For peace comes dropping slow...

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;

And live alone in the bee-loud glade. 

And I shall have some peace there,

for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet's wings. 

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart's core.  - WB Yeats

'And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow'. With these words the best verse of my favourite poem begins. 

It is the beginning of the holidays, and peace does indeed come dropping slow. I lay worries and concerns aside, one by one. 

I went on holiday to the Aran Islands off the West Coast of Ireland. Twice. On the first occasion I went with my older sister and twin. The second time just with my twin. We walked the length and breadth of the island, that was all there was to do. That and look at the horizon, the cliffs and the sea, our legs dangling over the edges of drops measured in miles. I loved it there. Gemma and I staying in a tent with the cows, we listened to their lowing and chewing of the cud; there were crickets. One day we came across a clutch of kittens sleeping in the heather, they were beautiful. We imitated them and slept for hours each day, curled up the the heather under the sunny clouds. Aran remains to this day the most peaceful place I have ever been.

Soon I am going to move house, leave Oxford, the scene of many life changing adventures these past few years, and move on to territories new. And, whilst I dream of the house where I will have nine bean rows and a hive for the honey bee, a coup for the chickens, a cosy corner for the cat, a hearth rug for the dog and a view of the horizon for the children running free, my life has not reached that dream just yet. So in my new home, 'while I stand on roadway, or on the pavements grey', I will continue to hear peace, dropping slow, in the deep heart's core.

I am deeply grateful for the friendships I have made in Oxford, and the good times I have had in this beautiful city. I am happy to be moving on and accepting the unknown path that lays ahead. I am looking forward to new horizons, new adventures, a continued pilgrimage.

Preparing a meal

I go to the kitchen!

......

Loving Lord,

May You who nourishes and sustains all things, bless me as I prepare this meal.

Bless the ingredients I call to hand, and bless the hands of those who brought such gifts to me.

Grant to my soul Your peace and Your joy, and help me to feel the importance of my task.

May this meal be a reflection of Your love, and may it bring peace and joy to our table.

May it nourish, comfort and restore. 

Through it, may those I serve be blessed in body, mind and spirit.

Thank you.

Amen.

As part of my work I am often asked for prayers to suit different occasions. Today I was asked for a prayer for our school cooks. I couldn't find one, so this transpired. Perhaps some of you know prayers suited to those preparing meals. I was surprised one did not come immediately to hand. Do share if you know one. I'd love a little collection.

Education and Happiness

The Holy Trio

 It is that time of year again: the feast days of three saints that occupy pivotal importance to the lives of good friends of mine occur this week. Friends who have freely given their lives for what they believe in.

So, what do St. Dominic, St Madeleine Sophie and St. Philip have in common? The congregations they  have founded and inspired have markedly different and beautiful charisms. Born in the 12th, 16th and 18th Centuries, they are spread across history. What strikes me is that each of them are born, live and die with symbols of fire surrounding them.

The earliest sources recording St Dominic's arrival into the world are from Jordan of Saxony. His parents are not named, but his mother made pilgrimage to Silos in Spain and dreamt that a dog with a flaming torch in his mouth leapt from her womb and 'seemed to set the world on fire'. That is exactly what he went on to do with his life, example and preaching.

Madeleine Sophie is born on the night of the 12th December 1779 in the midst of a raging fire in Joigny, France. The terror of the blaze sent her mother into labour. She founded a congregation that battled for love in the midst of a France caught up in the hateful fires of the revolution.

St Philip Neri was born in Florence, but he died in Rome having experienced a Pentecost of his own. In 1544 he had a vision in which he saw globe of fire descend from heaven and penetrate his heart. He continued to live out his priestly life sensing the burning love of God within his heart. An examination after is death revealed that his heart was indeed abnormally large, so much so that it had forced two of his ribs apart to accommodate it.

Three saints, three visions and experiences of fire, three feasts after Pentecost. Perhaps the message here is passion. Each of these saints lived passionately, uncompromisingly dedicated to love. They were not afraid and we should not be afraid either. 

This weekend I am not sure what the weather will do, but I know what I will do. I am going to cook, walk, chat and be with those I love. And, for those I love I cannot be with, I am going to hold them in my heart. I am going to use my rest time from school to think about how to live in love through my work. I adore teaching and there are exciting syllabus developments ahead. This week my adorable Sixth Form bought me chocolates, champagne, flowers and a framed quote from Aristotle as they bid adieu before their examination leave. I shall be thinking of them, and their journey towards examinations and the future beyond. I will be praying that whatever they do in the future they will choose to do something they have a fiery passion for, and that they will do it with all the love they have. So far as I know that is the only way to spread the Gospel.

This might seem odd, but I am going to make a different take on burgers.....

Pork Burgers with Thyme and Mozzarella

Serves 3 - 4

4 Spring Onions (Scallions) 

2 Cloves Garlic

25g Butter

50g Cubed Pancetta

A good handful of Thyme

750g Minced Pork

The grated zest of a Lemon

One ball of Mozzarella

Finely chop the spring onions and cloves of garlic and fry them gently in the butter, allowing them to colour slightly. Add the pancetta. Strip the thyme leaves from their stalks, finely chop them and add them to the pan, letting the mixture cook a little. Leave the pan off the heat and cool for a while.

Mix the pork into the onions, add the grated lemon zest and season it generously with black pepper and a little salt. Cut the mozzarella into small cubes and stir these through the mixture. Shape into pork burgers about the size of a digestive biscuit and leave to settle for half an hour. Fry in a non-stick pan, browning on each side, and cooking through for 8 - 10 minutes.

Serve with fresh swiss chard, spinach or asparagus, sauteed new potatoes and your favourite mustard concoction. 

I am planning something beautiful for dessert. I think it might be based around lemon, but my flatmate might cook something beautiful with apricots. Oh, of course, I'll be testing the champagne and the chocolates!

Preventable Regret

I read a good article in The Guardian today. It reminded me of what it means to live fully as a human. We need each other. We only learn to be fully ourselves until we lean on each other and find out that loving friends, family, partners, husbands, wives means sharing our time, love and emotions day after day, night after night, week after week, year after year. It means being there. A thought struck me as I read through this article. It was this: 'These aren't only the regrets of the dying. They are the regrets of the living too'. We have to struggle to escape the trappings of the modern hustle and bustle, the drive to do 'what people expect' and the frustration of being 'too busy'. God help us all.

I copy some of the article below.

A palliative nurse has recorded the top five regrets of the dying. 

There was no mention of more sex or bungee jumps. 

1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

"This was the most common regret of all. When people realise that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made. Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it."

2. I wish I hadn't worked so hard.

"This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children's youth and their partner's companionship. Women also spoke of this regret, but as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence."

3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.

"Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result."

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

"Often they would not truly realise the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying."

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

"This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called 'comfort' of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content, when deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again."

Unexpected gentle breezes form rocks

Treasures can be found in the unpublished archives of Roger Deakin. He died, too young, in 2006, and a friend remembers him here. In his work, although I know not his religious views, I frequently find inspiration. He wrote Waterlog, and Wildwood, and Notes from a Walnut Tree. Each work is an intimate relationship with the natural world, with Creation and everything it can teach. The words below are an extract from a poem called 'Blue wind, Blue light'.

'A wind that's already slipped

in and out of several gardens

is churning the blue light of summer

waking sparrow, swift and starling

in my roof - 'Your roof is infested

with birds and mice'

said the chartered surveyor

with no trace of pleasure

at having made

such a discovery'

It reminds me of the quiet work of Pentecost: so dramatic in Acts of the Apostles, so quiet and unobtrusive in real life. The unappreciated awakening, the blue light of dawn, churning, new life and discovery. Demanding, welcome and unwelcome. I love the idea of a 'wind that has already slipped in an out of several gardens'. The Spirit has been moving for generations. There is never a new idea, only the inspiration to carry on, keep going, breathe life into living the Gospel. I also like the idea of being a bird or a mouse awoken to build new things, slowly and gradually, nibbling away with purpose, collecting, forming. The unexpected gentle breeze has, in my experience, formed the rock on which I stand. An onlooker, the chartered surveyor in this case, may well look askance. Sometimes I think myself the onlooker, whilst the Spirit nibbles and gnaws. I am the one who looks askance.

I haven't made anything remarkable lately. I have mostly been trying to see myself through the term, and enjoying students rejoice in their exam leave and the last days of a school career. Of course, I wish upon them the spirit of knowledge, wisdom, courage, understanding and right judgement. But, most of all I wish them the spirit of Wonder and Awe and Reverence: that they may be continually amazed by the life given to us, and they we all may appreciate it.

It is May and it is Spring! Hurrah! I have noticed that the Rosemary is in full bloom, and so this week I will make Rosemary potatoes. Ye Olde stories about these ingredients should demonstrate to you why. May is the month of Mary, as well as the Spirit of Pentecost. First the recipe:

Rosemary Oven Roasted Potatoes 

Peel and chop into little 1/2 inch cubes some fresh waxy potatoes and place them into a non stick oven dish. Drizzle them liberally with olive oil and season with sea salt and cracked black pepper. Grab a good sized handful of rosemary sprigs. Taking two or three of the sprigs, hold each one upright and run your forefinger and thumb down the central twig to release the leaves. Stir these into the potatoes and tuck the remaining whole sprigs into the dish strategically. Bake in the preheated oven for 45 minutes turning the little gems over frequently until they are golden. 

This is a great side dish, it is great at a barbeque, as an alternative to chips, as a snack served in paper cones....anytime really. 

Now, that story: 

Rosemary originated in the Mediterraean, but has now spread to most temperate climates. It holds the ancient Latin name lamiaceae, which means 'sea dew'. You may thing that this is because of the oceanic colour of its' flowers, and perhaps you are right, but there are more entertaining tales to be had about its' foliage. Rumour has it that during their flight into Egypt the Holy Family had cause to hide from some soldiers. Mary threw her cloak over a rosemary bush and knelt behind it with the child, Jesus. When she rose again, in safety, the flowers of the sweet smelling plant miraculously turned from white to blue in her honour. 

You might think that one miracle story would be enough for rosemary, but no. The plant is also said to bloom at midnight on Christmas eve (no I have never checked, don't spoil it). It apparently will only grow for 33 years, the age of Christ, and then will wither and die. 

Shakespeare's Ophelia famously says 'There's Rosemary, that is for remembrance", and indeed, it used to be common practice for mourners to throw rosemary onto the coffin from the graveside. Strangely, it has also been a traditional plant for the bride to have in her bouquet and is said to bring happiness to the couple. Often grown at the front of the house Rosemary has the reputation of being able to keep spirits, thieves and witches at bay. Medicinally it is a good cure for headaches and, the oil makes both excellent antiseptic and insect repellant. The smell is also said to inspire 'good' thoughts. 

In the spirit of Pentecost getting outdoors into the gentle breeze seems the thing to do, a time to admire the spirit brushing round nature in all it's glory. Sure, the rain might be falling, and it is certainly colder than it could be, but time outdoors is precious: too often we are cooped up indoors. The time has come to break free. 

Above all else, love.

Once again I approached the weekend exhausted from the challenges of an hectic week. On Friday, unusually, I had woken in a foul temper and found it hard to shake. Please God I did not allow my odd mood be seen by too many. Journeying home I began to look forward to a weekend with family and friends. I knew we would all be sleepy. The busy-ness in my life is not unique!

Gemma and Tracey arrived in good time for the three of us to catch the bus to the Ashmolean and meet my flatmate. There was an evening event to promote their new Chinese exhibition. At the heart of the museum a huge crowd gathered around the atrium and new staircase. There was to be a live re-enactment of The Scream by Edward Munch. Without warning a young artist standing in the midst of a buzzing huddle of curious by-standers began to scream. He was joined by his secret colleagues. It was an unsettling experience, and sent shivers down the spine. Screaming is an alarm call, we only use it in emergencies - it means something must be done, urgently. Screaming demands that action should be taken. I began to laugh. What action should be taken? The artist began to conduct. He wanted us all to scream. 'Why do we have to scream?', I asked.

I have since found my answer. There was an urgent action that needed to be taken. After a wonderful evening out Gemma and I brought our friend out to the country to meet with my parents at their home. We had a wonderful shared lunch prepared by my Ma, and sat and gently chatted about many things before we headed out for a walk in the woods. My Ma said we all had to hug a tree. 'Why do we have to do that?', I asked. But I did it. It took 5 of us to stretch around the trunk. I laughed, and was a little embarrassed. 'Ma! There are other people coming!'. I get my complete love of trees from my Ma. I love the way they feel, the way they smell, the dappled light they cast on the woodland ground.

Then, in the Gospel this morning, the urgency of 'The Scream' returned. Jesus' farewell discourse, his last words before his death. We take notice of the last words people utter, and rightly so. 'Love one another', Jesus says, 'By this love others will know that you are my disciples.' Christian love is demanding, of course, Jesus gives his life out of love and, if we are to love as he loved, we will give our lives too. All of a sudden I knew what the scream was about. Love one another. No one ever gave their life to their loved ones by being so sleep they 'couldn't be bothered'. No one ever gave their life to their loved ones by getting so stressed they 'didn't have time'. We give our love and our lives to others by being there, by sharing our energy, laughter, stories, tears, hugs, sorrows, joys. I was screaming at 'The Scream' because sometimes the world of work must stop, we need to step off the treadmill and give our everything to the people that matter. Nothing else  in the world matters so much. And, if that is not happening having a good scream and taking urgent action to remedy matters is vital. With that in mind I spent my Sunday appropriately and looked back over the weekend grateful for family, friends and all the people I love. 

Do you love me?

So, today is the Gospel where Peter is asked by Jesus three times, 'Do you love me?' It is always one of my favourite Gospels, especially when it is dovetailed with the fishing trip. Peter leaps from a boat 'wearing practically nothing', throws his cloak round him, and rushes to greet his friend, his Lord. I love Peter when he rushes about like this, impulsive, full of energy, bursting with emotion. 'Of course I love you'. Peter is hurt by being asked three times, but he is gently making up for having denied his love three times. This, to me, is the story of every relationship of love. It is about family, about friends and about God. It is how we are. We love people. We love them with all our hearts, we would jump from a little fishing boat into deep water and wade to the beach to greet them; we would make feasts for them; we laugh with them, we work for them; we cry for them. But, in all that, we sometimes still mess things about, upset the people we adore, betray them, let them down. In the end, it is our little declarations of love, spoken and unspoken that repair the damage we do.

Another thing. In Church today our Priest and Preacher reminded me of the story of The Fiddler on The Roof, a beautiful story of another family working through the love they have for each other.  The credit for this blog post belongs to that preacher and teacher: I have stolen it. So, in the Fiddler on the Roof three daughters spurn the idea of an arranged marriage and find partners who truly love them. All these partners, of course, are truly unsuitable in the light of their Father's eyes. Nevertheless, in living through the situation he asks his wife, Golde, the question on his mind, "Do you love me?" Her response is wonderful: you have indigestion; you are a fool! For all these years I have done so much for you, and now you ask, 'Do you love me?' Well, 'I suppose I do.'

Here's the thing. Love undeclared in words is spoken in action. She knows she loves her husband because of what she has given to him: a home, a family, food, comfort, a bed, company, companionship. Love has creeped up on them in its' most natural form: action. It needs no words, but given words, 'after 25 years, it's nice to know'.

Cooking for others is one of the many ways I show that I love those I love. Today we shared a most delicious Sunday Roast. I suppose I think that is what Sundays are for: cleaning the kitchen before Mass and coming home to cook a delicious meal, sharing that meal together and then relaxing through the afternoon. Family, friends and loved ones all coming together to share a meal and each others' company.

In school too, I can see this dynamic in play. Cheeky students sometimes ask, 'Do you love me?'. More often they might declare, in order to get out of trouble, 'But, you know you love me.' Teachers everywhere show the love they have for their students day in and day out, going the extra mile to stay with someone who needs help to grasp something, taking the time to laugh and play with their students, being there to listen to the trials and tribulations of growing up, preparing young adults for the task ahead of them: the life worth living, the life of love.

In conclusion, today I was grateful for this Gospel, and for The Fiddler on the Roof. Thank you to the priest and preacher who brought it to my attention, I plan on wilfully stealing and using it in school. And I hope, more than anything, I will always recognise  and thank the people that love me because I will always be grateful for the beautiful tasks they take on for me: teaching, preaching, feeding, clothing, loving, befriending, laughing with and laughing at, looking after, holding, supporting, praying, being. In return, I hope I will always take on and enjoy such work for them.

Regina Caeli

Easter Wordle

"just connect"

"friends corner"

"lovers made time"

"world beautiful place"

"seasons pass"

"loving laugh"

"adventure star chattered God"

What do you see?