My Way God's Way

A FORLORN SHELF-LIFE

2012-01-27T02:14:00.015Z

You know, ‘Every coin has two sides.’ For Christmastide we have had to put up the decorations(that’s one side of coin) and some weeks later we have to take them down(that’s the other side of coin). Climbing ladders and stretching streamers from one side of a room to another is fun, with excitement in the air - with our looking forward to parties and to presents, and to the gatherings of families and friends.

Add to this, we Christians have the Reason for the Season – the celebration of the birth of Jesus. How I’ve always looked forward to getting out the figures and placing them in a crib. Time was when I designed a different crib each year.

Against the background of jolly seasonal music there’s been the heartiness and extravagance in the High Street…with the ‘hard-sell’ of the shop owners and the eager spending of the public. There’s been so much good-will in the air. This year I’ve been thrilled when complete strangers have cheerfully wished me season’s greetings. I’ve been moved to dip into my pocket when representatives of the Charities have sought donations to enable them to bring some joy and a sense of being remembered to the needy and the over-looked.

Now we come to the flip side of the coin. What do we find? Concerted dismantling of what for a short while delighted us so much… the twinkling lights, the brightly coloured streamers and glass baubles. All of them had to be brought down to earth and returned to their boxes. Then, got out of sight - on top of a cupboard or on some obscure shelf.

As for the balloons? No problem, there... Poor things! They couldn’t stand the pressure any longer. They’ve either burst or without a sigh have become deflated. ..no longer wanted, appreciated no more. This banishment to oblivion is just one step better than being damned to destruction. .. Tell me, ‘What can you do with a withered Christmas tree but throw it onto the fire?’

It’s a dreary, forlorn task shelving the symbols and memories of seasonal rejoicing. It’s notoriously difficult to find volunteers to pack up and clean up after the shelf-life of Christmas merriment has expired!

I’ve had a feeling of emptiness. Early in the New Year I went out to make one or two purchases. Where had all the people gone? So few of them in the shops. Did they really have all they wanted? Hardly. More likely they lacked so much…. but their pockets and purses were quite empty.

How I grieved for the shop-keepers. They’d been so happy when they 've seen a
a quick turn-over of goods, so contented to have had to replenish their shelves over and over again. Now so subdued that this is no longer happening. Sad to say, so many attractive, useful items have over-stayed their welcome. Their shelf-life has been far too long.

What really wrenched my guts was the sight of forlorn, unwanted Christmas decorations – on sale at give-away prices…anything to get rid of them. .clear them off the shelf, get them out of the stock-room. Their crime? They’re now taking up valuable space…space that must be occupied by other goodies that might possibly appeal to some buyer ready to part with a little of cash.

I’ve left till last the whole matter of Christmas socializing. There’s the convention that, just for Christmas, our grumpy family members, neighbours, colleagues and work-mates do put on a brief show of being civil, pleasant, even agreeable to all and sundry. Briefly they’ve provided a lull in the indifference and even hostility they’ve been showing for most of the year. Let it be said, ‘This synthetic charm is surely better than no charm whatsoever!’

It does occur to me that Christmas could have, should have had, a healing effect on our stumbling and broken human relationships. This season of all seasons has surely been loaded with redemptive possibilities that could have made a real difference if only they’d been seized upon and nurtured.

Surely the Babe of Bethlehem would have wished our rejoicing over His birth had had a spill-over of good-will that could have been carried far into the future. It didn’t have to resemble merely the brief refreshment of a fizzy, cool drink. It’s up to us to ensure these ‘occasions of grace’ most definitely do not have a short shelf-life.

It’s to be expected that we’ll put our decorations on the shelf for the time being and that we’ll dust them, come next Christmas. But we shouldn’t dream of giving the same treatment to our brief, Christmas, sanitized response to others. Jesus would surely have wanted these memorable, unexpected, droplets of grace to be channeled so as to prepare the ground for more cordial, more genuine, relationships.

In all this, mywaygodsway really means letting God have His way. What did He want us to put into last Christmas? And what to get out of it? Even now it’s not too late to act on these questions.

Peter O.P.

Next week Fr. Isidore will reflect on Meeting God by responding to Christ's call to 'Come and See.'

'ORDINARY TIME'

2012-01-20T09:43:00.012Z

For most of us there are times of excitement and celebration, followed by long periods of the humdrum routine of our daily lives. The festivities of Christmastide have ended, the decorations have been removed and life has returned to ‘normal.’ Children and teachers, for example, have gone back to school.

The prayer-life of the church –the liturgy –reflects this rhythm of preparation for celebration, then the celebration itself, and this is followed by a long period when nothing dramatic seems to happen. Advent and Lent prepare us for the celebration of the birthday of our saviour and for the Paschal Mystery of his death and resurrection.

These festivals are followed by what is known as ‘Ordinary Time.’ That has just begun, now that we’ve completed Christmastide.

‘Ordinary Time’ sounds dull and unimportant. Dull it may be, unimportant certainly not. To think that, would mean that most of our time didn’t really matter, because it’s so bland and routine, with our seeming to achieve nothing spectacular.

But let’s remember that was true of Jesus’ short life. For about thirty of his roughly thirty three years He shared the same life as any working-class person in the provincial town of Nazareth. During those long years of ‘Ordinary Time’ Jesus did nothing dramatic. He blended so well into the local scene that His neighbours resented Him as an upstart, when He started preaching –telling them how to live. Who did He think He was? After all, He was only the son of Joseph, the carpenter. They thought He needed to be cut down to size –their size.

But for about thirty years His life was as bland and ordinary as His neighbours’. He did not stand out from the crowd. And yet that time was not wasted. During those years of his ‘hidden life’ Jesus grew from childhood to becoming a mature adult. He learnt about his Jewish faith and experienced what it meant to be human. Like any child, He discovered the wonder of the world in which He lived. He would draw on all that experience when He began to preach. He used His personal knowledge of sowing and reaping, losing and finding, of celebrating a marriage to show us what the Kingdom of God was like.

And yet it was in this routine of domestic and working life that Jesus expressed His love for His heavenly Father and for the people around Him. That was how He served God and did His will during those thirty years. For Him ‘Ordinary Time’ was sacred time.

The same should be true for us. Certainly we welcome and even need the highlights of holidays, the first enthusiasm of falling in love or joining the Dominicans. But none of us could sustain such a high pitch. The true commitment of love is revealed in our having the stamina for the long haul. In fact a life-long commitment is like a marathon or cross-country race, which starts with a dash and a flourish and then settles down to a steady, undramatic pace, mile after mile, or year after year –a pace we can sustain.

That’s very true of family life, which, for the most part, is very prosaic, with nothing sensational happening. But it’s in the bland routine of family or community life that we express our love for each other –in cooking the meals, washing the dishes and cleaning the house. That’s the very bread and butter of love! To grasp that demands great imagination and effort.

And while the work of a priest is very worthwhile, much of it can be extremely dull. That’s very true of hearing confessions for hours on end. And rarely do we get the satisfaction of seeing our sermons bear fruit. We have to do the spade work and leave the harvesting to God, who acts in His own time and way –not ours.

But it’s precisely in the routine of our daily lives that God approaches us and we draw close to Him. We don’t need to do anything sensational to express our love for God and each other. And for most of the time God shows His love and care for us within the normal framework of the rhythm of our daily lives. He doesn’t need always to be performing miracles! And yet even the trivial and mundane have eternal value when blessed by God. Our constancy in loving service lies in the bland routine of our daily lives –that’s what really matters. That’s what makes our ‘Ordinary Time’ sacred time.

During the ‘Ordinary Time’ of the liturgy we have continuous readings from one of the Synoptic Gospels –Matthew, Mark and Luke. On Sunday we will start reflecting on Mark’s Gospel. His insights about Christ and His teaching should help to deepen our understanding of what it means for us to be real Christians. That should assist us in transforming our dull, prosaic ‘Ordinary Time’ into sacred time. That is where we will meet God. That is where He will seek us and we will find Him.

May your ‘Ordinary Time’ be filled with God’s blessing and become ‘Sacred Time!

Isidore O.P.

Next week (not in a fortnight's time) Fr. Peter will reflect on a "Forlorn Shelf-life."

THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS

2012-01-06T08:26:00.003Z

Giving presents is a tricky business! What do you give someone who has everything? Well, there’s a shop in the seaside town of Lyne Regis on the English south coast, which will solve your problem. That part of the coast is famous for the fossils to be found there. Not surprisingly, there are shops which sell these fascinating discoveries -the remains of exotic-looking creatures that lived millions of years ago. One of them was triumphantly described as, “The present for the person who has everything.” What could that be? To my amazement and amusement it was nothing less, or more, than the fossilised turd of a giant turtle!

I wonder what the recipient thought! Would he find it an interesting conversation-piece and treasure it as something no-one else possessed? Could it make a useful paper-weight. Or, not welcoming such a gift, either hide it or throw it away. At best he might say, “He or she meant well. After all, it’s the thought that counts.” I bet we’ve all reacted that way when we’ve received unwanted gifts.

That got me thinking about giving and receiving presents. Some people give a lot of thought in selecting a gift. They consider what would appeal to Uncle Joe or Auntie Fanny. What would he or she like? But it can work the other way. As young children Peter and I gave our mother a shoe-last for Christmas –just the thing we would have found useful for hammering studs into our football boots! Mother was gracious and grateful to have received such a surprising token of our love –even though we had been thinking more about our needs than hers.

There can be a certain edge to our motives when we pass on to others what we don’t want ourselves. Some years ago my brother, Peter, passed on to me a deodorant he had been given. His thoughtful gesture was somewhat spoilt by his mischievously remarking that I had a greater need than him! I won’t tell you what I said.

And I can remember preaching for a Religious Sister’s Silver Jubilee of her first her vows. Since I spent the night at the convent the sisters invited me to their recreation. We sat around a table stacked with presents other convents had given to the Jubilarian. She was first invited to take a selection. Then each of the sisters, and I, made our choice. An admirable example of community sharing, with every one receiving presents. Eventually there remained a few which no one wanted. What should be done with them? No problem. The superior said they would be given to the next Jubilarian. I have visions of these unwanted gifts going the rounds of all the convents within that Congregation. Eventually they would have returned to the convents which first bought and sent them!

But it can work the other way, when the gift is worth far more to us than what it would have cost to buy or replace. We cherish it for sentimental reasons. Nothing could persuade us to part with it. A child may cling to a much-loved and well-worn toy. If lost, it cannot be replaced by a new and better one. Sometimes a particular object has a special meaning for us. Someone dear to us has given it. The importance of the giver adds a special value to the gift. For that reason, nothing could persuade us to part with it. If lost, we are desolate; when it’s found we are overjoyed. That’s how I felt when I recently lost the penknife Dad gave me 50 years earlier, shortly before he died. No other knife, however good, could have replaced Dad’s gift. Great was my joy when Peter found it in a jacket I had lent him!

All these musings have been sparked by our custom of giving presents at Christmas time. I believe that in some countries that’s done on the feast of St. Nicholas –hence the tradition of Santa Claus. It’s argued that on the feast of the birthday of Christ we should focus on the greatest gift of all –God the Father giving His Son to the human race. Certainly that was the greatest gift of God’s love. That was the thought which really counted.

There’s something magnificently strange about Christmas. We, who celebrated the birthday of Jesus, are the very ones who received the most splendid gift imaginable...the ‘Birthday Boy’ Himself, Jesus. The thought that counts is the one that springs from the Father who loved the world so much that He sent His Son. Our thoughts that count will be of thanks, love, praise and adoration.

On our brother Geoff’s twenty first birthday he made a speech in which he thanked our parents for having him. That made me think that on our birthdays we should thank our parents for the gift of life and express our gratitude with a gift, rather than them giving us a present.

And what about the Magi, with their exotic gifts? They followed the custom of giving a present in recognition of someone’s importance. Heads of State regularly exchange gifts, which none of them really needs. What they do with them is another matter.

So when the Magi presented Jesus with gifts that was a sign of their respect, their reverence for Him. And what did He give them? Something far more wonderful –Himself, as they came to believe in Him. No material present, however costly, could possibly equal the gift of His love and friendship. That is precisely what the Son of God-made-man has given not only to the Magi, but also to each one of us.

What can we possibly give in return? Well, nothing that we haven’t already received from God. We are like young children who buy their parents a present with the pocket money they have been given. But as we exchange presents we exchange the gift of love. That’s what’s most important. Without love the present is meaningless, even an insult.

That must be the way for me, and all of us, to meet God –to welcome His loving gift of Himself, and to gives ourselves, in love, to Him. There’s no other way.

Incidentally, I wonder what Mary and Joseph did with the gold, frankincense and myrrh. Did those valuable gifts come in useful for bartering, when they had to flee with the infant Jesus to the security of Egypt? Suggestions, please.

Isidore O.P.

In a week Fr. Isidore will reflect on Meeting God in 'Ordinary Time.'

MORE THAN A 1000 WORDS

2011-12-30T09:24:00.016Z

“A single picture is worth more than a thousand words.” So the saying goes. I, who speak and write so many thousands of words, needed to be convinced that this was actually the case.

My surfing on the Internet led me to such a picture. I loved it at first sight...a sight familiar to me, time and time again...a young mother lovingly holding her infant close to her heart...the infant secure in its mother’s embrace. Unfortunately it is impossible for me to share this picture with you. All I can do is tell you what I did to the picture and what it did to me.

I wanted to give it a chance to speak for itself. I, therefore, put my room in total darkness-with nothing to distract my attention. I gazed at this picture...for a very, very long time. At first it presented itself as brilliantly radiant, demanding that I take notice of it. Gradually it mellowed as it seemed to enter my very being, to absorb me...as I absorbed it.

It spoke to me of peace. I found myself to be profoundly at peace. The mother and the child in the picture were so obviously are at peace with one another – the divine, Jesus, snuggling against the human, Mary, as only a newly born child can snuggle against his mother; the human encompassing the divine as only a mother can encompass her newly born child. In reaching this moment they’ve been through so much together.

And now, the divine babe can’t help loving his mother without reservation. The human mother can’t help but love her divine babe without reservation. They mean so much to each other. They’re made for each other. They find peace in each other. They give peace to each other.

I would like to think that the shepherds and the Magi found such peace when they gazed at Jesus and Mary together. Peace....which is more than a beautiful sensation. Peace which is a gift from God, a grace from God...peace which flows inevitably from the perfection of love, the celebration of love ...such as I saw expressed in this simple picture...the love between Jesus and Mary. ..the love between Almighty God and the whole of the human race.

This is what it means for the Word of God to become flesh, to come to His own, to dwell among us...the Incarnation...Christmas.

This is a peace that radiates from the Stable of Bethlehem...divinity and humanity embracing one another in and through Jesus and Mary. They would want to encircle each one of us within their loving embrace, and all of us together. They would want such an all-encompassing love to eliminate the enmity and indifference that fragments the unity and destroys the harmony of the human family.

I invite each one of you, my brothers and sisters, to take time off to be with a young mother holding her baby close to her...perhaps someone of your own family or a friend. Tell her that at this season she reminds you so much of Mary with the child, Jesus. Ask if she will let you simply gaze in wonder at the two of them together... Let this picture speak of them to you...not a quick glance. Give it real time ...solid time...without distractions.

What you see will surely speak to you more than a thousand words. What you see in them will take you right to the heart of Christmas...they are so beautiful. Believe me, she will find what you have said to her the most touching words that will ever fall on her ears this Christmas.

Could be that this young mother will identify herself with Mary in a way that had never before occurred to her...and how she will regard her infant? With the same loving eyes as Mary spent time without end looking upon Jesus?

Allow this experience to overwhelm you. Do not doubt that through it God will speak to you powerful words of peace and joy. I would dare to suggest this could be for you an inspiring and healing experience...and that your attitude towards those who you now see as your enemies would be transformed.

You might even wish peace to them, even as you have received it from the bonding together of Jesus and Mary.

Peter O.P.

In a fortnight Isidore will reflect on Meeting God through the 'Thought that Counts'

OH! WONDROUS NIGHT!

2011-12-16T08:35:00.000Z

Oh! Wondrous Night! In fact it was rather a miserable evening -cold and gloomy. It was getting dark as the winter night drew in. Christmas was only a couple of weeks away. People were hectically doing their Christmas shopping. But we all longed to get back to the warmth of our homes and a hot cup of tea. I certainly did.

So I took a short cut across Town Hall Square. There the trees and buildings were festooned with bright fairy-lights. Around the square were large, colourful tableaux of scenes from Alice in Wonderland –with the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party and the Lobster's Quadrille. Some characters, such as the White Rabbit, moved. Humpty Dumpty was forever having a fall. Parents with their young children gazed in awe at this wondrous fantasy world –a world which had fascinated me when I was a child. It still does.

As I moved on from this wonderland, with its Mad Tea- Party, I came to another tableau. This was inside a kind of garden shed. A young mother with her child in her arms gazed intently through its large window. As I silently stood alongside them I heard the mother gently answering her child’s many questions. Who was the baby, lying in the hay? Why wasn’t he in his own bed in a proper home? Who were his mummy and daddy? Why were people kneeling on the ground, and who were they? And what were all those animals doing in his bedroom –the lambs, the cow and the donkey?

The child was fascinated by the scene. And it was so beautiful to hear his mother explaining the wonder of the babe born at Bethlehem. Her simple answers, adapted to the understanding of her child, touched my heart and refreshed my faith in what had become so familiar, so much a part of me over the decades.

And each year I witness a similar scene at the crib in Holy Cross, Leicester -the above photograph. I’m sure this sacred wonderland is repeated at every crib around the world. Mothers the world over use the crib tableau to explain the wonder of the Son of God joining the human race, becoming one of us.

Children –and adults –around the world and throughout the centuries have asked the question, “Why?” After all the many learned attempts to provide an answer there’s only one that really matters. God loves each of us so much that He wants to share our human life so that we can share His divine life of love. God’s love for us; our responding by loving Him –that’s what Christmas is all about.

As I contemplate the crib I thank God for inspiring St. Francis of Assisi to provide the visual-aid of the crib. Generations of people of diverse nations and cultures have delighted in it and learnt from it. The sight of the crib instantly touches the minds and hearts of young and old alike. Our imaginations are fired by the beautiful simplicity of the Son of God being born in a stable at Bethlehem long ago. As people of every race reflect on the babe in the manger they realise that Almighty God has become one of us, one of them. That’s why the baby Jesus is shown as being Chinese, Indian, African or European.

The stories about Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass are, indeed, beautiful. And so were the tableaux they inspired in our Town Hall Square. But these belong to the world of fantasy. Not so, the birth of Jesus and the cribs inspired by God’s earth-shattering entry into human history. That’s solid fact. That’s no myth, no flight of an author’s fantasy.

What happened at Bethlehem long ago has changed the whole course of history, the whole destiny of mankind. No wonder the ascetic St. John of the Cross danced for joy with the crib figure of the baby Jesus held lovingly in his arms.

But after all the explanations, both simple and learned, we are reduced to silent wonder. Let us fall on our knees like the shepherds and Magi in the crib. Come, let us adore the babe born at Bethlehem. He is our God; He is our saviour. And that’s no fairy story!

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight Fr. Peter will reflect on "More than a 1,000 Words"

IN FULL CRY

2011-12-02T01:44:00.000Z

What a child! What a yell..at the very moment I was preaching. This was during Mass in a village called ‘Paradise,’ in the Caribbean island of Grenada. It’s bawling might have been heard on the other side of the globe. ‘How come?’ You may ask. To which I reply, “Because the Mass was being broadcast on our diocesan FM station, and this is now accessible on the Internet.”

This crying child had interrupted my sermon. Some might say it served me right. I, who before Mass always ask people to turn off their cell phones, pagers, bleepers etc., should have asked mothers not to bring their babies to church on that particular occasion. Sorry, I have no intention of ever going that way!

During my sermon I paused so as to allow the babe to have his say. I even asked the congregation to listen to the child. I reminded them that people all over the world may be hearing our Grenadian baby crying in church. He would be telling them that where he comes from some have the privilege of being church-goers from the first days of their lives!

This child in our chapel would have sounded no different from Jesus of Nazareth in Mary’s embrace in the synagogue. Jesus and our baby boy were separated by thousands of years and by thousands of miles. Each would have been crying for the same thing, mother’s milk. The two mothers were separated by this same long time and this great distance. Each would have lovingly understood and responded to this demanding appeal for nourishment.

This episode, this interruption, said more to me than anything I could have said in my sermon. Through my mind, over and over again, had been coursing the words, ”In so far as you did this to one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it to me.”

I can’t help bracketing together the mother with her crying child in 'Paradise' chapel and Mary with her infant in Bethlehem. Every time I see a mother carrying her child, every time I see a mother nursing her child, I find myself being given a glimpse of the wonder, the beauty, of the Incarnation – Mary carrying Jesus, Mary nursing Jesus...Jesus, the Son of God, Jesus, the Son of Mary.

My thoughts zoom higher into orbit. It was only the Father’s freely made decision that created the necessity for the Son to be born to Mary of Nazareth all those years ago. Our Almighty Father never had to search around until He found the ideal woman to be the mother of His Son. He never had to weigh up what moment, what locality, what circumstances, would be most suitable for the birth of this child.

Rather, the Father knew precisely what He wanted – that a particular couple of His choosing should cause a girl-child to be conceived and that in the very instant of that conceiving their offspring He should cause her to be immaculate – completely untouched by sin – the Immaculate Conception of Mary, full of grace..in Judea..some two thousand years ago.

The Father could have done all this for any other woman, at any other time, and in any other place. She could have been someone in our own families, in our own time, in our own place. You, who are women listening to me now, are entitled to say, ”It could have been me!”

I can see myself wrestling with these thoughts throughout Advent. The more I ponder on motherhood, the more I shall be drawn into the mystery of the Word of God becoming flesh and dwelling among us. In the Son, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, the divine and the human are bonded together in this one person, who is the Son of God and the Son of Mary.

While the cry of our Grenadian baby was heard over the radio around the world on only one occasion, the significance of the cry of the babe born at Bethlehem resonates in the heart of every believer throughout the ages.

The bawling of billions of infants down through the ages could never surpass, never exceed, neither in quality nor in importance, the softest cry of Jesus in that manger outside Bethlehem.

TROUBLESOME WAYS

2011-11-18T08:10:00.000Z

The ‘Remote’ gadget saves you the trouble of rising from your easy chair to turn on the TV. Why not save yourself the trouble of going shopping? Stay in bed; pick up your phone; order whatever you require; pay with your credit card. No trouble...no problem.

Sounds marvellous... real progress. ... saving so much time and energy! But is this the formula for a satisfying and fulfilling life? Could it be the save-trouble culture is leading some people to be so languid (lazy?) that they’re having obesity problems? I’ve met an adult so dependent upon his pocket calculator that he hadn’t a clue how to do simple additions and subtractions....as for multiplication and division!!!!!!!!!!!

In the Caribbean island where I work, in preparation for All Souls’ Day, the graves of loved ones are trimmed and the concrete surrounds are freshened with a coat of white paint. In the evening family and friends take flowers and candles to the cemetery. They share memories, sing hymns and pray for the dead. All would agree, ‘Time well spent. Effort well spent. Even, money well spent.’

On the 8^th November, throughout the world, we of the Dominican Order honoured and prayed for deceased members of our spiritual family ...Not only the Religious Brothers and Sisters, and Dominican Laity; but also our personal biological families and those to whom we have ministered and those who have been so supportive of us in every way imaginable.

This year we Dominicans in the island of Grenada made our customary visit to two of the several plots where our brethren are buried. We friars devoted the whole morning at the graveside, reciting a portion of the Office of the Dead, singing the Salve Regina...in the heat of the day. There I felt an intimate bonding with those Dominicans who had been my companions and fellow-workers. It was there, as never before, I was bonded with those who had laboured in the same “Vineyard’ since 1901 when our Caribbean Vicariate was established.

This was a moment when I asked questions about myself. Where I am now? In which direction is my life going? Where did I hope to end up? I was not unsettled or offended when someone asked me if I had thought where I would like to be buried.

Most certainly I would never have been so profoundly moved if I’d remained at home with my devotions and reflections, at a distance, remote from what remains of my deceased brethren. If I’d spared myself the trouble of visiting these ‘places of the dead,' I would have had no reason to compose this blog.

I now conclude that the trouble-free life has no compelling appeal to me. Of course, I rejoice that the technology of Skype has brought me so very close to my twin, Isidore – with an ocean remaining between us, But this could never be equated with my actually being with him. At my age and stage I shudder at the travel fatigue and frustration to be endured to achieve this. But I'm determined to vsit him next year!

I’m truly blessed that my faith enables me to communicate with God in prayer. This whets my appetite to encounter Him face to face in the beatific vision. .but sad to say, not until I’ve been through the trouble of the sting of dying and being buried under the victory of the grave. There is no other, trouble-free way.

As for God, with His almighty power He could have found an easier, less involved, way of accomplishing our redemption than through His Son becoming flesh, dwelling among us; and then having to endure suffering, dying, and rising for us...Why? Why? Why? St. John has the answer:
This is the proof of love, that he (Jesus) laid down his life for us,...(godsway) and we too ought to lay down our lives for our brothers(myway).” 1 Jn. 3.16,

Here, there’s no remote control, trouble-free intervention on God’s part. The eloquence of the Cross is godsway of convincing us that He loves us. And Jesus describes myway, yourway, to follow Him as denying ourselves and taking up our crosses...I don’t see any soft options here. .Peter O.P.

Peter Clarke, O.P. In two weeks' Isidore will reflect on

GOING WITH THE FLOW

2011-11-04T08:17:00.003Z

What a wonderful idea! Let's row from the Scottish mainland to the Bass Rock -the world-famous sea-bird sanctuary. A pleasant afternoon's outing; Not all that far -just over a mile. Nothing to it! At least that's what some of us young Dominican students thought, as we set out for the harbour. After all, the weather was fine. One of our number was ex-navy, so he should be an expert oarsman. And Peter and I had proved to be reasonably competent with a skiff on the local reservoir.

We foresaw no problem as we expected to skim across the pond-calm sea towards the rocky protuberance. We eagerly looked forward to seeing thousands of birds nesting precariously on the narrowest of ledges. Others would be gliding gracefully, patrolling the sea. Filled with anticipation, our greatest longing was for the spectacular sight of the gannets suddenly folding their wings and plummeting down into the sea, and rising triumphantly with a fish. This was going to be a truly memorable expedition!

And we made splendid progress. Even for the inexperienced among us the rowing seemed almost effortless. Rapidly, as the distant shrank, the Bass Rock seemed to grow larger and larger. We were all elated. We were carefree. We were having a great time! And we expected it to become even better.

We were startled out of our peace by a frenzied skipper yelling from a motorboat rushing madly towards us. “Turn round immediately! Head back home!” “Why should we?” we retorted indignantly, “What's the problem? Why the fuss?” “You’re being swept along by a powerful current,” he warned, as he drew alongside us. And we amateur oarsmen had been priding ourselves on making such easy progress!

What a mightily different story, when we turned the boat round and tried to row back to the harbour! To hold his position, even our experienced ex-navy oarsman had to struggle with the oars. A super-human effort was needed to make even the slightest headway. That was frightening. Wisely he adopted the tactic of heading directly inland and rowing close to the shore. There the current against us was less strong and we were able to make gradual progress to our harbour. Chastened, relieved and a little scared we stepped onto dry land. In future we would certainly take advice from the local experts before setting out on any further adventures. We had learnt our lesson!

This experience has reminded me of how easy and enjoyable it is for us to 'go with the flow.' We're swept along by public opinion. The enthusiasm of the crowd is infectious. It's exhilarating. We don't want to be left behind. We don't want to miss the excitement. We see no dangers ahead. We would be ashamed to heed the timid ones, those lacking the spirit of adventure, those kill-joys, presuming to warn us!

When we’re carried along by the flow of the crowd we fall in with the secular values that surround us. That can lead us into all kinds of sins. It's very true, if we're encouraged to experiment with drugs. We want the thrill they're supposed to promise. We kid ourselves we can stay in control. We don't want to be left behind. So we 'go with the flow.' We don't see the dangers.

And not only young people can be under the enormous pressure of being swept along by all sorts of powerful emotions. The same is true of us adults! We too can be swept along by the crowd! We want to show affection; we're put under pressure to do so. We can be so confident we can stay in control and pull back whenever we want to. To our lasting regret we discover that this has proved to be impossible. If only we would all listen to the wisdom of those who have seen what a mess we can make of our own lives and other people's lives when we 'go with the flow' of the crowd, the flow of our powerful emotions and desires!

We should all hope someone will warn us of the dreadful risks we are taking. We should all hope we will have the sense to listen, and to turn back before any of us gets badly hurt. That is the lesson my expedition to the Bass Rock has taught me.

My way for meeting God must include heeding the warnings He gives me through the Church, the Scriptures, family and friends. God is not a kill-joy, nor are they. But His love and theirs makes them want to protect me from harming myself and other people. Paul puts this beatifully,

“Do not model your behaviour on the contemporary world, but let the renewing of your minds transform you, so that you may discern for yourselves what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and mature,”

(Rom 12. 2).

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight Peter will reflect on Meeting God through Encroachers

EYES RIGHT? EYES WRONG?

2011-10-20T22:23:00.000+01:00

‘He has eyes but he can’t see. Of course he can’t see and I don’t like it. I’ve complained to the bishop that Fr. Peter always closes his eyes when he’s preaching.’ The woman herself told me she’d taken this principled stand, adding that she’d told the bishop I shouldn’t be allowed to preach!

I ask myself what is there about my eyes that made the woman so anxious to see them at that special moment when I was preaching. There must be something about my I eyes that I’ve never suspected. The only thing that comes to mind is that time when a child excitedly called out, “Mummy! Come, look at the priest...he got cat eyes!” I might have to admit there’s something feline about me. Indeed, my eyes are somewhat grey-green. Like a cat’s??????”

The eyes of the preacher...our theme for today. What about Twin-eyes? You already know about mine. Isidore, my twin brother, like me, has had a woman complaining about his eyes when he was preaching. Complaining because, so she said, he stared at her with piercing eyes when he was preaching. I wonder what she had to hide or what she thought he saw in her.

I’m an innocent about such things, but it has crossed my mind closing my eyes to her made her feel inadequate, rejected. Is it possible that the one who was offended by Isidore’s staring eyes thought he was too interested in her. Little did she realise that his short-sightedness made him appear to stare. Each of them had an exaggerated sense of her importance to us! Poor preachers? Poor women? God knows which...perhaps both.

Don’t ask me why my eyes close. It’s none of my doing. It just happens. Don’t ask Isidore why his eyes fixed themselves on her when he’s preaching. He probably didn’t realize this was the case. (Wickedly I could have suggested to her that the sight of her was so overwhelming for me I simply had to close my eyes to her if I were to be able to preach my sermon! Would I have been out of place? Probably ‘Yes!’ But I’ll leave it so.)

For Isidore and for me, as preachers, it’s a matter of considerable interest that neither of our accusers expressed the slightest interest in our sermons. I wonder if they could recall a single word that either of us had uttered. Did anything either of us had said have the slightest influence on them? Any of you feel called to be a preacher!!??!! As I see it, no-one is ever going to get a preacher without mannerisms. Such men have never existed. Some will be amused by their idiosyncrasies; others, like these two women, will be irritated. Yet others couldn’t care less.

I have to say that some people just look to cause trouble. They can’t help raising objections... as Jesus found:

'We played the pipes for you, and you wouldn't dance; we sang dirges, and you wouldn't be mourners. For John came, neither eating nor drinking, and they say, "He is possessed. The Son of man came, eating and drinking, and they say, "Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners." Yet wisdom is justified by her deeds,.' (Mtt.11. 17-19).

The way He handled fault-finding addicts saves me from crumbling with self-pity or from rising hot with indignation. He didn’t need anyone to tell Him He was surrounded by people who were impossible to please...always dissatisfied, forever grumbling,

He didn’t take such quibblers seriously. And neither must I. He simply got on with doing what He had to do....His Father’s business. In this He found peace. He believed in Himself. He wouldn’t let anyone discourage Him. This was His way. It must also be myway..

Now, having purged all this out of my system I’m going to take a hard look in the mirror to discover what is was that woman was missing when I closed my eyes (to her?) when I was preaching. And Isidore would do well to work out what the woman found so disconcerting in his preacher’s eyes. Not that either of us could do anything about it! Even if we wanted to!

Peter O.P.

In a fortnight Isidore will reflect on "Going with the flow."

TOO MUCH TALK

2011-09-30T08:13:00.024+01:00

“STOP!!!” With exasperation my hand shot up like a traffic cop's as I yelled, “Stop!”
What provoked such a strong, violent reaction from me, who likes to consider myself as being a mild person? Well, he'd been talking about himself for about an hour. He’d shown no interest in me; no chance for me to get a word in. After all that, he even had the nerve to thank me for such an interesting conversation! “What conversation?” -I wryly. thought to myself.

You’ve probably had the same experience. And perhaps you have treated other people in the same way. It often happens on the telephone. While the person on the other end does all the talking you could easily walk away or play a game of Patience on your computer without his noticing. I must plead guilty to that.

It seems to me, all the talker wants is an audience, not a conversation. That would involve both participating, with each talking and listening –with each showing an interest in the other. That would mean sharing news and ideas, above all taking an interest in each other. Otherwise one might as well talk to the cat. It won’t answer back! But it may as well close its eyes and go to sleep out of sheer boredom.

These musings were provoked by someone coming to talk about the difficulties he was having with praying. He complained that God seemed to be so distant, so silent. He didn't seem to listen. After my friend had gone on for about an hour I'd had enough! Without a pause I, like a traffic cop, suddenly held up my hand and exclaimed, “Stop! You’ve done all the talking and haven’t allowed me to say anything. You came to me for advice and have shown no interest in hearing what I have to say.

Perhaps that's the way you treat God when you try to pray. You do all the talking and no listening. You don't give God a chance to speak to you. You show no sign of being interested in listening to what He may have to say to you. And if He got a chance to speak, the sound of your own voice would have drowned His out.”

I then suggested he would do better to think more about God and less about himself. He should stop talking so much and start listening. Not surprisingly, my words pulled him up with a jolt. All credit to him. He had the humility and honesty to admit I could be right.

Compulsive talking can be a sign that we're afraid of silence, when we’re with someone with whom we are not at ease. To escape an uncomfortable void, we become compulsive chatterers. But friendship can only begin to develop when we’ve learnt to become listeners. Only then can we discover each other. But we do need to stop being so self-centred and start taking an interest in others. Only then will we learn the wonder of loving and being loved.

All this is very true both of love of our fellow human beings and of God. Surprisingly, the deepest expression of love can consist in simply relaxing together, enjoying each other’s company. Then words become superfluous. There’s no tension in the silence. A loving gaze can be more eloquent than many words.

All this is true of the dialogue of love, which is prayer. We can draw close to God’s love by relaxing quietly in his company, say, before the Blessed Sacrament. Or, we can gaze upon the crucifix, without our needing to use words; Christ can speak to our minds and hearts from the cross. But we do need to be silent if we are to hear Him. Endless chatter can block out God. Jesus pointed to the danger of using too many words when we were praying.

Endless prattling can also be a way of deafening ourselves to the Word of God speaking to our consciences. We don't want to hear the uncomfortable things He may want to say to us because He knows we need to hear them. We're afraid God may make unwanted demands on us and prick our consciences. That would mean we would have to change our way of life. To block out the voice of God we deafen ourselves with the cacophony of our own babblings.

But it's only by being still and quietly listening to God that we can hear His voice. Only then can we discover His will for us.

So, if I’m to meet God in prayer, to get to know Him and learn from Him I must keep quiet and listen to Him, or as the Psalmist said,

“Be still and know that I am God.”

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight Fr Peter will reflect on 'Eyes Right? Eyes Wrong ?'

HEART-BREAK

2011-09-16T01:11:00.002+01:00

Never, never would I have imagined that so much noise could come from such a small set of lungs! The wee child screamed, and screamed and screamed; and wrestled and wrestled and wrestled. Such determination, such resistance. And what made this more like a menagerie of untamed, frustrated animals was there were about a dozen of them lending their voices to this bedlam.

What on earth was going on? It was the beginning of the school year, the first day these infants were being separated from their mothers. To them it seemed their mothers were abandoning them, rejecting them.

Everyone was so firm, so unyielding, and yet so coaxing and so friendly. Scared, struggling, writhing, they were carried into a strange room and the door was closed. There they were handed over to strangers. It was a strange, motherless world they had entered. And then, the mothers moved off, stressed out and exhausted after this painful ordeal. Some were weeping at the loss of their children. Others felt guilty over the anguish into which they had plunged their little darlings. Nothing they could do could lessen the pain of separation for both mother and for infant.

This could not have been avoided. These days families are sending their precious little ones to day-care centres, infant schools, pre-primary schools at a very, very early age. Mothers and teachers do have strategies to ensure that gradually the anguish wears off. After a while the toddlers begin to feel secure. They find they can trust those who are looking after them. They make first faltering steps in forming friendships. They even come to enjoy the activities and everything about school. They become proud to wear their school uniforms.

Remembering the drama of first day at school for those infants has a certain resonance in the memory of those traumatic moments on that never-to-be forgotten, never-to-be repeated, day when I was forced to stand on my own feet. The props that had till then supported me had been removed. For me it was a moment of excruciating insecurity when the car conveyed me to that presbytery where for the first time in my life I would be a parish priest. I would be living absolutely on my own with no dog, cat or goldfish to talk to! Into my lap was thrown the pastoral responsibility of parish administration – without my ever having been given much of an apprenticeship.

The whole of my body trembled uncontrollably throughout that brief journey to meet my destiny. On arrival I was introduced to strangers – the welcoming party. My driver took his leave and then I was left with my ‘minders.’ As I write about my own painful memories I recall the apprehension and bewilderment of those bawling infants.

Trouble is that this ‘big man’ –Peter -did not have the freedom to bawl and scream...like those poor infants. I had to put on a brave face and cheerful countenance. I had to create a good impression of joyful confidence, there and then, knowing that those who had first met me would be straining to spread the word of what their new priest was like.

These reflections are most vivid to me because in recent weeks I’ve been acting pastor in the very place where I received my ‘baptism’ as a parish priest. I’ve been ministering to people I’d instructed, counselled, baptised and wedded over fifty years ago.

I’ve had the opportunity of expressing to them my gratitude for their providing a ‘safety-net’ when I feared I was descending into a pit of horrors, a time when I would have welcomed being swallowed into nothingness. These friendly souls of yester-year, and now today, so much resemble those teachers who year after year are the welcoming party, the safety-net for bawling, horrified, youngsters.

Words fail me in expressing my gratitude to those who were ‘there for me’ at those moments of greatest insecurity. I thank God, who in His loving kindness provided me with such people. I thank Him for His own diffidence in not imposing on me a spirituality of ‘Alone with my God.’

I go along with the sentiment of the song, ‘ People who need people are the luckiest people in the world.’ Only luckier are those who have such people around at the time when they are most needed.

Didn’t St. PauI write,’ Carry each other’s burdens; that is how to keep the law of Christ?’ Those teachers certainly did this for those infants. Those parishioners did so for me in the springtime of my priesthood. I would pray that I will not fail anyone who is looking to me for such support. This is godsway. This must always be myway!

Peter Clarke,OP

In two weeks Isidore will meet God through reflecting on 'Too Much Talk!'

MEETING GOD THROUGH A TICKLER

2011-08-22T08:26:00.022+01:00

Outdoor manual labour -for us Dominican students, what a welcome break from studying philosophy! Some of us would clear ground for us to plant trees; others would work in the kitchen garden and grow vegetables for our large community; while others would keep the grounds around our priory tidy. It was good to get out of the lecture hall and into the fresh air. It was good to get physically tired after philosophy had put our brains into a spin.

For most of the year we worked in separate groups with different jobs. But there were some key tasks which required all of us students to pull together as a team. We all hated those foggy afternoons when we had to pick ice-cold potatoes out of the frozen ground -the inefficient spinner only partly dug them out of the ground. We had to finish the job with our bare, numb fingers. A miserable, wretched task!

But we really did enjoy harvesting and haymaking in the warm, sunny weather. In those days farming was not nearly as mechanised as it is today. We had to become experts with the pitchfork. It's quite an art making a haystack, one which won't topple over. We had to be careful not to pierce each other with the fork as we pitched hay up to someone working on top of the rick. Not always were we successful! I can still remember a fork piercing my trouser leg!

And I vividly recall one occasion when we were building a haystack. There was I on top of the rick, carefully wielding my pitchfork to distribute the hay passed up to me. Suddenly I felt a tickling, an irritation, in the small of my back. What could it be? To satisfy my curiosity and to remove the irritant I pulled off my shirt and shook it.

Low and behold, a mouse jumped out and dived deep into the safety of the hay. What a nerve! It must have run up the inside of my trouser- leg and continued up into my shirt. What moved it to go there, I can only guess. Perhaps it was trying to escape from the galumphing boots of a Dominican friar, who had invaded its territory. Or perhaps it thought I would provide it with a comfortable safe, home. If so, it would bring its family. If the mouse got a shock, so did I. We students certainly had a good laugh afterwards.

Surprisingly, this long-forgotten incident unexpectedly surfaced from the depths of my sub-conscious some fifty years later. What provoked that I don't know. Perhaps the Good Lord, in His mysterious wisdom, had a deep purpose in reminding me of this adventurous mouse. Could the mouse, which had sought refuge in my shirt, tell me something special about meeting God? Certainly the encounter between the mouse and me was unique and took both of us by surprise.

Perhaps therein lies the message God wanted me to learn. It's quite simple and yet very profound. Through the wee mouse God was telling me that He approaches and speaks to us in many unexpected and different ways. Some of them momentous, others mundane, while others are amusing. I must be prepared to meet Him in whatever way or guise He approaches me -even through the curiosity of an adventurous mouse.

That's the central idea, underlying every posting on this blog. I don't need to seek a further meaning for this incident. That's enough. Perhaps I need constantly to be reminded to keep into sharp focus what Peter and I are trying to do in our blog. That includes not reading into any event a meaning which it can't really support. But my encounter with the mouse did teach me another important lesson -to tuck my trousers into my socks when haymaking! I didn't want mouse and mates to choose me as their landlord as they took up residence in my shirt!

And with the young Samuel I say, "Speak, Lord, your servant is listening," (1 Sam. 3. 9). And please help me to understand what you are saying -even through an over-curious mouse!

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight Fr. Peter will see how we can meet God through Our Patrons.

THE WILL BUT NOT THE WAY

2011-08-09T08:14:00.007+01:00

I wanted to stay awake. I'd been looking forward to this occasion, this very moment. But I was so tired. Over and over again I found myself slipping from drowsiness into unconsciousness. I swung like a pendulum from 'open eye' to 'shut eye' and back again, in my fight to stay awake, my head ached....no, it actually hurt. The effort had worn me out. I felt rotten.

And I was afraid. I did not want to disgrace myself. Many's the time someone has roused me from my slumbers with a poke in the ribs and the whispered admonition that I was snoring loudly with the rasping sound of a tractor or of an old-time VW Beetle. I did so want to remain awake on this occasion most of all.

I wanted, I needed to remain alert. I couldn't afford to lose out. Eventually my resistance caved in. Time came when my contentment in slumber-land was shattered by a sharp poke in the ribs and the urgent whisper, 'Peter! You're snoring!' My instinct was, 'So what! Who cares? Leave me alone!' By the mercy of God lethargy silenced my tongue. Drowsily I looked around. I was surrounded by thousands of people gathered around an altar in a vast open space. And then I heard a voice I recognized, preaching...It was Pope John Paul II celebrating the open- air Mass in the Caribbean island of St. Lucia.

I've been a priest for very many years. Often people many have confessed to me that they have fallen asleep when saying their prayers. They haven't been able to complete the prayer quota they've assigned themselves. They've felt so awful about this. And now, what about me? What size of a sin was it for me to fall asleep when the Vicar of Christ was preaching?

I excuse myself by recalling Gethsemane and how Jesus begged His inner circle -the elite trio, Peter, James and John -to accompany Him as He sought the consolation of prayer to His heavenly Father. They couldn't keep vigil with Him - even for just one hour. More than once Jesus aroused them and urged them to keep on praying. Much as they loved Him, they just couldn't make it.

Come to think of it, poor, tired Jesus couldn't match the expectations of His friends as they wrestled with the turbulent storm on the Lake of Galilee, "But He was in the stern, His head on a cushion, asleep. They woke Him and said to Him, 'Master, do you not care? We are lost!'" (Mk. 4. 38-39). What impertinence to suggest that Jesus had ceased to care because exhaustion had knocked Him out!

All this convinced me that we do not offend God when sleep snuffs out our prayers. Falling asleep is the most natural thing in the world. As far as I know every animal simply must get some sleep. It must relax so as to regain its vitality. And so must we.

In the Bible we find that on a number of occasions God spoke to people when they were asleep, when He could catch and hold their attention because they were not caught up in activities and anxieties, or even absorbing enthusiasms. And what a pleasing idea this is: There is no better way of falling asleep than when you're actually praying to God, with your mind, heart and love resting in Him. That surely deserves sweet dreams!

I know at least one person who will be relieved by this approach and will not think I'm fooling only myself!

Peter O.P.

In a fortnight Fr. Isidore will reflect on Meeting God through 'A Tickler.'

IT'S ONLY A BEE !

2011-07-26T08:02:00.010+01:00

It's only a bee; it won't hurt you! With those reassuring words my delightful young niece invited me to stroke a bumble bee. Little did she realize that the furry, friendly-looking creature had a sting in its tail -at least some of them do. I still don't know how to distinguish them from the harmless ones. So I hastily declined her friendly invitation and persuaded her that it was not such a good idea to stroke bees, however harmless and cuddly they may seem to be.

Much later I learnt a similar lesson the painful way. That was when I was picking Victoria plums -which I knew would be delicious. Unfortunately I wasn't the only one to fancy them. Eagerly I picked a ripe, succulent plum. Unfortunately a wasp had got there before me and was tucking into 'my' plum. As I grasped the plum and the wasp I felt a sharp, burning pain. I'd been stung! Not surprisingly, I let out a loud scream.

After making a hasty, undignified retreat I dressed my wound. Then, undaunted, I returned to picking plums for my community. I wasn't going to be intimidated by a wasp, which was much smaller than me. But now I was much more cautious and wore a pair of protective rubber gloves. Before grasping each plum I inspected it carefully to ensure that a wasp had not got there before me. If I saw one I heeded the defensive warning of its black and yellow stripes: "If you touch me I will sting you! Keep your distance." That I certainly did.

As a result I was able to harvest the ripe plums the wasps didn't want, without my being stung -even though they buzzed round my head and occasionally walked over my face. Yes, there were many more than one of them. But by keeping a respectful distance, and allowing each other to enjoy the plums, both the wasps and I were satisfied, without our needing to harm each other.

This led me to reflect on the wonder of God's creation. Each creature has its own beauty. My little niece was so right to delight in the beauty of the furry bumble bee -but so wrong in thinking it would welcome being stroked. And the wasp also has its own special beauty. Like the bee, it has been endowed with a powerful sting with which to defend itself. I can't blame the wasp for protecting itself by stinging me.

I think it's safe to say most beasts don't waste their energy or expend their weaponry unnecessarily. If they're aggressive it's either to feed or protect themselves and their young. Usually they give a warning hiss, growl or rattle. Some are more fascinating. They may posture and bang their chests, display bright colours or puff themselves up to increase their size. They all expect us to get the message and back off!

I marvel at the way each beast has a special role and place in the balance of nature. As one kind preys on another that prevents one species becoming too dominant. Only man seems to disregard this delicate balance of nature. We over-fish the seas. We destroy the habitat of the insects we need to pollinate the plants that feed us. We are so short sighted!

But at last we are beginning to wake up! We are learning to respect our environment. Certainly that starts with self-interest. But then, hopefully we move beyond thinking only of preserving what is useful to us. We expand our horizons to marvel at the wonderful world which we inhabit with so many other creatures. And that word, "creature" reminds me that this is not only our world, but God's. He has given us the privilege and responsibility of caring for it and developing it.

As I wonder at the world in which I live I realize that each creature gives glory to God, simply by being its magnificent self. That goes for the smallest as much as the largest. And that includes the wasp that stung me! But we people are special in being the only ones on earth able to appreciate the wonder of God's creation. We can put into words and sing the praise which each creature gives to its maker.

So I meet God by marvelling at the whole of creation and at each creature. I meet Him by respecting the environment in which He has placed me and them. This should enable all of us, His creatures, to flourish. Out of respect we give each other the space each of us need. That, among other things, means I don't stroke bees or grasp wasps!

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight Fr. Peter will reflect on Meeting God 'By Having the Will But Not The Way.'

HARD PILLOWS

2011-07-12T15:03:00.005+01:00

I'd purchased a pillow at a bargain price. Not that I needed one, but I wanted to support some church fund-raiser. In the interests of charity I will not name the 'Cause' I was assisting. Blessed are they who know when to keep their mouths shut! Concerning this pillow I have much to say.

Never, in my many years, have I ever placed my weary head on a harder pillow. Never has my neck been stiffer than after my giving my bargain pillow a one-night's-try. Perhaps it was designed to be a 'penitential pillow' for sinners who deserved to wait many tortured hours for the day to break and for the sun to rise. Isn't heaven reputed to be a place for eternal rest? I would strongly recommend the management there to trade with a firm that offers a 'soft option' in head rests.

Taking all this into account what am I to think about a fellow who chose a stone for a pillow? This must have been the hardest pillow on earth. Either he must have been in sore straits in this god-forsaken place or, perhaps, he was a person of little imagination. Even I could have taught him a thing or two about improvisation. In my camping days I've used tufts of grass, towels and rolled up clothes as stand-ins for pillows. Come to think of it, I've even aspired to the greater sophistication of creating a support for my neck by placing my shoes toe to toe and then covering the ensemble with a towel. Recipe for a good night's sleep!

Anyway, this hard pillow did not prevent our friend from having a dream that many of us dreamers would envy. Read all about him in Genesis 28. He, Jacob by name, dreamed of a ladder, 'planted on the ground with its top reaching to heaven; and God's angels were going up and down on it.'

Surely a most pleasing dream when we think of the nightmares that haunt some of us from time to time. And what about this?

'And there was Yahweh, standing beside him and saying, 'I, Yahweh, am the God of Abraham your father, and the God of Isaac. The ground on which you are lying I shall give to you and your descendants.'

No wonder Jacob on awakening exclaimed,

'Truly, Yahweh is in this place and I did not know!' He was afraid and said, "How awe-inspiring this place is! This is nothing less than the abode of God, and this is the gate of heaven.'

And I had described this as a god-forsaken place, barren and unfriendly. Never again will I be so rash, so dismissive of any corner of this, my world. No! It's God's creation; His world . He is everywhere. There's no such place where God is not. This awareness must be the foundational truth of my spirituality. I means that wherever I am, there is God...no matter how dire may be the place in which I find myself; no matter how sinful may be the situation in which I have chosen to put myself. God is there, loving me, even if I have stopped loving Him- which God forbid!

He is there, accessible to me, whenever I want to get in touch with Him. He is there inspiring me, guiding me, shielding me, rescuing me - whether I am aware of this or not. God is to be found even, perhaps especially, in and through a hard rock.

I, personally, am delighted that with my name being Peter, which means 'rock,' I am to think of myself supporting others with the comfort I myself have received from the Lord who 'is my rock,my fortress, and deliverer, my God, my rock in whom I take refuge,' (Ps.18.2)

TAKEN BY SURPRISE

2011-06-27T08:13:00.008+01:00

The soothing peacefulness of an English autumn; the beautiful Christ Church Meadows of Oxford. There was I with my camera and my beloved, but now abandoned, pipe. I strolled along without a care in the world. I had no thought of returning with anything memorable to report.

All the same I'm a somewhat adventurous photographer -eager for the unusual, something that would be a conversation-piece, something worth bragging about. The tame squirrels in the Meadows seemed to be promising. They would take food from our hands and would even jump upon us. If I could catch such a shot it wouldn't be a bad start. But I wanted to do better than that!

So I found an acorn and stuffed it into the bowl of my pipe, which I then placed on the ground in front of me. Having baited my pipe I waited eagerly with my camera. But not for long. A squirrel darted from behind me, grabbed my pipe and leaped up the nearest oak tree. Seated on a branch it then removed the acorn. It even had the courtesy to throw my pipe back to me!

What a unique set of hilarious pictures that would have made! But no. The squirrel had ambushed me. It had taken me off my guard. It had moved so quickly that the whole episode was over in a matter of seconds. And I was so transfixed with laughter that I took no pictures. ..a wonderful opportunity missed! Obviously if I'd had more sophisticated camera equipment and had been in better control of my emotions I would have got my pictures.

But then, if I'd had the situation under control I would have missed the wonder of the unexpected. By no stretch of the imagination could I have dreamt up what the squirrel would do. My thoughts were earth-bound and went no further than hoping that I would get a picture of the squirrel remaining on the ground while it held my pipe and removed the acorn. That would have delighted me. It never occurred to me that the little I had to offer would prompt the squirrel to dash onto the scene, leap upwards with my pipe into the tree, and then, after it had taken its snack, return my pipe. This squirrel had transformed an obvious non-event into an amazing incident.

My squirrel has given new meaning to the adage, "While man proposes, God disposes!"

In this case God was exposing me to a new, exciting, unforeseen, unplanned experience. Could it be that He might be suggesting that we take a lesson from my squirrel and leap off, upwards, in unforeseen directions? The squirrel certainly had not expected to find an acorn in my pipe, still less to carry it up an oak tree. And when I set out with my camera that wasn't what I had planned. But as the squirrel seized my acorn-filled pipe it has provided my friends and me with many a laugh, even over sixty years after the event. That has enriched our lives in a way I had not expected.

And I have found that to be true of the more serious twists and turns in my life. My mother would not have been born if her mother had not broken of her engagement to a non-cricket-loving fiance and married someone who did enjoy the game. And our parents had debated whether we lads would be safer risking the blitz of World War II or running the gauntlet of "U" boats if we were sent to relatives in S. Africa. If we had gone there Peter and I would probably not have met and joined the Dominicans. And if illness had not forced me to leave the W. Indies I would not have had my crazy encounter with the squirrel. Nor would I have worked in a conference centre where I was able to hear famous lecturers explaining what the Vatican Council was all about. That has proved an enduring asset when giving retreats, conferences and sermons.

These unforeseen twists and turns in my life have taken me where I had not expected to go. If I'd remained wedded to my own plans I would have ended up disappointed and frustrated. Instead, the unanticipated has opened up new horizons for me. And If I'm sensitive I will realize God has always been with me, leading me into the unknown. That's exciting, and, at times, frightening. But in that unknown I will enter the wondrous mystery of God Himself.

I like to think that just as the squirrel got an unexpected bonus in finding an acorn in my pipe, so it has provided me with a humorous incident, which has thrown new light on the mysterious workings of divine providence. I can't make up my mind which of us was the craziest -the squirrel or me. I'm sure you have already decided!

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight Peter will reflect on Meeting God by 'Getting Real'

IMPOSSIBLE DREAMS

2011-06-16T11:23:00.005+01:00

It was getting to 'Wind-down' time in the evening. I was quietly relaxing before going to bed. My cell-phone rang. Surprise! Surprise! A sprightly young voice burst forth upon me like a tidal wave with, "Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! You've won fifteen millions dollars in the National Lottery. Congratulations! Congratulations! Do you want it in cash or to be paid into your bank account?"

I had to halt this girl's avalanche of words. "Cool it! Cool it! Slow down!" I interjected. She was getting my poor head confused with her rapid-fire enthusiasm. "Tell me your name," I asked. "Penny!" she replied. "For heaven's sake!" I thought. "A girl call, 'Penny' was telling me I had won millions, no, billions, of pennies in the National Lottery."

I then calmly suggested, "Penny, tell me slowly what's all this is about -my winning a fortune in the National Lottery. And then give me a phone number so that I can reach you tomorrow." When I'd written all this down, I bid her, "Good night," and then composed myself for going to bed.

What a night I had! I threw caution to the wind! I let my imagination run wild. Not for me the sour caution of only believing in my good fortune once I'd seen the mountain of cash with my own eyes or when I was certain it had been safely lodged in my bank account. I pictured myself making it possible to pay off substantial debts on church buildings, or establishing bursaries for needy students, or assisting worthwhile charities.

With all this money flowing in my direction I expected at least to be allowed to make a celebratory cruise around the world. I put it this way because for over fifty years I have been a Dominican living under the vow of poverty. I'd been required to will to the Dominican Order any cash that came my way -earned, gifted, inherited or won by gambling. When I took my vows and when the Order accepted them neither side anticipated we'd be dealing with more than peanuts. I was not expected to be a financial asset to anybody.

I had mused on whether I would become bloated with pride at having become the Great Benefactor of the Order, the one who had plucked fifteen million dollars out of the air by winning the National Lottery. Would I be just the same person; would life go on just as usual?

Come the morning, I was brought back to the real world. No evidence could be found of my having made such a win in any lottery. The cheerful herald of my good fortune could not be traced through the cell phone. If her intention had been to rip me off through my bank account she must have rightly concluded I was not worth the trouble.

To tell the truth, the pickings and plucking in my life have come through hard work..by others and by me. By the mercy of God and the industry and generosity of others I've never known extreme need. For that matter, I've never been in a position to fritter away a mountain of riches. After deep consideration I believe I shall be most contented and fulfilled if I am able to make my own this prayer in the Book of Proverbs,

"Two things I beg of you, do not grudge me them before I die: keep falsehood and lies far from me, give me neither poverty nor riches, grant me only my share of food, for fear that, surrounded by plenty, I should fall away and say, 'Yahweh -who is Yahweh? or else, in destitution, take to stealing and profane the name of my God," (Prov. 30. 7).

Quite honestly, I don't think God wants me to win fifteen million dollars. I've never had much luck with raffles and bingos - nor with lotteries. It's not God's way of blessing me, nor my way for serving Him. But I'll tell you, God has given me His very self. What more than that could I want? And if I owned the whole world and did not have God in my life I'd be as poor as a church mouse. Come to think of it, never in my life have I bought a lottery ticket!

Peter Clarke O.P.

In a fortnight Isidore will reflect on meeting God in being "Taken by Surprise"

THROUGH MAPS

2011-05-30T10:42:00.017+01:00

Ever since we were energetic teenagers my brother , Peter, and I have relished the idea of breaking free of the city and getting into the countryside. First we would have to choose an interesting place to visit. Then began the fun of planning our cycle route. For us travelling was as important as arriving. So out would come the map that would provide us with the crucial information we needed to make our journey. How we enjoyed wrestling with the decisions necessary in planning these outings!

There was the memorable occasion when we decided to cycle from Oxford to the south coast of England-about 100 miles. We'd almost reached the end of our journey when the weather turned foul, with driving rain and gusty winds. It was getting dark, and we valiant knights of the road, mounted on our bikes, were soaking wet, tired and miserable! And then, out of the mist and rain there loomed the warning sign, 'DANGER! ROAD CLOSED. DIVERSION.'

What were we to do? Sheer bravado, and eager determination left us in no doubt. We must reach the end of our journey as soon as possible. Grab the prospect of changing into dry clothes, and relaxing with a hot drink. We were eager to arrive as soon as possible. Go for the shortest route on our map. Wise in our fool-hardy conceit, we were not going to be deterred by a danger sign. Those, we thought, were for the faint-heart.

All too soon our arrogant folly caught up with us. Giant waves crashed over the coast-road we'd decided to take. What should we do now? Rashly we decided to press on, rather than turn back. After all, we were already soaking wet. A further drenching would make no difference. We didn't want to double back and prolong our miserable journey. Gradually the salty waves, crashing over our heads, caused our bikes to seize up. Every ball-baring became encrusted with salt. Peddling became harder and harder. At long last, utterly exhausted, we eventually reached our destination.

In a strange way this saga of many years ago is now telling me something about the purpose of God's Law -also its limitations. Far from being a strait-jacket that restricts movement, this Law is Divine Wisdom -a road map by which God shows His beloved people how to journey through life, responding to His love for them. Here He has chartered those quagmires which would destroy His people's love for Him. The Psalmist puts his love for God's Law beautifully,

"Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path,"

(Ps. 119. 105).

No wonder Jesus said He'd not come to destroy the Law, but to fulfil it. After all, it was God's Law, and Jesus never ceased to be God; it was given to the Jews, and He never ceased to be a Jew. No wonder He did not want to tear up the 'map of life' He Himself had given His people!

Instead, He came to provide a clearer map that would reveal what had never been suspected, and much that had been overlooked or misunderstood...a map of life with more inviting possibilities and more protective warnings. God's Law guides us through this life and leads us safely to eternal life and happiness. So the prophet Jeremiah advises us,

Thus says the Lord, 'Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls.' But they said, 'We will not walk in it,'"

(Jer. 6. 16).

You'd think Jeremiah had Peter and me in mind when he wrote those words -our headstrong perversity in ignoring a well intentioned warning road-sign. Much more crass to spurn God's road-map for life, as though we knew better!

But maps, directions and even laws do have their limitations. They can tell us how to get from one place to another, and what dangers we should avoid. But that information alone will never give us the energy to start moving and keep going...to get on our bikes or to follow God's map of life and to persevere on our journey towards Him until our dying breath. We need God to do more than tell us where we should or should not go. We need Him to give us the will-power and energy to make the journey.

But then Jesus exclaims, "I am the way, and the truth and the life," (Jn. 14. 6). Not only does He show us the way to the Father, but He also gives us the energy to journey towards Him. Baptism sets us on our way and gives us a divine vitality, a dynamism to travel towards God.

So, I first meet God in studying and loving the map of life He has given us. Then I draw upon His energizing grace to journey towards Him. Out of love He has mapped out for me the way to eternal happiness with Him. I can trust Him not to lead me astray!

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight Peter will meet God through 'Impossible Dreams.'

LOST PROPERTY

2011-05-16T15:42:00.010+01:00

Far be it from me to admit that I was never a naughty child. God knows that I was, and so did my parents, who are now happily resting in the bosom of Abraham. God also knows that I was an adventurous and mischievous rascal. And so was my twin brother, Isidore. I leave it to him to tell his own tale.

And now we come to that day when we toddlers were going to visit one of those mega stores that promised so much excitement. From the moment of passing through the palatial entrance it was evident that there would be much to excite my curiosity and delight -so much to see, wonders to be discovered, corridors between counters and display stands to be explored. Mother, a caring soul, was lightly holding my twin brother and me by the hand. With a primitive instinct that escapees don't break out in a dramatic fashion, I slipped away from mother without her noticing. Gradually I drifted away from her as I peered this way and that, examining everything.

And then I espied the wonderland of toys -of teddy bears and rocking horses, building bricks and tricycles. With a mindless compulsion I was drawn on and on and on, from one toy to another -totally captivated.

But then I realized I was surrounded by strangers in an unfamiliar environment. I felt lonely, desolate. I panicked. I screamed for Mummy. I was afraid! But a kindly soul took me by the hand and calmed me down with soothing words. Holding me by the hand she took me into a small box-like room with no windows. A sliding door closed with a resounding clanking, clattering din.

Never before in my short life had I been so cut off from the world and everyone I knew and loved. And then there was the strange feeling in my gut that I was being taken up and up and up, and having nothing before my eyes to tell me it was so. Eventually this 'tin box' came to an abrupt halt.

The door gently slid open and we stepped out of the lift (elevator). In no time I heard a voice speaking into a mike my name and a description of me -a sweet little boy, with golden curls and wearing an orange shirt, bright red shorts and answering to the name of 'Peter.' "Would my mother kindly collect me from the 'LOST PROPERTY ROOM' -on the top floor of t this enormous building?!

In my infant ignorance I had wondered if she would be able to find me. No need to describe the reunion when mother reclaimed her 'lost property.' What a magic moment for both of us -she relieved that I had come to no harm; I ecstatic that mother had cherished me so much that she had sought me out until she could reclaim me and embrace me. She might so easily have blamed me.

And now, many years later, I realize that at this very tender age I had experienced the anguish of the lost sheep in the parable, and then the relief, the joy of being sought and being found by the shepherd -and not by a hungry wolf. In the parable the lost/found sheep was given a VIP welcome, a ride on the shepherd's shoulders.

Long after the event, I now reflect on the folly, the pain I had brought upon myself and upon my mother, all through my going after forbidden freedoms. And then I think of the beauty of discovering I was still cherished, wanted and welcomed by forgiving love after I had thought it smart to cut loose and 'do my own thing!'

A footnote. Excitedly I told my twin brother, Isidore, how this long forgotten episode had unexpectedly come to my mind and how I had promptly decided I could get a blog out of it. Immediately he chipped in that he had been the 'lost property' and had already used this episode in a sermon....Ah well! Mywaygodsway.

Peter O.P

In a fortnight Isidore will reflect on how maps help him to meet God

REMOVING LABELS

2011-05-03T15:28:00.015+01:00

Poor Martha and Thomas! They've both had a bad press. Martha is stuck with the label of being over-active and fussy, of getting her priorities wrong. She's compared unfavourably with her contemplative sister, Mary. And Thomas will forever be known as the 'Doubter.' Though there's a certain truth in both these labels, they only describe one facet of each of their characters. These labels give an unbalanced and unjust impression. Far from helping us to understand each other labels can close our minds to the many facets of our characters. People are far too complicated and mysterious to be identified by a single label and then pigeon-holed. We need to strip off the labels, if we are to gain a balanced understanding.

That's very true with the label stuck on Martha. As she welcomed Jesus into her home, she prepared some refreshments, while her sister, Mary, kept Him company. That would happen when a guest visits any family or Dominican community. In different ways both sisters showed their love for Jesus. And He had no complaint about that arrangement.

It's usually forgotten that Martha wanted to join Jesus and her sister as soon as possible. That's why she complained to Jesus and asked Him to tell Mary to give her a hand with preparing the refreshments. But Jesus had a different approach -Martha should go to less trouble with the refreshments. That would free her to join them. After all, He'd come to enjoy the sisters' company, rather than to receive lavish refreshments. That's why Jesus didn't tell Mary to leave Him alone and help her sister.

Certainly there's a gentle rebuke here for Martha, who needed to get the balance right between doing things for those we love and making time to relax in their company. But that doesn't justify us sticking an indelible label on Martha for being hyper-active, in contrast with her contemplative sister.

That becomes very clear in another incident in which the two sisters feature -the raising of Lazarus. While Mary stayed at home weeping over the death of her brother, practical Martha went out to meet Jesus. With a robust faith she reproached Him for not staying to cure Lazarus. She then expressed her conviction that even after he'd been dead for several days Jesus could still restore him to life. Jesus was then able to draw out her faith in the resurrection so that she could accept Him as actually being, 'the resurrection and the life.'

Here we now see Martha as the contemplative, whose lively faith is deepened by questioning Jesus. And, like a good missionary, Martha leads her sister to Jesus. That is the prelude to His raising Lazarus from the dead. What a different Martha from the one who had been disparagingly labelled as 'hyper-active!'

Now for 'Doubting' Thomas. He was not the only one unwilling to believe that Jesus had risen from the dead. No one did! But Thomas expressed their scepticism more forcefully than anyone else. Before he was prepared to believe he wanted not only to see the risen Lord, but even to poke the wounds of His crucifixion.

But Thomas' doubts were but the beginning of a journey from the deepest scepticism to the greatest act of faith in all the Gospels. Once Thomas realized that Jesus had, indeed, risen from the dead, he exclaimed, 'My Lord and my God!' In all fairness he should be called, 'Believing,' not 'Doubting' Thomas! But, sadly, we do tend to think the worst of people, and dismiss them with a negative label.

The unjust way Martha and Thomas have been treated should warn us against sticking labels on anyone -especially when the labels mark them out as failures in our eyes. No single label can do justice to anyone. We're all too complicated and mysterious for that.

If that's true for us people, it's especially true when we think and talk about God. He's far too mysterious to be labelled and pigeon-holed. Idolatry lies in attempting to restrict God to the limits of our human understanding. Only when we are prepared to accept that He is a mystery, who defies labelling and pigeon-holing, can we begin to understand Him. That's what stripping the labels from Martha and Thomas -and from each other -has taught me.

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight Fr. Peter will reflect on Lost Property

BIRD'S EYE VIEW

2011-04-15T08:24:00.036+01:00

After a long struggle we boy scouts gained a high ridge. On each side we looked down upon a valley, a lake and upon people, who seemed to us to be as small as grasshoppers, (cf. Num. 13.13). What a sense of freedom -for once not to be gazing at massive city buildings, not to be trapped in a car creeping its way along jam-packed roads. The joy of breathing unpolluted air! Below were sheep grazing; above, circling birds of prey. For me, a townie, this was sheer heaven.

And now, in a small Caribbean island, whenever I see a chicken hawk on high, detached from this world's troubles, supported and floating on the currents of air, having a bird's eye view on life, I ponder on how significant to us are such panoramic views. What are they saying to us?

I have been greatly moved by the reported impressions of astronauts gazing from 'way out' upon earth, upon our world, our home...so beautiful, so serene, so small...so remote. What is truth? Where is it to be found? Is it for us terrestrials, from the peak of Mount Everest? Or from the top floor of a 'high rise building?' And, in Biblical terms, on Mt. Sinai? Or on Mt. Tabor? Or is truth, the 'real world,' to be found at ground-level in the crowded homes with paint flaking off the walls, and on the crowded terraces of a football ground?

Quite honestly, I can't answer any of these questions. To me they offer false alternatives. There is no answer to Pilate's question to Jesus, "What is truth?" Apart from what Jesus claimed for Himself on another occasion,

"I am the Way, the Truth, the Life."

The resolution of this circling around, looking for answers, comes from Jesus Himself when He told Pilate,

"I was born for this, I came into the world for this, to bear witness to the truth; and all who are on the side of truth listen to my voice," ( Jn. 18. 3).

But I still ask myself, "What is this truth?" and, "Where is this truth that Jesus claimed to be -the truth to which He came to bear witness?" Is it in the stable outside Bethlehem? On the shore of the Lake of Galilee? On Calvary -nailed to a cross? In the appearances to His friends after His resurrection? Or, ultimately, in glory at the Right Hand of His Father?

In fact, the truth that is Jesus is located in every moment, every phrase and every episode of at an overarching mystery,

"The Word became flesh, He lived among us, and we saw His glory, the glory that He has from the Father as only Son of the Father, full of grace and truth,"

(Jn. 1. 14).

Indeed, there were two starkly contrasting 'high moments' when Jesus demonstrated the truth about Himself.

The first 'high moment' was the prelude to His ministry,

"Taking Him to a very high mountain, the devil showed Him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendour. And he said to Him, 'I will give you all these, if you fall at my feet and do me homage.' Then Jesus replied, 'Away with you, Satan!' For Scripture says, The Lord your God is the one to whom you must do homage, Him alone must you serve,'" (Matt. 4. 8).

Here Jesus was being true to Himself through being submissive to the will of His Father, rather than to that of the tempter.

The other 'high moment' came at the conclusion and climax of His life,

"Now sentence is being passed on this world; now the prince of this world is to be driven out. And when I am lifted up from the earth, I shall draw all people to myself," (Jn. 12.31).

Here Jesus was being true to Himself in that He attracted people to Himself by the sacrificial love embodied in His crucified body, rather than by offering us wealth and power.

These questions will always be important to me -more so, the answers -but especially during that slice of the Liturgical Year which is Lent, leading through to Paschal-tide.

Reality is seen both from aloft with a bird's-eye view -Jesus looking down from the cross, and, from a worm's perspective in the dust of the earth -our looking up to Him on the cross.

And mywaygodsway of recognizing and appreciating my heavenly Father is to be in and through His Son, Jesus -crucified, risen, glorious, in every word that he uttered, and in every happening of His Life in His High moments, and in His Low moments.

Peter O.P.

In a fortnight's time Isidore will reflect on how removing labels can help us to meet God.

FALSE IMPRESSIONS

2011-04-04T08:46:00.033+01:00

It was a glorious spring afternoon. The sun was shining, the daffodils were flowering; the trees were beginning to burst into fresh leaves. Nature was waking up after a bleak, death-like winter. Responding to nature's joyful re-birth I sallied forth with my digital camera along a beautiful avenue, which runs past our priory. I delighted in the interesting patterns of shadows formed by the bright sunlight, as well as the fresh colours of the spring flowers. There were also people strolling along the avenue or sitting on benches. Here, I thought, was great scope for a variety of interesting pictures.

When I down-loaded my pictures into my computer I was pleased with the results. And I thought Peter, in the W. Indies, would welcome sights of an English spring. But then to my surprise, to my horror, I saw a dead rat in the foreground of my picture of forsythia. Can't you see it's all too familiar grey body and thin long tail? How did it get there? How could I have missed that despised rodent, hunted down as a pest? A pest that gets everywhere, even into my picture of a beautiful flower. Is there no limit to its intrusions? Would it ruin my picture, or could I crop it out? I needed to take a closer look. So I decided to zoom in on the rat.

As I examined the grey-brown detail of my picture (R) it looked less and less like the despised rat. Suddenly it dawned on me. It's not a rat. It's a dead leaf! I must confess the stalk does look like a rat's tail, but the veins on the leaf are the give-away. When I told Peter about my confusion he burst into fits of laughter. "There must be a blog there," he said excitedly. "I don't know where it will take you, but do it!"

Now there's a challenge. How could my confusing a dead leaf with a dead rat help me meet God. I ask you, "What would you do?" As I pondered a passage in Mark's Gospel came to mind.

Some people asked Jesus to cure a blind man. When He touched the man's eyes they were only gradually cured. At first he said,

'I can see people, but they look trees walking.' Then Jesus laid His hands on His eyes again; and he looked intently and his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly," (Mk. 8. 24-25).

At first the man was confused; he'd misinterpreted what he saw. He knew trees shouldn't be walking. But gradually Jesus brought his eyes into focus and he could correctly distinguish men from trees.

For Mark's Gospel this episode was crucial. From this point onwards Jesus tried to explain to His disciples that the Christ must suffer and die, but would rise from the grave. That was not what they expected or wanted of the promised Messiah, whom Peter had just correctly identified! Peter wanted to protect Jesus from such a fate. Peter wanted Jesus to be a triumphant leader. Suffering and death played no part in Peter's expectations for Jesus and His followers. Triumph and glory in Christ's kingdom -that's what Peter wanted for all of them. Despite His repeated efforts Jesus could not remove this false impression of His Messianic mission. Although He succeeded in eventually getting the blind man's eyes into correct focus, He sadly failed with His closest followers.

What about me? Am I as confused about Jesus' identity as I was when I mistook a dead leaf for a dead rat? Am I prepared to put aside my first impressions, my prejudices -to listen, to look and to learn? Am I willing to allow Jesus to touch the eyes of my mind; to touch and change my life? Am I prepared to disregard my own pre-conceptions and accept Jesus on His own terms?

If I'm to meet Jesus, especially during Lent, I must accept Him as the Suffering, but triumphant, Servant of the Lord. If I'm to meet Him I must travel with Him on the Way of the Cross which is the only path for me to follow, which alone can lead to my sharing in the glory of His resurrection.

Life is truly amazing! It's crazy and wonderful how God can find ways to touch our imaginations and hearts! A seemingly straight-forward picture causes me great confusion and then amusement. More than that, I can find in it the key elements of the mystery of salvation -the mystery of death followed by new life. The dead leaf represents the crucified Christ. If I could be so easily confused over a dead leaf, I'm reminded that Jesus was so completely misunderstood that the saviour of the world was despised and rejected. But then my picture is dominated by the birth of new life, represented by the flowering forsythia -a lovely image of the risen Lord. I am to meet the mystery of the crucified and risen Christ, crazily represented by a dead leaf and a flowering plant.

Isidore O.P.

In fortnight Peter will reflect on meeting God

THROUGH NEEDLES AND CAMELS

2011-03-21T08:06:00.009Z

Tantalizing! Frustrating! Exasperating! My efforts to thread a strand of wool through the eye of a needle. Many a kindly, pitying person would volunteer, "Why bother? Why waste your time? Let me do it for you."

Why can't people understand my major concern is not that I need a threaded needle. It means so much to me that I, with my poor vision, should prove to myself that I am still able to thread a needle. It may take time. Who cares? I don't! Believe me, the accomplishment, if ever, makes it worthwhile.

I'm rather like the infant who insists on being allowed to climb into a chair rather than have some well-meaning adult lift him up there. So far I haven't reverted to screaming if I don't get my own way! Truth is, it takes all my will-power not to do so! I quietly submit with inwardly fuming gratitude. Poor me! I've been denied my moment of triumph! The ecstasy of threading that needle -all by myself.

My ambitions are modest. They have to do with what was once possible and might still be. They include the striving to extend my capabilities. Others go further than this. At the 2012 Olympics they will seek to break records. But no one will aim to run a one-minute mile! That would be fantastic, unreal -as futile as chasing after a streak of lightning!

And yet it seems Jesus was being wantonly absurd when He compared the prospects of a rich man entering the Kingdom of Heaven to those of a camel passing through the eye of a needle. In other words, by using such an example He made it clear there was no way such a person could work his way through the Pearly Gates. Jesus was forcing His disciples, and now you and me, to ask what must be done to guarantee entry. Or is heaven the 'pie in the sky' that will never be eaten? The tantalizing, impossible dream?

Who's to blame the disciples for being astonished when they heard this and asked, "Who can be saved, then?" And that's the point! Jesus is enabling us to make a quantum leap into the supernatural ...way beyond the normal capacities that flow from within our human nature.

"Jesus gazed at them, 'By human resources,' He told them, 'this is impossible; for God everything is possible,'"

(Matt. 19. 25-6).

Jesus calls us, empowers us to live heroic lives with Christ-like compassion, which generously forgives those who have wronged us. He enables ordinary people like you and me to be willing to endure appalling torture, even suffering martyrdom, rather than deny and betray our commitment to Him.

'Gift, Favour, Privilege, Grace.' All these words describe the wonder of wonders that God should long for us to be willing to receive Him into our lives, and for us to allow ourselves to be drawn into His life, as His beloved children. All this is prompted by love that is merciful, "It is proof of God's own love for us that Christ died for us while we were still sinners," (Rom. 5. 8).

This isn't about our achievements, or our deserts. It's about God's choosing to enter into a sublime relationship with us that not one of us could ever have dreamed of, aspired to or attained, no matter how hard we worked for it.

This is godswaymyway, and I am at my greatest if I allow it to happen.

Peter O.P.

In a fortnight Isidore will reflect on "False Impressions."

GIVING A HAND

2011-03-07T15:29:00.011Z

"Someone give me a hand, please!" We've all made that appeal when we couldn't manage by ourselves. Perhaps we were a bit shaky on our feet and needed a supporting hand. That's true for me. Although I can still say Mass I now need other steadier people to distribute Holy Communion for me. Their helping hand is not only of practical assistance, enabling me to continue celebrating Mass; it also creates a bond between us. That's true whenever we ask for help or respond to someone else's appeal for assistance.

Perhaps, it comes as a surprise that, Jesus should cry out, "Someone give me a hand, please!" Surely He can't need any help from us! After all, He is Almighty God and can do all that He wants to do, without our assistance. And yet, throughout the ages He cries, "Someone give me a hand, please!"

Now that He's ascended to heaven He needs other people to continue His work, here on earth. Otherwise it won't get done. Almighty God has made himself dependent upon us, His creatures. He needs people to continue to express the love, care and compassion He showed while here on earth. It is to the glory of God that He makes so many of His creatures His fellow-workers. Together with Him we share in developing and perfecting His creation.

"And that's precisely what you do," I told a doctor friend. "As a doctor you continue and share in the work of Christ, the Good Physician. In the past, while here on earth, He performed miracles to cure people; now He uses your professional skills. Now He works through your healing hands. What is more, as you restore people's health you foreshadow the Coming of the Kingdom, when we will all be renewed in Christ. Then we will enjoy the fullness of life in our risen Lord." My doctor friend was glorious in being a co-healer with the Good Physician.

This insight came as an exciting revelation to my doctor friend. Building on his enthusiastic response, I explained that Christ, the healer, identified with the doctor, or nurse, in their caring for the sick. And as they continued the work of the Good Physician they could identify with Him. Not only priests should be called, "Other Christs," but so, too, all those through whom He continues to work. In you the sick meet Christ, the compassionate healer.

The same is true with all of us as we show love and concern for people in any kind of need -the lonely, who welcome company, the depressed who yearn for reassurance, the imprisoned who have made themselves into social rejects. As we come to them they meet the compassionate Christ, working in and through us. For each of us "Other Christs" I paraphrase the words of Pope St. Leo the Great, "Oh, Christian, realize -and remember -your dignity!"

As I turned these thoughts over in my mind I recalled St. Matthew's Gospel, ch. 25. There Jesus identifies, not with the giver, but the receiver -with those in any kind of need, "Truly, I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these, who are members of my family, you did it to me." They, too, are "Other Christs." This time it is Christ who is appealing to us for help. Through them He begs us, "Give me a hand, please!"

As we come to their assistance we meet Christ, who has identified with them. That should change our whole attitude to those whom we may find repulsive. Like the crucified Christ, they, too, may be despised and rejected. And it is remarkable how often carers say that they receive so much from responding to the needs of others. In giving we do, indeed, receive.

As I pulled these disparate reflections together I realized that there's a wonderful dialogue between Christ identifying with the giver and Christ identifying with the receiver -the doctor or carer on the one hand; the patient on the other. Christ identifies with each. Each meets Christ in the other. To each of them Leo the Great would say, "Oh, Christian, remember your own dignity; Oh, Christian, remember each other's dignity!"

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight Fr. Peter will reflect on: "Tomorow will bring...?"

FAT CAT, HEAVENLY CAT, FELINE BEATITUDE!

2011-02-22T11:02:00.010Z

The apple of her eye, the jewel in her crown...such was the celestial cat to my long-deceased aunt. It was 'Truffles' who always had the cream from the top of the milk bottle. Aunt had the skimming! Truffles would only eat first grade salmon; aunt had to be content with making the most of third grade. She relished this kind of sacrificial love for her adorable cat. Truffles deigned to accept this as being no more than fitting. Both sides of this engagement agreed that nothing but the best was good enough for this most superior of cats. And Truffles, like most self-respecting, well organized cats, spent most of its life sleeping.

Truffles possessed the smug virtue of one who had never had the need to steal the cream; the complacency of the wealthy who can survive without having to resort to the knavery of robbing a bank. But here I pause to reflect on the white-collared fat-cats who in recent times have engaged in massive financial swindles!

Truffles had the sense to know when enough was enough and the serenity (or laziness) not to go along with the adage that stolen fruit is always sweetest. In fact, Truffles was the embodiment of contentment. Having either been spayed or neutered this sleek, serene creature did not have to wrestle with temptations of the flesh, with all its longings and frustrations. In the case of Truffles, "what had never been enjoyed was never missed."

Feline beatitude, indeed! The attainment of heaven ---here on earth? You think so? I feel certain most high-spirited cats would disagree. For them bliss was to be found in pouncing on a mouse; entertainment in toying with its captive, enjoyment was to be found in a meal that had been earned. And what of the exquisite triumph in winning in the conflict of the mating game. What to compare with the ecstasy of screeching cats clawing and wrestling in the moonlight while the spouse-to-be relished the idea of being worth fighting for!

Truffles enjoyed the limited beatitude described in the Book of Revelation, "All tears would be wiped from the eyes; no more death, and no more mourning or sadness or pain," (cf. ch. 21). Comfortable and trouble-free...the life of Truffles. Is this all self-respecting cats are meant for? And, for that matter, is that all we self-respecting human beings aspire to, all we need forus to be satisfied and contented? Sadly, I find, there are those who would gladly settle for this -the tranquillity of inertia!

Most of us want to get more out of life and to put more into life. There's something splendid in acquiring skills and in using them creatively for the benefit of others; something so rewarding in building up and sustaining deep friendships; something noble in overcoming adversity. There's something inspiring in accepting God's call to live as befits His children, and, by His grace, not making too bad a job of it.

We human beings are at our best when we strive for that fulfilment and perfection that is beyond our grasp. Achieving an awareness of God is so wonderful, even though inevitably, so inadequate. This is how it is, "Now we see only reflections in a mirror, mere riddles, but then we shall be seeing face to face. Now I can know only imperfectly; but then I shall know just as fully as I am known," (1 Cor. 13.12). This is the spice of Christian life. Here there is hope, striving, anticipation and expectation...dreams that come true as in, "I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride dressed for her husband. Then I heard a loud voice call from the throne, 'Look, here God lives among human beings. He will make His home amongst them; they will be His people, and He will be their God, God-with-them,'" (Rev. 21).

I reach God mywaygodsway, by weighing up 'Fat Cat, Truffles, of the Grade 1 Salmon' and finding it wanting -wanting in the appetite for the feline thrills it was made for, pitiful in being satisfied with far too little. I am reaching God by going for more than whatever perfection lies within the grasp of my natural capacity. I reach God by grasping for all that He has on offer..His very self. "We are already God's children, what we shall be in the future has not yet been revealed. We are well aware that when He appears we shall see Him as He really is," (1 Jn. 3.20).

Peter O.P.

"Give me a hand please!" In a fortnight Isidore will suggest how that appeal can help us to meet God.

TAKING THE LONG VIEW

2011-02-07T08:05:00.011Z

I've a good friend who's doing scientific research. She's part of a team trying to find a cure for a particular form of cancer. Hour after hour, day after day, month after month, year after year she pours over a microscope. She and her colleagues study the way cancer cells react to various chemicals. Meticulously they record their findings. There are other such dedicated teams of scientists all round the world.

Hopefully, one day they will find a cure. But that may take years. My friend and her many colleagues recognize they may never see the success of their research. They may never gain any credit for all their dedicated hard work. And yet she and they press on, fortified by the hope, the conviction, that one day all their efforts will have proved worthwhile. They will have helped to save lives.

Such a researcher must be a very special kind of person. It means not expecting instant success and personal glory -though that would be marvellous if it came! Most likely my friend and her colleagues will have built on other people's efforts. Probable other people will come along later and build on their labours. For such dedicated people eventual success, rather than personal glory, is what really matters.

That means being prepared to take the long view, while realising the importance of concentrating on the here and now of focusing on particular cells. Such researchers must live in the present while living a life of hope and perseverance, despite set-backs and false trails. They must accept that they are part of a team in which rivalries and jealousies would undermine their work.

St. Paul puts this approach beautifully when he reproves the Corinthians for rival personality cults of particular preachers,

"I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither the one who plants, or the one who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth. The one who plants and the one who waters have a common purpose...For we are God's servants, working together,"

(1 Cor. 3. 5-9).

My researcher has shown me the importance of not looking for instance results. I must not even expect to see any success for all my efforts. That, indeed, is the lot of the researcher and preacher. Instead, our hope must be on things unseen. We build on other people's labours, and others will come after us to develop our work and perhaps take credit for the eventual success. None of us is likely to achieve anything of lasting value if we are loners, seeking instant success and glory.

Such acclaim ultimately depends upon God and is due to God. He gives the scientist the personal skill and temperament to develop techniques to conduct fruitful research. He's with the preacher in preparing and delivering a sermon. He touches the minds and hearts of those who hear it. He gives both of us the patience to cope with setbacks and the lack of immediate success.

For all of us, in whatever we achieve, the ultimate glory must be given to God. With the Psalmist I exclaim, "Not to us, but unto your name belongs the glory," (Ps. 115). With Paul I must be convinced that, "we are God's servants, working together" -working together with each other as a team; all of us teaming up together with God. That kind of teamwork must be essential to my meeting God.

And with my scientist friend I must be prepared for God to work in His own good time and way. If we are not to give up in frustration and despair we must be convinced that what we are doing is in itself worthwhile, even though we may never see the results of our labours. Without laboratory researchers no wonder drugs would ever be discovered to cure the patient. And without the preacher the Good News would not be heard and believed.

My researcher friend has shown me the importance of being prepared to take the long view, without becoming discouraged, even when I never seem to achieve anything worthwhile. If I'm to meet God I must learn to place all that I am and do in His hands and leave the outcome to Him. That means leaving Him the freedom to act in His own way and in His own good time. According to St. Peter God's way of measuring time, is certainly very different from ours, "With the Lord one day is like a thousand, and a thousand years are like one day!" (2 Peter3. 8). My researcher friend has taught me the importance of waiting for things as yet unseen -the greatest being meeting God Himself in His eternal kingdom. He's worth working for; He's worth waiting for!

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight's time Fr. Peter will reflect on meeting God through

'A Fat Cat, Feline Beatitude, A Heavenly Cat'

OUT OF JURASSIC PARK

2011-01-24T08:09:00.011Z

'Out of Jurassic Park' -a journey from the raw, the primitive, the simple into a very different kind of world -one which is more sophisticated, more efficient because it's more technological. And now I'm asking myself if this is progress. I've reached that cranky stage in my life when I'm pining for the good old days when I was easily satisfied with what I had. By modern standards that was not very much!

Time was when all that was needed for writing was pencils or steel nibs, bottles of ink, sheets of paper, and, lastly, blotting paper. Then came that break-through moment that was to impact every scribe and scribbler...the appearance of the Biro ball pen. At first this was taboo at school; now it's the normal tool for writing.

Those of us who still prefer the fountain pen are now frustrated because it seems nowhere sells blotting paper. So often my enquiries meet with, 'What is it?' 'Never heard of it!' How the world's moved on, and I've stayed still...still in Jurassic Park!

My introduction to a typewriter came when I had to 'fill in' for a sick priest. In his presbytery was a splendid, massive, solid object. Its proud owner boasted it was nearly thirty years old and still served him well. Mechanically there was nothing mysterious about it...simply a combination of levers and springs. I was comfortable with it. I could understand it. I could fix most of its ailments with the aid of rubber bands, bent paper clips and springs salvaged from broken toys. Finally, an occasional squirt of '3-in-1' oil. I felt in control.

Was it progress or weakness that I fell for the advantages of a word-processor? This, I persuaded myself, would greatly assist me, the dabbling journalist. With this, at the touch of a few keys, I could shift around paragraphs and re-arrange sentences. No longer would I have to erase or replace...over and over again. This level of progress was deeply satisfying for me. I looked for no more.

I long resisted all blandishments to 'go computer.' Was this out of fear of a new technology or a smug humility, that, unlike my twin, Isidore, I could manage without this expensive 'toy'?

Hurricane 'Ivan' changed all this. This mega-storm destroyed my home -the presbytery -my clothing, my books and my word-processor....my everything.

I could either return to the days of pen and paper, but, sadly, no blotting paper, or enter a world I had shunned -that of the computer. Forget about the word-processor. By that time it was pretty well obsolete. Circumstances dragged me into the laptop culture. I must concede I'm most grateful for what I can accomplish with it. Still, I'm not comfortable with it. I don't understand what is going on inside it. I can't repair it when it falters. I'm utterly dependent on it functioning properly....at all times. It's moody, capricious. It refuses to oblige. I'm furious and frustrated when texts suddenly and totally disappear from before my very eyes, without my doing a single thing to send them on their way.

Ever since I became computer-wise I've been driven to anguished prayer. Baffled, inadequate, I'm humbled that my dependence on my computer has made me increasingly and utterly dependent upon God, in a way I'd never foreseen. In His name I bless, absolve and pray for my computer.

Just to create an interlude of spiritual serenity I've considered banishing my computer, sending into exile, for the coming Lent. I feel this self-denial might purify my soul of attachment to such modern gadgetry! But Isidore, my twin -a wise old bird (which I am not) -and something of a computer nerd (also which I am not), urges me to forget such strange and quirky spirituality. He argues there would be something wrong with a spirituality which impeded my preaching work.

Indeed, I shudder at the very thought of ever having to return to pen, ink and paper. I quake at the prospect of being deprived of Google Search and so having to find appropriate reference books in libraries. I recoil from the task of scouring through them for the information I need. So much hacking and grafting has gone into the composition of this blog...It's the same for every blog that the two of us write for this series.

Dear Lord, don't let it be yourwaymyway that I should have to return to Jurassic Park!

I'm now so disenchanted with it!

Peter O.P.

In a fortnight Isidore will reflect on meeting God by 'Taking the Long View.'

MAKING AN OMELETTE

2011-01-10T08:27:00.014Z

I've never claimed to be much of a cook, especially in comparison with some of the superb chefs in my community. But I do have a go with some simple dishes for myself. With the shortage of vocations I couldn't risk cooking for my community and poisoning the lot of them! Nor would they be prepared to take that chance.

Occasionally I cook a simple omelette for myself. Though I was pleased enough, I didn't consider one of my efforts a work of genius. Once cooked, I started to ease it from the frying pan onto a plate. So far so good. But then I was completely thrown off balance. One of the Cordon Bleu chefs in our community happened to pass by and see my omelette. To my amazement he congratulated me! I wasn't used to such praise for my culinary excursions -especially from him.

Such unexpected acclaim from such a discerning cook caught me completely off guard. In my confusion I grabbed a bottle of washing up liquid and squirted it into the frying pan. Unfortunately I hadn't yet removed the omelette!

What to do? I certainly wasn't going to throw away such a highly praised and, therefore, prized dish. Anyway you have probably heard of my great reluctance to throw away anything. I will go to great lengths to salvage what others would throw away -even a soapy omelette. But not me! So I did the most obvious thing -stuck the omelette under the tap to remove the washing up liquid. Then I re-heated my 'dish of the day' and, surprisingly enjoyed a tasty meal True, it did have an unusual, distinctive flavour. But none the worse for that -nor was I. And I didn't foam at the mouth or blow bubbles!

Of course my community thought I was completely mad. Possibly they had a point. But I would argue that great discoveries have been made -even in the kitchen -by accidentally throwing together unlikely ingredients. That's my defense and I'm sticking to it -with the warning not to try combining washing up liquid with omelettes or any other food. Your digestive system may not be as tough as mine.

How on earth can I find a way of meeting God in the crazy way I reacted to unexpected praise? As I see it, my problem lies in the way I coped with praise. If I'd been sensible -which I wasn't -I would have expressed my gratitude for a bit of friendly encouragement. Hopefully that would lead me to be even more ambitious with my cooking. That could even have given me the confidence to offer to cook for the whole community. Whether or not they would have accepted is another matter. If I'd welcomed praise graciously I might have blossomed as a chef. There's no knowing what heights I might have attained!

My eldest brother has the best approach to commenting on my efforts -not in cooking, but in water colour painting. He's a highly gifted artist, while I'm very much an also-ran. When we went out painting he would look at my mediocre efforts -that's the truth, not false humility. He would then ask me if I wanted to know what he really thought. Hesitantly I would say, "Yeeers." First he would find something good to say about my picture. Then he would show me how it could be improved. Hopefully I've listened to his advice. Encouragement, then suggested improvements. That's what I needed. And that's what he gave me. The same is true when Peter and I work together on our blog postings.

Giving and receiving praise is difficult. Empty flattery is insincere and useless. That would never spur me on to improve. I need the teacher's classic report comment, "could do better" -and be shown how. But totally devastating criticism can be worse than useless. It can dampen down, if not extinguish, the flame of enthusiasm, the self confidence to try again.

The virtue of humility doesn't mean refusing to accept praise and denying that we've done something well -when we've produced a little gem of modest worth. It would have been a lie to have insisted that I had cooked a bad omelette. And to do so would have been ungracious to the person who had been kind enough to praise my efforts. That would have meant denying the truth and making a virtue out of lying. That can't be right! And it wouldn't have been conceited for me to have drawn quiet satisfaction from doing something well -like cooking a tasty omelette. That again is a matter of truth.

Perhaps the best and most honest way for me to handle praise is for me to thank God for making whatever I achieve possible -even cooking a decent omelette. So my way of meeting God is for me to recognize any success I may have, while echoing the words of the Psalmist,

"Not to us, O Lord, but to your name give glory," (Ps. 115. 1).

At the same time I must heed His instructions. With His help I certainly could do better.

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight Peter's 'Meeting God' reflection will be entitled, 'Out of Jurassic Park'

A FAMILY TABLEAU

2010-12-30T08:22:00.005Z

There is no choice. There is no other way. At this season of the year the only way I can reach God is through the birth of His Son, Jesus.

Whenever I've been writing for this blog at the back of my mind have been the opening words of the Letter to the Hebrews,

"At many moments in the past and by various means, God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets,"

(Hebrews 1. 1)

Over the past years I have come to recognise many and varied prophetic moments when God has been speaking to me -many of them fanciful and bizarre. These have been moments of grace, full of insight. I have attempted to respond to what God has been saying to me.

The Letter to the Hebrews continues,

"In our time, the final days, he spoke to us in the person of His Son."

I have celebrated many a memorable Christmas when I've felt close to God -those of my childhood, those in large communities during the years of my Dominican formation as a priest, those as pastor of several parishes. Each in different ways has quickened and inspired my spirit. I cherish them all. On a few occasions there has been a Christmas of sad bewilderment when I've mourned the death of a member of my family. Such a variety of ways in which God has been speaking to me at Christmas. It has been up to me to discern how He expects me to reach Him this year.

What, then, stands out for me as something that I would want to share with you?

I think of the time I was making the rounds of the General Hospital in Grenada during the Christmas season. The lights in the maternity ward were subdued. There, in a corner, sat a father and mother silently gazing at their newly born son, lying in a hospital crib. It was a spectacle of love, awe and thanksgiving. I approached with diffidence, not wanting to disturb the magic of the moment. Behold, this family tableau was one of the most moving experience of my life.

Here I saw the beauty of Bethlehem -Joseph and Mary speechless as they looked down upon Jesus, lying in the manger. How great must have been their love, wonder, thanksgiving. Jesus was, literally, an adorable child.

And then I made my presence known to the father and mother -dear friends of mine. My arms encircling them in a loving embrace. Words of congratulation mingled with joyful laughter. And then I gently kissed the brow of their baby boy. Even now, as I write this posting, I tremble with emotion.

My thoughts return to Bethlehem. How would I have responded if I had been there on that Holy Night? Just as I did in the maternity ward, with hugs and kisses, laughter and congratulations. And of course I would have kissed the brow of the baby Jesus.

What a wonderful way to reach God...My way -letting my impulses to love gush forth upon the Tableau of my friends' family -holy in its own right -and, in so doing, reach out to the Tableau of the Holy Family -there in my heart, though not physically, present to me.

Peter O.P.

Peter and Isidore wish our readers Every Blessing

for

Christmastide and the New Year

In a fortnight's time Isidore will reflect on meeting God as he made an omelette.

LLAMAS, POLAR BEARS AND BABY JESUS

2010-12-18T15:57:00.023Z

"The Word (of God) became flesh and dwelt amongst us"

With those few words John's Gospel expresses the wonder of Christmas.

Artists throughout the ages and of every race and culture have tried to express what the birth of Jesus meant for them and their people. They realized that He was not simply a Jewish baby born at Bethlehem some two thousand years ago. Certainly He was all that. But Jesus was, is, one of us -whatever our culture and wherever we live. He lived and died for each and every one of us. Whatever our backgrounds we are no longer outsiders to Jesus, or He to us. While respecting our differences He has broken down the barriers which separate us.

With this in mind I used Google Search to discover how artists of different cultures had depicted the Nativity and Epiphany in paintings and crib figures. What I found was a real eye-opener! What a rich cultural variety!

When I typed in "Eskimo Nativity" I found crib figures based on that culture. Jesus was born in an igloo. The Holy Family were all clothed in typical animal skins. To suggest that the whole creation welcomed His birth there's a polar bear and seal come to adore Him. Another search revealed a statue of an exquisite Eskimo Madonna and Child.

Then I discovered a Peruvian Epiphany. To my delight the Holy Family was dressed in the clothing of that culture. Instead of the Magi's camels there were llamas.

Excitedly I looked for pictures from all round the world. The pattern was the same. From the Far East to the Americas, from Africa to India, and from Europe to the Caribbean each country presented the birth of the

Saviour of the world in the imagery of its own culture.

And what a rich creative variety of pictures and statues I found! In so many of them people have woven elements from their own particular cultures to express their belief that the Son of God became a human baby and dwelt amongst us. The variety in the representations of the Nativity proclaims our shared conviction that the babe born at Bethlehem comes to us where we are. Though He was born long ago in a distant land He is far from being a stranger. He is one of us. He identifies with us, and we with Him.

I say, "We" rather than, "You" because my European culture has its own particular way of expressing its faith in pictures, statues and crib figures -just as yours does.

I don't know of any contemporary European artist portraying the Holy Family in modern dress, with the Magi arriving in a luxury car. But I did find a Haitian Nativity with Mary wearing a blouse, skirt and knotted head scarf, while Joseph wore a T shirt and jeans. Deliberately very contemporary. Shocking? If so, why?

That reminds me of the time when I was working at a conference centre. Deciding to give a hand with the Christmas decorations I made several mobiles -not portable telephones, but figures hanging on threads from bits of wire. One of my mobiles had angels playing musical instruments. Not the traditional harps and trumpets, but guitars and bongo drums. I was accused of being irreverent. Why?

John's Gospel tells us that, "The Word (of God) became flesh and dwelt amongst us," and that "He came to His own people." But who were THEY? Most obviously Jews living in the land of Israel some 2000 years ago. So the appearance and clothing of Jesus would have been typical of that time, place and culture and race. That's what it meant for Him to be a historical person, who blended with His background.

But the faith and imagination of artists has leaped beyond the historical. Rightly they realized that in becoming man Jesus identified with the whole human race, which He had joined and which He had come to save. That includes peoples of different times, races and cultures. There's not a single person on the face of the earth, or even in the womb, without his or her particular race and culture.

Though Jesus has broken down the barriers which separate us, the differences remain and enrich the life of the Christian community of the Church. Paul reassures us,

"There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female; for you are all one in Christ,"

(Galatians 3. 27). And again in Ephesians 2. 19,

"So then, you are no longer strangers or aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God."

As I ponder the different ways each culture depicts the birth of our saviour I'm powerfully reminded of our conviction that the Son of God shared our human life so that we could share His divine life. He comes to each of us where we are, in our own personal culture and background. That's where He approaches us; that's where we meet Him; that's where we draw close to Him. He builds on our cultural and racial heritage, bringing to perfection all that is good in them.

My discovery of such a variety of images of ethnic Nativities, including my own, has taught me that not only is Jesus an individual Jew, born in the Middle East a long time ago; He is also Everyman for Everybody. Whatever our race or culture He is one of us, and we, who come from diverse backgrounds, are all members of His single family. Our particular cultural heritage gives a special quality to the way each one of us meets God and expresses our love for Him. And He comes to us in our racial and cultural individuality.

I welcome not only you brothers and sisters of my own background, but also those of you who are very different from me. In you God's image is expressed in so many different, wonderful and beautiful ways. In you I meet God dwelling within you. You offer your culture not only to Him, but also to me. That enriches my understanding of the Word becoming flesh and dwelling among us.

A suggestion. Try using Google Image Search to discover your own and other people's cultural expression of the Birth of Our Saviour. I've only hinted at the treasures waiting to be discovered!

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight's time Peter will reflect on a Nativity Tableau.

In the meantime we both wish all our readers

the special Christmas joy, peace and happiness,

which only the Babe Born at Bethlehem can give.

IDENTITY CRISIS

2010-12-06T08:11:00.014Z

"Happy Families" is a simple card game, which has entertained many of us on dark, wet nights. Each family is identified by the employment of its bread winner, in some ways the defining member of the family. Notice how people thought of Jesus,

"This is the carpenter's son, surely?

Is not his mother the woman called Mary?"

(Matt. 13. 55).

That got me doing some hard thinking. What happens when we no longer have a job? Perhaps we can't get employment, or we've been made redundant, become chronically ill, or have retired. What do people think of us then? More important, what do we think of ourselves? Does being unemployed mean we lose our own and other people's respect? Because we can no longer be defined by a job do we fear we have become non-persons? Can we still be happy members of our families or communities when we can no longer hold down a job? These can be very real, painful questions.

Many of you will have had to try to come to terms with enforced unemployment. That was certainly true for me when aged thirty I picked up a tropical illness, which it was thought, would mean that I would never be able to work again.

As I imagined the years, the decades ahead, my future looked very bleak. I had to ask myself whether my Dominican vocation was determined by what I did as a member of the Order of Preachers. In other words, had I become a lesser Dominican because I was no longer an active one? At times I felt like a goldfish trapped in a small bowl as I watched life, and saw my active brethren dash past me, leaving me behind.

This was a very critical time for me. I hit rock bottom. At times I felt full of despair -a useless burden to myself and everyone else. My years of Dominican training could not have prepared me to face such a crisis. As a matter of personal survival I had to find a positive approach to my enforced inactivity and self-doubts.

Very gradually I came to realize that there was much more to being a Dominican than being an active preacher. Gradually I came to recognize that God was calling me to a special expression of our Dominican vocation. As members of the Order of Preachers we are called to witness to the Good News of salvation through the suffering, death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.

That, I realized, could be done in a special way by frail and sick people, including me. Although I couldn't be actively involved in preaching at home or abroad, my prayers could support those who were on the front line. All who are frail and sick can play a vital part in the life and mission of the Church. This is a difficult, but very special vocation. St. Therese of Liseaux used to say, "Being sick is hard work." It is, indeed!

But St Paul goes much further and reassures us with the words,

"I am now rejoicing in my suffering for your sake, and in my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of His body, that is the Church,"

(Colossians 1. 24).

What on earth could that mean? Certainly Jesus didn't fail to do sufficient to save the human race from the power of sin and death -with the implication that we had to make up the deficit.

But if the Church as a whole is to share in Christ's victory over evil she must first identify with Him in the suffering through which He gained that triumph. For Christ and for us, His followers, the cross is the way to glory. Those who suffer can identify with the crucified Christ in a unique way. With Him they can offer their afflictions for the salvation of the world. They don't just talk eloquently about the pain of Christ, but witness to it's value by sharing in it.

Paradoxically, Jesus achieved most when He was utterly helpless, apparently a useless failure. Knowing that should makes us revise our ideas about who is a success or failure. Who, in fact, are the real achievers? Certainly we shouldn't value other people, or ourselves, according to the amount of work they and we can do.

I've been fortunate in that unexpectedly I've made a remarkable recovery and have been able to do a considerable amount of work. Now old age is restricting my activities and I can't do nearly as much as my younger brethren.

But I do hope that my experience has enabled me to empathize with those who suffer, and that I can convince them of the special value of their lives. I am certain that illness modifies, but does not change our identities. It doesn't make us any less a person. With God's grace it can even make us a better one.

Today the aged and chronically sick are increasingly seen as being a disposable burden on the community. But my personal experience has taught me that we have a special dignity, deserving respect. We have a unique way of identifying with the crucified Christ. Through our weakness and suffering we meet Him in a special way, and share in His work of salvation. Those who are active and healthy can help us to become fulfilled and happy members of the human family by showing us the dignity and respect they -we -deserve.

God has shown me that His special way for me to meet Him is through the suffering and death of his Son, Jesus. Then it's been up to me to decide whether I can accept this as being my way of meeting God. For me this is God's way, my way, for finding peace, meaning ...my God-given identity!

Isidore O.P.

In a fortnight's time Isidore will reflect on meeting God in "Llamas, Polar Bears and the Baby Jesus"

SLEEP WALKING

2010-11-22T08:36:00.019Z

I must have my own space! I must have my own time! On Sunday morning with several Masses to celebrate and sermons to preach, the last thing I need is to be rushed, without having the leisure to loosen my limbs and tune into God -after the heavy drowsiness of a good night's sleep.

And so it happened that on one Sunday morning both my usually reliable 'body clock' and my alarm clock failed to awaken me. Neither did the Holy Spirit or any of my Guardian Angels. Far be it from me to suggest that they were sleeping at their posts.

The time came when two worthy parishioners were pounding on my door and calling my name. Much was their relief to find that I was still half alive in a distant drowsy fashion. They told me I was already late and that there was no need to stampede myself into action.

In the twilight world of semi-consciousness I groped my way to the car. As I made my drowsy way down the aisle of the church I heard a small boy whisper, "Mummy, Father's still asleep!" True! True! True! With my head aching at the effort of trying to become devotional, and, harder still, to sound coherent, I would not be surprised if many in the congregation thought I was talking in my sleep as well as sleep walking.

One of today's worn out cliches is people talking about their having got their act together, at long last and after so much effort...not without moments of elation and heart-break. To reach the peak and remain at the top is an enviable achievement.

But then I pause. What if God saw it fitting for my personal formation that I should never feel totally secure, never utterly self-confident? What if throughout my life it were needful for me to be continually aware of my creaturely fragility? Then, surely if ever anything that I attempted were to"come off" just as I intended, instinctively I would say, "Thank you God, for bringing me through."

For me it simply is not true that practice makes perfect. Having been Fr. Reliable for so many years is no guarantee that I will wake up at a given time on any given Sunday. I've heard it said of some priests that they have preached so many sermons they could do it in their sleep.

Come to think of it, I remember a time when I was surging through my sermon when it seemed as though there were a power-cut in my brain. For a while my brain went blank. When I returned to the real world I wondered where I was and what I was doing. What could I do but ask an altar server what was going on? Politely he told me he thought I was preaching. Obviously I had failed to make much of an impact on him.

What to do but to tell the congregation God had shut me down for a moment, and this I took to be an indication that He wanted me to shut up. Since no one protested I suggested we recite the Creed together. This certainly restored my wavering self-confidence.

My personal experience tells me that at the very time when I'm doing something important for God, He allows me to have a "power failure" and a "black out" in my preaching. He even allows my inner being to be in a state of flux. He's teaching me never to think in terms of my performance or my personal achievement. Mine is to be the instability of a jelly and the insecurity of walking on shifting sands.

I and the People of God are to be made to realize and accept what God has to offer: Preachers and Ministers who are no better and no worse than, "earthenware pots holding a priceless treasure, so that the immensity of the power is God's and not our own,"

2 Cor. 4. 7).

It's somewhat unnerving not to know what God is liable to let happen to me once I set about doing something for Him! For the elite this may mean martyrdom. For the likes of me it may come down to a fuzzy head or loose bowels! Such is my spirituality of encountering and serving the Divine, mywaygodsway. This I must learn to live with, and, I fancy, so must you!

Peter O.P.

We have been asked to give you longer to look at each posting. So, in future these will be made fortnightly, rather than weekly. You can easily find about 100 back numbers, which are never deleted. In a fortnight Isidore will meet God in an identity crisis.

HAIRY-SCARY

2010-11-15T08:22:00.010Z

Each month we young Dominican students used to be turned out of our Oxford priory with a bit of pocket money and the sandwiches we had made. In the summer we would pool our funds to hire a punt for the day. And we would buy some cider, which we kept cool by towing it in the water. If the weather were fine we would have a swim -an idyllic way of spending a day!

But not so on one occasion. Although I was quite proficient at punting I certainly wouldn't claim to have been an expert. But for all of us it was a matter of pride not to lose the punt pole or fall into the water. And pride, literally, was my downfall!

There was I, with a certain elegance, propelling the punt forward as I prodded the river bed with the long pole. Woe is me! The pole got caught in the branches of an over-hanging willow tree. To my dismay the punt and I parted company. As it raced away from me I instinctively grabbed a branch, hoping to avoid falling into the river. A big mistake! I was no heavy weight, but solid enough for my shoulder to be jerked right out of its socket. Good thing I was wearing my swimming trunks when I fell into the water!

Seeing my painful distress, a burly young man in another punt claimed he'd dealt with similar accidents on the rugby field. So he kindly offered to pull my dislocated shoulder back into its socket. But, being unsure of his expertise I graciously declined his generous offer and chose to be taken to the local hospital. There, much tugging and twisting failed to get my shoulder back into its socket. So I was given a shot of morphine to relax the muscles and relieve the pain.

That did the trick and I was taken to the recovery room. There I sat groggily on the bed. On that gloriously hot summer day I was wearing only my swimming trunks -that's important for what happened next. A young nurse drew back the curtains, and to my surprise and alarm asked, "Are you the young man with the hairy legs? I've come to shave them!" Never before have I had less desire to have smooth limbs! What, I wonder, would have happened if I'd been unconscious and unable to tell her she'd got the wrong patient. I could have lost a leg!

My floundering helplessly in the river has reminded me of Christ pulling the fool-hardy Peter out of the sea. His pride had led him to start trusting himself as he tried to do what was humanly impossible -to walk across the water. Inevitably he began to sink beneath the storm-tossed waves. Only then did he cry, "Save me, Lord, I'm sinking!" Peter could only be saved when he grasped the hand Jesus extended towards him.

But what did my dislocating punting experience tell me about my relationship with God? And now my imagination leaps off in several directions.

First of all, after I'd dislocated my shoulder I no longer had the strength to get to safety in the punt or onto dry land. I needed to use my good arm to grasp the hand reaching out to rescue me. I could not manage by myself. I needed someone else to save me from the water. And so did Peter, when he was in danger of drowning. He was helpless; he was terrified -until Jesus reached out to him. Only then was he safe.

For me, that simple gesture of their grasping each other's hands sums up the whole of salvation history. In our helplessness God reaches out to save us. As we grasp His hand we are saved. Like Peter, I must place my trust in Christ, and not try to go it alone. With Peter I desperately, yet confidently cry, "Save me, Lord, I'm sinking!" That is the only way, I, or anyone else, can meet God.

Then, in hospital, I see the medical staff continuing the work of Christ, the Good Physician, who came to repair our relationship with God, dislocated by sin. As for the nurse, who threatened to shave my hairy legs -at first she was sinister, threatening, scary. But then I quickly realized how zany, how hilarious was her question. Decades later I still chuckle about it. I'm sure God sent that charming ministering angel to distract me with something crazy when I was feeling sorry for myself. What a delightful way of experiencing God's compassion, expressed with a divine sense of humour! But I do thank God for delivering me from that close shave, which was meant to be the prelude to something more drastic -what? And I do hope the nurse found our brief encounter as amusing as I did -and still do.

Isidore O.P

Next week Fr. Peter will meet God while sleep walking

FANTASTIC OPTIMISM

2010-11-08T16:15:00.013Z

We're now in November and already I've heard mention of Christmas on commercial radio. In the next few weeks the airwaves will be saturated with Christmas melodies -some sacred and some very profane. Before long shop windows will be decorated with streamers and balloons and with trees garlanded with flashy baubles and twinkling lights. There we shall see the figures of bearded old men in red pyjamas and floppy hats, and of bewildered reindeer with ruddy, cold noses. This will be a season when people are intent on getting me to buy loved ones presents that they scarcely need and perhaps don't really want.

All the Christian Churches are concerned that the season has become hijacked by commercialism. Before I take this up I would say, "Spare a thought for the business houses that have had a lean year, and, for their survival, look to this season for some trade!"

The stores have seized hold of the traditional optimism and high spirits long associated with this season and have turned it to their advantage. Excitement and the anticipation of embraces, laughter, joy and peace build up to a climax towards the end of December. Then there will be family get-togethers, parties, and an out-pouring of good-will that expresses itself in the exchange of greetings and gifts.

It's not absurd to ask, "What's all the fuss about?" We should not be surprised if we meet people who have never thought about it and can't give a coherent answer. Could it be said that the celebration of a highly significant event has been reduced to a 'feel-good' festival and nothing more?

The Churches must reclaim their own festival.

JESUS IS THE REASON FOR THE SEASON.

My belief is that this must be stated loudly and clearly at the very beginning of the Liturgical Season of Advent. Everything that is read, preached and sung should be directed to emphasizing this, so that we become and remain focused people...with the focus being on the birth of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Son of Mary.

The very idea of it arouses in me emotions of eager anticipation. And what about you? None of us should ever lose sight of why we are so excited.

THIS IS IT: God so love the world that He sent His only Son...

His loving the human family with such intensity is breath-taking. What amazing compassion that He should send His Son -NOT to condemn the world, BUT TO SAVE IT.

Such fantastic optimism that God was convinced that He could save our world, with all its sinfulness, through His Son, born of a woman in a stable outside Bethlehem! But is this world worth saving? Yes! Yes! Yes! This is God's unwavering perspective...in such strong contrast with the common tendency to find so much to condemn and so many people to condemn. By sending His Son God defies the assertion, the counsel of despair, that ours is a hopeless world, a God-forsaken place to live in.

Rather, the Father knows well enough the power of His love to save through His Son, Jesus. He is confident that He can inspire people to respond to His love, and thus allow themselves to be saved.

As I strive to reach God my way, during this approach to the Christmas season, I find that what God had to offer seems so paltry, so puny -an infant born to a poor family. The salvation of the world was cradled in insecurity -Jesus being born into an unfriendly world, utterly dependent on His being wrapped in the swaddling clothes of good-will sufficient to ensure His survival.

As a Christian who enjoys all the strident, clamorous merriment of the build-up towards Christmas, with the expectation of a somewhat carefree, extravagant season of jollity, I must hold fast to my primary focus -the birth of the Saviour, Jesus. This means that my hope for better, happier, more loving, more prosperous times must not be mere half-hearted wishful thinking.

As a Christian I must imbibe something of God's fantastic optimism -the world is not beyond redemption. It can be saved. This is not merely a genuine possibility. It is both an accomplished and an on-going reality...in and through the One born of Mary, centuries ago, and now, in this generation and in every generation born in the hearts, the very lives, of those eager to receive Him.

At this season I reach God by sharing in His optimism, by not allowing myself to become discouraged by the presence of evil in my own life and in the lives of others. If I am capable of being saved by my responding to the love God shows me through His Son, Jesus, there is absolutely no reason on earth why others should not respond in the same way.

This great Good News deserves to have Banner Headlines at the beginning of Advent, throughout Advent and throughout our lives. This Christmas meeting God in the Word become flesh and dwelling amongst us is most surely the greatest of all encounters...myway is supremely godsway.

Peter O.P.

Next week Isidore will reflect on meeting God in a "Hairy Scary" experience

NO CHECK-MATING GOD!

2010-11-02T10:24:00.009Z

Dad was always one for the occasional flutter with the horses. What better time than that year, never to be forgotten, when he had every reason to flutter -when he became the father of us twins -Isidore and me.

Happy chance or a sign from heaven that there was a horse running in the Epsom Derby named "April the Fifth"...the very date of our birth! With twins to cope with he sure needed a win, a consolation prize -and win he got.

And while I'm on the subject of chancy enterprises I must tell you about a friend of mine who used to fill in her Football Pools while enthroned in a private room. One blessed day her random crosses on the grid yielded her a 'big win!' I have to tell you she was a person of exceptional piety.

My appetite is for something more spiced with a challenge -those games that are a battle of wits in which you need to weigh up your opponent -his strengths and weakness. To all this add a tincture of good fortune...that he'll have a momentary lapse in concentration and make a foolish mistake. Then exploit the slightest advantage to the full.

With such frisson of excitement I target all my craftiness against Isidore when we square up for a game of chess! I try to thwart him by setting traps, calling his bluff and by making seemingly careless moves that turn out to be match-winning sacrifices. "Fooled you this time, Isidore! Check-mate!" Wily fellow that he is, he is quite capable of out-maneuvering and surpassing me in cunning and foresight.

How can I not mention the time my student master challenged me to a game of chess? Here was a logician of world renown with a razor-sharp, quick-silver mind. For pedestrian mortals like me the only effective winning strategy was to take time in brooding over my next move, so as to get him frustrated with impatience. And then I would shift a piece in a way that seemed utterly illogical...foolhardy. His logic couldn't cope with my nonsense!

Eagerly, with an incisive killer instinct, he swooped down to make dull-headed me pay for my stupidity. Unhappy the impetuous mouse that espies the cheese but is blind to the trap to which it is pegged!

Now to more serious business...the nitty-gritty of life. At best I can only make an informed guess as to what the future holds for me; and then make sensible provision that will enable me to cope. I'm far from being in control. I'm just not able to bring about what I most desire and prevent what I most fear.

In this life of uncertainty the only thing is 'contingency planning.' For me, a one-time smart Boy-Scout, this would require I go to camp with band-aids and antiseptic ointments in case I cut myself. It would never cross my mind to carry a surgical collar on the off-chance that I might strain my neck!

Second guessing Isidore at chess and shielding myself against the normal hazards of camping have never been a big deal. However, no way would I presume to second-guess God. I shall never be able to spring any surprises on God, nor call His bluff. Never, never, will I or anyone else, be able to out-wit Yahweh-God and gleefully exclaim, "Check-mate!"

Not even the death of the fledgling sparrow, falling from its nest, escapes his notice, nor does the solitary hair that strives to break the surface of my bald pate. Never will I be able to force His hand, nor limit His options as to how He should act.

And yet I scream with all my humanity that I am a free person. God, my creator, has made me so. I have the freedom to choose what is good behaviour and to reject what is evil. Or I can decide to do exactly the opposite.

I'm in a quandary. How can I balance what I believe about myself as being a free agent with what I believe about God, Who is the sovereign Lord of me and of all creation?

I align myself with the bewildered, subdued, reflective Job:

"Job replied to Yahweh, 'My words have been frivolous: what can I reply? I had better lay my hand over my mouth. I have spoken once, I shall not speak again; I have spoken twice, I have nothing more to say," (Job 40. 3).

This is no 'cop-out.' It's mywaygodsway for me to relate to God. When He and I face each other across the chess-board of life...I am transparent to God and He is inscrutable to me! I like it that way. I don't think I ever want to check-mate God! The consequences don't bear thinking about.

Peter O.P.

Next week Peter will make a seasonal reflection on 'Fantastic Optimism.'

THROUGH SKYPING PETER

2010-10-24T16:03:00.022+01:00

Peter and I have recently discovered the wonders of Skype. Now we can use our computers to have endless chats without having to pay anything. Webcams enable us to see each other. And, wonder of wonders, we can have three-way conversations with our eldest brother or a friend.

This splendid technology spans the Atlantic Ocean and draws us very close. It has an intimacy and immediacy which a phone call or email lacks. Being apart has now become much easier to handle. This will become increasingly important for us if the frailty of old age makes long distance travel too arduous or even impossible.

Meanwhile, Peter and I find Skype not only enables us to have gossipy chats and swap jokes, but it is also a great asset to our working together. We can have live discussions about our work and bounce ideas off each other. The Webcam enables me to show Peter the rough drafts of cartoons I've painted for our blogs. He's then able to suggest improvements -which I sometimes heed.

But I must confess that while we both enjoy these Skype encounters neither of us always gives the other his undivided attention. Often we will leave the radio or TV on. Then Peter will suddenly ignore what I'm saying and let out a yell of delight at seeing a brilliant goal, golf stroke or piece of cricket on TV. As he explains his unexpected enthusiasm he draws me into sharing his excitement. I must admit that I am just as bad as him. Delight in sharing our common interests draws us closer together, instead of pushing us apart.

This kind of casual behaviour is fine between brothers and close friends, who don't always need to be formal and serious. But it does become a problem when visiting someone who leaves the TV on while you're trying to talk to him or her. It soon becomes clear that you yourself, a valued friend, are actually resented because you have become an intrusion to their following a favourite programme. You are made to feel that at that time it's more important to watch the programme than to see you. You feel they wish you would go away, but are too polite to say so.

To me there seem to be several solutions to this situation. The most obvious would be for your host to switch off the TV, make you welcome and give you his undivided attention. Alternatively, you could be invited to share in the enjoyment of watching the programme together. What's not on is for your host to watch the TV while talking to you about something completely different. If you can't hold his interest you may as well cut your losses and leave.

These rambling thoughts got me thinking about different approaches to prayer. Certainly there are times when we should switch off from our daily interests and try to give God our undivided attention. Putting it mildly, it would be very bad manners if I were to focus half of my attention on watching a football match and the other half on saying the Divine Office. In fact I suspect I would simply be reading the text and not really praying. And I wouldn't really enjoy the game!

But it could be a different matter with my informal personal prayers. I could try sharing my daily interests and concerns with God. That would be like Peter Skyping me and explaining and sharing his excitement at seeing something brilliant on TV. The invitation would have been welcoming, and the enjoyment would have been greater because it was shared. Similarly I can get God involved in what really interests me -not just serious religious matters, but also the light-hearted and crazy moments of my life. Then what would have been a distraction is brought before God in my prayers and would help me to draw closer to Him. That way I would not be pushing Him to the fringe of my daily life.

A final thought. Our Dominican motto is to, "Contemplate and to hand on to others the fruits of contemplation." Peter and I use Skype to discuss new ways of meeting God. That reflects the contemplative side of our lives. There we spark ideas off each other, criticise and hone them and eventually post them on our blog. For both of us this is an exciting, godly experience in which we try to distill what God is saying to us and what He wants us to say to you through our blog. So, we believe that we meet God throughout the whole process of our joint Skyped contemplation and that He is involved in the shared composition of our blog postings. After all, Jesus did say that where two or three are gathered together in my name I am there in their midst -today, even in Skyping! And the same can be true for you. As you and a friend talk over your faith you can help each other to draw closer to God -perhaps through Facebook or Twitter.

So, for a change, let's rejoice in the wonders of the computer and the exciting new opportunities it provides the preacher, enabling him to reach a world-wide audience. We prefer to rejoice at this modern creativity, rather than constantly decry the very real dangers of the Internet. Like most other things this new technology can be used for good or evil; it can help us to draw close to God or can distance us from Him.

Isidore O.P.

Next week Peter will muse on "No check-mating God"

THROUGH PETTY CASH

2010-10-18T08:11:00.009+01:00

Old enough to be retired from being a parish priest; not so old as to be retired from all parish pastoral activities....in a mood for a little nostalgia...that's me...Peter Clarke O.P.

For me, a recently ordained priest, there was a brief season of simple idealism. when I fancied I could centre my life around celebrating the Eucharist, administering the other Sacraments, preaching the Word, and becoming involved in a myriad of pastoral experiences. In this I expected to find fulfilment in serving God and His people.

All too soon I became aware of the effort needed to be willing and able for 'whatever,' when both body and spirit were weary beyond all describing...worn out listening to the troubles and griefs of God's beloved children...giving them the support and encouragement they sought from me...and as well as sharing in their joys and successes. Through this I came to recognize that the spirituality of a priest lies in his sharing the ministry of Jesus Himself -meeting and greeting, teaching, healing and compassion. Jesus had so much love that He wanted to share.

St. Paul gave this advice to the Christians in Galatia, "Let us not grow weary in well-doing, for in due season we shall reap, if we do not lose heart," (Gal. 6. 9). I find it hard to accept the admonition not to get weary...even in well-doing. Surely there were times when Jesus was worn out with fatigue. The important thing, the special grace, is not to get 'fed up,' not to 'lose heart.' Jesus, like us, needed to get away, be still and relax in order to become refreshed for further activity.

Far be it from me to give the impression that I have entirely put my act together. Here's one of the priestly tasks that really irked me...having to produce the Annual Financial Statement for my parish. For me there are far more interesting and important things to occupy me than balancing books. Thank God I've reached an age when I no longer have this kind of responsibility!

I used to feel so guilty and inadequate when I was reminded that my accounts were long overdue. I'd tell myself that the apostles were never burdened with book-keeping. They had troubles in plenty, but were spared this particular trial.

All praise to those priests who revel in everything to do with administration. Glibly they would advise me to organise my life and make time for what had to be done. Meet Rev. Fr. Disorganized O.P.

Totting up figures with the aid of my pocket calculator has always been for me a dreary task. Half way down a column my mind would wander and I would have to start all over again...and again, and again. Then I'd get mad with myself and fret that I was never ordained for this kind of fatigue.

Golden moments have been when I've just completed the accounts. Suddenly I've felt virtuous. In some small way I've contributed to the justice of the Kingdom in my parish. Like it or not, I've always known I was accountable for any cash that passed through my hands -mostly out, sometimes in.

Times have changed. Nowadays competent and willing lay people fulfil tasks that priests like me had to perform even though they lacked the aptitude to learn to do so. Believe me, I would never have chosen to reach God though doing my parish accounts. By necessity this has had to be my way to meet God...His way.

It's a sobering thought that He may create ways of my reaching Him that are more uncongenial than balancing books. but then, I reflect to myself, the Father chose that His Beloved Son should reach Him through the Cross. Who am I to get peevish over my petty gripes over being obliged to track down what has happened to petty cash?

Peter O.P.

Next week Isidore will meet God through "Skyping Peter"

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

2010-10-12T08:38:00.020+01:00

"In the world you were known as......In the Order you will be known as...."

Peter and I heard these solemn words sixty years ago. There we lay prostrate on the highly polished floor, with outstretched -cruciform arms -between the choir stalls of our novitiate priory. We'd just been clothed in the Dominican habit, (cf.Peter's previous posting). We'd just become Dominicans! Now we waited apprehensively, wondering what new name the Order would give us to mark this radical development in our Christian vocation. We realised that with a new name we would assume a new, Dominican, identity.

What would that be? In a spirit of apparent democracy we were told to select three names -the only condition being that none of them had already been taken by a living member of the English Province. Quite a problem, with large numbers joining the novitiate in the 50s -twenty in our year. So we scoured lists of saints to discover decent names which hadn't yet been appropriated. Our choice was important, since we expected to be stuck with our new names for the rest of our lives. There weren't many left that appealed to us.

But there was a catch to our being given a new name. Even if we did manage to find at least one reasonable name that didn't mean we would be given it. Just the opposite! In fact our choice guaranteed we wouldn't get the name we wanted. God only knows why we were put through the pantomime of having to select names which our superiors would certainly reject. Perhaps this was meant to teach us obedience, as we embarked on Dominican life? To raise our hopes and then dash them? To make us realise that while obedience involves consultation our superiors always have the last word?

Peter and I presented a special challenge for those selecting names for us twenty novices. They decided it would be smart for us twins to be given the names of two brother saints. That drastically limited the options. As we lay spread-eagled in our newly acquired Dominican habits we waited apprehensively for the prior to say, "In the world you were known as...In the Order you will be known as....

Up till now...."Peter"....from now on.... "Leander." Whaaaat! Who on earth was he? Sadly not the tragic romantic Greek character who drowned while swimming the Hellespont to be with his lover, Hero. This is certainly not the ideal role model for a Dominican novice! Instead Peter's Leander turned out to be the saintly, but less colourful, bishop of Seville. As for Isidore, he was Leander's younger brother, who succeeded his elder sibling in the same bishopric -nothing like keeping the episcopacy in the family! Saint Isidore is now proposed as patron of the internet. Since he's also my patron I think I have a special claim on his assistance when my computer misbehaves.

Our new names gave both of us an identity crisis. When someone used them we naturally thought they were referring to someone else. At first we took no notice. It takes time to grow into a new name and accept it as being yours. A newly-wed bride must have the same problem when she takes her husband's surname.

Peter had a special problem with his name -"Leander". Living in the West Indies, it was almost inevitable that people would shout, "Fr. Oleander!" -identifying him with the beautiful, but poisonous, flowering shrub, oleander. But after a few decades the joke became tiresome. It's not always true that the old jokes are the best. So Peter reverted to his Christian name. That was possible because we Dominicans had already dropped the name-giving custom. It caused him too much confusion having dual identity -civil "Peter", aka "Leander" -professional title.

But in the UK there was already a confusing number of brethren with my Christian name, Robert -or to family and friends, "Bob." Reverting to either of these names would have added to the already existing chaos. In my priory at Leicester there were already a Robert and a Bob. And there were more with the same names in other houses of our Province. To have added yet another one would have created further chaos, especially in answering the telephone. So, for better or worse I've decided to stick with 'Isidore.'

Celebrating the 60th anniversary of our receiving the Dominican habit, together with our new names, got me to musing about the importance of names.

These mark our individual identity and distinguish us from other people. If we lose our passports, or in wartime our identity cards, we become suspect non-persons. We're de-humanised when our name is replaced with a number. But we're delighted when someone remembers our name and doesn't refer to everyone as 'You.' One of our brethren, who had a poor memory for names, used to call everyone. "What's-his-face" -not to their faces! Another called every woman "Gladys."

Parents usually give a lot of thought to naming their babies. Sometimes they want to pay tribute to a special friend. Often the same name is handed down from one generation to the next to express family continuity. This is certainly true with surnames, and sometimes with Christian names. That's the case in our family. On Dad's side there are generations of 'Thomases,' and of 'Benjamins' on Mother's side. I haven't yet discovered how"Wolwyn" got onto our family tree.

Sometimes babies are given the names of current pop stars, such as "Elvis" or "Kylie." The names of TV soap stars are also popular. I've heard of a child being called, "Beaver," -after the make of a piece of heavy excavating machinery his Dad drove. He was lucky it wasn't a "Caterpillar!"

Nicknames are fascinating and are usually a sign of friendly familiarity. So, Dad, like many Clarke's of his generation was called, "Nobby." The late opera singer, Joan Sutherland, was called, "La Stupenda," on account of her magnificent voice. And I've heard of someone being called, "Donkey Meat," because that is what she is said to have eaten. Some of the saints were given nicknames. To quote one example, Thomas Aquinas is called the "Angelic Doctor" -on account of the sublimity of his writings. His fellow students were less kind and called him a "Dumb Ox." Then there was the English theologian, Alexander of Hales. He was known as the "Unanswerable One." It must have been difficult living with someone who was always right -never open to contradiction!

After pursuing these fascinating red herrings my muse turned me towards our baptisms. As we're christened in the name of the Blessed Trinity we receive our family identify as the children of God, sharing in His own divine life and happiness. With our baptism our human identity is enriched. When a child of man is born again, from above, he or she becomes a new creation as a child of God.

My grasshopper imagination then leaped off in another direction. Certain people were given a new name to indicate that God had chosen them for a special task. Abrahm's name was changed to Abraham when the Lord made His covenant with him. At Saul's conversion he was given the name, "Paul." So, when we Dominican novices were given new names these denoted that we had been given a new identity and special mission as members of the Order of Preachers. That was a fresh dimension to our Christian vocation.

Sometimes the name denotes the particular task for which God has chosen someone. Simon was given the name, "Peter" -meaning he would be the "Rock" on which Jesus would build His Church. And of course the name, "Jesus" means "Saviour," "Christ" or "Messiah," anointed as priest, prophet and king.

"Emmanuel," meaning "God is with us," reassures us that God will never abandon us. The Emmanuel theme and our names come together as Isaiah comforts us with the words, "Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine...Do not fear, for I am with you," (Is. 43. 1,5). Almighty God has loved us with an everlasting love; He has called each one of us by our personal names. That is our only hope of salvation, which Jesus repeats when He speaks of His knowing each of us, His sheep, by name.

God revealed His presence to Moses in the Burning Bush and instructed him to speak to Pharaoh. When Moses asked in whose name he should speak the enigmatic reply came from this mysterious bush -ablaze, but not consumed by the flames, "I AM, WHO AM" -or in Hebrew, "YAHWEH." He is the One-Who-Is, as distinct from false deities or idols, which are nothings. The Jews hold that name in such reverence that they will not utter it.

What about us Christians? Jesus Himself has encouraged us to address God as, "Father." He has promised that the Father will grant requests made in His Son's name -"Jesus." The sacraments are administered in the name of the Blessed Trinity; we bless and conclude our prayers in its name. Such should be our reverence for the name of our Saviour that the Letter to the Philippians tells us, "Therefore God has highly exalted Him, and gave Him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of the Father," (2. 9-11).

As I kicked around the topic of names I was struck by how precious they are to us. We resent those who treat our names with contempt. That's a sign they despise us personally. If this is true for our names, it is far truer for God's. And yet we are liable to be casual with the divine names, and even use them in swearing. If we think about it, that's an insult to God Himself. It's dreadful that the divine name should more often be used as a curse, rather than as a blessing.

Mywaygodsway of meeting God must including loving and respecting His holy name, and certainly not abusing it.

Isidore O.P.

Next week Fr. Peter will meet God in "Petty Cash."

ACQUIRING HABITS

2010-10-05T08:24:00.006+01:00

Sixty years ago a group of about twenty, including us Clarke twins, was knocking on the door of the Novitiate House of the English Province of the Dominican Order. We were seeking to be accepted as members, Friars of the Order of Preachers. Not one of us really knew what he was getting into. After sixty years I'm still finding out!

A few days of settling in and of being 'shown the ropes' was followed by a week's retreat to prepare us for what would be one of the defining moments of our lives. We were to be clothed in the Dominican Habit. On that day we were to be clothed by the Prior of the Community, and in the presence of all its seasoned members, in a liturgical rite loaded with symbolism.

The Dominican habit was not something any of us could lay claim to as being his own, like all the items of clothing stuffed into the draw of my room. The Religious Habit was given to us, put on us...as a privilege, in deed , as a grace. We were to be clothed in an 'outfit' or uniform, which had been the identifying signature of the Order of Preachers since its foundation in the 13th century. The design of this Dominican apparel has not changed over all these years. It has been able to give a certain distinction to friars of every shape and size, and has clothed individuals of outstanding sobriety and eccentricity.

On this day we were to be clothed in the culture, tradition and mission of the Dominican Order, with the particular, I won't say 'peculiar' flavour, of the English Province. This outfit is known as the 'Habit of the Order.' Members will habitually be seen wearing it when preaching, lecturing or taking part in liturgical celebrations. This is the way we Dominicans 'dress up' for such occasions. We are seen for who we are. The expectation and ambition of each of us is that he will be clothed in his Dominican habit when the time comes for his burial.

As I reflect on my wearing the habit for sixty years I see my vocation as a gift from God through the Dominican Order. By no means is it an achievement on my part. Now, day after day, I clothe myself in the Dominican habit that was originally given to me all those years ago. This is my deliberate preference over all other possible garments. Some would say my threadbare habit looks every bit of that vintage!

Our Dominican habit comes to us in three pieces. It's whiteness symbolizes the purity of heart to which we are called.

Firstly, there's the tunic, girded by a belt from which hangs a large Rosary. Tradition has it that it was revealed to St. Dominic that members of the Order of Preachers should have a special devotion to Mary. They would use the Rosary as an aid to their preaching that Jesus was truly human and that He accomplished our redemption through the humanity He received in His mother's womb.

Then there's the scapular. This is a wide piece of cloth that hangs over the shoulders to remind us that we have been called to follow Jesus in carrying the yoke of the cross. Over the head is placed the capuce -a hood -that serves as the blinkers worn by race horses -limiting the range of distractions of the wandering eye. Last of all, the black cape -cappa -and black capuce, which have earned us Dominicans the title of Black Friars. Black symbolizes the life of penance to which the friars are vowed.

"The cowl does not make the monk" -nor the habit the friar -so the saying goes.

As I mused about the habit with which I'd been clothed 60 years ago I speculated about the habits I'd acquired during my time as a Dominican -what I'd absorbed, what the Order had done to me in shaping my personality. At this moment I'm not interested in what I have done in and for the Order. I'm trying to discern what God has been doing in me over these years, during which I've been meeting God mywaygodsway -dominicanway -ways both mysterious and baffling. What have I become? And what have I prevented God from doing in my life?

I am reminded of the words of St. Paul, "Every one of you who has been baptized has been clothed in Christ," (Gal. 3. 25)...all of us mystically, spiritually clothed in Christ by His Church, acting in His name. This was symbolized when as an infant I, and Isidore, were clothed in a special garment once we had been baptized. I fantasize about which of us kicked and screamed the most when the water was poured over our heads. It was our baptisms that projected us into becoming Dominicans. Dominican Christians? Certainly. Christian Dominicans -through and through? Or no more than somewhat? I ask this of myself and do not presume to speculate about others.

Meeting God -mywaygodsway as a Dominican...over almost a lifetime...trying to understand the 'what' and the 'how' in the interaction between me and God...a journey of highways, byways and seeming dead ends. Believe me, it takes time and patience just to ponder these things. Gladness and sadness intertwined together. It's worth it. Why not ask yourself about your own trajectory of life...from the decisive moment of your being conceived and of your being reborn at baptism?

Peter O.P.

Next week Fr. Isidore will reflect on 'What's in a name?'

ODD ONES IN

2010-09-27T08:13:00.013+01:00

We Dominicans are a bunch of eccentrics! We know this and rejoice in it. The brethren provide us fodder for many a laugh. The big laugh is that each of us would pride himself on being the only sane member of the community.

Let me tell you about some of our 'oddities.'

There was the absent-minded brother A., who wanted to put a joint of meat in a secure place. Come the time for cooking the lunch, all of us 'cased the joint,' but none of us could find the joint -and the person who had originally put it away had forgotten what he had done with it. But then someone, intent on doing his laundry, opened the washing machine. There was the meat inside the washing machine!

Then there was brother B., an expert in repairing clocks and watches, (as well as picking locks). Since he was about to go away for a few days, he wanted to ensure that none of us would enter his room and disturb the innards of the timepieces he'd left on his table. So he sealed his room and filled it with tear gas.

Then there was an elderly priest -a popular author and retreat giver. He leaned out of his upstairs window and shot a water pistol at an over-solemn priest saying his prayers in the garden. While on the subject of shooting from windows, there was the brother who made a powerful long-bow. Wanting to test it out, he randomly let fly a lead-tipped arrow, and just missed a fellow student. He got his revenge by using extra hot olive oil, when, as infirmarian, he had to de-wax the archers ear.

One of our Dominican brethren tells the story of a member of his community needing psychiatric treatment. When the doctor came to the priory he happened to be the one to answer the door bell. When the doctor asked who needed treatment his patient replied, 'Knock on any door!'

We could tell you about many more of the brethrens' eccentricities, but, finally Peter has allowed, and even encouraged me, to record one about himself. Once, as he rose sleepily from his bed he automatically changed his clothes -as would anybody. But, in his semi comatose state he had confused the beginning of the day with the end of his customary siesta -necessary in the tropics. Hastily he made straight for his car -whereupon he discovered he was sitting at the steering wheel, and wearing only his pyjamas. Pity he made that discovery before reaching town, says I!

We Dominicans pride ourselves on not trying to tame each other's personal idiosyncrasies ...it would be a mouldy sort of life if we were all cast in the same mould! Suppressing our eccentricities would make us into dull conformists -easy to manage, but totally lacking in imagination and initiative. Our oddities add colour and interest to all our lives, even though, at times, they can be infuriating.

Our foibles remind us that each person is unique and should be valued for the individual he or she is. Our perfection lies in developing our own personalities, and not trying to be someone else.

Jesus tells us that the Good Shepherd knows each of us, his sheep, by name. He loves each one of us as someone special -for who we are and for what we can become with His help. And that's the way good parents should love each of their children. It's also the way good teachers appreciate each pupil in their classrooms. It's good we are not all alike. Peter and I, who are identical twins, insist that each of us is an individual. While we can understand people confusing us, because we do look somewhat alike, we do resent them assuming that we always hold the same opinion. We certainly don't.

Thinking about our Dominican eccentrics led me to reflect on what God is like. Certainly He is consistent in His perfection, and He is absolutely steadfast in His love and mercy. But He can take us by surprise, by acting in ways which are unexpected to us with our very limited knowledge of Him.

Jesus found that people constantly tried to force Him into a mould of their own fashioning. They rejected Him when He failed to conform to their misguided expectations of Him. They refused to welcome Him on His own terms and for being Himself. We can treat each other in the same way, dismissing those who do not fit in with our particular way of thinking and behaving. Rarely does it occur to us that the odd one out, could, in fact, be right, while the rest of us could be wrong.

If we reflect on the Blessed Trinity our faith tells us that the one God is three distinct persons, each relating to the other two in a unique way. Each person is equally and completely one and the same God. There's no confusion. We, who have been made in God's own image and likeness, grow in perfection by becoming ever more united in our families or communities, while respecting the diversity of each of us as being a unique individual. That's not easy!

I thank God for my eccentric brethren. In an extreme way they have taught me to respect each person as someone unique, someone very special to God and to me. Though we Dominicans certainly have a family spirit and share the same ideals we are definitely not clones of St. Dominic. And while we are all called to be Christ-like there's an enormous diversity within the Church -men, women and children of different races, colours and cultures. Each one of us has his or her own unique personality, with its particular strengths and weaknesses. Such variety should enrich our lives rather than being divisive.

Our eccentricities have even helped me to understand something of the mystery of the Blessed Trinity, imperfectly reflected in the unity in diversity in my community and all our families.

I realize that while I think of myself -and even Peter -as being normal -even the only sane members of our communities -our brethren may think that we are the eccentrics! And you, who read our blog, may well be convinced that, as they say in the UK, it's authors are 'two prawns short of a cocktail' or 'one sandwich short of a picnic.' If so we thank you for being so indulgent of our oddities.

Isidore O.P.

Next week Fr Peter will reflect on 'Petty Cash'

BRAIN STORMS? DIVINE INTERVENTION?

2010-09-21T08:05:00.016+01:00

It was 2.00am and jumbled ideas were swirling around my head like agitated bees.

The past few days have been deeply moving for me. I've been to hospital for minor surgery, and must now take it easy for a time. Here in the Caribbean, I've been able to follow the Pope's visit to England and Scotland and have entered into glorious liturgies, seen on my TV screen.

It has meant so much to me that my Dad and three of my brothers and I received our Grammar School education at the Oratory School founded by Cardinal Newman, in Birmingham. Grandma, who as a very old lady lived in the Oratory parish, even met an ancient Oratorian, who, as a young priest, had been a member of Newman's community. And last week Pope Benedict XVI declared Newman to be one of the blessed in heaven -Blessed John Henry Newman.

It has been a deeply moving experience to have been able to see on screen the Vicar of Christ, the Successor of St. Peter, actually celebrating the Eucharist, hear him actually pronounce the Words of Consecration, and witness him actually distributing Holy Communion to young and old. But it was more than that. Instinctively I participated in the reverence that was clearly present at the different venues of the actual celebrations. In so doing I made a 'Spiritual Communion.' In spirit I was part of the action, even though several thousand miles of ocean separated me in the Caribbean from what was happening in the United Kingdom.

Through TV I've also been 'glued to the screen' when watching the World Football Cup, Test Match cricket and much else, including T/20s. I've been grabbed and held by these events. But not one of them has stopped me from picking up the phone and getting in touch with a friend, just for the sake of chatting together. I've no problem in working at my laptop or reading some light literature, while following such items.

It might surprise you to know that all these thoughts were buzzing in my brain from 2.00am onwards. They would give me no peace until I'd nailed them down in print on my laptop. Having got this far I now realized the need to check on what I personally do with the various media outlets -and what they are doing to me. I must work out for myself some kind of personal spirituality about this.

For me personally, I must insist that no media coverage of the splendid Papal Masses could ever compare with the simple Mass I was just able to celebrate on Sunday afternoon. There I sat before the altar, because as yet I was not strong enough to stand for the duration of the Mass. My congregation was the two nurses who had dressed my wound. In this basic, unadorned liturgy the Eucharistic Sacrifice was actually, sacramentally, celebrated. Jesus was actually present, and consumed in this, our chapel. Here there was genuine adoration for the reality in our midst.

That cannot be said for what has been presented to me on the screen. Visual images inspire me to genuine reverence, as would any Crucifix, as being bridges between me and the divine. Helpful, indeed! But in no way an equivalent or optional substitute for the real thing.

And here I want to pay tribute to one of the great blessings of this age. The regular Radio and TV transmission of Sunday and weekday Masses has been an enormous blessing to those confined to their homes or elsewhere, because of infirmity or sickness, to those taking care of them, as well as to the many who would love to be able to attend Mass but are prevented from doing so by reason of their work.

On occasions such as the Papal visit Radio and TV give viewers a sense of the Church being Catholic -Universal. Seeing the crowds of young and the not so young displaying such spontaneous enthusiasm was a real boost to my faith and enriched my confidence in my own priestly ministry.

So this is where I stand. It would be a far richer experience for people to attend and participate in my simple Mass than for them to watch and share in the magnificent Papal Mass that is accessible on TV. Putting it another way -there's something far more nourishing in eating real bread and cheese on the table before me than in looking at the TV image of a magnificent meal. So, too, we're far more involved when we join the crowd watching a football match than when we see the same game on TV.

As we have seen -so many ways for you and me to meet God mywaygodsway. From the time of the Apostles the Church has celebrated actual participation in the liturgy, and always will do so. We can count it as a blessed bonus that we can now follow on our TV screens images of real live liturgies in localities far and wide.

P.S. In 1958 Pope Pius XII designated St.Clare as the patron saint of television, on the basis that when she was too ill to attend Mass, she had reportedly been able to see and hear it on the wall of her room.

Peter O.P.

Next week Fr. Isidore will Meet God in 'Odd One In.'

LIKE A LOBSTER

2010-09-12T16:07:00.017+01:00

A lobster is one of the tastiest dishes -also one of the most expensive in an English restaurant. But it's not the flavour, but the life-style of the lobster that intrigues me.

While watching a TV programme I realized that the lobster is a very strange and fascinating beastie. Instead of having an internal skeleton which grows, it is encased in a hard shell, which doesn't. So, the lobster has a problem. It's body's growth is restricted by the size of its shell. It can only get bigger by shedding its small shell and growing a larger one. After a time that also becomes too small and it has to go through the process again, and again, and again....

During the period between shedding one shell and growing the next the lobster is very vulnerable to predators. But it has to take that risk, otherwise it would always remain small and immature. In fact, it's only while the lobster is free from a hard non-stretch shell that it is able to grow. For the lobster growth and vulnerability go hand in hand -or claw in claw!

This got me thinking about myself and the Church. Certainly I don't have a hard shell, restricting my growth. But young ladies used to be trussed up in tight whale-bone corsets, to give them a slim waist-line. And my brother Peter found himself in a similar situation! When he complained about a severe stomach ache mother told him to loosen his trouser belt. Although that relieved the pain he was vulnerable to his trousers falling down! And Medieval knights were encased in metal armour. Youngsters began with small suits, which were replaced by larger ones as they grew. Between suits they were vulnerable to attack. How very lobster-like!

If we have been damaged in a relationship we may be afraid of getting involved with anyone else. Instinctively we grow a protective shell to prevent anyone getting through our defenses and harming us again. We prefer lonely security to risking becoming vulnerable to other people. But only when we come out of our protective shells and make ourselves vulnerable to rejection can we develop as people, once more capable of giving and welcoming love. It takes courage to risk being hurt, but that's far better than becoming turned in on ourselves in lonely isolation.

It also occurred to me that the Church's life-cycle is similar to that of the lobster. Periodically, the Church, like the lobster, becomes uncomfortable with the hard shell she has developed. She realizes that if she is to develop she must abandon some ofher protective, rigid defenses, which may have grown over several centuries. That happened between the Council of Trent and Vatican II. Old and familiar structures were questioned and some of them were discarded, as having served their purpose. Some feared that we were betraying our heritage. They mourned the loss of what had become so familiar and dear to them. They felt they and the Church had become very vulnerable.

But this kind of oscillation between periods of rigid structures and change has always been true of the Church's life. She is very different today from what she was like in Apostolic times. As she has grown and spread throughout the world she has had to become more organized. Prayerful reflection and the need to respond to attacks on our faith have led the Church to gaining deeper insights and greater clarity in expressing what we have always believed. Between these periods of growth there have been times of stability, with little change. These have mirrored the lobster, encased in its hard shell. These have been followed by lobster-like vulnerable development, after the hard shell has been shed. This process is a sign of vitality.

We and the Church resemble the lobster in two other important ways. First of all, none of us can return to the shell we have shed. We've outgrown it; it no longer fits. We can't return to our childhood and refuse to grow up. The babe must leave its mother's womb, and can't return there. It must then grow into childhood, become a teenager and finally an adult. There's no going back to an earlier stage in our life-cycle. So too, the Church cannot, and should not want to, return to the simplicity of Apostolic times. We've developed over the centuries. This rhythm of periods of flexible vulnerable growth followed by stability will continue throughout the life of the Church until it has grown into its full maturity in the kingdom of heaven.

But it's reassuring to remember that throughout all the changes the lobster, and the Church do not lose their identity. Nor do we, as we develop from a unique tiny embryo, through childhood into mature adults. As we leave one state behind and grow into the next we remain the same individuals. As for the Church, well, the Holy Spirit guarantees that she won't lose her unique identity, as He inspires and guides her development.

Perhaps it's worth noting that while the lobster's new shell is simply a large version of the old, discarded one , our growth and that of the Church is much more complicated and subtle. Far from just being small people -or the infant Church -growing physically bigger while looking exactly the same, the quality of our lives should be enriched as we leave one state of life behind and grow into the next.

Like the lobster, we must all shed the various protective shells, which restrict our growth, not only as human beings, but also as followers of Christ.

Incidentally, although the lobster's life-cycle requires it to have periods of vulnerability, it doesn't take dangerous, unnecessary risks. Nor should we, nor the Church.

Isidore O.P.

Next Fr. Peter will reflect on 'Meeting God through Petty Cash.'

LIVING BY MY DECISIONS

2010-09-08T08:07:00.011+01:00

My life was programmed right from my early school years. Immediately after leaving school those who believed they had a Religious Vocation entered an initial formation-programme. If ever there were a programmed life this was it. Every moment of each day was pre-determined from the summons to rise in the pre-dawn darkness to the lights-out when healthy young men would be stepping out.

At the time I accepted this without question, because this was the 'required thing.' Looking back over many years I see that my life from birth to young adulthood was very much like a bird in an aviary..able to flutter around in a confined but not too cramped space. Of course there was that absolute freedom to fly away from this kind of life so that I could live my life on my own terms. Such escaping never occurred to me.

I was freed from the responsibility of deciding what I should do and when I should do it. At times I was so frustrated at my not being the one to decide how I should occupy myself. I had no doubt that this restricted existence was imposed upon me by the will of God.

Some might say I was being kept in a state of immaturity. It has taken me many years to realize that I was being taught a most crucial lesson...not by word of mouth, not by the example of others, but by my lived experience. I state this boldly:

MY LIFE BELONGED TO GOD -IN ALL ITS DETAILS

without there being any time off from God.

The programming of my life, with all the directives and the need to request permissions, had one purpose -to create a docile person -not one who was an efficient, skilled person, learned but determined to be self-determining.

Of course this pattern of life was never meant to last forever. There came a time when the rather petty restrictions of my life were removed. The aviary door had been opened. It was then I enjoyed the freedom of the wild bird in the forest or meadows...within the confines of an aviary the size of the universe itself -the extent of the Lordship of God over my life and the whole of creation. Within these boundaries I had committed myself to carrying out the will of God according to the dictates of my vocation.

The implication of this came home to me forcibly when as a young priest I was given charge of my first parish..living alone in the presbytery. Certainly plenty of work came my way without my having to look for it. But there remained a fair amount of open space which I could decide to fill either according to my whims and fancies, or what I perceived to be the will of God for me at that time. Within this frame-work one of the most responsible choices I had to make was about how much leisure time God wished me to have and what form that should take. I didn't see God wanting me to be a workaholic...go, go, go all the time without easing up at all. Also, since it was a huge temptation for me to go for the most congenial work, I had to ensure that my feelings and inclination were not to dictate my choices.

Now that I've reached the age of retirement from the office of parish priest and have been relieved of many of the commitments that used to fill my life, I can say there has been much joy and personal fulfillment through having my life circumscribed by the will of God. On reflection I think I have come to understand a little of what St. Paul meant when he wrote of

"the glorious freedom of the children of God," (Rom 8. 23).

This answering the call within the environment of the will of God, as His beloved children, is open to all of us as baptized people. My vocation, and, in deed, your vocation, is to follow Jesus who said, "my food is to do the will of the one who sent me, and to complete His work," (Jn. 4. 43). I think of how the Lord said through the prophet Hosea (6. 6), "Faithful love is what pleases me, not sacrifice; knowledge of God, not burnt offerings."

Across the board, we, as baptized persons -Laity, Clergy and Religious -are to discover fulfilment, what today is called 'job satisfaction,' in faithful love, with daily expressions of love, that amount to re -commitments to living according to the will of our loving Heavenly Father.

Far from being oppressive, this is liberating...Jesus Himself never found it easy. He never told His disciples it would be easy. This is how I have come to understand LIVING BY MY DECISION TO BECOME A DOMINICAN ... mywaygodsway in the mid twentieth century and to remain a contented and fulfilled one right into the early years of the twenty first century.

Peter O.P.

Next week a lobster will help Isidore to meet God.

Please keep the comments coming, and don't be discouraged by the slight delay caused be the filter we've had to install.

ARE YOU A BATTERY HEN OR A FREE-RANGE CHICK?

2010-08-30T08:29:00.014+01:00

Has he gone mad? I wouldn't blame you if the title of this posting led you to question my sanity.

These musings came to me while I was reflecting on Christ's mission manifesto, in which He quoted the prophet Isaiah, (cf. 61. 1; Luke 4. 18-22). There He said that He had come to set prisoners free. But free from what; free for what? What striking image could I find to express the contrast between a godless captivity and the freedom Christ offers us? It was then that I remembered battery and free range hens -both of which I've seen. Perhaps they could provide a fresh approach to Christ's work of salvation.

Very, briefly -since you probably already know -free range hens can flap their wings and roam around the farm yard and fields, searching for nutritious grubs and insects. That's the natural life-style for them. But this form of poultry farming does have its disadvantages. It's more work to find and collect the eggs, and the hens are vulnerable to predators, such as foxes. This method is not intensive and efficient. In contrast, battery hens are cooped together in many small cages, in large sheds. The only light they see is artificial. Their whole existence is geared to the mass production of the cheap food which we all want. There's a vast difference between the poor quality of life of the caged battery hen and that of the free range-chick.

Of course Jesus didn't use this bizarre imagery. But he did contrast the slavery of sin, which restricts our development, and the freedom to be our true selves. He did promise to set us prisoners free and give us the fullness of life. That's what everyone wants. We all want the freedom of the free range chick to spread our wings and fly. We resent anyone who clips our wings and restricts our movement.

But where does true freedom lie? For some of us that consists in being masters of our own lives, with no one having the right to boss us around, telling us how we should behave. Taken to its extreme, this would mean that we would have no concern for the damage we did to ourselves or others -as long as we got our own way. Such would be the mentality of someone driving his car at literally break-neck speed. He may persuade himself that such freedom was necessary for his personal self-expression and fulfillment. No way is he willing to be inhibited by rules and regulations, which would prevent him from sharing in the enjoyment of seemingly free spirits. Could be, we may envy such people.

But the life-style of the libertine is far from liberating. Through sinful habits we construct our own cages, which restrict our development and growth as human beings and as the children of God. Bad habits and actions bring out the worst in us and often harm other people. We become enslaved to what the Letter to the Hebrews calls the, "Sin that clings," (12. 1). We resent someone like Jesus telling us that we are enslaved and need Him to set us free.

Jesus, in fact, tells us that only the truth can set us free, (John 8. 32). He strips away false notions about what freedom really means. He exposes the ways we deceive ourselves into thinking that when we chose to sin we are showing a mature independence. He opens our eyes and shows us that only He can offer us true liberty, real happiness, the fullness of life with His heavenly Father. He points out how destructive it is for us to choose to coop ourselves up in our sins, preferring the darkness of the cages we have fashioned for ourselves, to the freedom to spread our wings and fly upwards to the light of Christ.

Jesus Himself is the truth that sets us free. Not simply by giving us information, opening our eyes to what is right or wrong, true of false -though that is very important. He shows us that we can only find true liberty by following Him. The Truth, which is Christ Himself, is a divine source of power and energy. Not only does He show us the way to the Father, but He is the Way. He gives us the will and the strength to make the journey -to follow Him. If we believe in Him and trust Him He will break the shackles of sin and raise us beyond our human limitations to share God's own life.

Strangely, the prospect of freedom can be frightening. The person released from prison will no longer have the security of his cell and of a structured institutionalized life. Someone trying to come off drugs or alcohol dependence may fear losing these supports, even though they've ruined the quality of his life. So, too, we may wonder how we could cope if we were to decide to abandon a sinful life-style, which we must have found in some way attractive. We can become so used to the cage we've constructed for ourselves that we've become nervous about stepping outside and embracing the freedom Christ offers us.

The truth which sets us free, far from leading to anarchy, enables us to make the right decisions and act upon them. That's real freedom! The liberating truth -Christ Himself -transforms us miserable battery hens into free-range chicks, enjoying the glorious liberty of the children of God!

Isidore O.P.

Next week Fr. Peter will reflect on meeting God by "Living by my decisions."

WHAT IS HAPPENING TO MY PRAYERS?

2010-08-24T08:22:00.009+01:00

Sometimes I wish God cared as much as I do! I know this sounds blasphemous, but I must say it. God knows how many prayers I've offered for peace in troubled areas of the world, and for those who have had their lives washed away by exceptional floods. So frequently have I prayed the Litany of the Saints that the Lord would save His people in the Caribbean from lightening and tempest, from the scourge of earthquakes. I am also thinking of the many very sick people I have prayed for, with the longing that they would be restored to health.

I care! I pray! What has happened to my prayers? They don't seem to be producing results. Jesus said that the one who prayed with faith no greater than a tiny mustard seed would be able to move mountains, and by implication, anything else. Shifting mountains has no appeal to me.

No results, so I question my prayer-life and my own spiritual life. Does the answering of my prayers really depend on their frequency and intensity? If this were so it would be a terrible burden for me that the well-being of those I care about were to be impeded by my undoubted spiritual deficiency.

How can it be that I am unable to bring God round to my point of view? I must ask this seemingly absurd question, "Is the problem with me or with God?" Neither. My problem lies in my accepting that God is a mystery to us. God Himself recognizes this,

"'My thoughts are not your thoughts and your ways are not my ways,' declares Yahweh. 'For the heavens are as high above the earth as my ways are above yours, my thoughts above your thoughts,'"

(Isaiah 55. 9).

This means that the most difficult of prayers to say with sincerity is, "Thy will be done Lord. I want what you want -and only that. But how I wish you wanted what I want!" Isn't this very like the Gethsemane prayer,

"And going a little further He fell on His face and prayed, 'My Father,' He said, 'if it be possible, let this cup pass me by. Nevertheless, let it be as you, not I, would have it.'"

Here is Jesus, in the rawness of His humanity entering into the mystery of the divine will of His Heavenly Father.

The agenda of God is inscrutable to me -beyond my understanding. I must not, then, try to pressurise God. I must not strive to manipulate God into responding to my will. I'm convinced that God is sensitive, caring, loving to an infinite degree -far, far more than any of us could ever be. This, my greatest certainty about God, must never be eroded because my urgent prayers are not answered according to my longings. Accusing and blaming God will never be appropriate. God is certainly not to be blamed because His response does not meet my expectations of Him. And I'm certain God will never blame any of us for asking too much of Him. Nothing is too much for God, but many things of our choosing are not of the best for us.

I'm engulfed by mystery -the mystery that is God Himself...the mystery about how significant are our prayers. Jesus made it abundantly clear that He wants us to continue to pray with all the love and compassion at our command; also with total, unconditional trust in our heavenly Father.

As I see it, gradually our prayers change us -rather than change God. As we pass from bewilderment and even protest to acceptance we make His will our will. So when we obey the divine command to pray for our enemies they cease to be people whom we want to harm and become people we want God to bless. Through prayer they cease to be enemies. Through prayer our wills become aligned with God's, and so we draw closer to Him.

Such prayer helps us to mature spiritually. I would like to think these explorations into the value of our prayers have enriched our understanding of the mystery of God. Now we are called to make an act of faith in God Himself -that He responds to our petitions according to His wisdom and His love. In ways that are not obvious to us our prayers do benefit those we care intensely about, bringing to them blessings that we would never have suspected. So much will always remain unknown to us.

I'm convinced God never says, "No, I'm not interested in your prayers!" It's rather the case that God is profoundly interested, but not in the way we had anticipated.

Our prayers are helpful, in ways that we cannot discern, to a degree that we cannot measure. Our prayers will never be a waste of time and effort. Through them God reaches out to us. Through them God reaches out to those for whom we pray.

Peter O.P.

'Are you a battery hen or a free range chick?' wonders Isidore next week.

STANDING AND STARING

2010-08-16T09:15:00.025+01:00

Some can't wait for holiday time to come. They feel stale and weary and need time to stand and stare without feeling guilty. Holidays break the routine of daily life, relieve the pressure and give us the chance to go to different places and do other things.

But there are also those who can't be persuaded to take a holiday. As for standing and staring...for them that's a shear waste of time. There's too much to do, and they think they can't be spared. They feel uncomfortable about taking time off. With this kind of mentality they become like hamsters on a treadmill, compelled to keep moving, simply to stay in the same place. From childhood they may have been told that the devil makes work for idle hands...so keep busy! They feel guilty if they're not always doing something useful.

But I wonder if 'Standing and Staring' is really such a waste of time. The poet, William Henry Davies, certainly didn't think so. He realised the need for us to be still and look if we're ever going to appreciate the beauty of the world around us. Those who are constantly in a hectic rush will notice nothing. That will impoverish the quality of their lives. And so Davies concludes:
"A poor life this, if full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare."

It's not just a question of noticing the world around us. We can be so busy doing things for people that we literally have no time for the people themselves -to be with them and enjoy their company. But if we don't make time for each other we will find that love and friendship will grow cold and we will drift apart.

The same is true with our Love for God. That's why the Psalmist urges us, (46. 10),
"Be still and know that I am God!"

It's through stillness, listening, talking, or simply being together and silently enjoying each other's company that we draw close to one another.

And that's the point of observing the Sabbath day of rest. This compassionate law was intended to give people, and even the beasts of burden, such as oxen and horses, a break from the rigours of weekday work. We're given a chance to re-build our strength. This break, this change in the rhythm of life, gives us quality time for God and each other. It's wonderful that when God's involved holidays become holy days.

The change in pace of holiday-time gives us the opportunity to develop hobbies which enrich our lives, and this makes us more interesting to other people. There's much truth in the saying, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." We certainly do become crashing bores, if we can only talk about our own work and can take no interest in other people. And if we have no outside interests won't we be lost when retirement puts an end to our employment?

Peter and I had a retired aunt who used to go on holidays with our widowed mother. When our aunt returned home she would give an annual talk to a woman's group about the adventures and mishaps they'd experienced while on holiday. No one was certain whether she was simply accident-prone or looked for trouble in order to provide material for her talks. Poor mother certainly had to brace herself for the unexpected.

We brothers used to be very active in the Scout Movement. We'd cycle off with our camping kit. At dusk on one occasion we pitched our tent on an open common. Early in the morning, while we were still sleeping, we were roused by a loud, steady thumping outside. Peeping through our tent flaps we saw an enormous carthorse trotting around our tent. We feared it might take a short cut across us and our tent!

On another occasion, when our troop was on its annual camp, we senior scouts had to break camp unexpectedly one night. We then had to carry all our equipment on our backs and hike along a route flashed to us in Morse Code. In the dark we had to construct a rope bridge across a river, make a stretcher on which we were to carry one of the troop to the other side of the river. We dropped the poor fellow into the rushing water and the fast current carried away his trousers! So, he had to continue the hike without them. Fortunately for him all right-minded people were tucked up in bed and no one saw him.

Now advancing age has slowed us down. When one of us is able to cross the Atlantic for a holiday we're happy relaxing together, playing chess, listening to music....Most of all, we simply enjoy being together.

All of us feel fresher and better able to carry on after a break from the routine of our daily work. Recreation becomes re-creation or renewal, and so is not a waste of time.

Jesus realised this. When the apostles returned from gaining pastoral experience He urged them to come to a quiet place and rest,

"The apostles gathered around Jesus and told Him all they had done and taught. He said to them, 'Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.' For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure, even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves,"

(Mark 6. 30-33).

If they needed to relax and recoup their energy, so too, did Jesus. We can easily forget that the constant demands made upon Him must have left Him feeling physically and emotionally drained. He needed time and space to be still and quiet, to rest His mind and body, to rest in the Lord. And as He stopped and stared He was able to notice the ripening harvest, the lilies of the field, sheep and shepherds... and so much of daily life, which He was able to use in the powerful imagery of the parables of the Kingdom.

I hope I will always remember that being still and relaxing is an essential part of a well-balanced life. This is vital to my meeting God and my growing closer to Him. I must not only work for God, but also make time to relax with Him. Otherwise I will simply go through the motions and become zombie-like -dead inside.

Throughout the process of composing postings for our blog Peter and I have become convinced that God is to be found not only in the serious moments when we're explicitly doing His work, but also in the crazy light-hearted moments that He has provided for our refreshment. In God's world recreation becomes re-creation, holidays become holy days. With Paul's encouragement I don't need to feel guilty about wasting my time when I stand and stare,

"Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord, giving thanks to the Father through Him,"

(Colossians 3. 17)

Isidore O.P.

Next week Fr. Peter will wonder "What happened to my prayers?"

A RAG DOLL

2010-08-10T08:01:00.013+01:00

Such a darling child with a dazzling smile and a gurgling laugh....the child everyone wanted to hug...and why not? It was her birthday. Friends of the family dropped in to pay their respects and present their gifts...a variety of dolls, big ones, small ones; simple ones, others extravagant.

Each present reflected a calculated guess of what the child would appreciate. Or have I got it wrong? Could be the presents were chosen according to what would gain the respect and approval of the parents. I ponder. I wonder. I'm not into the dynamics and diplomacy of present-giving to other people's children.

Have you noticed how small infants are not well versed in the social graces of showering volumes of tactful gratitude upon those who appear to be in desperate need of it? This sweet mite impulsively grabbed the rag-doll from the pile of expensive presents. What she wanted, what she needed, according to a sublime instinct was this puny object, obviously made out of the off-cuts from the dressmaker. I stress the need because cuty-child and rag doll became inseparable companions, night and day.

No learned explanation do I have to offer why she preferred this ordinary scrappy thing to an exceptionally splendid doll that was huge, lavishly dressed, with eye that closed if it were held in a position of repose and which burped if its tummy were unceremoniously squeezed. (Who wouldn't do likewise?)

At the risk of making a fool of myself, I would like to suggest that there's a season, very early in life when instinctive cravings -such as to be nourished and comforted -correspond to absolute needs. It seems as though this infant craved for the rag-doll, rather than for the pricey one, because that was what she needed, must have. In her rag-doll she found peace and security.

Before not too long this child would come to want what she didn't really need. This would become the pattern for most of the rest of her life. I find this is also true of myself! And what about you?

I'm reminded of Luke 18. 15-17

"People even brought babies to Him, for Him to touch them; but when the disciples saw this they scolded them. But Jesus called the children to Him and said, 'Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such that the Kingdom of God belongs. In truth I tell you, anyone who does not welcome the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.'"

This little one is teaching me that I must revert to that distant time when my longings were far more simple and corresponded to my real needs...wholesome cravings implanted in me by God, my Creator. He, my Heavenly Father, has always intended me to live a wholesome life...with my ways being in step with His ways.

I, Yesterday's Child, am today to welcome the Kingdom of God by way of my godly choices. I, as an adult, am to learn that this all has to do with seeking and attaining simplicity and innocence. And this I find myself learning from a baby girl clutching a rag-doll!

Peter O.P.

Next week Fr. Isidore will meet God by Standing and Staring

EARS BUT CANNOT HEAR

2010-08-03T10:13:00.010+01:00

"They have ears but cannot hear"

(Psalm 115. 6)

With these words Holy Scripture mocks pagan wooden idols. But deafness is no joke. Nor are those who are unable to hear to be despised.

When I wrote this piece I'd just experienced almost total deafness, which had taken me completely by surprise, even though my hearing had been gradually getting worse. I don't want to turn my problem into a major tragedy, especially since, thanks to de-waxing and a hearing aid, I can now hear the pattering of rain, and the whispering of people who would certainly have kept quiet if they'd realized I could now clearly hear what they were saying about me! Much to my relief, during my deaf period earphones had enabled me to listen to the radio and TV. But it was really distressing that my deafness prevented me from taking part in conversations. That, I found, made me feel very isolated and lonely.

My brief experience of almost total deafness gave me a hint of what it must be like for those who have never been able to hear anything at all. They spend their lives in a completely silent world, unable to hear the sound of voices, the song of birds, the beauty of music. They are deaf to warning signals, such as fire alarms, which would protect them from danger. When a member of my community came into my room to borrow some keys I didn't hear him knock on my door. His unexpectedly tapping the back of my shoulder to announce his presence made me jump up with fear.

Oh, I realize the deaf can learn sign language and lip reading. Although these skills are a great aid to communication they are but a poor substitute for the joy of really hearing a sound. But until I lost my hearing I hadn't realised how isolated deafness can make us; how much we take our hearing for granted -until we lose it.

When Jesus cured the deaf He not only restored their ability to hear the sounds of daily life, but also enabled them to get involved in conversations and discussions. Jesus broke down their isolation and enriched the whole quality of their lives. Such healing miracles are certainly powerful signs of the way the gift of faith opens our ears to the word of God, so that we can hear His voice and communicate with Him.

During my deafness I was really surprised that while I couldn't hear other people speaking I could still hear my own voice. How or why I don't know. This unsuspected blessing gave me the confidence to continue to say Mass and to preach. But if someone had heckled my sermon I wouldn't have heard him!

Being able to hear my own voice, but not other people's, got me thinking. Forget my temporary deafness. Before that occurred was I not so fond of the sound of my own voice that I didn't hear and listen to other people? And worse still, when I pray do I not go in for far too much talking without giving God a chance to get a word in edge-ways? In so doing, I deprive myself of hearing what He and they have to say to me. We, who are hard of hearing do tend to monopolize conversations so that we can control the situation and don't become isolated!

So, I realized that as I asked God to restore my physical hearing and strengthen my faith I also needed to ask Him to enable me to be quiet and listen to other people and to God Himself. I also need to realize that there's a vast difference between casually hearing and really listening, and by that I mean giving someone our undivided attention and actually heeding what he says.

I must meet God in the quietness of attentively listening to Him. Only in such silence can I hear what He is saying to me in ways which transcend physical sound. Perhaps God wanted my temporary deafness to teach me the value of silence, and most certainly to appreciate the wonder of being able to hear and listen once more.

Isidore O.P.

Next week Peter will Meet God in a Rag Doll

ONLY A FILM

2010-07-16T17:01:00.017+01:00

I'd enjoyed reading the book -a brilliant, imaginative and convincing fantasy. Seeing it on a small screen was a revelation to me of the creative skills of the experts in computer technology. It was also a big let-down. How can one be impressed by imagery, no matter how exciting or romantic, when men and women appear no larger than toy soldiers and elephants are as small as the pet gerbil!

Everything changed when I was taken to see the same drama on a large cinema screen. Loud speakers were distributed throughout the auditorium so that all of us seemed to be encased in a capsule of sound.

There was I with my brothers engrossed in watching the film, "Jurassic Park." We had just been given an episode that was as serene as the Garden of Eden (NB -before the Fall !).It was so relaxing and reassuring to be drawn into a world that seemed to be totally at peace with itself. Small wonder I had drifted off into a cozy, dreamy doze.

And then ...an enormous, fearsome dinosaur filled the whole screen, silent..poised, menacing. Unexpectedly, a huge roar reverberated throughout the cinema. The thrusting monster leaped forward...at me, seated in one of the front rows, nearest the screen. Without a thought I rose from my seat and in terror yelled, "Oh, God!" at the top of my voice. Never before and never since have I felt such an urgent need for God to come to my rescue.

Of course, the spell of this day-time nightmare was immediately broken when everyone in the cinema began to laugh at impressionable me. For my part, I was shaken, emotionally exhausted. It had been so real. But then there were my brothers to bring me round to laugh at myself.

Only much later was I able to reflect on what had for me been a shattering experience. I was much sobered by the thought that I, and I suppose all other fellow human beings, do not have control of our emotional reactions. We cannot turn them off and on as easily as we can the images on our TV screens. Images can be so over-powering that at the time we are unable to distinguish between the fictional and the factual. We simply enter and identify with what is being presented to us.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I have wept when viewing DVDs of 'Les Miserables' and 'La Boheme.' Who has been left cold and unmoved when watching on-screen drama which is violent or sensual? Let no-one tell us it's only a film and these actions are being acted out. And that they're not reality.

True enough! Up to a point! Beyond that point we are liable to be influenced in our thinking, our attitudes and possibly our behaviour by what passes for reality shows and virtual reality. They can be for us an occasion of sin..in which, without thinking or consenting, we identify with screened hatred, jealousy, spite and vengeance or with lustful cravings. There will be those who will be inclined to act out in real life what they've seen acted in the world of fiction, without realizing that the seeds of these dispositions were sown during a time of recreation.

At the very least God has taught me to reflect on my outburst in the cinema and to question seriously the effect the mass media of communication has on the innocence of my imagination, my desires and fears, and ultimately on my conduct. Mywaygodsways through a dinosaur, as it were.

In truth, 'Only a Film' -what a film !

Peter O.P.

Next week Isidore will reflect on, "Ears but cannot hear."

We have installed a device to enable us to filter out the unsavoury abuse of what is meant to be a religious blog. This means there will be a slight delay between your making your comments and their being posted. Please don't let that put you off. We want to know what you think and will certainly publish criticisms and disagreements.

Peter and Isidore

MESSING ABOUT IN BOATS

2010-07-16T09:11:00.014+01:00

Messing about in boats -the English love it! Not that we have a monopoly in this pass-time.

A number of years ago a friend invited me to join him and three others on a week's holiday on a fifty foot long barge. There's something special about that kind of holiday. The speed limit is 4mph. Anything faster and the barge's wash would damage the canal banks. After a few days my whole approach to life slowed down. On my return to terra firma I found the speed of traffic became intimidating; crossing a road scary. I resented the headlong rush following upon the leisurely pace of canal life.

And the whole canal environment, rooted in the industrial revolution, was fascinating. As we chugged along I marveled at the engineering feat in constructing the canals in order to move non-perishable goods around the country. Long tunnels or cuttings had to be hewn through rocky hillsides, or flights of locks constructed to go over rather than through them. There's the contrast between the quiet countryside, with its special canal wildlife, and then the approach to an industrial town by the 'tradesman's entrance,' with warehouses on the banks. These reminded me that the canals were originally constructed for industry, rather than for holiday- makers like me.

So far so good...but then I wonder. Was I made for crazy situations? Or were they made for me? Any way let me tell you about a bit of canal craziness.

Among us five there was this experienced ocean sailing yachtsman. He'd been so conditioned by the open seas that when we arrived at the marina to pick up our barge he asked for a compass. He didn't realize that the direction of our journey would be determined by that of the canal, not be a compass. And he couldn't adjust from the mindset of the open seas to that of inland waterways. So, although there were drinking-water taps every few miles along the banks of the canal, he was in constant fear of our running out of water. As a result he insisted on us filling up every pot and pan whenever we came to a tap.

This nautical expert was keen to impress us landlubbers with his seamanship. So, when he came to moor the barge he leaped from the prow with the rope in his hand. Unfortunately its length spanned only half the distance to the bank. Out he shot.. only to be jerked to a sudden halt. Still holding the rope in his hand he plummeted beneath the canal waters.

That was but the start of his misfortunes. After changing into some dry clothes he put his wet ones on the barge roof to dry. Up sprang a gust of wind, whisking his shorts overboard. Having retrieved them he sat disconsolately in the bows, nursing a strong drink. Whereupon a fly settled on his nose. As he brushed the irritant away he swept his spectacles off his nose and into the canal. Sad to say, after spending some time treading the muddy bottom he never found them. "Wet, deflated and miserable" about describes this nautical impresario.

I must confess that we were all amused that someone who had been so eager to impress us had come such a cropper. In his case pride had certainly come before a fall!

But how do I meet God in all this ? Well, in the 'Magnificat' we're told that He casts the mighty from their thrones and exalts the lowly. But I would do well not to become too smug about my friend's misadventures -lest in my pride, I, too, should be heading for a fall. St. Paul tells us about God choosing the foolish to confound the wise. So perhaps I need the painful lesson of making a fool of myself, and being brought low, If I'm to learn some wisdom and meet God. The foolish bit I can easily manage -but learning wisdom from my folly is another matter!

Isidore O.P.

Next week Fr Peter will Meet God in 'Only a Film'

We have installed a device to enable us to filter out the unsavoury abuse of what is meant to be a religious blog. This means there will be a slight delay between your making your comments and their being published. Please don't let this put you off. We want to know what you think and will certainly publish criticisms and disagreements. Peter and Isidore

MAN'S BEST FRIEND?

2010-07-15T16:05:00.006+01:00

This was one of those glorious days that promised to be completely satisfying and gratifying. The sun was shining as I set out to take Holy Communion to the sick and the aged in their homes, rounding off the morning with a visit to the General Hospital where I would administer the Sacrament of Anointing of the Sick to several patients.

I enjoy this ministry because I invariably witness the consolation this Sacrament brings. I am moved and inspired by their strong faith. Their appreciation makes me feel good about my priesthood. When possible I try not to make very many calls, so that I can have the leisure to exchange a few pleasantries with all the family.

Sometimes when I recite the Second Joyful Mystery of the Rosary that is the Visitation, I, carrying Jesus in the Eucharist to homes, identify with Mary, who carried Jesus in her womb to the home of her cousin Elizabeth. It is a privilege to be a Christ bearer to others.

Now I have a problem Reaching God ...My Way. It's like this.
Just as I was leaving the last house of my rounds a vicious little dog rushed out from beneath the house and bit my leg. Look at my trouble! Where was God in this! What was He saying to me? How did He expect me to reach Him in these circumstances? My first reaction was that a dog is not necessarily man's best friend -certainly not mine!

After receiving my anti-tetanus injection I reflected on how readily the sick and the frail relate their own disabilities to Jesus, who suffered, died and rose for them. Their triumph is that with Christ-like trust in their heavenly Father they can unite their own vulnerability with that of Jesus. He understands and shares their pain. They understand and share His. They draw consolation in their tribulations from this Sacrament of communion with Jesus in His own suffering, death and resurrection.

My thoughts then turned to the Ministers of the Eucharist. There have been times, and there are still situations, when it is hazardous to life itself for priests to celebrate Mass and to take the Sacraments to the sick.

From this perspective my dog bite was trivial -no big thing!. All the same, it has been salutary for me to recognise that men have so valued their ministry that they have been prepared to expose themselves to extreme occupational hazards. Who am I, then, to complain about a bite from an unfriendly dog? No room here for self-pity, nor for the presumption of identifying myself with these courageous witnesses to the Faith.

I Reach God ...My Way by accepting with tranquility that I was called to shed blood, no more than a couple of drops, in God's good cause.

Peter O.P.

Next week Isidore will meet God ...through messing about in boats.

We are very grateful for your comments, but find it frustrating not being able to understand some of them. So, English only, please.

LEAD KINDLY LIGHT

2010-07-06T08:21:00.007+01:00

Less than two years a priest! Only a few months in the Caribbean island of Grenada and I'm required to stand in for a priest who was sick. At first I was somewhat daunted because of my complete lack of experience...the first time in my life to be completely alone...in the presbytery, having to fix the Coleman paraffin lamp and adjust the 'Cat's Whisker' crystal set radio.

I soon came to love every minute of walking the roads and hill-side tracks; en route meeting and greeting each and all, and receiving warm welcomes as I was invited into homes and offered drinks.

However, I had not yet got used to the tropical bright daylight swiftly rushing into evening darkness. As long as I was on the main road lighted candles and lamps guided me towards the presbytery.

This was approached by a steep avenue of trees. After a few paces nothing visible ahead of me, but total, solid darkness. At least I knew I was heading in the right direction. The hard even surface of the road was sufficient to keep me on course. When I strayed somewhat I met soft, tufty grass.

Progress was so far so good..until I collapsed onto a very solid lump of something, which surged and heaved itself upwards in one violent thrust that sent me hurtling backwards, surprised, shaken, bruised.

No need to speculate about what I'd encountered. It bellowed and brayed, pounding away from me in shocked indignation. Wouldn't you have done the same? The poor donkey had been violently awakened from its pleasant dreams. It knew not by what. It could not see me. It's limited experience of parish priests had never prepared it for this.

Come to think of it, nothing that I had been taught by my learned tutors at Blackfriars, Oxford, had prepared my priesthood for this. They might have cautioned me lest I got myself into trouble...but not, surely, the trouble of tripping over dormant donkeys!

An obvious lesson to be learned would be never to step out of the house without a flash-light, even the micro penlight version.

Only many years later, more than forty, when I'd got into this 'blog business' did it occur to me that there must be a spirituality to this episode in my priestly curriculum vitae. There must be something God wants me to share with you that might somehow be helpful to you. And surely He, stirring up these long dead memories, must, in these days, want me to learn something that would contribute to my own spiritual well-being.

Very much to the point are those words in Sacred Scripture about those who walk in darkness and in the shadow of death; also people being children of the light and children of darkness. And what about Psalm 119 (118),v.5, always a favourite with me?

'Your word is a lamp for my steps and a light for my path.

I have sworn and made up my mind to obey your decrees.'

I think of the confusion, the pain and the shame I have brought to my own life, and, by direct consequence, into the lives of other people through my following my own lights, rather than allowing myself to be enlightened by God. This has been when I've stuck to my own opinions and preferences rather than do what I knew for certain was the will of God.

Mywaygodsway must be that I must always carry His light, never put out His light, never, never, never! For my own sake and that of others!

Peter O.P.

Next week Isidore will reflect on meeting God in a Place of My Own

RESCUED FROM THE SCRAPHEAP

2010-06-29T08:43:00.015+01:00

Just after World War II Army Surplus Stores were rich quarries for lads like Peter and me! They were real treasure-troves in which we could rummage through what other people had rejected. For us this was a real adventure -a journey of discovery. We delighted in using our ingenuity to see if we could find the components for making something useful out of what had been discarded. We relished the challenge -we still do.

From the shop near our home in Birmingham we found all we needed for making a 'cat's whisker' radio crystal set. Imagine our excitement when it produced its first sound, which was remarkably clear. From the same source we also made a photographic enlarger. And in the same spirit I later cannibalized two old cameras and made a zoom lens. In an earlier blog posting Peter has shown how eagerly we rose to the challenge of solving a problem by putting a familiar object, such as a flower support, to a new use -organizing his pens.

I suppose this instinct to throw away nothing and re-cycle everything was developed during wartime austerity. Since new materials and objects were scarce the motto was, "Make do and mend." Delight in responding to this challenge has stuck with us. And not only with Peter and me. A fellow Dominican student far surpassed us in his creative scavenging. He took great pride in showing us the bicycle, which he'd put together from parts he gleaned from a scrap yard. What's more it worked! To do something like that is much more satisfying than going to a shop and buying a brand new bike, radio or lens.

True, my refined and well-organized brethren mock me for being an incurable and somewhat chaotic hoarder, who believes that everything will eventually become useful. But they don't hesitate to come to me when they need something, such as a piece of string, a nail or a tool. Usually I've got it, and smugly I would give it to them!

While Peter and I have made an exciting hobby out of rescuing rejects from the scrapheap, this, precisely, is God's speciality. His focus is not on material objects, but on people. In this He seems to go out of His way to stack the odds against Himself. He chooses the most unlikely people to do His work -the weak and foolish of this world, So St.Paul tells us,

"God chose what is foolish in the world in order to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong," (1 Cor. 1. 27).

Thus, the prophet Ezekiel likens God's Chosen People to a baby girl, abandoned in the desert to die. He found her, took her into His home, bestowed His riches on her and made her His queen and bride, (cf. Ezekiel ch. 16). In similar vein God chose Gideon -the least from the weakest of the tribes of Israel -to defeat their powerful enemy. David, a shepherd boy, not a powerful warrior, was chosen to slay the giant, Goliath. And Jesus selected a small group of fishermen to become the foundation stones of the New People of God, with the responsibility of spreading the Gospel throughout the world.

Jesus reached out to those who were in any way marginalized as social rejects. He had a special affection for those whom others dismissed as worthless. He mixed with lepers, who would have made Him ritually unclean. He made time to welcome those whom the self-important brushed aside -young children or the blind beggar, Bartimaeus. He drew attention to the generosity of a poor widow, who gave all that she had. Jesus held such despised people up as having the qualities required of a true disciple.

Above all, Jesus welcomed sinners, whom the self-righteous dismissed as worthless no-hopers. As He forgave them He welcomed them into a loving relationship with God. He gave them back their self respect, and removed their crushing burden of guilt. God's love and mercy gives even the greatest of sinners another chance. When they -we -have fallen, He gets us back onto our feet so that, with His help, we can move forward.

Not only does God rescue those who have been confined to the scrapheap of life. Through the power of His loving mercy they receive the dignity of becoming the children of God. They begin to share His divine life and happiness. And no matter how limited our powers, and however weak and frail we may be, God has a special role for each one of us to play. No one need feel useless or worthless.

By reflecting on my delight at the way other people's rejects can become treasures for Peter and me I've come to realize something of God's joy at rescuing those who have been cast onto the scrapheap. They have been restored as His beloved sons and daughters. If I'm to meet God I must share in His rescue operation, helping those who have become the flotsam of life to gain the dignity and respect of being the children of God. Above all, I must remember with eternal gratitude that it's not just other wretches whom God has salvaged from the scrapheap of life. It's you and me -the whole human race -which had become no-hopers, cut off from God through sin.

"Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people;

once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy."

(1 Peter 2. 10)

Isidore O.P.

Next week Fr. Peter will meet God as he reflects on 'Lead Kindly Light.'

THROUGH DINOSAURS AND OLD FOSSILS

2010-06-22T08:55:00.018+01:00

O.K -I'm not that old, even though I may be past my prime! In fact dinosaurs lived long ago and became extinct millions of years ago. So, I've never seen one. Nor am I likely to. But their remains have been fossilized and these are fascinating. If you've seen the film, 'Jurassic Park' you will know that some dinosaurs were enormous. The name 'dinosaur' means 'Powerful Lizard.' Some of them certainly lived up to that name and were shapely.. weird and wonderful!

I, like many others, am fascinated by dinosaurs, and with the other beasties which lived in that period. In fact I'm proud to say I have a fossil of a small ammonites, which lived about sixty millions years ago -long, long before people inhabited the earth. The fossilized remains of that small creature, resting on my mantle piece, take me back to the age of the dinosaur. That puts small-time me in perspective!

Suddenly these weird creatures of long ago became extinct. Scientists suggest that there must have been some cataclysmic event which wiped them out. Possibly a dramatic change in climate, perhaps caused by an enormous meteorite falling into the Gulf of Mexico, or an unusually large volcanic eruption. Whatever the cause, there was widespread extinction of many life forms. Even the most powerful of creatures were vulnerable to the immense forces of nature. We puny creatures wouldn't have stood a chance -if we'd been around in those days.

As I look at my ancient ammonite my mind reels at the thought that it lived so long ago. We human beings are a mere blip in the passage of time. We seem so insignificant in comparison with the age of the dinosaurs, which itself lasted millions of years. The Psalmist expresses my sense of wonder and awe, "What is man that you, (God), are mindful of him, that you care for him?" (Ps. 8. 4). And yet, and yet Almighty God has been mindful of us. He has made us in His own image and likeness. He has called us to share His own life and happiness. The Son of God has even become one of us -a human being. He has lived among us, has died for us and has risen from the grave for us. God did none of this for any of His other creatures -not even the magnificent dinosaurs.

I'm filled with a deep sense of wonder at what God has done for us people. The greatness of His love has raised us from the smallness of our creatureliness. God has indeed exalted the lowly and put down the mighty! In a Christmas sermon Pope Saint Leo the Great wrote,

"O Christian remember your dignity!"

-not something we deserve, but something freely given us by God, simply because He loves us and want us to share His very life, enjoying His company and happiness. If God can love and respect us so much we have no right to despise ourselves or anyone else.

And as I marvel at the dinosaurs I'm filled with wonder at the great variety in creation. Each animal or plant gives glory to God, simply by being itself. We people can reflect on God's creation and can speak. We should thank and praise Him for the wonder of His creatures, both the tiny and the huge ones. Each of them reflects something of His glory. And we people are the most amazing of all His creatures.

So, I thank God for the dinosaurs. Even though they became extinct long ago and I can never see them they can still lead me to God -without their knowing it. Just to think about tyrannosaurus rex makes me feel puny. I'm forced to wonder that God should even notice me. And yet I'm far more important to Him than the largest and most powerful of dinosaurs. My amazement grows as I reflect on the millions of years separating the dinosaurs and me. But if the dinosaurs cut me down to size, God's love lifts me up to share His eternal life and happiness. It is in this sense of wonder, inspired by the enormous dinosaurs and my small ammonite fossil, that I meet the God of glory.

A final thought -although I'm fascinated by dinosaurs I would be terrified if I ever met one!

Isidore O.P.

Next week Isidore will meet God in Scavenging.'

PAPILLON! PAPILLON!

2010-06-13T11:26:00.012+01:00

"Papillon! Papillon!"...."Butterfly! Butterfly!"

We all thought the world had gone mad when our quiet and seemingly respectable guest stepped out of his room, dressed in his hunting attire and equipment...fit for hunting what? Not foxes or elephants, but butterflies!!!

This all happened at our Dominican priory in Grenada...a charming place with flower garden and wasteland. This man, this zealot, this fanatic charged up slopes and through bushes, waving his net on a long pole, gleefully yelling, "Papillon! Papillon!" -"Butterfly! Butterfly!" as he swooped down triumphantly netting an exotic butterfly...not because he hated it, just the opposite.

He admired its beauty, its rarity and wanted to preserve it so that he could show it to others. This collector of butterflies surged forward, clambered and thrust himself with the enthusiasm of a committed collector. and, as with all true collectors, the hunting, acquiring or even the capturing are far more to be treasured than the possessing.

As a schoolboy I was an avid collector of stamps. The satisfaction came in swapping stamps with friends with all the haggling and bargaining this involved. There's nothing very clever in having enough money to buy what you fancy from the store that you are certain will have it in stock!

What a tale 'Monsieur Papillon' would have to tell when he proudly showed off to his friends and family the new acquisition to his collection from the glorious islands in the Caribbean. He might have had a thing to say about us Dominicans, as we quizzed him about his exploits in building up his collection! His butterflies would speak more eloquently about the kind of vacation he had had than any souvenir that a tourist could purchase from a road-side vendor.

And this brings me to my fascination at the way Jesus drew upon the symbolism we attach to things to enable Him, with masterful ingenuity, to wriggle out of a catch-question that had been put to Him. "Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar, or not?" "Should we pay," yes or no?" Pay to Caesar, the much resented imperial master of the Land God had given to His people.

Jesus asked for a coin to be given Him. No doubt someone in the crowd dipped his hand into his pocket or purse and brought out a collection of coins -just as I have to do when I'm paying my bus fare. He then asked them whose face was depicted there, and whose name? Caesar's of course! And everyone knew the significance of the name...that of the Roman Emperor. All were aware of the significance of the coin -paying taxes to the much loathed Roman Empire.

Every time these coins were used for the payment of taxes they carried a message..not simply conveying a piece of information about their commercial value...but a distasteful reminder of the humiliating situation of the people subjected to foreigners.

I love the way Jesus was able to put a spiritual, theological, and very pragmatic spin to the significance of this common coin. "Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God."

To me it is very, very interesting that in the early years of Christianity people were faulted for having statues and paintings of religious persons or events...faulted because they savoured of idolatry. Even in our own day there are those who make this accusation. According to this mentality these images are dead. They are meaningless. They are misleading. It's a waste of time to pay them any attention.

Nowadays, those who display religious images in public places are faulted because their images are alleged to be saying too much, conveying a weighty meaning that is offensive to some. I think of the unspoken eloquence of the crucifix or the crib, a picture of the Madonna. They bear witness to a faith that people cherish, and even die for...a faith that others abhor.

Monsieur Papillon, Butterfly Man, you crazy, beloved collector, you have brought me to appreciate what is so helpfully present to us in symbols. They point us towards mysteries too vast, too sacred for us to be able to grasp with our senses or express with words. You have been for me mywaygodsway of coming to some understanding of the present controversy between those who insist on displaying symbols of their religious convictions, while others resort to every means to prevent this.

Peter O.P.

Next week Dinosaurs and Old Fossils will help Fr. Isidore meet God.

A READY LISTENER

2010-06-07T10:56:00.012+01:00

Locked in their own world...Bouncer the Bunny and Tina the Teenager. This was at Spode Conference Centre in the Staffordshire countryside. There we had a group of teenagers, whom we were trying to help to prepare for 'life after school.' They were to think what it would mean for them to be young adult Christians.

In the field we had a pet rabbit, for which I'd built a hutch and run. People of every age loved him. And many of them would talk to him -nothing unusual about that. Most of us talk to our pets, and they often listen, without understanding what we are saying.

But on one occasion I noticed something special. A young girl was talking earnestly to Bouncer, the rabbit. Later she told me how much it had helped to off-load her problems onto the rabbit, which would listen attentively to her gentle voice. Not that she expected Bouncer to provide answers, but to be a good listener. She knew that she could trust the rabbit not to repeat anything she said, however shocking that might have been.

And long ago a fellow Dominican told me he had found it more helpful to talk to the cows in the field than to his student master! The problem was not a lack of trust, but of their being on different wave lengths. Any way, he wasn't looking for answers, but for a good, placid, non- judgemental listener -such as the cow.

There are times when all of us need someone on whom we can unload our troubles, and with whom we can let off steam. Hopefully we have a good friend, whose discretion we can trust. We need to be certain that the unguarded remark, which we all make, will go no further.

Sadly there's a long and sordid tradition of the betrayal of trust, epitomized by Judas. The tabloids thrive on those who are prepared to gain some one's trust and then 'kiss and tell' or usually, 'kiss and sell.' Entrapment and betrayal is the name of the game.

Obviously there are times when it's necessary to infiltrate criminal or terrorist gangs in order to prevent them from harming others. But there must be serious grounds for winning and then betraying such trust.

The Scriptures urge us to entrust our troubles to the Lord, since He cares for us, (cf. 1Peter 5. 7). He knows us through and through -better than we know ourselves -and yet He still loves us. There's absolutely nothing we can tell God that He doesn't already know. He is utterly discreet, and like Bouncer, the rabbit, won't betray the trust we place in Him.

Bouncer the Bunny and Tina the teenager have brought me to realize how much I need to meet God by trusting Him sufficiently to be absolutely honest with Him when I pray. I know He will never betray my trust. I also realize that I can never have an honest relationship with Him, if I'm suspicious, evasive and, therefore, dishonest with Him. I also realize that I am called to be like God, in sharing His trustworthiness -never betraying those who confide in me. If I were to do so, I would forfeit the right to expect anyone to trust me again.

Although most us of enjoy hearing gossip, we must realise that it's perpetrators are just as likely to talk maliciously behind our backs as they do behind other people's. If we had any sense we would never confide in such gossips, who would be sure to make our private lives public. Similarly no one would trust any of us if we had the reputation of being gossips. Most of us have probably been harmed by people we trusted gossiping about our faults and failings. And at times we have probably had loose tongues, which have caused us to be indiscreet.

But we mustn't become cynical and refuse to trust anyone, even if we have been hurt. After all Jesus was prepared to entrust the continuation of His mission to the very people who had deserted or disowned Him in His greatest need. Hopefully all of us have friends or relatives in whom we can confide without fear of betrayal. If so, they reflect the trustworthiness of God -and in it's own way, so did Bouncer.

I thank Tina, talking to a rabbit, for showing me how to meet God in total honesty and trust. And I'm grateful to Bouncer, the rabbit,for teaching me that other people need and expect me to be a good, trustworthy and discreet listener -just like God, or even a rabbit or cow!

Isidore O.P.

Next week Fr. Peter will reflect on meeting God through "Papillon! Papillon!"

THE ICING ON THE CAKE

2010-05-31T08:26:00.018+01:00

The church was packed for her funeral. She was a loving person, famed for the delicious cakes she made and sold at the supermarket. As for the icing on the wedding cakes, birthday cakes and cakes for every kind of celebration! The icing was imaginative, sometimes spectacular. When people praised and congratulated her for her wonderful cakes she simply told them that God had given her the gift.

No surprise, then, that an elegant iced cake should be carried to the altar, together with the other gifts at the Offertory Procession. This was the family's way of honouring God, the Giver of All Gifts, and of recognizing the beauty of a woman who had raised her family by using the skill her Creator had entrusted to her.

To me, the Celebrant at the Requiem Mass, this was all eminently suitable. As was the sacristan's insistence that the priest should take away the cake. Triumphant, bearing my funeral trophy on high, I entered the kitchen where my Dominican brethren were gathered. Immediately one of them, with an eye and a belly for cakes, seized a long-bladed kitchen knife and plunged it into the centre of the shimmering white surface.

Abruptly, he halted his downward thrust. The dagger-sharp point had met no resistance. The rest of us looked on, amazed and bewildered. The thwarted brother raised the feather-light cake and examined it closely. Nothing but a cardboard box, decorated with icing! A pseudo cake! A taunting cake! Such as would be on stage at a school play.

Man that he was, he howled with laughter at how he had been taken in. So did we all. Not least, myself! I, who had carried this gloriously deceptive delicacy, had never noticed how light-weight it was.

I could scarcely wait to tell the sacristan, who had dutifully, proudly, given me the cake. Not a smile from her. She was furious that anyone should have mocked and insulted the priest by presenting him with a cake -so to speak. As for God? Who would dare to present at the altar a box covered with icing instead of a genuine cake? In the Bible we hear plenty about what God thinks of those who offer Him inferior gifts.

Immediately the sacristan announced that she would tell the bereaved family that they must apologise to the priest and give him a decent cake. Perhaps he would then be placated and would forgive.

"Lord have mercy," I think to myself! The Almighty allowed all this to happen. Why? To teach us a lesson about where your heart is there is your treasure? Or to give a warning to those whose god is their belly? I would like to think that God had none of these lofty thoughts in mind.

As for myself, I admire God precisely because He is a joker, a teaser, who enjoys giving us a good laugh and is not above laughing Himself. Or perhaps God is more composed and only allows Himself a quiet chuckle. I find this a rather nice way of meeting God...mywaygodsway!

Peter O.P.

Next week Isidore will meet God in "Talking to a Rabbit"

IN OLD PEOPLE

2010-05-24T09:16:00.019+01:00

It's often so hard to make time to listen to old people. Our lives are so busy. But it can be very fascinating and very rewarding! It's also very important for them that we should take an interest in their past. Their memories reach far back to times which were very different from our own.

Take my mother, for instance. She lived to be 93 and experienced two world wars. As a child she saw a German zeppelin bombing Hull. She witnessed the development of electricity, radio, TV, computers, flights not only to the other side of the world, but also to the moon and beyond. Rapid developments in medicine have made it possible to cure many diseases. During her lifetime weapons became ever more destructive. Since 1945 we have all lived under the shadow of nuclear warfare.

It's difficult for young people to appreciate the enormous adjustments the elderly have had to make in such a rapidly changing world. Even Peter and I, who are in our late seventies, can remember the tractor replacing the carthorse on the farm.

The young have to take an enormous leap in their imaginations to realise that the elderly were themselves once young. They were strong and vigorous, and,this may come as a shock, passionate. I've found it difficult to imagine a frail old man having been a skillful footballer. or an elderly woman once working in a factory making Lancaster bombers.

In so-called primitive societies the aged are venerated as providing a link with their people's past -a past that has given them their identity, and has shaped not only their present, but also their future. I've found the same can be true in our Dominican communities. In one of our Study Houses there was a frail old priest who was a wonderful asset, even though he could do very little active apostolic work. But he was able to hand on to us young students the traditions of our Order and of our English Province. Such people have fascinating tales to tell of bygone ages, if only we are prepared to listen to them.

Now, numbering myself among the elderly, I know I can become a crashing bore if I constantly repeat the same old stories. But such memories are the repositories of our family and cultural histories. It's a tragedy that these personal recollections should be lost when the elderly die.

The Bible did not make that mistake. It sees remembrance of the past as a vital part in our relationship with God. Story-telling recounts an essential part in salvation history. This reminds us of what God has done for His people in the past. That is seen as pledge for what He would do in the future. This is expressed and celebrated in the liturgy.

Salvation history is enacted not only on the grand scale, but also in the lives of each one of us. As we listen to the aged we learn how God has helped them through the difficulties of a long life, and of the many ways He has blessed them.

And I have noticed that as they approach death, on the one hand they require more and more support from others, as their own strength diminishes; while, on the other hand, their personal needs become fewer and simpler. And their perspective on life often changes. While still recalling the past when they enjoyed the vigour of youth, they increasingly look to the future when they hope to enjoy the fullness of life with God in heaven. Increasingly their minds and hearts become set on the things of heaven. I can remember my mother saying, "I've had a long life. I'm ready to go. I hope God will take me soon."

Far from being morbid, she was expressing her longing to be with God, and to re-join Dad and our brother Geoff, in heaven. She, like so many others, had experienced God's love and mercy throughout her life. And they had tried to respond with love. For such people of faith death is not seen as a tragedy, but a joyful home-coming. Far reducing them to nothingness, they believe it's the gateway to the fullness of life. They are filled with hope, not despair.

This was brought home to me very powerfully when I had to tell my aged mother that her son, Geoff, had died unexpectedly of a heart attack. Her immediate reaction sprang from the faith which had sustained her throughout her life. That enabled her to draw comfort from the conviction that soon she would be re-united in God with Geoff and with dad, who had died long ago. Of course she grieved. Her tears were an expression of love for her son and for God, to whom she entrusted Geoff. Her grief was filled with a hope, which gave her a deep sense of peace. And instead of my comforting her, she reassured me.

I thank God for the old people I have met. Not only have they taught me the importance of recalling the past, during which God has shown them His mercy and support. Their faith, as they approached death, has inspired me to try to get my own life into perspective. They have reminded me of what is really important.

Now that I've joined their ranks and become old and grey-headed I hope I will be able to hand on to the younger generation the salvation history I have personally experienced. This has given me hope of an eternal future with God. I hope I can do this without becoming a crashing bore!

A final thought. I'm sure you've noticed how well the very young and the aged get on together. Maybe we need to become like little children if we are to span the generation gap and appreciate those who are very old. It is, of course, possible that I'm arguing for a greater appreciation of the aged, now that I've become one of them!

Isidore O.P.

Next week Fr Peter will reflect how we can meet God in Icing on the Cake

A SCARECROW...AS IT WERE

2010-05-15T09:34:00.009+01:00

"Empty your pockets, take off your shoes, remove your belt, now walk through the scanner. Sorry, there's still something there...making a pinging sound. Stretch out your arms. We'll try the manual scanner."

And this is where it gets difficult. With no belt to keep up my trousers with my arms outstretched like a scarecrow, somethings's got to give..my self confidence...my self esteem.. my trousers!

You've got it...I'm the tourist passing through 'Security' at the beginning of my vacation. At last the long awaited moment has arrived..after all the hassle of booking my flight, striving to strike the right balance between what I need to take away with me and the weight I'm allowed to carry without further expense. Most importantly, there's the visit to the bank to purchase foreign currency.

Indeed, I've felt like the tattered rags draping Scarecrow Peter. With a certain amount of trepidation I've survived the scrutiny at the ticket desk. All my documents were in order. Thank God for that! Big sigh of relief! Then, much humbled, I've cleared the last hurdle and am allowed to emerge from 'Security,' -more or less unscathed. Once again, 'Thank God!' Eventually I was able to enjoy the blissful serenity of simply relaxing, waiting in the Departure Lounge until summoned to go to the appropriate embarkation gate.

This is what we have come to in this day and age of much vaunted enlightenment and progress! 'And I said in my alarm, 'No man can be trusted..' These days no one trusts anyone any more. It's a sad state of affairs in which each and all are suspected of being possible terrorists, carrying some kind of explosive in the heel of his shoe or in the lining of his jacket...So help us, the most innocent looking guy or doll may have a heart encrusted with violent intentions.

What to do, but subject every single person to the most meticulous scrutiny? There's no point in getting worked up that modern-day scanners can reveal invisible unmentionables. Better for us all to have been exposed and to have been granted a fair chance of staying alive than for everyone to have been left alone and for none of us to have come through to be welcomed at 'Arrivals.'

After writing all this I feel disposed to compose a Novena for the Conversion of all Would-be Terrorists...God has no problem in replacing hearts of stone into hearts of flesh. In the meantime I meet God, mywaygodsway, through Psalms such as,

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High and abides in the shade of the Almighty says to the Lord: "My refuge, my stronghold, my God in Whom I trust!" (Ps. 91).

Better than this I cannot do!

Peter O.P.

Next week Isidore will meet God in old people

THROUGH A PAIR OF SANDALS

2010-05-10T08:57:00.006+01:00

Peter was home on leave from the W. Indies. On an exceptionally hot evening I decided to treat him to a meal. Peter, who was used to the much greater tropical heat, wore shoes and even a pullover. But not me. I wore a cool short-sleeved shirt, light weight trousers and had bare feet in sandals.

This seemed to us to be sensible attire. But not to the beefy bouncers barring our entrance into the restaurant. They were quite happy to admit Peter, but not me. My sandals were the problem. They were thought to lower the tone of the place! To them they suggested I was a trouble-maker! But eventually we were able to convince the bouncers that we elderly gentlemen were harmless, and that I would be safe, since I was accompanied by the respectable looking Peter.

When we entered the restaurant we noticed that all the patrons were dressed in casual, cool clothes appropriate to the hot evening. Many of the young women wore short skirts and sandals. Obviously no one had objected. As a man, that inequality of treatment about the sandals riled me. And the young waitress wore a casual T-shirt and jeans. Perfectly respectable, but not, I would have thought, such as to raise the sartorial tone of the restaurant.

So, why this prejudice against sandals, which has since extended to trainers...even in some pubs? Obviously it’s thought that certain kind of people wear sandals or trainers. And they are instinctively considered to be undesirable and perhaps even violent.

Peter and I have been able to laugh about this trivial example of prejudice, especially since the bouncers had relented and had allowed us into the restaurant where we had a delicious meal. What Peter and I had experienced was of little importance, especially since it was over and done with in an evening.

But what about those who are the victims of life-long prejudice, due to, say, the colour of their skin. They must feel permanently rejected, marginalized and deeply hurt?!?!

Our mild experience of prejudice made me realise how easily we can judge people by their appearance, accent or colour of skin. We may then lump them all together and dismiss them as undesirable, if not dangerous. But if we take the trouble to get to know them we find that we have so much in common and can get on well together. And the differences can enrich both our lives.

That was my experience when I was working at Spode Conference Centre many years ago. A group of young men and women asked if they could doss down on the floor for the night. They were marching to London to protest against the government about the lack of jobs. The young men in this group had the exotic brightly coloured Mohican hairstyle. I must admit they were not the kind of people with whom I’d had the chance to mix. Many would have kept clear of them –simply because they looked different and presumably dangerous. But I found them very pleasant and easy to talk to.

One of them told me that he’d chosen his exotic hairstyle so that people would notice him. He felt that being unemployed had led to his being treated as a non-person. That’s certainly true for the homeless people on our streets. We hasten past them without looking at them.

The prejudice about my sandals got me thinking about the prejudices against Jesus, which were much, much more serious. Those with whom he’d grown up simply accepted him as the ‘son of Joseph, the carpenter.’ They believed they knew all about his background. So when he started preaching they considered he was getting above himself. They wanted to cut him down to size –their size. These people were only comfortable with him as long as he remained like them. As soon as he proved to be different they resented him and wanted to throw him over a cliff top. Instead of being proud of the ‘local boy made good’ and encouraging him, their hostility forced him to preach elsewhere, to strangers who were not already blinded by prejudice. They would be more likely to be open to him.

The problem for Christ’s neighbours was that he didn’t fit in with the label they’d already stuck upon him. They thought that if they could put him in a pigeonhole he would be far more manageable. But Jesus refused to be manipulated. He was not going to satisfy the false expectations people would later have of him. He was determined to do the will of his heavenly Father, even if this led to his crucifixion because of people’s prejudices and their disillusionment that their false expectations had not been satisfied.

It’s strange how the prejudice against my wearing sandals has led me to realise that if I’m to meet God I must accept him on his own terms and allow him to be himself. It would be idolatry for me to try to force him into a mould of my own fashioning, or for me to want a God I can understand and control.

Those bouncers unwittingly did me a favour. They showed me the danger of prejudice, which in different ways excludes not only groups of people, but even God himself. If I’m to meet God I must allow him to be himself and must accept him on his own terms, not mine.

Isidore O.P.

Next week Peter will Meet God by Being Like a Scarecrow

HE DOES SEND

2010-05-04T08:37:00.011+01:00

A priest-friend of mine had excruciating toothache. A pious soul admonished him, "If you had faith you would be freed from pain." A number of replies come to mind...not all of them printable. But this was a holy priest. He answered that perhaps God thought it good for him to suffer an amount of pain...as penance for his own sins and those of the world.

And yet there are times when God does help us, heal us and shield us from misfortunes in ways that we don't understand. But for the most part, God takes care of us without there being supernatural apparitions or interventions.

It falls within God's beautiful plan for the world that He has created that my priest friend could take his toothache to one whom the Almighty Creator had given the ability to learn and apply the wisdom of dentistry. God had enabled him to acquire knowledge about pain-suppressors and antiseptics, which 'earth has given and human hands have made.'

The priest could have replied with a Caribbean saying,

When God can't come, He does send"

...by providing the local community with a dentist.

It is a beautiful thing that God has accorded to us human beings, made in His own image and likeness, the privilege of being stewards of His creation. Different people are to tend , develop, safeguard us and even deal with our toothaches.

To my mind, it isn't so much a case of, "When God can't come" nor, "When God doesn't want to come."..."He does send." This is no 'either or' situation. God either visibly comes to the rescue or else He sends His agent. It's like this...God is actively present in the person He sends. God loves people, guides them, protects and helps them through people like you and me. And we are helped in our times of distress by those whom God has sent to us. He has provided us with a beautiful support system!

And so I love the tune:

"People,

People who need people,

Are the luckiest people in the world."

What foolishness to regard being dependent upon others as a sign of being inadequate. What selfishness to consider that having people dependent upon us as an intrusion upon our freedom. There are people who extol themselves for being self-reliant, self-made, and sufficient unto themselves; and those who rejoice if they have no need of anyone. Perhaps they hope no one will make any demands on them.

Personally, I would find it a very lonely kind of existence for me to barricade myself from the caring interest others have for me. Shame on me if I were to cultivate indifference to those who are helpless! Certainly I am not attracted to a spirituality of not needing the companionship and loving support of others because we have God as our refuge and our strength. Nor do I subscribe to a piety of thanking God for a good meal, without my thanking mother, who went to all the trouble of cooking it!

Yes, we can say, "When God can't come He does send"...so long as we're not suggesting that God is sending us a substitute for Himself. No creature could fulfil that role. What we mean is that God is there channeling His healing power and love through the dentist dealing with our toothache, feeding us through mother's scrumptious meals, rescuing us through the life-saver hauling us out of the towering waves.

In this kind of world God wants me to reach out to people through my being 'there for them' in their anguish and pain. And when I find myself forlorn or forsaken I trust there will be those who are all of this for me. I love the idea that "When God cant come , He does send." So much richer than the arid secular approach of hoping people will conveniently 'turn up' in our moments of need!

Peter O.P.

Next week Isidore will reflect on Meeting God in a Pair of Sandals

WHEN INTERRUPTED

2010-04-19T09:38:00.010+01:00

Interruptions can be infuriating! I'm trying to compose a sermon. I need peace and quiet. No distractions. The phone rings. I have to answer the door. Or I may be sleeping after a busy day. But I'm brutally woken and have to give the sacraments to someone who is dying.

Of course I respond to these interruptions, but being human, I may mutter to myself and long for a bit of peace and quiet. You may react in the same way, if a crying child disturbs your sleep, or if a visitor comes while you are trying to cook a meal or do any other job, which demands your undivided attention. We quickly learn that although we may make plans, life is rarely as tidy and orderly as we would like.

It's reassuring to know the same was true for Jesus. After a busy day he would try to be alone to relax and pray. Like the rest of us, he needed a bit of peace and quiet. But people would hunt him down, demanding to be cured. And he generously responded to their need.

There's a story in the first three Gospels. It's about an official's young daughter. Mark tells us she was dying, Matthew that she was already dead. Her father, believing in Christ's power, begged Him to come and help his daughter. So Jesus set out for their home. But on the way He was interrupted by a woman, who had been sick for twelve years. She, too, needed Christ's help. Such was her faith that she believed that if she just touched the tassels on Christ's garments she would be cured. As He saw her need and recognised her faith He stopped, spoke to her and cured her. Only afterwards did He continue His journey and raise the dead little girl to life.

These interruptions in Christ's life have led me to re-think my reaction to interruptions in my own life. Instead of resenting them I should see them as God-sent -in truth a God-send. They provide unexpected opportunities for me to meet and serve Him in unplanned ways. It's fine and necessary for me to organize my life, but I must not be a slave to rigid and inflexible plans. I must be prepared to meet the God of surprises, wherever and however He may choose to show Himself and require my service. If I insist on sticking to my plans I will miss a new way of meeting God.

This was very true of Martha when Jesus visited her and Mary, her sister. They showed him their love and hospitality in different ways -Mary by staying with Jesus, Martha by preparing a meal for Him. We all how this can happen when we have an unexpected visitor. Some of us will entertain our guest, while others will prepare some refreshments.

But Martha had got her priorities wrong -she spent too much time in the kitchen, not enough with Jesus. After all, the main point of His visit was to be with His friends, not to have a splendid meal. But Martha was obviously annoyed with her sister, Mary. What's unpleasant about this incident is that Martha wanted to get Jesus involved in this domestic spat and expected Him to take her side. But gently, so gently, He let her know she's got it all wrong. He had a better solution.

Instead of interrupting His conversation with Mary, Martha should interrupt her over-elaborate preparations in the kitchen, and come and join them. After all, that's what Martha really wanted when she asked Mary to give her hand, and so enable her join Jesus more quickly. While she argued that many hands make light work Jesus thought that Martha was making her task unnecessarily heavy.

This story reminds me that I. too, must get my priorities right. I must interrupt my many activities and make time to relax with God and enjoy His company. If I don't my love for Him will grow cold. The same is true in my making time to be with my community and you with your families. I must also remember that interruptions to my planned activities can provide new and unexpected ways of meeting God.

Isidore O.P.

Next week Fr. Peter will Meet God ...'He does send!'