OF YOU MY HEART HAS SPOKEN

"May it be the space and the time for a wonderful human and spiritual adventure and a deep encounter with the One who called you there. And enjoy the ice creams!"  This is the wish sent to me by a friend to mark my arrival in Rome. It is already a human adventure that comes upon me like an avalanche, after months of relative inaction and tranquility at home. Now it is somewhat frenetic, as you might expect in this particular vibrant city. And the beautiful weather is hot at 25 degrees compared to home. Draining when havent been used to it.  Early Sunday morning I climbed the 120 or so steps to the main kitchen and sat quietly a while with my coffee in the lovely salone (sitting room), relishing the silence of a city not yet in gear. More silent this day because all the roads are closed for the marathon.  The 120 steps of the stairs to the kitchen show how vast the house is and there is a shorter route but I didn't have the required keys. I have them now! I joined Rory for...

  The days are overtaking us and departure beckons again. Moving on, not remaining in one place is the pilgrim journey. Spirit of the Camino. There are strong emotions stirring for all sorts of reasons and there is also a quiet peace in me. This morning I brought the car back to the community in Dundrum, stopping at the service area near Athlone to use the vacuum cleaner. The token I was given wouldn't fit into the slot so I went back into the shop where the young girl behind the counter looked perplexed, as if she didn't know what to do. But that was just momentary. Maybe she had been daydreaming. She came out to the machine with me and, to my vain relief, she couldn't fit the token either. Then she kicked into a knowing, efficient action, opening the padlock and unbolting the machine as if it was a gun. Got the machine going. A clean car again. It was good to sit around the table with the community for lunch, to sit a while in the tranquil chapel of Pallotti House. A ...

The college campus is at its best this October morning. We walk slowly, creating a precious memory, stopping for coffee at Butler’s van. “Enjoy every coffee” she says, “and eat everything you can.” John O’Brien said something similar to me a few years back and I try to follow such advice, to find a balance between watching what I eat and simply enjoying my food. It’s my opinion that there is too much caution around food, an obsession with it in this “first world of ours” while throughout the earth there are people who cannot choose what they eat and, worse still those who have nothing to eat at all. Claire, who is very health-conscious, said recently that if you eat your food with love, then no matter what it is, it will be good for you. Within reason, of course. That is something I agree with. The hunger of the hungry challenges me to cherish the food that I eat, whatever it may be, faithful as I can be to the instruction of Jesus who said, "eat what is set before you." ...

There's an unstirred stillness about fog. Silence of a Sunday morning, the sun attempting to break through, promising something, delivering nothing. The beautifully haunting cello of Spiegel im Spiegel is the only sound to enter into the day, reminding me of my friend Fr Míceal. We used to listen to it together in the car. It's in the car now that it spontaneously pops up on my playlist.  A high tide blubbers in the chambers of my soul, like the swell of the sea in the crevices of rocks at Ballyloughán. An echo of emptiness in the falling night. A young man on a bench is doing something I've only ever seen in Argentina. He's pouring hot water from a thermos into a gourd cup with a steel straw. I nod at him and say, "Mate" - pronounced mathé, a kind of tea made with bitter herbs. His face breaks into a big smile, delighted at the recognition. A man alone and far from home. We are briefly connected in that moment. Briefly, and perhaps forever. Aloneness hovers a...

Imprisoned fire Of a kiln Burns within My bones Rages within My heart I just don't know What to do To hope Or not to hope To trust Or not to trust To speak Or not to speak To reach out Or not to reach out To be restrained Or To burst forth A bellowing flame And wail and wail Like an animal in travail Writhing in the horror That has befallen From the blueness Of a Summer's Fading day Do I bellow Or do I remain Silent?  

Waves break black And fretful Upon the Stony shore A jagged breeze Beats upon my brow This first September Night of shadowed walkers There is trouble in the air Challenges on every side And still the Curlew Sings above it all Reminding us of songs Yet to be sung Melodies to be heard And hope of healing Held

Yesterday I helped with the Pallottine Mission Appeals in Limerick Cathedral and St. Michael's church. I'm useless at selling anything and can't do the usual pitch that will motivate people to empty their pockets, so I settle for the Word of God as it was given to us in the readings. For the first Mass I concelebrated with the young Father Peter from Nigeria, a member of the Sons of Mary Mother of Mercy, four of whom serve in the diocese of Limerick. A tall, fit and charming man who was most hospitable. It was an interesting expression of how the Mission of the Church has evolved. An African missionary to Ireland who leads the penitential rite in Irish and a former Missionary to Tanzania. "Think of God's Mercy...and worship Him." So wrote St. Paul. The Mission of the Church, our Mission in East Africa, is nothing other than one great act of God's Mercy and one great act of worship. God's Mercy in Hosea is expressed in terms of a Mother leaning over her...

  Prayer to God the Father Almighty God, my Eternal Father, from the fullness of my soul I adore You. I am deeply grateful that You have made me in Your image and likeness, and that You ever hold me in Your loving embrace. Direct me to love You with all my heart, with all my soul, and with my whole mind. Direct me to love all Your children as I love myself. O, my Father, my soul longs to be united to You, and to rest in You forever. Have the Holy Spirit touch my soul so that I may love You as He does, and as Your Beloved Son Jesus does. Amen . https://www.myprayertower.com/prayers/prayer-to-god-the-father

A lonely place, this is A lonely place A place of Hunger Anxiety Unsettlement The sadness of loss The yearning for a belonging That only exists in the womb Every conceivable form Of suffering And they would send us away To other places in search of All that we lack There is no need to go Says the Master Come to Me Surrender to me The little you have Remain with Me And eat with me The loaves and fishes Of My abundance Come Let your hunger Be satisfied Listen Let your thirst Be quenched Live Let your sorrow Be consoled

  Oh my Lord I am here again In the muddied boots Of my soul Having stumbled and fallen Through mire and dark I am embarrassed And yet In your great lenience You bring me To Your Sanctuary Stable of shepherds  Clothing me once more In the robes of Your own White brightness Without removing These boots

  "... a lonely place... this is a lonely place" (Matthew 14) I went to visit my cousin Johnny in hospital late last year. His regret was that he had forgotten to bring his Rosary beads with him. They were as familiar to his hands as the mobile phone is to mine. I gave him my beads and we prayed the Rosary together. Anyone who ever visited his house would understand that at least a decade of the Rosary would be said before they left. It was as natural to him as a cup of tea. Unashamed. Unpretentious.  The Rosary and the Mass were pillars of his life. Nothing could separate him from them. As in the words of St. Paul in  Romans 8: " Nothing can come between us and the love of Christ, even if we are troubled or worried, or being persecuted, or lacking food or clothes, or being threatened or even attacked. These are the trials through which we triumph, by the power of him who loved us. For I am certain of this: neither death nor life, no angel, no prince, nothing that exists...

  Homily for July 19,2026

There is a small stone church on top of a hill about 10 km from the beautiful city of Salta in Argentina. It is the shrine of the Immaculate Mother of the Divine Eucharistic Heart of Jesus. I call her Our Lady of Salta. About twenty years ago, while on visitation as Provincial to the community in Mercedes, a man from the parish told me about the apparitions of Our Lady that were taking place in Salta and insisted that I should go. He was very sincere, but I didn’t want to get caught up in the hype of something that might not be true. I wanted no false visions, no false hope, no false religious experience. A second person in Mercedes — Marta, a friend of Derry — also spoke to me about it and was equally insistent. I had experienced her as a forthright, honest person. At that time, two challenging situations in Argentina were causing me great distress — encounters that had previously gone very badly wrong, harsh words spoken, hurt inflicted. The thought of facing them again was stressing...

In the early hours of July 4th 1976, five members of the Pallottine community at San Patricio, Belgrano, were taken from their beds and executed in the living room of their presbytery. It was during the era of military dictatorship in Argentina. +++ Everything that is now covered will be uncovered, and everything that is now hidden will be made clear. Jesus spoke these words to us a few weeks ago, reminding us that God scrutinises the heart and soul, uncovering what is hidden within us and revealing what is truly there. There are times when what God reveals to us about ourselves calls us to be converted, to change and to try to improve certain areas of our lives. But the scrutiny of God also seeks to uncover what is authentic within us: who we truly are, who I truly am, in my authentic self, deep within my heart and my soul. To uncover and to use it in His plan of salvation. I was walking in the garden at Pallotti House in Dublin, and I found an old statue of Our Lady propped up agains...