TIN-CAN GLORY

I’ve spent almost the whole of my priestly life working in the Caribbean islands of Grenada and Barbados. That’s over fifty years. I know what it’s like to labour in the heat of the day. My heart goes out to that little girl who asked of her mother why they always had to have a tired priest for their Sunday Mass. Hers would have been my third celebration of the morning – each one being in a different place; each one being a gorgeous act of worship lasting well over an hour.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. Mine has been a very contented priesthood, sprinkled with the sweet and the sour, the smooth and the rough. Taking a rest after my Sunday lunch has made it possible for me, from a temperate climate, to cope with the tropical heat and humidity, as well as with the heavy work-load.

Life was never meant to be as easy as we would like it to be! Time was when I was pastor of a parish with the church and presbytery right in the heart of the town.   There was this darling toddler who would bottle up his noisy energy throughout the week and then release it on Sunday afternoons as he paraded up and down the street that passed just under my room. He’d got hold of a large dried-milk tin and, in a state of sublime ecstasy, was pounding the very life out it with a stick.

Perhaps he’d been captivated by the melodious sounds stroked out of the steel pans of the  West Indies. Could be this little fellow aspired to belonging to the police band when he grew up. One thing I do know for sure is that drums belong to the culture of the West Indies. Many a secondary school has its drum corps which leads the ‘March Past’ of the competing Houses at the annual sports.   Even the infant schools have to find some drummers to ‘ beat the beat’ as they proudly  ‘march the march’ at their own sports.

My head throbbed with weary pain as this drummer- boy adorned the Day of the Lord with tin-can glory! Grudgingly I groped towards the window to see what was going on.  There, before my sleepy eyes, was a child radiant with joy as admiring folk clapped their hands to his beat. If I’d intervened I would probably have lost next Sunday’s congregation (as well as the collection).

All this happened many years ago but it surfaced in my memory as I listened to the readings of the Mass of the day. Sorry but it’s true …irreverently, uninvited, this Blog sprang into being as I heard of St. Paul carrying on about booming  gongs and tinkling cymbals. Perhaps his siesta had been disturbed by a lusty drum-beater or tin-can- basher. Any way he was one who in irritation considered that those who speak without love had much in common with the gongs and cymbals that emit a hollow, empty noise! ( see I Cor. 13) I’m sure he would have added tin-cans to his list of offenders.

Now I must watch myself. I find myself rushing in a direction that is totally unacceptable to me.  I would never have wanted to chide the little boy for being so noisily naughty. (Or should it be ‘naughtily noisy?’) There was never a grain of malice in his little heart.  That Sunday afternoon he was a source of laughter and happiness to his admiring audience.

His spectators were in step with his exuberance. I, the sleepy priest, was probably the only one in town who was out of step with his beat!

Now, what about this for a happy liturgical coincidence? In the Gospel of that same day Jesus spoke of  those grumbling discontents who were like, ‘ children shouting to one another while they sit in the market place: We played the pipes for you, and you wouldn't dance; we sang dirges, and you wouldn't cry,’(Lk.7).

I feel that this memory, brought to the surface during the Mass itself, was godsway of telling me I will never be happy, and I will never deserve to be happy, if I insist on people accommodating themselves to my convenience. Once I allow other people  (such as this little boy) to have ‘their moments’ I shall find inner peace- even though it may be amidst some tribulation –such as the loss of a much desired, greatly needed, siesta!

TUNING IN

A few years ago I had to start using a hearing aid.  I was told that it would take a few months for my brain to filter out the background noise.  That certainly proved to be very true!   At first the birds were deafening.  But after a time I hardly noticed them, unless I deliberately wanted to tune into them.

This reminded me of my first going to the W. Indies.  There, in the evening, lots of tiny tree frogs, smaller than a finger nail, would whistle so loudly that I could hardly think.  I don’t know whether it was my imagination, but they seemed to make much more noise after a down-pour of rain.  But, as with my hearing aid, after a time my brain-filter worked so well that I didn’t notice the little frogs singing their hearts out.

But after I’d returned to England Peter sent me a recording of an evening Mass in Barbados.  Since the recorder lacked a sound-filter the chorus of frogs drowned out the beautiful singing of the choir.  At least I’m told it was beautiful, but I must take that on trust, since the frogs didn’t allow me to hear it!

This got me thinking about the way the background or surrounding noise in our lives can easily drown out the voice of the Lord.  It’s not only that today we seem uncomfortable with silence, but life is so hectic.  We don’t have time to stop, to listen, to notice. As the poet, W.H. Davies wrote, “What is this life so full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.”  In our hectic, noisy rush we can miss so much that is good and beautiful.  Because it is priceless it is dismissed as worthless –a waste of time.

This can be very true of God. In the Book of Revelation the risen Lord says, “Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me,” (Rev.3.20).  Jesus wants to enter and share our lives, but He won’t force Himself up us.  So he knocks and waits for us to open up to Him and let Him in. That word, “listen” is vital.  He respects us too much to force Himself upon us, when He’s not wanted. So He knocks and waits. But if there’s too much background noise in our lives we won’t even hear His knock and He will remain outside.

But perhaps, horror of horrors, that’s what we really want!  We fear that what He has to say will be uncomfortable and demanding.  So we turn up the volume, smother the sound of His knock and try to get on with our lives without Him.   And yet to stifle the Word of God would be the worst thing we could ever do to ourselves.  That would mean that we had deliberately broken off communication between us and God!   Amos makes the dire prediction,  “The time is surely coming, says the Lord God, when I will send a famine on the land; not a famine of bread, or a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the Lord,” (Amos 8.11).  Starvation of the Word of God means spiritual death!  For as St. Peter said, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life” (Jn. 6. 68).  Life would be meaningless without Jesus nourishing us with His loving word.

The whistling frogs have taught me that if I am to meet God I must not allow the clamour around me to deafen me to the voice of God, sometimes speaking with a soft, gentle voice.  When I really want to concentrate I may need to switch off my hearing aid and close my windows so that I can shut out all distracting bird songs, or in the W. Indies, whistling frogs. Switching to the image of a radio, I need to tune into the “God Station” if I’m to hear His voice loud and clear, and tune out of other stations that are enjoyable but distracting.  Then, hopefully, I will heed the Psalmist, “O that today you would listen to His voice!  Do not harden your hearts,” (Ps. 95. 7-8).   And, hopefully, with the young Samuel I will always reply, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” (1 Sam. 3. 9).

Isidore Clarke O.P. 

P.S. Peter has just told me that recently one of these tiny whistling frogs hopped into his glass of rum.  Had it evolved with a taste for the golden nectar?  If Peter had swallowed it, he would have had a frog in his throat and would have whistled whenever he spoke. That would have made for unusual sermons!

The next posting will on 21st September when Isidore will reflect on Meeting God in his 'Babel Moment.'

GOD'S FOOLS

Some forty years ago an angry young lady attacked me with the words, “You hate women!” She’d just learnt that I belonged to a Religious Order –the Dominicans. To her my vows meant that I rejected all women.  She felt personally insulted.  Not that she had any designs on me –a complete stranger.  But my way of life was alien and offensive to her.  It seemed unnatural.  In her eyes I was a fool for throwing away my life. She certainly was not alone in what she thought about us members of Religious Orders.

This incident made me realize how awful it must be for many of you, when even your family and friends think you’re out of your mind, mad  -just because you’re following your deepest convictions and they can’t go along with you. It’s not because your ‘pushing religion’ on anyone. Simply, you’re different and that makes them feel uncomfortable.

Out of the goodness of their hearts they want to ‘liberate’ you from your religious hang-ups.  Then you would be able to enjoy the same freedom as them –with no clergyman telling you what you should  do, and, especially, should not do.

They urge you to break free and start living.  With their every jibe and criticism those who should be supporting you threaten to undermine your commitment to following Christ. They have a drip, drip, drip effect which can gradually erode your confidence.  If that’s the way you’re treated you will feel isolated and lonely. In dark moments you wonder, “Perhaps they are right.  Perhaps you are the crazy one.”

These reflections have been brought home to me by friends telling me what an uphill battle it was, trying practise their faith. They had so much discouragement; so little support. People were so negative about their Christian way of life.

But I’m fortunate. Unlike many committed lay Christians, I do have the support of belonging to a community, with all its members sharing the same ideals. That, of course, is one of the many reasons why I joined the Dominicans.  And it does strengthen our resolve when like-minded people come together to pray –say, for Sunday Mass or a pilgrimage.  Then we realize many sane people are prepared to be God’s fools –and do so publically. We’re not alone!

In fact Mark’s Gospel (3. 20-21) tells us Jesus’ relatives thought He was mad.  We Christians are in good –no, the best company! The incident happened when such a large crowd had gathered around Christ’s home that His relatives couldn’t get in to have a meal.   That was too much for them!  Thinking He was crazy, they decided to take Him in hand –to teach Him some common sense!  Jesus, they thought, lacked the practical wisdom and sense they possessed.  They must put Him right –before He harmed Himself and other people.

From a worldly point of view they were right.  After all, Jesus had given up the carpenter’s business, which He would have inherited from Joseph.  He had embarked on the life of a wandering preacher, with no visible means of support.  He’d persuaded fishermen to abandon the security of their jobs and follow Him, a starry-eyed stranger  -God alone knew where he would take them!  

As for the company He kept, Jesus was most unwise. He dined with tax collectors and sinners. Really, He should have known better!  People would talk; they were talking. They would identify Him with the kind of company He kept.

Worse still, Jesus was antagonising the religious authorities by His teaching. He had a cavalier approach to the observance of the Sabbath.  He was making dangerous enemies. They would eventually plot against Him and kill Him. 

Peter foresaw that danger.  So he thought it prudent to give Jesus a friendly warning not to go to Jerusalem. Peter, too, thought Jesus was irresponsible; He was taking unnecessary, foolish risks. But far from welcoming Peter’s friendly advice Jesus rebuked him with the harshest words in the Gospels, “Get behind me Satan! For you are not on the side of God, but of man.”  Why? Peter’s misguided concern for Christ’s safety transformed him from being the most loyal of his followers to his becoming the ‘enemy within’ –Peter was no longer a support. Now he’d become an enemy; now he threatened Christ’s resolve to save the world through His death on the cross.

God’s ways of thinking and acting are certainly very difference from ours!       In his 1^st Letter to the Corinthians St. Paul tells us there’s a divine wisdom, defying human common sense, which transcends our way of thinking. To us God’s way of thinking and acting seems crazy, if not mad.  And that’s what Christ’s relatives thought when they tried to bring Him to His senses.   That’s what Peter thought when he tried to prevent Jesus from going to Jerusalem and the cross.     

And we Christians must expect people to think we are mad in following Jesus, when He challenges, secular values, secular ways of thinking and acting. Then we should remember Paul’s reassuring words, ‘For God's foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God's weakness is stronger than human strength,’  [1 Cor. 1:25].

My way of meeting God must mean my embracing the craziness of divine love.  I must be prepared to be mocked as God’s fool, rather than being praised for being worldly-wise! 

Isidore O.P. 

On 7th September Isidore will reflect on Meeting God by 'Tuning In.'

 

PASSING IT ON

They could have saved a lot of time, money and energy. All they needed was some dry twigs and a box of matches.. At the Olympic Stadium in London it would have taken just a few moments to get the Olympic Torch burning.
Instead, what did we have? A long journey over thousands of miles, by land and air.  Countless people – young and old, strong and frail – ordinary folk and celebrities – took their turn in passing the Torch from one to another. This Torch was carried to and through every country that took part in the games. Why? Why? Why?
Because of the marvel and the magic of a symbolism that spoke to the heart of sentiments too deep for mere words; a symbolism that resonated with people of so many different languages and dialects.
The journey of our Torch started in Greece – the birthplace of the original Olympic Games, way back over two thousand years ago. In this way the athletes of our Games were being bonded with the athletes of antiquity. Wistfully I wondered if we could learn anything from that ancient custom of having an interlude of peace so that neighbouring states that  were always  fighting each other could be free to engage in peaceful athletic competition.
Amidst laughter and cheers millions of the road-side people and the TV viewers have followed our Torch travelling towards its Olympic destiny. Surely some would have caught a glimpse of the decency of the global family and felt the possibility, of a better, more loving, more peaceful world.  Indeed, this has been a relay of the living, flickering flame being passed on and on…joy, love, respect, admiration on the move, cheering the lives of so many.
With all these thoughts jostling in my mind I recall how Jesus loved to describe Himself and then ourselves, in imitation of Him, in these glowing terms,
‘I am the light of the world,’ (Jn.8.12). ,You are the light of the world,’(Mtt.5.14).’Your light must shine in people's sight, so that, seeing your good works, they may give praise to your Father in heaven,’  (Mtt. 5.16)
In its Easter Vigil liturgy the Church captures this drama of passing on a living flame from one person to another. In the darkness of the night, the faithful are gathered in a circle around a fire that has been lighted at the door of the church. Their faces are aglow with excited anticipation. The fire is blessed; the Priest, holding a small candle  hand, takes a flame from the fire, and with this lights the large Paschal Candle. This massive candle represents Jesus the glorious, risen Lord…the Light of the World!
From that moment the ‘Christ-Candle’ becomes the source of light that, gradually,  banishes the darkness within the church. On three occasions ‘The Light of Christ,’ is boldly chanted as this candle is carried down the aisle. With full hearts the congregation replies, ‘Thanks be to God.’
In the church light from Paschal candle is passed from one person to another, till whole congregation has received and passed on the Light of Christ. Surely this can be described a enlightened, Holy Communion!
The Olympic Torch traveling from Greece to London reminds me of the Torch of Faith which has travelled the journey through time from the original Pentecost down to us. Just as the brightness of the Olympic Torch rippling throughout the world has brightened our lives, so now our Faith must so ripple that those around us catch something of its radiance.
It occurs to me that since charity begins at home, then sharing the Light of Faith must surely  originate within the family when the newly born infant is brought to the church to be baptized…to be bonded to Christ our Light and through Him to be bonded to His Church.

A few moments after the infant has been baptized parents and godparents are made aware that they have received an immense  privilege. They have brought with them a small candle. One of  them lights it from the flame of the Paschal Candle. They hear the  words, ‘Receive the Light of Christ,’ and the reply, ‘Thanks be to God.’

With the words that follow it is made clear to them that this privilege entails enormous responsibilities, ‘This light is entrusted to you to be kept burning brightly. This child of yours has been enlightened by Christ. He (she) is to walk always as a child of the light.’

 The Olympic Torch as pointed me to the Torch which is the Paschal Candle and this to baptism candle. This is mywaygodsway of my coming to realize that beautiful ideals must travel, must radiate, must be shared and must be passed on.

Peter Clarke, OP

On 24th August Isidore will reflect on how 'God's Fools' meet God

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.'