Masses Today

6.30: Della Mannion, (Anniv)
11.00 Jeanne Byrne, (Month's Mind)
12.15 Paddy Kelly, (Anniv)
6.30 Frank Duggan, (Anniv)

AS I WAS SAYING...

The Church retires to the desert on Wednesday next. The ashes will mark our mortality. It's an opportunity to look closely at how we go about things, our personal lives, family life, and life in the Church itself. A trivial but telling incident of the week gone by comes to mind. To me, it says a lot.

The Feast of St. Blaise is celebrated on February 3rd. We received many queries concerning the obligatory omission of the traditional 'Blessing of the Throats' here on Sunday last. A clear explanation failed miserably to satisfy some anxious souls (With the exception of a National Patron, should a saint's feast day fall on a Sunday, the Sunday Liturgy will always supersede that of the Saint): "What's the next thing to go?", a few asked, with not a little anger. (Anger and piety is an amusing if explosive cocktail, I long ago learned. And it is not an unusual convergence at all, for whatever reason).

In the 'League of Saints', Blaise is a very minor player. For example, the Catholic Encyclopaedia is decidedly non-committal regarding his very existence! "All the particulars we have concerning his life and martyrdom are purely legendary and have no claim to historical worth." Strictly speaking, according to the official Calendar of the Church, he doesn't merit a feast day at all in the proper sense. His feast is 'optional'.

So how did so many people 'get into a flap' because the 'Blessing' of this legendary figure was not possible this year? Something has gone seriously wrong with the manner in which we have communicated the teachings of Christ. The 'Blessing of the Throats' packs the Churches annually, while the Easter Vigil -the singularly most important act of the Liturgical year- scarcely musters a quorum! The Easter Vigil immerses us forcefully in the human drama of birth and death, before elevating us triumphantly with the liberating news of Christ's resurrection. Sadly, there are very few there to absorb the 'trembling mystery'.

We have deserted the central nourishing Liturgical pastures to feed on the thin fare available at the superstitious margins. The scriptures have not been opened to us in any authentic way, and the Bread is often broken too quickly and too casually. The mess and the mystery that is sex and birth, that is life and death, will be afforded little illumination by such fleeting exposures to the saving mystery. Our language is so revealing: 'getting Mass' is common currency.

A former class-mate wrote recently: "I rather marvel at how many can accept the lumpy version that passes for faith. We priests are dangerous people to be let out with too many dreadful certainties. I believe Christ came to scuttle certainties and to reclaim both the untidiness of humanity and the mystery of God in the world of life and people."

Authentic worship leads us into the heart of the mystery of life and death. That pilgrimage will be, at various times, joyful, exciting and sometimes heartbreaking. But, if we travel well, if we embrace life fully, the journey will never be dull. If, however, we seek out shortcuts, or turn our faces towards the periphery, if we seek out what the great theologian and martyr of the 20th century, Dietrich Bonheoffer called 'cheap grace', we are walking away from life itself. Sadly, such shortcuts are often undertaken in the name of religion. This is where superfiial piety and solid spirituality go their separate ways. Superstition beckons us seductively towards the margins. Resist its charm.

-Dick Lyng.

EVENTS THIS WEEK

A STRANGE WORLD

If we could shrink the earth's population to a village of precisely 100 people, with all the existing human ratios remaining the same, it would look something like the following: It's a strange world indeed!

DRINKING TO ABSENT FRIENDS

In Italy, the most commonly sent text message over Christmas was a spoof on a famous drinks advertisement. "Christmas festivities in the Vatican have been cancelled due to the absence of Cardinal Martini," the message ran. "The Pope declared: 'No Martini? No Party!'"
-The Tablet, January 26, 2002.

LOCAL POET

Patrick Carton got his first outing as a poet (see below) in this humble organ on July 11th, 1999. On Thursday evening next, a collection of his work entitled, 'Now You're Talking' will be launched in Charlie Byrne's shop by Tom Duddy. He is a performance artist, and is well worth a visit.

ON KICKING THE WALL IN SALTHILL

I wonder why they kick the wall in Salthill
are they trying to get the tap to talk
when they turn their walk
and parade back down the promenade?
I sometimes think its sad to see them
beating the bounds so boldly
with their boots -
I could be in cahoots
with a bold babe from Brighton
we could steal out to Rosaveal on Sunday
and sell sea shells for sport
we could go to Gort or cavort in Clifden
and be beating out to Bearna on the bus -
I curse the clock and take stock of the situation
I strike the shine off a number nine
and lump back down to Leisureland,
laughing loudly in my loneliness.

© -Patrick Carton.

A WORD OF GRATITUDE

Dear parishioners,

First of all congratulations on the brilliant idea of the Christmas 'Giving Tree' in the Church. The imagination is still sparkling down there! The £300 gift from it at Christmas was very welcome here at the Centre, 4 St. Augustine Street. It is being put to good use already. Because, since yesterday, we have started an alternative Therapy service for our young people. Yoga mats and towels have been purchased. Moreover, the money you donated has ensured that we are in a position to employ a teacher. We are very happy to be able to offer these services to the struggling young people we are dealing with. We are so grateful to you for your significant contribution because, without it, our venture here would not have been possible.

I wish you all continued success, enthusiasm and good health for 2002. Keep up the great work. What has happened in your parish over the last few years is truly marvellous and a great credit to a wonderful team.

Signed:Yvonne and the staff of No. 4.

GRANDMA ( A poem for Valentine's Day)

Grandma
(All-England Cartwheeling
Champion 1944-49)
thought romance was dead

Until she met Grandpa
(a somersaulter of note)
at a Rotary Club dance
and fell heels over head.

Once wed
they backflipped
down the aisle
in breathtaking style

Then cartwheeled like clockwork
throughout the day
to spend their honeymoon
unwinding in Morecambe Bay.

-From 'Sporting Relations,' by Roger McGough.




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