Not immediately, at least.

Back to Chris Rea's song. Home. Got my feet on Holy ground. The place where I am most at ease, most truly myself. Thankfully, I've got that now both physically and emotionally. Especially in the early morning hours when I am alone with none but God, with nothing to prove, no questions to answer.

There's a line from a Psalm that keeps coming to me, "so I would escape far away and take refuge in the desert." This is my desert, my escape, in this place at this hour.

We do our best to be presentable for others and for God. But I've discovered that He doesn't require that of us, doesn't need us to be presentable, though love does require us to do our best to be the best we can. Not the best but our best, as Sister Juliana used to say.

The Stable was what it was. A real stable. Jesus chose it as it was. And of course it became something more by His presence in it. So with us.

There's a Crib that Jim made nearly fifty years ago and it stands on the floor beneath the Christmas tree. Over the years little children have knelt there and prayed. Some have played with the figures, throwing them through the star that is shaped into the wood. In the process some of the figures have lost their heads and at times they lay scattered around the little stable. Perhaps it's only the baby Jesus figure that remains in tact in the middle of it all.

Our life can be like that. We get thrown about, lose our heads, lay in a state of collapse and Jesus remains at the centre of it. And there are time when the figures are put back in place, standing tranquilly and somewhat battered. Such is the real stable of our lives.

Odd the images that come in a moment of quiet. Sitting in my armchair in the dark of an early morning, pondering, praying, it was the side of a large cargo ship on the ocean that showed itself and beside it a small rowing boat with me in it. It seemed to me that I had left the ship and taken my place in the small boat. A new journey towards a different shore.

Initially the ship seemed to represent Hastings but now it seems to be more than that. Like it's my entire past. Each container on its deck holds a particular aspect of my life to date and all of it is left behind, physically, if not yet emotionally.

Chatting with my nephew Brian the other day, I asked if he could draw or paint this image for me. Within a day he had it done. What a gift. His Christmas gift to me.

Through the vastness of the sea, God opens a way for me and my little boat

Admiration for the talents of my nieces and nephews often stirs in me. Admiration for them as people. An overwhelming love.

Recently I was thinking about Dave, the night he performed in a body-building competition in the Olympia in Dublin. Mr. Ireland, I think it was. As he said himself, I don't "get it" - all the pumped up oily bodies in speedos. "You don't get it" he had said, "but you were there!" 

It was when he walked out on stage that something within me changed, my vision altered. I simply saw the nephew I love and my eyes filled with tears.

These same eyes filled up again the other night when I saw our 17-year-old ballet-dancing Katie as she performed with the Corrib Dance Academy in the Town Hall. It wasn't performance, more essence and pure grace. And though she was one of many, I only had eyes for her. 

My next venture will be to see Laura play basketball. 

It reminds me again that this is how God sees us, His first sighting of us one of loving admiration. This is my abiding wish for everyone at Christmas and in every season of life, especially in those time when we struggle in the depths.

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He walks with us

And we do not see Him


We see Him

But do not recognise Him


He speaks

And we do not understand


Until He opens our eyes

To the mystery


Setting our hearts on fire

As we comprehend


Who He is who breaks

The Bread


His Body at our table

At the closing of the day


God is with us


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