Thursday 31 December 2020

A post for New Years Eve: Ring the Bells

 For the 7th Day of Christmas: New Year's Eve:





I always post this poem on this day... perhaps it’s needed this year more than ever...


In Memoriam, [Ring out, wild bells]

Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1809 - 1892


Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 

The flying cloud, the frosty light:    

The year is dying in the night; 

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 


Ring out the old, ring in the new,    

Ring, happy bells, across the snow:    

The year is going, let him go; 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 


Ring out the grief that saps the mind    

For those that here we see no more;    

Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 


Ring out a slowly dying cause,    

And ancient forms of party strife;    

Ring in the nobler modes of life, 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 


Ring out the want, the care, the sin,    

The faithless coldness of the times;    

Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes 

But ring the fuller minstrel in. 


Ring out false pride in place and blood,    

The civic slander and the spite;    

Ring in the love of truth and right, 

Ring in the common love of good. 


Ring out old shapes of foul disease;

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;    

Ring out the thousand wars of old, 

Ring in the thousand years of peace. 


Ring in the valiant man and free,    

The larger heart, the kindlier hand;    

Ring out the darkness of the land, 

Ring in the Christ that is to be.


Blessings of the Bells of Peace to you and yours for the New Year +

Tuesday 29 December 2020

Of Moon and Thorn

 Of Moon and Thorn



The Wolf Moon 

comes tonight,

and the Fairy Thorn 

feels its fullness.

She has kept 

her hawthorn 

watch over the wild 

almost

two centuries now;

bearing in 

her branches

storm and lightening,

sun and rain, 

loss and love,

in equal measure,

as does every life.

Another year

she sits right rooted

fenced off 

in her quiet vigil 

like a hermit in their cell, 

always open to the 

great mystery of 

sky and hill and land,

held in the light of Love’s

own making.

She casts her black branches 

like gospels scribed 

upon the vellum of the sky,

years in the tree telling 

of her slow tale,

illuminated by 

her fragile flowering;

the harvest of her falling

fruit by furred 

and feathered

is her assurance 

of a blessing 

on this land,

her veiling the 

glint of snow before 

the gift of green.

For now though, 

bare and brazen

she awaits her tryst

with moon, 

and stone, 

and stormy sky,

whispering 

creaking wisdom

to the old crow who

sits upon her branch

who brings her news 

of all this land

we think is ours,

and at this 

at least 

they laugh

lovingly,

as elders

do, when 

watching

the games

of

children.


Inspired by a visit to the Fairy Thorn at Airfield estate in Dublin this time last year.

Monday 28 December 2020

The Holy Innocents

 The fourth day of Christmas: The Feast of the Holy Innocents...





Today we remember those little children killed in the persecution of Herod in his attempt to kill Christ. Martyrs in dignity, Saints in their innocence, we ask their intercession:

For all persecuted for their faith...

For all innocent victims of violence...

For all children in poverty or abusive situations...

For child soldiers, child slaves, and children who are trafficked...

For all children have lost their lives before birth... and for those who have had their lives taken from them...

For all those who have lost a child...

May the Holy Innocents intercede for them and pray for us all! 


The ancient Coventry Carol provides the song for today, a lullaby for the Innocents: 


Lullay, Thou little tiny Child

By, by, lully, lullay

Lullay, Thou little tiny Child

By, by, lully, lullay

O sisters too, how may we do

For to preserve this day

This poor youngling for whom we sing

By, by, lully, lullay

Herod the king, in his raging

Charged he hath this day

His men of might, in his own sight

All young children to slay

That woe is me, poor Child for Thee

And ever morn and day

For thy parting neither say nor sing

By, by, lully, lullay

Friday 25 December 2020

My Gran and the Christmas Invitation

 My Gran and the Christmas Invitation:





Today, the 26th of December, St. Stephen’s Day, is a very sacred one in our family… not just because of the first Martyr’s witness and passing to the Lord, but because it is also my Gran’s anniversary.
My Mother’s mother, she was one of the greatest influences in my life growing up. 
She still is.

I have always regarded Gran as one of my first and best teachers, not only in the ways of faith but even on the contemplative path within it. 

Many, many hours were spent with her, listening to her stories and imbibing her teaching, (though she would never have called it that… she simply taught by her very being, as all good elders do). Faith for her was as natural as breathing, and indeed, if you listened as closely as I often did to her whistled breathing as she went about her day, a short prayer to the Sacred Heart or to Our Lady was often just beneath the surface of her breath. 

Like her own Mother and Grandmother before her she was a “sharp woman”, as they used to say in Dublin, meaning a wise person and one with a direct line to the Spiritual world. 
Her mother was sought out amongst the Dublin flats as she had “the way” of helping difficult births and deaths and was often asked for advice about a “match” between couples as she had a “good eye” for these things.

Gran was no different and there were many times I would go over to her house to find her sitting beside the phone waiting for the call that would tell her so and so had died. She, of course, already knew as she had “the dream” the previous night… the phone call always came to confirm it and I soon learned to be used to it. 
On other occasions I would arrive to hear her chatting aloud with someone only to discover her alone by the fire when I entered the room. 
I never asked. 
She never said. 
We didn’t need to. 

She taught me those ways too. 
“Look into the fire and tell me what you see” she would say, and then smile when, to my surprise, I saw. 

She taught me to look at people’s eyes when they spoke and at the way they stood and moved. 
She had tremendous devotion to the Blessed Virgin who had “been through it all” and her prayers to her were not so much novenas or devotions as a constant conversation born of a life long trust. She had great respect for the friars and religious orders much preferring their churches in town where she could attend anonymously, not liking the front seat parish people as she called them. 
She reminded me often never to judge anyone and taught me to give to the poor, especially beggars in the street. 
“There’s always a story there,” she would say, 
“No one is on the street because they want to be.” 
Women were on the street or poor because, 
“Men put them there.” 
Men were on the street or poor because, 
“Most men are fools for the bottle or for a story.” 
No matter the reason they were to be listened to and helped. 

She had been sharp in other ways too. A difficult start in life and then losing her husband early on had made her hard in her mid-life and it was only as a Gran that she softened again. In her later years she would often tell me that she was glad she got to be a Gran after everything she had been through. 

She often worried about her death. 
She was not afraid to die. 
"No one dies alone", she would say. 
She had seen enough deaths to know that, 
“They come to collect you.” 

She was, however, afraid that she would die in the house and that I or another grandchild would find her. So for the last few years of her life she prayed everyday the “Thirty day’s prayer” to Our Lady for a happy death and listed the way she wanted to go: 

She wanted to die in her sleep so she could “wake up in Heaven”. 
She wanted to die alone but having said her goodbyes and surrounded by love. 
She wanted to be ready to go. 

She talked about it often, not in a morbid way, but in the way you recite your shopping list. 
Going and coming were natural in their very essence, and death, she had long taught and lived, was nothing to be afraid of for a Christian soul.

That Christmas she had been very unwell. 
Pneumonia had followed a chest and kidney infection and a stay in hospital was called for. She did not want to go but acquiesced at my Mum’s request. Feeling a little better after a few days of antibiotics she was to be released for Christmas by the Docs even though Mum was not happy that she was ready. She came home to us. She was weak and a slim figure of her former self though I still wondered at the muscled arms of her small frame, a result of countless years of housework when that still meant a physical ordeal. She spent most of the next couple of day’s in bed sleeping. She smiled a lot and we got to visit with her and hold her hand and chat. 
Christmas Eve came and her children and grandchildren all visited with presents and smiles and the occasional worried whispered conversation with my Mum and Dad as to how she was doing. Christmas Day she was very quiet and slept a lot. As the house was beginning to settle down she called my Mum into the room and very deliberately and unusually for a woman of her time, thanked her for all she had done and then told her she loved her. My Mum was somewhat taken aback but at that moment Gran asked her who it was that was standing behind her. 
There was no one there that Mum could see. 
Gran’s eyes focused on the spot behind her and she relaxed. 
“It’s alright,” Gran said, “I know them.” 
Mum said her smile was a beautiful thing at that moment. 
She told Mum, “You can go down to the family now, I’m fine”. 
Mum did, though to the end of her own days she often wondered why she did. 
As she went downstairs she could hear Gran talking quietly in the room.

Later Mum checked in on her to find her sleeping deeply and gently. 

That night a Blackbird sang outside the house all night. 
I remember looking out to try and see it. 
I could not. 
I should have known. 
Gran had often taught me to watch out for Blackbirds. 
“They are special to our family,” she would say, 
“Your Grandfather loved them and they come to warn us of things.” 
“Whenever you see one, say a prayer to your Grandad.” 

I still do.

The following morning, very early, Mum woke suddenly and went straight to check on her. 
Gran had passed away. 
She was still warm and she was smiling gently. 

Mum called for the Priest and the Doctor and then carefully woke us all. I still remember that there were no tears in the house that morning. It all felt very peaceful and quiet. The Priest administered the Last Rites as he felt that she had only just gone before Mum found her. 
A little later myself and Mum stood in the bedroom with Gran laid out very peacefully. Mum and I were quiet together looking out the window. 

On the lawn a hen Blackbird was hopping around. 

We smiled at that. 

“Well”, I said, “She certainly got the death she had wanted!” 

Mum told me then about the things that had happened the previous night and about Gran seeing someone in her room. 
Someone who had made her smile. 
“Do you think it was Grandad?” I asked. 

At that moment, right in front of us, a Cock Blackbird, all shiny black and bright yellow beaked flew down beside the Hen on the lawn outside. They greeted each other and flew off  together.
After that there was nothing else to say.
Gran had gotten the death she had asked for and we had received the little signs of her going.

In Ireland there has always been the custom of the “Cuireadh na Nollaig” the so called “Christmas Invitation” the feeling that a death at this time of the year is especially blessed and that the signs around it are powerful. Today, thirty years later I write this so that this story of my Gran’s passing may be remembered and may bring peace and hope to all who read it…

And perhaps the next time you see a Blackbird you might say a prayer for all your loved ones gone before you…


Thursday 24 December 2020

The Wild Nativity

 The Wild Nativity.





We have our prophecies too
you know!
We tell our own tales, 
and so we knew 
to gather there 
that night,
ambassadors of our 
varied kinds all. 
Before old Joseph 
came back
with supplies from the inn
we were there, 
hidden in the hay,
up amongst the old beams, 
resting by the manger, 
or drawn there 
by the new star 
that rose that night 
pure and shining 
like a snowflake 
in its light. 
We were there.
We had felt the 
old pull of Eden
in our furred and feathered hearts
and felt His long forgotten nearness 
once again who walked with us 
in golden evening light.
Old rivalries forgotten,
or at least put aside tonight, 
we sat peacefully 
in storied rank 
half hidden in the shadows, 
lost in awe at her, 
settled,
so still 
in the straw, 
her eyes closed 
as though present 
to a mystery 
within.
We were there 
waiting for Him
with her.
Let us prepare 
His place we said...
Wren moved first, 
to pluck her own breast
scattering the softest down 
amongst the rough straw 
and sparrows followed
weaving moss and herbs 
as mattress 
as Owl, and old Crow 
and Hawk directed.
"I will keep him warm", 
said Robin,
reddening his breast 
while fanning flame alight.
"We will sing to him 
when at last He comes"
said the little ones, 
four footed and furred 
and long tailed too,
piping in their tiny voices 
choiring high as mouse 
and vole, rabbit
and hedgehog all 
assembled there, 
followed by fox's clear tenor 
and Badger's earthy baritone 
to sing their 
benediction of 
wild welcome.
And then he came.
How? As sun shines sudden through a cloud breaking blindingly!
How? As the first rays of dawn mark that moment when night becomes a new day.
How? As a scenting nose is suddenly aware of a change in the air.
He came.
More than that we will not say.
Ours alone was that privilege to see and we will guard it down the ages...
And Mary looked upon us with love
and thanked us all
and in her smile and words 
we heard old Eve laugh 
at last again.
And then there was noise, 
and people, 
so many people,
and we withdrew
as we always do
to the shadows
again.
But not before He smiled at us
a smile of long recognition
graced and grateful
both.
After the shepherds left,
and their piping drumming din
went off amongst the crowds.
After Bethlehem finally became still.
After old Joseph nodded off 
to his Angeled dreams.
We were there 
and came forth again 
from the shadows
to dwell with them, 
our new Adam and Eve, 
and heard then 
our Gospel 
preached to us, 
who are already 
of His kingdom 
and always were.
We made our covenant 
with Him then,
to be the first apostles 
of His love
and in 
our being blessed
and shared with you
to remind you 
of the innocence 
you lost
and He renews 
if you would but follow 
our
wild way to
Eden's light
again.
We have been 
forgotten now
as shepherds, kings 
and crowds
followed, 
but not by Him,
who from his mother's arms
smiled past them all at us
hiding in the shadows
there.
And we would later
meet Him
in the desert 
and the garden,
there
we will be with Him 
again,
for we have 
our prophecies too 
you know,
and tell our tales 
too,
whispering 
to each other
across the woods 
and hills,
on this night 
each year
as you toll your bells
and sing,
we look to the skies
and 
remember;
we 
were 
there.

Christmas Blessings to you and yours this Holy Night +

(Pic is of The Christmas Star by Lynn Bywaters)

Wednesday 23 December 2020

On the Edge of Waiting: a meditation poem for Christmas Eve, Eve


 On the Edge of Waiting.

(A Meditation for Christmas Eve, Eve)



Shhh.
Come away a moment,
my friend.
Come away 
from the lights, 
and the crowds, 
and the shops, 
and the noise, 
and the pressure, 
and the worrries, 
and the old wounds that 
winter us 
before our time.
Come and sit with me here.
Rest. 
Just for a moment.
Let me share with you once again
what we forget in our festive
frenzy: 
He is coming…
Down the long ages of despair 
He comes as Hope.
Down the rough road of doubt 
He comes as Faith.
Down the broken byways 
of the 
human heart 
He comes as Love.
He is coming…
Sit with me on the edge of waiting…
Sit in sacred stillness…
Breathe the deep breath of 
blessing.
You do not have to do anything.
He is coming…
Whether you are ready or not
Aware or not,
Able or not,
Present or not,
Believing or not,
He is coming…
As the sun rises,
as the moon shines,
as the tides turn,
as the stars dance,
He is coming…
So do not worry.
Let the tyranny of 
tension 
fall from you…
You never needed to carry it.
Let the false face of 
righteous readiness to defend,
dissolve.
You never needed to wear it.
How could you ever be ready 
for this?
For the first proclamation of the 
Kingdom to be heard in a baby’s
cry.
Nothing is asked of you 
but 
to be here and now
who you are.
Truly.
Fully.
Broken?
Yes.
Weak?
Yes.
Called?
Oh yes. 
He is coming… 
And He is calling you to come to Him.
As He always does.
As He always will.
So, how will you greet Him,
the One who is coming?
The One who calls you, 
to His crib.
(Yes, you.)
Will you prepare a place for Him?
Will you open the cave of your heart to Him?
Will you place Him in the sanctuary of your soul?
Will you lay Him upon the rough straw of your life?
Will you swaddle Him with your silence?
Will you offer Him the gentle warmth of animal breath?
Will you offer Him your love?
Or not.
He is coming…
Do not miss the moment
Of Mystery’s 
mangered birth
by succumbing to 
Bethlehem busyness.
No.
Become as still as a shepherd watching the flock of slumbering sheep.
Become as still as a sage watching the long dance of the stars.
Become as still as Joseph hearing Angels on the edge of dreams.
Become as still as she who is the stillpoint of love’s longing, filled with light, 
and whose silence 
brought forth the 
Word of Love.
Be still and you will know
He is coming…
Always…
In stillness, 
on the edge of waiting…
He is coming for you…
He is coming to you…
Always.
He is coming in Love.

(I wrote this a couple of years ago and discovered it has been shared thousands of times! As it seems to be something we all need to hear, especially this year, I'm posting it again. 
May its words continue to bless all who read it... 
Happy Christmas Eve, Eve to you and yours!)

O Emmanuel; a meditation on the Seventh great O Antiphon

 O Emmanuel: A meditation on the seventh of the Great O Antiphons of Advent:






O Emmanuel!
 
You who are God with us, 
Come and deliver your people!
All holy one 
who dwells higher 
than the Cherubim,
adored by the living fire of the
Seraphim in love 
so exultant it enflames all
it touches,
you who hide behind 
the cloud and thunder of Sinai,
lest we would die
in awe, 
descend now 
and reveal at last
your face to us
our Saviour!
 
O Emmanuel!
 
Name by which 
we would never 
have named you,
so awesome is your mystery; 
and yet, this name you choose
and place upon your
prophet who speaks it as sign 
through lips of flame.
Descending into our nature 
so to raise it on high;
our God above, 
beyond, 
before 
you are, 
yet now revealed as
with us 
in our every moment,
as in your incarnation 
eternity weds time
and heals the long broken 
human heart
consecrating the cosmic 
temple anew.
 
O Emmanuel!
 
Love incarnate 
and light from light!
You fill all things, 
and all things 
have their being in you,
yet you choose us 
for your family 
and come to dwell in us 
through the mystery 
of a mother’s love! 
For nine moons
at play in that sacred pool, 
ever unrippled 
and undisturbed, 
you hallow 
the waters of the womb 
again
and in its sacred darkness 
dance,
making of the one who builds you 
from her own blood 
and feeds you on her own milk 
the first tabernacle from 
which all of us 
will feed!
 
O Emmanuel!
 
Hear us on this seventh 
and most sacred night,
as we complete 
the circle of 
our sacred invocations, 
closing at last the wreath 
of evergreen time,
and gather once again
at star-rise to call you 
from the heavens
and down the winding roads 
of our long hoping
to be born in us again!
O hear our song
sung from the heart 
of humbled humanity
that we, who have in you 
our very God with us,
may learn the wisdom from 
your prophet promised 
and thrice holy mother,
to bow our heads 
and enter Bethlehem’s barn 
and there be with the One 
who in love’s divine mystery
is always and ever 
with us.
 
“O Emmanuel, our king and our lawgiver,
the hope of the nations and their Saviour:
Come and save us, O Lord our God!”

Tuesday 22 December 2020

O King of the Nations: A meditation poem for the 6th of the great O Antiphons

O King of the Nations, O Rex Gentium: 

A meditation on the sixth of the Great O Antiphons of Advent:





O King of the Nations!

Long desired one we call to you!
Come from
your Royal Throne
and reign over us!
You who are the beginning
and the end of all;
the first principle
and the fount of all that is!
Come, we pray,
and restore the
divine order of this cosmos,
long thrown into chaos
by the discordant note
of our sin.

O King of the Nations!

Of old known by so many names
and in so many places sought!
Desired in the hearts
of all peoples, of all times
and templed in the souls 
of all those ancient elders,
men and women of
justice,
peace,
and truth.
Tear down, then
the veils of separation
and reveal your holy name
to all,
as once you did to Moses,
that from the many nations
there may be formed
one peaceful people,
one flock,
beneath the loving gaze of
the Good Shepherd.

O King of the Nations!

Come and be our cornerstone!
Take our lost
and tumbling efforts
and re-found, re-form,
our crumbling clay
in your divine matrix
that humbled,
we may stand tall again
and find our place
within your temple
as living stones
once more!

O King of the Nations!

Hear our sacred invocation
as we sing the royal hymn of the Lady,
she who is your Queen and Mother both!
Let us follow her 
in magnifying your power
in its paradox of grace!
For you,
O Conquering Messiah,
in your stabled birth
will teach us the true path
of kingship,
and bestow upon our nature
a royal dignity
never to be taken away!
So then,
may we become, again,
as once we were,
the highest gift
and twice blessed
in our being
by following your
descending
path to the lowest point
of emptiness
and there,
between the
breathing of the beasts
and the beating of a Mother’s heart,
beneath the star-stilled sky,
and
only there,
come at last
to hear the
Angels
exult
in true royalty
revealed
as Love
laying
upon
straw.

“O King of the Nations and their desire,
the cornerstone making both one:
Come and save the human race,
which you fashioned from clay.”