Parish Newsletter

Masses Today

12.00: John O'Connor; (Anniv).
6.30: Peter Berry (Jnr) & Seán Berry.

AS I WAS SAYING.....

During my student days in Rome (and indeed for many years afterwards) I had a morbid fear of flying. More than once, a couple of stiff whiskeys proved to be 'the wind beneath my wings', literally! This infernal tube had to be availed of twice each year: home in June, and back to Rome in September. We always travelled on the cheap, with a crowd called Court Line. Its fleet consisted entirely of a few old twin-engine, propeller-drive aircraft. When these contraptions hit air-pockets over the Alps, it was 'rosary time' in a big way! The fragility of the human condition was never more apparent (to me any rate). Wasn't it Thomas More who said, 'Hanging in the morning concentrates the mind wonderfully.' Well, flying over the Alps in a propeller driven aircraft tended to have the same effect.

Two incidents this week brought these morbid memories to mind: the first was the Air France crash in Toronto. The plane was struck by lightening as it came in to land. It careered into a ravine and burst into flames. Miraculously, all 309 passengers were unharmed. The second incident concerned the current NASA space mission. NASA have calculated the probability of a fatal accident on the space mission as 1 in 100. Imagine what it's like to live with odds like that. And that was before the shuttle was damaged at its launch. The crew undertakes this journey in the full knowledge they are facing the possibility of their own death. It must take great courage to agree to such a mission. But facing the reality of one's own death isn't just morbid fear - it can become something that transforms the very way we think about ourselves and our world.

I once did a retreat, directed by a Jesuit priest. Part of the exercise was to compose one's own obituary. Writing up the life you hope to have really focuses the mind. First drafts can be interesting, if sufficiently unrealistic:

"In his younger days, Dick Lyng won 8 All Ireland medals with Kilkenny, 3 more than that other hurling great of the 20th century, D.J. Carey! He married Ms. Birgette Awöllegges, a professional model. She had been voted Miss Sweden for a record 8 years in succession. He later went on to become Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of the entire island. Vatican insiders believe he would have been elected pope were it not for the model. She is known to have been camera-shy!"

That script quickly goes in the bin. And then you start to concentrate more. What is important? What is it I want to do with my life? It's an opportunity to think big! And when you've written all this down, describing a life that you would be genuinely happy with, the next question is the real clincher: does what you want to be really connect up with who you now are? (Where is the Swedish model?!) It's a devastating question that can change everything.

Part of what makes the New Testament such a wonderful work of moral imagination is that it was written under the belief that the end of the world was drawing close. It was written with a huge sense of an impending apocalypse that created a form of concentration that burnt away the trivial. Facing the end puts all things into perspective.

It's all too easy to wander through life without properly taking stock. Real danger can come as a wake up call for the unreflective life. Twin-engine aeroplanes have their uses after all!

-Dick Lyng.

By the way.......

TEEN TIMES

(At the beginning of this Summer, The Irish Times invited their teenagers readers to submit a 500-word account of their holidays. The most interesting four would be published in their 'August Days' section. Orla Tinsley (18), (Newbridge) wrote the following article.)

It was our first "girlie" holiday together. We could imagine the ridicule, the sniggering of our peers if they knew the truth. We were going to Lourdes. On holidays. We assured ourselves we could shield one another from any religious fanatics trying to lure us in. It was, we promised ourselves, going to be "an experience".

The bus journey into Lourdes left us with gaping gobs. It reminded me of those shanty towns my geography teacher used to tell us about - towns that were poor or had experienced some natural disaster. I could see my friends' faces sink. I had organised the trip - its success rested firmly on my shoulders.

But then life seemed to spring up out of nowhere: water fountains, chocolate shops and boulangeries filled with croissants of every kind - including my favourite, raisin.

Our three-star hotel was lovely, but there was no air conditioning. This close to the Pyrenees, the 36-degree heat was not constant. On day four we awoke to what I imagined was an army on the rooftop. It turned out to be a rainstorm. I purchased an oversized, rainproof poncho on our way to Mass. We went to Mass every day. The churches boasted mighty architecture, both inside and out. The most intriguing was the church in Bartez whose murals St Bernadette spent hours studying.

It struck me that perhaps a new generation of religious existed - Masses were so relaxed. Our priest was so in touch with reality. There was goodness in the air.

At the lake, we enjoyed pedal boats and a sneaky waterfight with fellow pilgrims. They sold water guns outside the church. The nightly procession was my greatest fear. I remember one religion teacher describing it as "cult-like", but it was nothing of the sort. I was given the honour of carrying the group banner to the altar. After 15 minutes my arms began to tire, but the atmosphere carried me along. Then the magic of Lourdes hit me. The visual impact of thousands raising their voices to Ave Maria in five different languages was beyond amazing. In that moment the sense belonging overshadowed any scepticism. I was blown away.

On our final night we decided to experience the grotto in the 4am darkness. During daytime thousands flock there, but at night it is mostly empty. As we entered, a warmth engulfed me. My friend and I sat in silence. I had expected her to make shifting noises accompanied by polite sighs until I gave up and we left. I could feel her raise her head. "Do you feel that . . . heat?" We both felt it. We could pinpoint the transition - there was warmth in the circle, a sharp wind beyond. We returned to the hotel with a feeling we had experienced something rare.

Although I have long squabbled with enforced religion through education, the Lourdes experience has left me pondering that perhaps we have been far too ignorant.

Religion has a different meaning for everyone. The gods of our generation seem to be celebrities. They are the unattainable, the mysterious beings of our time. Is it mature of us to question everything and believe only in our own logic? Or should we believe in all and question the maturity of not believing? Lourdes left me reflecting all of this long after I came home.

EDITH STEIN, 20th CENTURY SAINT

On Tuesday next we celebrate the feast of Blessed Edith Stein. She was a truly extraordinary woman. She was born into a Jewish family of 12 children in Breslau on 12 October 1891, the feast of Yom Kippur. She was just 2 years old when her father died. As a young woman Edith lost her faith in God. "I consciously decided to give up praying," she said.

In 1911 she enrolled at the University of Breslau. Her real interest was in women's issues and in philosophy. She quickly became a radical suffragette.

In 1913, Edith Stein transferred to Gottingen University, to study philosophy. (The First World War was to break out the following year). There she met the philosopher Max Scheler, who directed her attention to Roman Catholicism. She graduated with distinction in January 1915. She volunteered for nursing service during the war and looked after the sick in the typhus ward, worked in an operating theatre, and saw young people die. When the war ended she resumed her doctoral studies in philosophy. She was awarded a doctorate summa cum laude (with the utmost distinction) in 1917, after writing a thesis on "The Problem of Empathy."

When a close friend of hers was killed in Flanders in November 1917, Edith went to Göttingen to visit his widow. She was surprised when she actually met with a woman of faith. "This was my first encounter with the Cross and the divine power it imparts to those who bear it." Edith's atheism collapsed in the face of suffering.

On 1 January 1922 Edith Stein was baptised, but emphasised that she was embracing rather than abandoning Judaism. In 1932 she accepted a lectureship position at the University of Munster. In 1933 darkness broke out over Germany. "I had heard of severe measures against Jews before. But now it dawned on me that God had laid his hand heavily on His own people; their destiny is also mine."

Edith joined the Carmelite Convent of Cologne on 14 October, 1933 and was now known as Sister Teresa. She was arrested by the Gestapo on 2 August 1942, while she was in the chapel with the other sisters. She was deported to Auschwitz. This was an act of retaliation against the letter of protest written by the Dutch Roman Catholic Bishops against the pogroms and deportations of Jews. It was probably on 9 August, 1944, that Sister Teresia and many other of her people were gassed. She was beatified in Cologne on 1 May 1987. "We honour a daughter of Israel", Pope John Paul II said, "who as a Catholic remained faithful to the crucified Lord Jesus Christ and, as a Jew, to her people in loving faithfulness."