GIVE ME A BLADE OF GRASS (And I'm in Heaven)

 

"Give me a blade of grass" he said, "and I'm in heaven." And gesturing towards the abundance of grass in Ballyloughan, the variety of nature surrounding us, he continued in admiration, "we have all of this!" What a holy and good attitude to life, and he claims not to be religious.

We had never met before, though I knew his parents and we are from Mervue. He recognised me from facebook and just wanted to say hello. It was one of those blessed and uplifting encounters and, like me, I suspect he is drawn to solitude.

It is easier to be alone than to be with people, the obligations that arise from simply being with another. It is easier and yet it is harder. Harder, because we become our own burden and so, it is essential to get out of ourselves, out into nature, out into encounters with other people who save us from ourselves. And also, because we have something to offer to the other, whether we realize it or not.

How to marry the two. The solitude that is deeply ingrained in me. Deeper than ever! And the attraction I feel for a parish church. I'm in Balally church waiting to have an MRI on my heart across the road in the Beacon. I'm way too early but it's good to have this time alone, with none but the Lord in the Tabernacle. I love this aloneness, the quiet of it, the sense of wholeness that it brings. And still, in this empty church I can feel the life of the parish and it enlivens my soul.

Soon enough the quandary will be solved as I have only two weeks left of my sabbatical and that time has gone by so quickly. The answer to my questions will only be found in Jesus Himself who had to work out the balance between the anointing of the Spirit in Luke chapter 4 and His journeys into long lonely places of quiet.

I don't know the outcome of the MRI, but it was a fascinating experience, a first-time experience within which I felt totally relaxed and still for the forty minutes or so that I was inside the tunnel. There was one brief startling moment when my head entered and I realized just how confined the space was, how close to my face the thing was. It made me think this must be what it's like to be in a coffin, except then there will be no awareness. I closed my eyes and opened them again once fully inside to see what it looked like but mostly, I kept them closed, kept perfectly still, and followed the instructions exactly. So relaxed was I that when the nurse took my blood pressure afterwards, it was perfect. "We cured you" she exclaimed. Because in the waiting area beforehand my blood pressure was quite elevated. White coat syndrome. Except there are no white coats now. Green uniforms and blue ones. And two people who treat their patients so well.

The previous day I had another first. First time ever seeing a basketball match, first time seeing my niece Laura playing. It was great. She was brilliant, the essence of grace and speed, moving up and down the court like a gazelle. I had tears of admiration in me at the sight of her. She scored a few times, getting the only three pointer of the match which they won. She was pleased that I went to see her, delighted that she played so well, giving me the warmest of hugs afterwards.

 

Back in the house, Katie asked me what I did for my birthday. "I went to Knock." "You went to Knock" she repeated, clearly unimpressed! It is not a seventeen-year-old's idea of fun, at least not this seventeen-year-old. I redeemed myself by saying that I had gone to have lunch with my aunt and cousin in Ballyhaunis and then got together with other members of the family.

But a morning in Knock on a sunny day was something more than special for this 71-year-old. Beginning in the Reconciliation Chapel with adoration and preparation for confession. One of the many things I miss about Hastings is not having my regular confessor, and not just any regular confessor, but Father Miceal who knew me well, whom I could approach with great ease and confidence. Now, preparing to face a stranger, my heart pounds, even though I know that it is not the man who counts but Christ who ministers in him. Still, you never can tell. We are all human - confessor and penitent.

I eye the confession box in the distance that no one is going into, and I wonder to myself if the priest is known to be a tough cookie, but it's there that I go regardless, and smile to myself that the number of the box is 28, the date of my birth. And, sure enough, it is all fine. A Franciscan priest in this year of Saint Francis.

In a spirit of gladness, I took a long walk around the grounds which I have never explored before and, after a visit to the Basilica, settled into the bliss of the Apparition Chapel. It is simply heavenly, a place where one would like to remain longer. "No speech, no word, no voice is heard." A silent apparition that has the Lamb of God at its centre. "Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world." And, like the first disciples, it is Jesus that I follow in the company of his Mother who always says, "do whatever He tells you!" 

Let it be done.