Pre-Papal Visit Education

Gemma, my artistic twin, Facebooked (a verb!) me with her recommendation for my pre-papal visit education. Just passing it on! Birmingham Museum does Newman - be there or be square. Or perhaps, be there and just accept the fact that you are already square.

PS: This image of Newman is hung at the front of the University Chaplaincy chapel at Oxford University. It always makes me think that the Cardinal is very rude to take his mobile phone calls during mass!

A trip down memory lane

"The Father laughs at the Son and the Son at the Father, and the laughing brings forth pleasure, and the pleasure brings forth joy, and the joy brings forth love" - Meister Eckhart

I met a friend for lunch today. After a few minutes we discovered that we had a friend in common, someone neither of us had seen for years, but someone also we had both once been very good friends with, and, in different contexts learnt a lot from. I promised, for my part, I would go on a little search around Facebook and my email address list to try and track down the contact details of our mutual friend. Doing so has taken me on a little trip down memory lane.

Our friend is a priest, and a member of a religious congregation, the SSCC, which formed a most particular part in my remaining a Catholic. I say remaining because, like most cradle Catholics, the decision you get to make is to stay, rather than to become.

The SSCC ran the parish of Holy Cross Church, Bedford, when I, as a teenager, made my Confirmation. I am sure there was a choice about making Confirmation, but I don't remember it. It was what all my friends were doing and what was expected. But, during that process I made good friends with the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary and Perpetual Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament (SSCC), to give them their full title. In 1997, when I was 17 I would travel with them to Poitiers, where they were founded in 1800 by Pierre Coudrin and Henrietta Aymer de la Chevalrie. It was an international meeting of young people, designed I think to teach us about the history and spirituality of this religious community. Of course, we also went, en mass, to the visit of Pope John Paul II in Paris - World Youth Day. There are many many things I remember about this trip, and quite a few incriminating photos to boot - but you are only young once! Embarrassingly, I think I fainted at the front of a echoing french church, sending a domino effect clatter of chairs booming through the nave. I think I was also asked to shut up and go to bed on more than one occasion. Drink was certainly taken. But looking back, the whole process also did start a bit of a trend. In subsequent years I traveled to Jerez in Spain (by bus!); Zdroj in Poland (also, by bus!); Dublin, Ireland; Arnstein, Germany and Lindisfarne, UK (I fainted there too! How embarrassing!) . I slept in a lot of churches, painted a few church halls, made many friends and sometimes, only sometimes, got in a bit of trouble! (Waking up in a Sacristy doesn't put you on good terms with the PP, apparently - who knew?)

But, today looking through the photos, and being a bit older and more reflective in my old age, I can see it was the spirituality of the SSCC that had me hooked. They taught me a lot about love, acceptance and peace. I fostered a devotion to the Sacred Hearts and to the Eucharist through their work, and I never really lost it. They also taught me to take things easy, to carry burdens lightly and never to make the mistake of taking yourself too seriously. If that isn't part of their charism as it is recorded in the constitutions, it blooming should be! I have since lived and worked with other Catholic religious congregations, but the lightness of heart showed by the SSCC has stuck. As a teacher it has been invaluable! I even laughed at myself today when, picking up my old Bible, peeling back the serious leather cover, I saw the turquoise and purple tissue paper covered in SSCC stickers underneath. Looking down at myself I was wearing a purple cardigan, and a turquoise t-shirt. Although my Bible for some reason has become more serious and somber, I apparently, have not! So thanks SSCC for teaching me the one valuable lesson in spirituality I really treasure. The shortest sentence in the Bible is, Jesus wept. With you I learnt, Jesus laughed.

I want you to be happy

Recently some very good friends of mine have been ordained to the Priesthood and to the Diaconate. Back in the days when I used to have a salary I would have greeted each of these great occasions with gifts and cards, but now, being poor I have only my thoughts and prayers to go with people on their journey.

All the services I have been to have been beautiful and blessed; people, friends and family have shown their amazing generosity in pulling together an 'event', from the readings to the flowers, the outfits, the prayer cards, the music, the travel arrangements, the devotion, the laughs, the tears, the parties and the celebrations - all has been amazing. But for all these friends, five this year, and others from years gone by, my one prayer is for happiness. I do not know why, really. I guess ordained ministry strikes me as a challenge that when it strikes deep, can give great joy. But, no matter what your denomination, it is a hard way of life, often lonely and sometimes a bit frightening. Part of me thinks of it as life in the goldfish bowl - often you end up placed on a pedestal while everyone stares at you and makes sure you are doing okay by their standards. Are you gold and shiny enough? Are you on the right circuit? Have the right friends? Say the right things? I suppose this is the same in many other professions, but in ministry their seems to be no 'off' button. I only ever think that people should be doing alright with themselves and their maker, no one else is fit to judge - although many like to think they are.

So, for all my friends ordained this year, in the Church of England, the Lutheran Church and the Roman Catholic Church, I have special prayer: I want you to be happy. I hope that you will always know at least one person at whom you can shout, scream and swear about your frustrations with life, liberty and fruit of the loom. I would like you all to remain very good at laughing. I hope you have the tremendous faith in your work needed to make it inspirational for you and for others. I pray that you enjoy growing with, and learning from, the bunch of loons (I mean, congregation) you are sent to minister to; always try and see the good in people, even when they are really very annoying.

The Feast of Philip Neri has this summed up in the first reading, to many of you I sent it in a card, but for the record:

'I want you to be happy, always happy in the Lord, I repeat, what I want is your happiness. Let your tolerance be evident to everyone: the Lord is very near. There is no need to worry; but if there is anything you need, pray for it, asking God for it with prayer and thanksgiving, and that peace of God, which is much greater than we can understand, will guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus. Finally, brethren, fill your minds with everything that is true, everything that is noble, everything that is good and pure, everything that we love and honour, and everything that can be thought virtuous or worthy of praise...Then the peace of God will be with you.' (Phil 4: 4 - 9)

A new book for me

I can't review it here yet, because I am still too excited to have actually read the words that it contains. I shall wait awhile until I calm down and digest it. I think this particular tome, thin though it is, may even cause indigestion. It is, Nazareth or social chaos, by Vincent McNabb OP. Vincent McNabb OP is eulogized by many as being one of the most pioneering Distributivist thinkers of his time. He is also quite often recounted as a difficult character, difficult to live with and tempestuous. I think this is the case with many holy people. I cannot wait to enter a little of his world and he his way of looking, understanding and seeing the world that surrounded him. I'll let you know what I find. Books are dangerous things, you never know where you might end up. In the meantime, Godzdogz published, in April 2010, a celebration of Vincent McNabb OP's life in their series on priesthood, and it is worth a look.

In the name of you

Name - Carol Ann Duffy

When did your name
change from a proper noun
to a charm?

Its three vowels
like jewels
on the thread of my breath.

Its consonants
brushing my mouth
like a kiss.

I love your name.
I say it again and again
in this summer rain.

I see it,
discreet in the alphabet,
like a wish.

I pray it
into the night
till its letters are light.

I hear your name
rhyming, rhyming,
rhyming with everything.

School Day's over

A NOTE FROM FR. FOGARTY

So, found this the other day too and it made me giggle. It is dated 21st November 1912. My grandfather Ned was in trouble for poaching salmon in Tullow, Co. Carlow. For the record, a national schools monitor is responsible for sweeping floors and attending to the fires in the classrooms. It was my grandfather’s first job. He was 16 years old.

Edward Hutton is a monitor in the national schools here and I am glad to be in the position to say that he is a young fellow of exemplary character - and I am quite satisfied that the trouble into which he has become involved was not caused by malice or a tendency to violate the law, but by downright innocence and simplicity.

Tullow

21. XI. 12

Fr. Fogarty

Ned went on to train and qualify as a national school teacher, settling eventually in Rialto Boys School, Dublin, where he taught from 1922 until he retired in 1960. When he first went to Dublin in 1922 (not an uneventful year), he rented 10 Rutledge Terrace with his sister Peig and his mother, Kate. Sometime in 1925, a 16 year old girl was sent to Ned’s classroom by her mother to complain about her younger brother being chastised. Weeks later a complaint was made to the principle that one of his teachers was seen frequently waving from an upstairs window at a passing girl. Ned was moved to a classroom at the back of the school, but the romance continued. Ned and my Nana, Carmel, were married in 1931. 10 Rutledge Terrace is the house my father was brought up in. The Hutton family rented it for over 70 years.

NB. It is my Uncle Eamonn who tells me all these things, so thanks very much to him!

Footnote

In an essay entitled 'Solidarity, Justice and Power Sharing', by the controversial theologian John Boswell, I recently came across this footnote.

At the age of seventeen, I heard a young militant of the Catholic left in France describe his regular combination of reciting the Rosary with a 'see, judge, act' rubric orientated towards social justice and contre le capitalisme. It made a strong impression.

His foot note made a strong impression on me too. I never met an individual who described his faith like that, but I did meet many people who collectively have influenced my thinking by living in that way. Nowadays, 'see, judge, act' seems to be viewed with deep suspicion as a rallying cry for what is left of 'liberation theology' in the West. To my mind though, that rich and comfortable academics disregard the thinking of a theological and philosophical movement which denounces their abuse of resources comes as no surprise. It might not be fashionable, but this is one of the first things I have read since coming to Oxford that has reminded me of why I am here in the first place. I dislike pomp and circumstance. I find certainty disconcerting. But, searching for a way to help the voiceless speak a message to be heard by the powerful, that is worth my time. As for traditional pieties, I have a great affection for them - faith is what inspires my schemes. Rather conversely, the Rosary grounds my expectations, reminds me to walk more slowly, to take each day as it comes, and do, quite simply, what I am meant to be doing when I am meant to be doing it.

NB. If you really want to know why John Boswell was controversial it was because he was a.) Catholic, and b.) Gay, and he wrote about that a lot. If his writings on that topic are as insightful as his work on solidarity, I would recommend that they are worth reading, if only as an interlocutor. Sadly, however, this at present, is not my interest or field of work.

Pilgrimage withdrawal symptoms

It feels like an age since I last went on a good long pilgrimage. I just read about a friend who is setting off to walk the Via Francigena. That's Canterbury to Rome. It takes about 85 days if you do not stop. I am, admit it, very jealous. I would give anything to have the time, money and opportunity to pack my bag and hit the road.

I have made a nod to pilgrimage this year. I walked the Student Cross pilgrimage to Walsingham for Easter. There a several routes, or legs, which each approach Walsingham to meet on Good Friday. I was with Essex leg, and our journey was about 125 miles. For me this pilgrimage was a different type of experience to the Camino de Santiago because I traveled with a group. Also, we were carrying a life sized cross which was very heavy. The journey was marked by the pace of the group, sometimes this was faster than I liked, and sometimes this was slower than would have been ideal, but it was the group which mattered most. That was a learning experience for me, I have never walked like that before. On the camino I would meander along like a snail some days, and take off into the hills with an admirable pace on others, it all depended on my mood. Sometimes I would meander off the route altogether to go and take a look at something that distracted my attention. Learning to walk with others was quite a humbling, but rewarding experience. I loved being out all day, and I enjoyed the camaraderie of chit chat along the route. I loved to watch the different relationships between pilgrims unfold and develop as we went along, old friends catching up, new friendships forming. Sometimes there were tensions between people that needed to be resolved; sometimes people shared so much with another it was truly touching. But, I am not naturally gifted at walking with others. I spend too much time on the outside looking in, get distracted by my own rambling thoughts and retreat into the cavernous recesses of my mind.

I planned but did not go to Santiago de Compostela last year. I planned to go again this year, but again I will not go. This makes me sad. I have the freedom to just pack my bags and head off, but I do not have it. That is the worse thing about being your own boss and doing your own work. The responsibility to just get on with it leaves very few opportunities to take a month off for walking across Spain. And, I definitely do not have the money. Not that that should stop me, pilgrims have always been poor. So, I am left with the memories of pilgrimage to keep me happy. And what great memories they are. The best thing about pilgrimage is that it is a great leap into the unknown, and you do not know what is going to happen. Taking that leap is always completely life changing. To all that are brave enough to do it I give my utmost respect.

Bookish Smells (a reprise)

I found this from the old blog archive today, and went to check on the smells. They haven't changed to much actually. Dorothy Day, The Long Loneliness, smells of cigarette smoke. Herbert McCabe, Law, Love and Language, smells of wax.

I got a book I have been waiting a long time for today. It has been shipped especially from India for me. Whenever I buy new books the first thing I do is smell them. The time has long since past that I could afford to buy many books first hand, and so mostly I collect second hand publications in good condition. The best thing about these books, when they first arrive is their smell. Paper takes on the odour of its surroundings very quickly, and mixes it with a dusty, musty smell all of its own. Weirdly, I often organize my bookshelf by smell - musty on the left, dusty on the right, smells of persil in the middle, hippy shop that burnt incense at the top, was left out in the rain and then dried on radiator at the bottom. There is a special place on my bookshelf for Adam Bede (George Eliott), which was kept in the kitchen of a student flat full of heavy drinking, drug taking, under graduate smokers (all my friends), got Vimto spilled on it, was dried out in the microwave and then hung out the window in Aigburth, Liverpool on fireworks night. It has a unique smell of its own.

Anyway, the book I got today, Under Satan's Sun - Georges Bernanos, smells. There is an undertone of mothballs, which I haven't smelt since I was a child. Frankincense, possibly, and something much more chemical, like a newly opened jar of paint. I am not sure where it will go on the shelf. The Intimate Merton smells of a hot pavement in the city just after a summer storm. I 'liberated' Jesus the Liberator (Jon Sobrino) from school when I was 17, and it smells of classroom. Perhaps I should bring it back? Harry Potter y la piedra filosofal (J K Rowling), was the first book I bought in Salamanca, Spain and I walked around the city gardens with it for weeks trying to read in a language I hadn't learnt yet. It has crushed jasmine in it from my favourite walled hideaway courtyard in the shadow of the Cathedral. Tom Sawyer (Samuel Clemens) belonged to my dad, he got it for Christmas in 1948. It smells of wood, as though the paper still hankers after the branches it was cut from. I suppose paper refinement was different back then.

I guess the way you organise your bookshelf is personal. I read in The Guardian once about a woman who organised her books according to which books would 'get on' with each other. John Donne next to DH Lawrence because their conversations would be interesting. Leave Jane Austen away from Henry Fielding because he would bully her. For this the books have to be alive. I am sticking to my system, smells and size. I like the place to look neat, after all.

Theological Joke

WARNING: By definition theological jokes are not funny. This one comes to me by way of my good friend Angharad and her rather marvelous blog. I like it, but then again that is probably another sign of its definite unfunniness. No laughs here. None. :)

A man dies and goes to heaven. Of course, St. Peter meets him at the pearly gates. St. Peter says, "Here's how it works. You need 100 points to make it into heaven. You tell me all the good things you've done, and I give you a certain number of points for each item, depending on how good it was. When you reach 100 points, you get in."

"Okay," the man says, "I was married to the same woman for 50 years and never cheated on her, even in my heart."

"That's wonderful," says St. Peter, "that's worth three points!"

"Three points?" he says. "Well, I attended church all my life and supported its ministry with my tithe and service."

"Terrific!" says St. Peter, "that's certainly worth a point."

"One point? Golly. How about this: I started a soup kitchen in my city and worked in a shelter for homeless veterans."

"Fantastic, that's good for two more points," he says.

"TWO POINTS!!" the man cries, "At this rate the only way I get into heaven is by the grace of God!"

"Come on in!"St Peter replies with a grin.