OF YOU MY HEART HAS SPOKEN

The house feels empty this evening and the High Street is strangely silent. Quiet too is the space down by the Cage at the seafront. Quiet and unusually dark. An enveloping darkness that is almost comforting. There’s a gift in the silence, the darkness, the emptiness. An opportunity. The Gospel of the Talents last Sunday is a reminder of what God has given us to live fulfilled lives in this world and to prepare us for Eternal Life in Heaven. It is stated very simply that if we accept, co-operate with, and develop the gifts of God then we will find our way into Heaven, whereas if we reject or neglect God’s gifts then we may well find ourselves left outside. It’s a sobering thought. We tend to think of talents in terms of the things we are able to do such as art, music, sport, crafting, writing and while all of these give expression to who we are, the gifts of God go much deeper. The greatest gift that God has given us is the person of Jesus Himself and it is clear that to reject...

  The church bell has been silent for most of five years. I managed to get it going for a brief period back in April and all attempts since then have utterly failed. It’s a real bell with a beautiful sound and it’s rung by a hammer that’s controlled by an electronic panel in the Sacristy and last week I had an earnest desire to hear it again. So, on my way out to celebrate Mass one morning I waved my hand in blessing over it and on the following day I stood before the panel and said a prayer to Barnabas, my Guardian Angel, asking him to do something. What happened was quite interesting. No, there was no miraculous ringing, but something happened to me, as if something within me stepped back into a remarkable stillness. The pressure to fix it left me and my entire being went pure silent, a sense of perfect clarity and calm. Then I took the manual in my hands as I had often done before and, following its instructions got the bell working very quickly, a bit out of time at first b...

  Every day has its mood and its music. Today, feast of the Holy Souls, it’s Faure’s Requiem. Every other sound seems to jar. Maura and I discovered this Requiem on cassette tape in Birkenhead not long after Dad died back in 1990 and we listened to it over and over as it brought tears and solace to our grief. This morning in the throes of Storm Ciaran, in the interior half-light, I plug Faure into the church sound system, and it is magnificent as I go around putting down buckets and towels to catch the water that is dripping, sometimes flowing down from the church ceiling. There is no grief in me now, not much anyway and even the “not much” is softened. The music of course brings Maura close and all the many others who have gone. Mam and Dad. I sit to write their names in the November list – two foolscap pages – and they all seem to float about the sanctuary. Family, Pallottines, close friends, neighbours. We’re of an age now when more seem to have gone than remain. It’s sobering...

  "Lady of the silences Calm and distressed Torn and most whole Rose of memory Rose of forgetfulness Exhausted and life-giving Worried reposeful" (TS Eliot) Just before Mass this morning, Grace brought me a lovely plaque of the Virgin and Child which she found in a second-hand shop. It reminded her of me and thought it appropriate for this difficult time in Israel and Palestine. As I opened it, Dominic asked when my birthday is, thinking it might be now, but I told him it was in late January and the mention of it brought me back to the last weeks of my mother’s pregnancy. She told me that, on December 8 th , 1954, six or so weeks before my birth, she walked two miles to Mass in deep snow. That very act of walking so far in difficult weather while heavily pregnant speaks of a commitment to the Mass that is very striking. She wasn’t overly religious but was part of a generation for whom fidelity was as natural and unquestioned as breathing and she probably never missed a Sund...

The still steadiness of it Serene and well-ordered Unflappable Unruffled Residing in the cool Clear waters of the mind There are times when I dearly wish it were mine This heart of stone But I am a child Of Ezekiel’s prophecy Possessing a heart of flesh Instead Residing in the cauldron Of my being Soul of fire In a silent stillness That heaves Pulsating Passionate Feeling wounds too strongly Bearing burdens too heavy Mine and those of others And sheltered in the One Who sustains the entire universe Christ the Sacred Heartbeat Of all life It is His gift Whether I like it Or not

He lays me to rest In the Garden Where dew falls At dawn And trees That shade the scorching noon Grasp the whispering Wind Where the setting sun The stars and rising moon Glance gently He feeds me Milk To still the child And Wine To take away man’s pain. Coming in He breathes softly On my face His tears A living Spring To wash my wounds Speaking, urging gently Rest my love Drink deep and sleep My dearest friend Till we are I (Galapo 1985)

Lord, it is easier for me to walk with You rather than to sit in front of You to leave rather than to remain to be nomadic rather than sedentary to avoid Your gaze rather than to face it to wear a mask rather than cast it aside I am not the one whom people imagine me to be. There is a me that no-one ever sees No-one but You and my fear is that You do not like what You see But that is not true Because you love even what seems to be unlovable drawing order out of chaos light out of darkness for You see the struggle of it and the hope contained in it for You are at home here whether I sit or whether I walk whether I stand or whether I lay down whether I remain or whether I leave You are my hope You are my home You are everything You are in everything