OF YOU MY HEART HAS SPOKEN

St. Teresa in Ecstasy “My soul at once becomes recollected and I enter the state of quiet. Everything is stilled and the soul is left in a state of great quiet and deep satisfaction.”  (St. Teresa of Avila) You set out to do one thing and end up doing another. Last Thursday I walked up the Via del Tritone in search of shoes but quickly forgot about them when the memory of St. Teresa in Ecstasy popped into my head - the famous sculpture by Bernini. After many ins and outs I found myself at Santa Maria della Vittoria where adoration was in progress. As is normal in Rome the aisles are roped off during prayer to keep people from touring and taking photos, which is of course what I had planned. But you go in search of one insignificant thing which leads you to think of something greater, which in turn brings you face to face with Jesus Himself - for a whole hour. I knelt at the back, but one of the Carmelite nuns noticed my presence and invited me through the barrier to move up higher...

Ever since my arriv al here almost three weeks ago, I have been waiting for the scaffolding to come down to reveal the  statue that is hidden behind the white plastic covering. The morning sun reveals its silhouette and those of the four people working on the statue. I have a view of it from my upstairs sitting room window. Everything about the process is very slow and patient and it seems to speak of my own life here. The slow, sometimes nervous waiting for life to reveal itself. Waiting for things to emerge from the shadows and become clear. The four arrive shortly before 8am, taking their time to chat and smoke and drink coffee or whatever, before climbing the ladder into that hidden place of obscurity. Two women and two men. Young. One young man has the job of fetching buckets of water from the public pump in the Piazza. His movements are slow too. He saunters. Smiles. Chats. Yesterday I asked him who the statue represents and he told me it is a famous Italian writer,...

The quiet of the church before it opens in the morning is very appealing. My first day as Rector here and I find myself singing the hymn “Majesty” and ask God for a word that might in some way define my time here. It is something I do at the beginning of a new phase in my life. My gaze is lifted to the inscription above the hight altar. Someone asked me about it the other day, but I could not even read it then. But today I could see that it reads, “Speciousus forma prae filiis hominum” and, though I have some knowledge of Latin, I decided to ask ChatGPT about it and I am told that the phrase comes from the Latin Vulgate Psalm 44:3. It means, “You are beautiful beyond the children of men.” We read it in the Divine Office as “You are the fairest of the children of men.” So, as I ponder this text, I notice that above it is an image of the Holy Face, and it seems to me then that God is calling my gaze upwards to look upon the beautiful face of Jesus and in gazing to become like Him. Not ...

Two phrases resonate with me from today's readings: "you must not be harsh..." and "you must love .. " You must not be harsh with the widow or the orphan, with anyone who is vulnerable. We must not be harsh at all but harshness can easily creep into our lives and sometimes we are harsh with others because we are harsh with ourselves. And Jesus says, you must love. This is the simple and often repeated foundation of the Christian life. Love heals all harshness - the love that God has for each of us personally, the love that others show us and we are also healed by loving. Sometimes we think we must be healed of our wounds before we can love but, in fact, the act of loving - God and neighbour - is a great source of healing. Today I'm conscious of a special experience of being loved by another. A priest with whom I worked closely for a few years, whom I haven't met now for more than sixteen years, a man who found me very frustrating at times, with whom I fo...

"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