CATCHER IN THE SKY

What a wonderful Christmas treat! Dad used to delight in taking us lads to the circus!  He shared our excitement. There we would laugh at the crazy antics of the clowns, with their ridiculous make-up, and dressed in their baggy trousers and enormous shoes.  We would marvel at the elegance of the horse-riding acrobats and the skill of the jugglers.  In those days there were performing animals; nervously we would admire the courage of the lion tamers.

Thrill after thrill, building up to the climax -the trapeze artists. To the roll of drums a couple of swings and adjacent rope- ladders would be lowered from way up high, from the peak of the big-top tent. Up one ladder would climb a handsome, muscular young man; up the other a beautiful young lady. Gradually they started to move the swings on which they sat backwards and forwards, faster and faster. Then suddenly the young lady leapt from her swing towards the young man.  As she flew through the air he reached out and grabbed her by her outstretched arms.  What perfect timing for catcher and caught; what wonderful trust the flying lady showed him! One mistake and she would have crashed to the ground.  We were excited, we were anxious; we were relieved.  The applause was deafening when the couple safely descended to the ground!

Fast forward many years, to my life as a Dominican.  We get people joining us from every walk of life. One of our brothers used to work in the circus and reached the top of his profession –literally.  In fact he was catcher in a trapeze act which performed at the London Palladium. You can’t get any higher than that!   Not surprisingly, he was immensely strong.  Even so, he was a very gentle person.

Recently a reproduction of a painting by Seiger Kodor reminded me of my childhood visits to the circus and my trapeze artist Dominican brother.  The painting had nothing to do with circuses.  Instead, it depicted St. Peter sinking beneath the storm-tossed waves after Jesus had invited him to walk across the water.  As long as Peter trusted Jesus he was able to do what was humanly impossible.  But St. Matthew’s Gospel tells us, “…when he, Peter, noticed the strong wind,^* he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him,” (Matt 14. 30-31).  

While the background of Kodor’s painting of this Gospel incident shows some of the terrified disciples in their storm tossed-boat, in the foreground a hand stretches down to clasp Peter’s hand, reaching out from the turbulent seas. As they held onto each other’s hands Peter was saved. So, too, was the trapeze-lady as she and her catcher grasped each other’s wrists, preventing her crashing to her destruction.

For me that clasping of hands sums up God’s whole work of salvation.  Like Jesus in this episode, God has heard us sinners cry for help, when we fear the burden of guilt is dragging us down to our destruction.  But then the Psalmist reassures us, “He, the Lord, reached down from on high, he took me; he drew me out of the mighty waters,” ( Ps. 18.16).

Peter needed to recognize that he couldn’t cope alone; by himself he would certainly have sunk and perished. He needed to cry to Jesus for help, to trust Christ could help him and wanted to save him.  So, too, in the trapeze act, as the young lady sprang from her swing and flew through the air, she needed absolute trust in the catcher and belief in his strength, his skill and his good will.  If he’d ignored her or his grip had slipped she would have had a dreadful fall.

I’m sure God wants me to be like the trapeze artist, who had the courage to leap from her security -her swing.  God wants me to share her trust that God, like the catcher, will not let me down. From the trapeze artists and from Jesus saving Peter from the waves He wants me to realize that salvation lies in our reaching out to each other and grasping each other…God reaching out to me and me to God. That is the only way we can meet God. I must confidently cling onto Him as He stretches out to save me. Certainly I will never meet Him, if, like Peter, I try to go it alone, without God’s help. Or if, like a foolish trapeze artist, I think I can fly through the air with no one there to catch and save me.

Isidore Clarke O.P.

MEETING GOD THROUGH A TICKLER

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

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 !

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

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

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

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"