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It would be inaccurate to say that the monks of Glenstal Abbey contributed to the establishment of our monastery in Nigeria, as if they were adding to something that already existed. In reality, they were the very foundation of monastic life at Saint Benedict’s Priory in Ewu-Esan in 1979. They did and were everything for us: erecting the first buildings, establishing plantations, recruiting and forming the initial community of monks, and raising the funds needed to feed, clothe, and train them.

They were monks of vastly different gifts and personalities. They were mystics, philosophers, teachers, scholars, preachers, linguists, musicians, farmers, builders, and much more. Those pioneering early monks were popular in the locality whenever they went out to celebrate Mass, something which was appreciated by the local faithful and non-Christians alike.

When the monastery’s turquoise blue Volkswagen Beetle hit the road, the villagers would run and thunder excitedly: “Father! Father! Father!” irrespective of the driver. The car’s identification with the monastery was enough to cause a great stir among the locals, particularly as “Father” would often stop to give a lift to as many people as could be accommodated inside, outside and on-top of the little car as it bounced its way along the village roads.

Those early monks were all past middle age, and would even be considered elderly by African standards… I recall a local priest cautioning me against joining the community as he believed “the monastic life is meant for old and frustrated people.” They were certainly older men, but they were not frustrated. They came with energy and the common purpose of planting the monastic life in Nigeria. We were blessed in the following years to be visited by generations of Glenstal monks who helped us with formation, classes, music, retreats, and so on. They brought a new dynamism to the community, and their creativity contributed positively to the monastery’s outlook.

Looking back, one feels we owe those pioneering monks from Glenstal Abbey so much, especially for their efforts to establish an African monastery for Africans, rather than a community built along European lines here. It must have been a life of great sacrifice for these men, but it is one of the reasons they became revered and loved by all. Upon arrival, they observed local conditions and decided to go into agricultural work. They planted palm oil trees and – like local farmers – cultivated the yam, cassava, maize, plantain and melon which constitutes the diet of ordinary people, along with other vegetables and fruits like pawpaw, pineapple, bananas and oranges.

These Irishmen were used to potatoes and plenty of meat and fish, but soon they grew accustomed to eating mostly mashed yam and rice, with very tiny pieces of fish and meat during lunch on set days in the week. It was very obvious that they chose to identify with the local people, especially those at the margins of society. They soon began to resemble particularly impoverished Africans!

People didn’t see them as far off, distant, or unapproachable. Imagine the scene: many times a local woman would go into labour in the village, and her husband would run to the monastery in the middle of the night to call for help. One of the monks would appear, take out the famed turquoise blue Beetle and rush them to the hospital in the next town. It was run by Irish sisters, and the bill would be settled by the monks.

They lived simply, often precariously, and always close to the margins. They adopted what they could of African culture, and avoided imposing European ways onto the brothers. They guarded against the tribalism which is often common in African communities made up of members from different tribes, giving us today a strong community which is diverse yet unified.

These men were deeply convinced of their monastic calling, and they taught by their example of prayer, work, study and the common life. If the monastery were to fail today, it would be on our own heads and not on those of the Glenstal monks who made such a great sacrifice to create and hand over to us all that we have now. They laid the foundations in such a way that we, as native Africans, could shape the monastery with our own identity and culture. Abbot Augustine O’Sullivan would often remind us: “When the time comes, you Africans will decide for yourselves.”

Today we are a community of over fifty monks from fifteen different Nigerian tribes, along with one Togolese confrère. The monastery’s layout resembles a traditional African village, with small residential blocks housing six monks each and a central building where the entire community gathers. The monastery’s architecture, liturgy and economic ventures all have an African feel to them. We seek to live a style of monastic life that is very much akin to the people and culture of this region, and a spirituality that the people of the place find no difficulty in identifying with and supporting.

There is a deliberate attempt to live a simple and pure monastic life, composed of the pillars of prayer, work and study in community. We rise each day at 3.30am with the beating of the Ekwe drum, before the day gets underway with a round of Vigils, time for personal prayer, and the celebration of Lauds and Mass from 5.30am. Between our daily work assignments we meet again in the church for communal prayer another four times during the course of the day, and retire to our cells sometime after 8pm. Our timetable is intense, as is the daily heat and humidity. There is time also for recreation and sports, and rarely is a brother absent from liturgy, table, work or community time.

During working hours monks can be found in the guesthouse or the herbal medicine centre, or at work in the bakery, candle factory or gift shop. We also run a farm of birds, pigs, goats, sheep and cattle, and have a palm oil plantation, vegetable garden and orchard.

The international press often reports on religious intolerance and violence by Islamic extremists in Nigeria, and we sometimes receive anxious calls and emails asking about our safety. While we have faced a few negative encounters with outsiders from other regions in the country, such incidents have been rare. Our monastery is located in Muslim territory, though the numbers of people following Islam, Christianity or Traditional African Religion are roughly the same. We have excellent relations with the local ruler and we find the Muslims here are very friendly.

At Ewu, all three religions interact and there is no real tension as it’s not unusual to find practitioners of all three among the members of a single family. The monastery plays a significant role as a common meeting ground for the followers of different religions. Here there is no segregation, no discrimination. When it is the time for their prayers, some of the Muslim workers simply create a space for themselves, do the ablutions and follow their prayer rituals. All of our workers, irrespective of the religion, attend Mass on major solemnities and join in the entertainment afterwards. The relationship between the monks and the people in neighbouring villages is very good.

During this World Mission Month, when the Church prays for and supports missionaries around the globe, I find myself reflecting on what the Irish monks brought to Ewu — and what we, in turn, might offer back to Glenstal Abbey and the Irish Church. Glenstal made many sacrifices to bring this foundation to birth and nurture it to maturity. If our motherhouse were to ask for help, we would not see it as repayment but as fulfilling our duty to a parent. In African culture, caring for one’s elders is a source of pride. Thus Saint Benedict’s Priory at Ewu will always remain open and grateful to Glenstal Abbey, remembering our founders and all who followed them in support of our growth.

We are both communities of individuals with names and stories, not faceless numbers. Ewu has a duty to keep our bond with Glenstal alive and fresh through regular communication and visits. We are also finding ways to honour the memory of each Irish monk who came to Ewu; the comprehensive list is quite long!

Every year, Saint Patrick’s Day is celebrated as a solemnity at Ewu. On this great feast we give thanks to God for the Irish monks who came here, for our very existence through them, and for the entire Glenstal community. When I visit the motherhouse in Ireland, I never fail to go to the cemetery to pray for those who now sleep there, asking for their intercession so that the brilliant torch which Glenstal Abbey has handed on to us may never cease to burn brightly.

Peter Eghwrudjakpor OSB is superior of Saint Benedict’s Priory at Ewu-Esan in Edo State, Nigeria.

Fr. Henry O’Shea:

There sits a man

computer in hand

Counting the stars that shine.

Do not disturb,

he’s quite absurd,

His heart-strings on the bottom line.

He sits and he counts

then totals amounts;

He’s rich ‘cause he owns all those stars.

Oh, look! Now all the sky is blank

for the lights he did yank.

He put all his stars in the bank.

Wheeler-dealers have been with us since the human race began to exist. We can posh-up the reality by calling such people transactionalists, astute business-persons, even clever politicians, but that reality remains the same. 

Many commentators suggest that every generation re-writes history in accordance with its own needs, its biases, and indeed, its prejudices. The temptation to subject Sacred Scripture to the same kind of creative spin, is almost irresistible – and more irresistible when unconscious and even more insidious when deliberate.

Today’s gospel about the parable of the unjust steward and his cynical boss is a prime target for such creativity. Can Our Lord really be not only praising, but encouraging, canny business acumen? Can Our Lord be hijacked as an early enthusiast, even an apologist, for ruthless, calculating, head-of the-pack capitalism? Clearly not.

Most biblical scholars agree that every parable has one main point or thrust. The main point in today’s parable is contained in the final verse: ‘You cannot be the slave both of God or of money’. Jesus does indeed praise the unjust steward for his foresight and for his ability to provide for possible dismissal from his job. But, as so often in his reported speech, Jesus uses irony in this discourse. Remember, we are told that Jesus’ audience here includes Pharisees and other currently beautiful people from the power-elite. Most parables have a sting in the tail. 

In fact, Jesus is saying that while foresight and self-securing planning may be fine- or at least morally neutral – in themselves, of greater importance are the areas, or is the area, in which we, in which I, exercise this foresight and planning. In other words, Jesus asks to make up our minds and hearts, asks us to answer the question, ‘Is God your God, or is money, or some other idol, your actual God?’ To where or to what does my answer to this question lead and leave me? Where is my treasure and so, where is my heart?

The prophet, Amos, whom we heard in today’s first reading, is one of the great ranters of the Old Testament. The favourite targets of his rants were – and still are – the powerful, rich, exploitative, take-all, greed-is-good, minority in any society. And we are daily aware of the mind-blowing and ever-increasing gap between this power-minority, or these power-minorities, and the rest of humanity. It was ever so, locally, nationally and internationally, but is now increasingly the case: the bully-boys and bully-girls rule OK. The winners and winneresses still take all.

In today’s second reading, Paul writing to Timothy, seems to be saying that the Christian should pray up and shut up, ‘…so that we may be able to live religious and reverent lives in peace and quiet.’ And it is true that at different times in its history, the Church has chosen what might be termed a cosy inner emigration – what might be called an I’m-allright-Jack-and-Jill syndrome. Let’s not rock the boat. That might jeopardise what we have. Above all, our power.

But, if there is a sting in the tail of today’s parable, there is also a sting in Paul’s letter. 

Our acknowledgement and proclamation that there is only one God, one mediator and saviour, his Son Jesus Christ, exposes us to the same sacrifices that this mediator suffered and offered. The consequences of adherence to the truth and its proclamation, however loudly, however discreetly, can and does range from societal ridicule, rejection, discrimination and even to death itself. Look at our own social-media-  messed-up society. Most of us, I, most of the time, settle, consciously or unconsciously, for the fudge of a comfortable mediocrity. Many of us, I,  do not even have the generosity or courage to be really good or the temerity and courage to be really bad.     

They are after the gold…

in their face it shows…

move where the wind blows…

some play for the stealer…

WHEELER AND DEALER

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Fr. William Fennelly: In today’s gospel Jesus says, “Now is the judgement of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people unto myself”. In our society, the cross is a ubiquitous symbol. It pops us everywhere. Pious tattooed soccer players repeatedly bless themselves with the cross taking before penalties. It is even a pretty on trend fashion statement whether you are Kim Kardasian or Lady Gaga. One only has to look in the pages of trendy fashion magazines or go to any influencer site to see elaborate “cross inspired jewelry” hanging from the neck, ears, wrists and God knows where else on both male and female models.

The notion that our society is all “crossed up” may or may not be a good thing. Indeed the fact that it is a cross, and not a symbol of another religion that is popping up all over tells us that some Christian memory is still very active in the contemporary subconscious. It certainly doesn’t make us a “Christian nation,” but perhaps it makes us a “Christ haunted” nation. Not sure of what the faith is really about, not sure who Jesus really is, but nonetheless fascinated by some of the concepts of the Christian religion.

In terms of name recognition Jesus is up there with Taylor Swift or Travis Kelce, yet lots know of Jesus but don’t know Jesus. We need to roll up our sleeves and get to know him, to lift high the Holy Cross. The way to lift high the cross is not to rent cranes and to hoist up giant crosses in the public square. The way to lift high the cross to best effect is for each Christian to lift high up the cross in their daily life. As we seek to lift up the cross, we should try to lift it up as Jesus did. The second reading from Philippians makes it clear what lifted up truly means: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness, and being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death–even death on a cross…” (Philippians 2:5-8)

The whole ministry of Jesus, and thus the whole ministry of the church is in the shape of the cross. “Taking up the cross” is one of the most prevalent images in scripture and the tradition for walking in the way of faith and following Jesus. Jesus said that those who want to be his followers were to take up the cross and follow him. Those who seek to save their lives would lose them, but those willing to lose their lives would find them.

Forty days ago we celebrated the Feast of the Transfiguration of Jesus. That feast is strategically placed forty days distant from today’s feast, the Exaltation of the  Cross. The Transfiguration was a moment in some of the disciple’s lives to help them cope with what was coming, to help them deal with the inevitable, to help them find hope when all would seem lost. The Transfiguration was a taste of God’s glory to help them swallow the bitter pill of God’s suffering. At the end of that Transfiguration experience, where so much was going on, everything gleaming with a dazzling white, a cloud that enfolded him with Moses and Elijah, a heavenly voice  could be heard, it came down to one thing, “Jesus alone with them.” It was not just about the overwhelming experience of glory, but it was mostly about what that experience was trying to create within them, to be with Jesus alone. To cling to him more readily, more trustingly, as if everything depended on it. And everything did.

As the cross drew nearer, Jesus knew this aloneness. In the Garden of Gethsemane he felt the pangs of being alone as Apostles slept. Imprisoned, he knew the separation from family and friends, and he felt alone in the presence of Pilate and the crowds before him as they chanted, “Crucify him.” He carried the cross alone, for the most part until Simon helped for a moment. And on his cross, he hung alone. In Matthew, Mark, and Luke’s Gospels he felt alone or abandoned by his Father, abandoned even, in his last hours. In a tomb he was placed, and as a rock was rolled in front of it, he was left all alone. But was he? Was Jesus all alone? The saints throughout the ages would say, “No, he was not alone.”

For many, the church is a foreign concept. Church buildings are curious and much visited by tourists but they remain foreign territory. The central purpose of the church is to lift up the cross. To let the light of Christ’s life, death and resurrection shine into the world. The light shines as the church and each Christian walks the way of the cross in the world. The light shines as we show others that we are his disciples. The light shines as when we do not hide it under a basket but let it shine forth in lives of love and humble service. On this day dedicated to the Holy Cross, let us recall the cross that was traced upon us in baptism. The sign under which we live and move and have our being. Let us lift up the cross before others by leading Christian lives.

Fr. Luke Macnamara: In today’s Gospel, we hear that Jesus is surrounded by a great crowd—not only from Judea and Jerusalem, but even from the coastal regions of Tyre and Sidon. These were Gentile territories. In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus himself never steps outside Israel; that will only happen later in the Acts of the Apostles. But notice this: the nations are already coming to him. Their presence signals something new—something long foretold by the prophets—that the kingdom of God is breaking in, that the end times have begun.

Then Jesus turns, not to the crowd, but to his disciples. He fixes his eyes on them. The beatitudes are not general slogans; they are words spoken to those who already follow him, those who have chosen relationship with him. And what does he tell them? “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” Notice the tense: not will be, but is. The kingdom is already here, present in Jesus himself.

The other beatitudes point to transformation: hunger turned to satisfaction, tears turned to joy, rejection turned to honour. But all of this begins with the presence of Christ. He himself is the kingdom among us.

St. Paul, writing to the Colossians, explains how this transformation takes root in us: by sharing in Christ’s death and resurrection. We have stripped off the old self with its ways of sin and death, and we have put on the new self, alive in the image of the Creator. In Christ, barriers of race, class, wealth, or status fall away. He brings unity and freedom wherever he is truly welcomed.

And so the challenge for us today is this: will we allow Christ to work through our poverty, our weakness, and our limitations? If we do, we will find ourselves blessed—not by escaping suffering, but by discovering his kingdom in the midst of it. And once Christ is alive in us, his presence cannot be hidden. It will shine out. It will transform others.

Let us pray, then, that Christ may so transform us that our very lives become a living homily—a proclamation of his resurrection, his kingdom, and his power to make all things new.

Fr. Denis Hooper: There are lots of great stories through the ages of people gate-crashing events. Some people have a lot of neck – and the confidence to convince security officers and others that they are guests at various functions and events – when they are no such thing. They dress impeccably and hold themselves with such confidence that they have you fooled.  There are some well-known stories of people gate-crashing royal weddings, presidential inauguration balls, papal audiences – you name it.

Some years ago our Abbot Brendan was in Rome attending an audience with the late Pope Francis. While they were waiting for the Papal audience they noticed an Abbot that none of them seemed to recognise. Each of the Abbots thought that he must be a new Abbot. Why would he be there unless he was an Abbot?

Well the group of Abbots were taken into the Papal reception rooms to meet the Pope. As quick as lightening the stranger Abbot disappeared. Abbot Brendan out of the corner of his eye spotted a Swiss Army Guard push the impersonator through a hidden panel in a wall which closed behind him immediately. It was as if nothing had happened. Needless to say, they never saw that Abbot again.

Maybe you have seen the video of the Royal Variety Performance where the King and Queen are sitting in the Royal Box at the Royal Albert Theatre. It was just before the performance started and the camera was trained on the Royal Box. 

Then a door opens behind the King and Queen and into the Royal Box enters an overly dressed and glamourous lady. The “lady” is Dame Edna Everidge – need I say anymore! Dame Edna sits down right beside the Royal couple and starts to make herself comfortable.

The King and Queen are amused this time.

Then the door behind the Royal Box opens and a suited man quietly enters and whispers something into Dame Edna’s ear. She seems surprised and the audience assumes – Dame Edna Everidge – has been told to vacate the Royal Box. For once it seems Dame Edna has received her cummupence.

Dame Edna stands up, turns to the Queen and says: “Oh, they’ve found me a better seat”.

Let’s face it, every formal function you attend nowadays has placenames at the tables and maps of where the tables are situated. The names of some table maps can be quite amusing. I was at a wedding where one table was called “The Glen Stallions”; my table was names “Jurassic Park”! 

There is slim to no chance nowadays that you will ever go to the wrong table and embarrass yourself by being told you are not supposed to be there.

In the time of Jesus, there was no paper and so, no placenames or table maps. Although if there was paper it would have been amusing to know what names they might have given to their tables. 

You get the message of today’s Gospel: it is about humility, generosity and the reversal of worldly values.

I don’t know if any of you watched the meteor storm that was clearly visible in our skies a couple of weeks ago. It got me thinking about the incomprehensible vastness of the universe.

Trying to contemplate the universe reminds us of our smallness in it and calls us to live not with arrogance but with reverence, respect and responsibility for the world we live in.

The universe is a vast web of relationships – galaxies, stars, planets, ecosystems and living beings – all interdependent.

Do you know that there are two billion stars in the Milky Way Galaxy and that there are two trillion galaxies in the universe. Here is a fact that will amaze you: there are more stars in the Universe than grains of sand on earth.

The Universe gives without expectation.

The banquet Jesus describes can be seen as a metaphor of the universal feast of existence. The invitation is extended not just to the powerful but to all creation – echoing how the universe sustains even the smallest particles of life.

Just as the Universe does not revolve around one individual, we are called to live our lives knowing that we are not at the centre of the universe.

The Creator of the Universe is generous to us – He gives us a life-giving pattern. 

True greatness is measured not by power or status but by our willingness to serve, echoing the humility we need to understand the incredible beauty we see every time we cast our eyes to the sky.

And on that note I think it is time for me to move on and so: “beam me up Scotty”

 

Roimh Lá Eorpach na dTeangacha, déanann an Bráthair Cillian Ó Sé OSB machnamh ar a thuras ó leanbh aonteangach go fear ilteangach…

Rugadh mise ar an 1940 i gCathair Chorcaí. Tógadh mé sa chathair freisin go dtí go raibh mé 20 bhliain d’aois. D’fhreastal mé ar an mbunscoil ba chomhgaraí do theach mo mhuintire. Bhí na ranganna go léir trí Ghaeilge, seachas na ranganna i mBéarla agus Teagasc Críostaí. Ní raibh aon Ghaeilge ag mo thuismitheoirí; dá bhrí sin, ní raibh ar a gcumas aon chabhair a thabhairt dom le m’obair bhaile!  Dalta ciúin a bhí ionam; le an-dhúil agam i léitheoireacht. Nuair a fhág mé an bhunscoil, bhí Gaeilge cuíosach maith agam, ach ní raibh aon tseans agam í a chleactadh taobh amuigh den seomra ranga. Freisin, bhí an Béarla mar ghnáth-theanga chumarsáide sa mheánscoil nua, cé go raibh an t-ádh liom go raibh múinteoir maith agam i gcóir na Gaeilge – fuair mé toradh maith san scrúdú Ardteistiméireachta san ábhar sin. An t-aon teanga iasachta a múineadh sa scoil ná an Laidean. Fuair mé amach gur chabhraigh graiméar na Laidne go mör liom structúr na Gaeilge agus nua-theangacha eile a thuiscint. Freisin, nuair a bhí mé sa Chúigiú Bhliain, fuair mé ranganna príobháideacha sa bhFraincis.

Timpeall an ama sin, chuaigh mé isteach sa Bhuíon Ghaelach, buíon choisithe san bhFórsa Chosanta Áitiúil (FCÁ) ina raibh an traenáil iomlán as Ghaeilge, mar a bhí an gnáth-chumarsáid idir na saighdiúiri. Bhíodh na campaí samhraidh go léir againn sa Ghaeltacht, mar shampla i gCúil Aodha nó sa Mhuiríoch. B’shin í mo chéad seans seal a chaitheamh i dtimpeallacht lán-Ghaeilge.

Agus an Ardteistiméireacht faighte agam, chuaigh mé ar Choláiste na  hOllscoile Corcaigh (UCC) agus fuair mé céim i nEalaíona (BA) le Laidean agus Stair mar phríomhábhair. Ansin fuair mé an an tArd – Teastas i nOideachas mar cháilíocht iarchéime a thug ceart dom múineadh ar mheánscoil. Le linn an an ama sinn go léir bhí mé ag freastal ar ranganna seachtiniúla i nGearmáinis, agus shocraigh mé freastal ar dhianchúrsa sa teanga sin sa Ghearmáin féin a bhí eagraithe ag an Goethe-Institut, institiúd cultúrtha Rialtas na hIar-Ghearmáine. Ag deireadh an chúrsa sin, a mhair 10 seachtain, bhí buntús na teangan im ghreim agam.

Bhí an seal a bhí caite agam san FCA tar éis mo shuim sa saol mileata a neartú, agus i 1963 chiuir mé iarratas isteach ar choimisiún gearr-théarmach i nArm na Breataine. Níor chreid mé i bpolasaí na neodrachta a bhí ag Éirinn, agus shocraigh mé dá bhrí sin mo sheirbhís a dhéanamh i stát a bhí ina bhall de NATO. Chaith mé trí bliana mar leifteanant san RAEC (Royal Army Education Corps) ag múineadh ábhar éagsúla do shaighdiúirí óga i nAlbain. Le linn an ama sin rinne mé dhá mhalartú le hArm na hIar-Ghearmáine (i Hamburg agus Wolfenbuettel) agus ceann amháin le hArm na Fraince (i Le Mans); freisin, bhain mé amach cáilíocht mar Teangaire Mileata sa Ghearmáinis ó Stát-Sheirbhís na Breataine.

Nuair a fhill mé ar Éirinn tar éis mo sheirbhíse mileata, fuair mé cead speisialta ó UCC an scrúdú BA a dhéanamh i nGearmáinis. Fuair mé onóracha den gcéad grád, agus shocraigh mé céim MA a dhéanamh san ábhar céanna i nOllscoil Briostó. Ina dhiaidh sin, fuair mé seans scoilbhliain a chaitheamh san Iorua ag múineadh Béarla agus Gearmáinise i n-iarbhunscoil i ndeisceart na tíre. Theastaigh uaim teanga eile Theotanach a fhoghlaim. Ní raibh focal amháin Ioruaise agam nuair a thosaigh an scoilbhliain. Rinne mé dianchúrsa sa teanga, mar bhí fonn orm a fháil amach an mbeadh ar mo chumas teanga nua a fhoghlaim tré thomadh iomlán a dhéanamh innti gach lá, ag léamh nuachtáin, ag éisteacht leis an raidio, ag caint le muinteoirí agus daltaí, etc. Toisc nach labhairtear an Ioruais go forleathan taobh amuigh den Iorua, bíonn Béarla ar a thoil ag beagnách gach Ioruach, ach d’iarr mé ar mo leath-bhádóirí sa scoil gan Béarla a labhairt liom i gcruinnithe le linn ár ama saoir. Rinneadar amhlaidh, agus bhí áthas orthu gur theastaigh ó eachtrannach a dteanga dúchais a úsáid ina dtír féin. I ndeireadh na scoilbhliana bhí mé an-shásta go raibh ar mo chumas drámaí Ibsen a léamh sa bhunleagan.

Cúpla bliain ina dhiaidh sin, chothuigh an bhliain a chaith mé san Iorua suim ionam scoilbhliain a chaitheamh sa Ghearmáin chun snas a chur ar mo chumas sa teanga sin. Fuair mé post i scoil chónaithe i dtuaisceart na tíre ar an dteorainn leis  an Ísiltír. Bhí lóistín agam ar champas na scoile, agus mé ag múineadh teangacha iasachta: Béarla, Fraincise agus Laidne. Thaitin an obair chomh mór sin liom gur fhan mé naoi mbliana (seachas bliain amháin!) ar an scoil sin, Chaitheadh mé laetheanta saoire gach bliain in Éirinn, agus diaidh ar ndiaidh d’aithin mé go raibh nósanna na Gearmáine ag dul i bhfeidhm chomh mór sin orm go raibh mé ag éirí “Germanior ipsis Germanis” , agus go raibh baol ann go ndéanfainn dearmad iomlán ar mo dhúchas Ghaelach. D’fhill mé ar mo thír dúchais i 1981 agus le 41 bliana thosaigh mé mo shaol mar mhanach. Thóg mé na móideanna solamanta i 1992, inar gheall mé fanúint im mhanach go dtí lá mo bháis. Mar adeir an seanfhocal: “Go bhfaighimís grásta Dé agus bás in Éirinn!” Amen!”

Cillian Ó Sé OSB

Fr. Henry O’Shea:

My eyes are spent with weeping; my stomach churns; 

my bile is poured out to the ground 

because of the destruction of the daughter of my people, 

because infants and babies faint in the streets of the city. Lamentations 2:11

Even people who are not well versed in Scripture, are aware that the prophet Jeremiah was not a fun person. And, indeed, in Jewish tradition he is called the ‘Weeping Prophet’ – as evidenced by our opening quotation from the book of Lamentations, which some scholars believe was also written by Jeremiah.. 

In today’s first reading we hear of Jeremiah being literally stuck in the mud. Having offended the political and military establishment, he is thrown into a drained cistern to wallow in the slime. But, so-called stick-in-the-muds are not always wrong. 

Interesting how nothing changes under the sun. It seems to be a universal and eternal practice that those who point out uncomfortable truths or prospects or those who dispute currently unfashionable opinions are sidelined, are ‘othered’, sometimes even eliminated. Think of our media with their various agendas and distortions. Think of the varied understandings and uses of the terms ‘facts’, ‘true facts’, ‘alternative facts’. Fake news.  

Jeremiah’s king, Zedekiah, is not the first political, religious or, indeed, family leader to claim helplessness. Claiming helplessness while hanging on until they recognise what is of greater advantage to themselves and seize the opportunity. 

Those who prefer their Jesus to be gentle, meek, mild, amenable, undemanding, may be unsettled by the Jesus of today’s gospel. He makes it very clear that he has not come to bring peace on earth but, rather, fire and division. Does this mean that he favours war? Does this mean that he dismisses peace? The answer is no on both counts – even if many times in the last two millennia, Christians have used this gospel passage to justify war, persecution, exploitation and exclusion.

The sword that Jesus brings is the sword of his living word that, we are told in the Letter to the Hebrews, is alive and active, sharper than any double-edged sword. It penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. The warfare Jesus is talking about is a battle for minds and hearts, a battle within minds and hearts. And, as Jesus notes, that battle can even be within families. Within and between one’s own mind and heart.

Jesus has little time for a peace that is the comfortable, or better, the ‘comfy’ peace of material security, well-regulated predictability with the occasional thrill thrown in to reassure ourselves that we have what is often a self-deceiving freedom. Bad things happen, but happen, we pray O Lord, to other people and if possible in other far-away places. We all have our Munichs and Alaskas. We all have our Gazas and our Omaghs.

The author of today’s second reading provides a perspective, that is in and beyond time, but also now and the future, for those singed by the fire of Christ. Uncompromisingly, we are told that our only true horizon exists and consists in Jesus, who leads us in our faith and brings it to perfection. Jesus has gone before us and stays with us on and in this focus on finality. He has gone before us in the battle for minds and hearts by enduing the cross. Enduring the cross for a joy that was still in the future. He stays with us encouraging and supporting us, making everything possible for us, in our battle, sometimes fierce, sometimes half-hearted, our battle with the distractions, the waverings, the false promises of sin. 

In Chapter 4 of his Rule, St Benedict admonishes monks not to make a false peace. Jesus goes before us and stays with us in our efforts not to settle for mindless, self-centered, imagined peace. 

The same book of Lamentations with which we began also tells:    

Because of the loving devotion of the Lord 

       we are not consumed,

for His mercies never fail.

They are new every morning;

great is his faithfulness!

“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,

“therefore I will hope in Him.”

      The Lord is good to those who wait for Him,

to the soul who seeks Him. Lamentations 3:22-26

Fr. John O’Callaghan: “Blessed is she who believed that the promise made her by the Lord would be fulfilled.” 

There are several feasts in the Church’s year where the Blessed Virgin Mary features greatly: like the Annunciation of the Lord (on 25th March); the Nativity of Jesus Christ (nine months later) and today’s feast of Mary’s Assumption into heaven. The foundation of them all, their sine qua non, is what Elizabeth said in today’s gospel: “Blessed is she that believed!” That belief allowed the conception of Christ and the whole sequel.

Belief was her role in what was ultimately the saving work of Christ. Mary was there as ‘the servant of the Lord’, to serve his project. Belief allowed her “to concieve first of all in her heart, before even in her womb,” as St Augustine said. And she continued to believe through the pregnancy, the birth, and Jesus’ youth, during the ups and downs of his mission and, against all the odds, at his crucifixion and into the mystery of his resurrection. She, his perfect disciple, has that to teach us, to believe in God carrying out, fulfilling, his mysterious plan throughout the vicissitudes of life so that, in the end, all may be well. Mary’s assumption into glory, which we celebrate today, is God’s work come full circle for her.

Time and eternity coincide in Mary. Her life, like that of all humanity, is evoked dramatically in our first reading, from the Apocalypse: ‘A woman in labour, crying out in the pangs of birth;….a huge red dragon with seven heads and ten horns – it stopped in front of the woman as she was having the child, so that he could eat it as soon as it was born from its mother’. This scene recalls that scene in the Garden of Eden where Eve, mother of us all, is promised that childbirth would occur in pain. The dragon which evokes Satan, sometimes called the devil, the serpent, represents the more or less explicit presence and power of evil, hostility to God and to his people. And the biblical author may well intend us to also perceive in the woman, Mary, the new Eve, who is giving birth to the Messiah, surrounded by hostile powers, and the imperial power of Rome. 

It is into such an ambiguous world of good and evil that the Messiah was to be born and in which Mary was to make her pilgrim way, and we ours. As her path must have challenged and shaped her faith, so does our experience challenge and, hopefully, mature our faith. Like her, we must rise to the challenge. 

In our own times the sheer monstruous suffering in the world tests our faith. It alone seems to prove there is no God. Alternatively we can take the matter of God’s invisibility. For those able to see with the eyes of faith, that is his very greatness; but for anyone who cannot or will not make the leap, it makes God somehow refutable. Faith is always under threat but it is also our individual struggle with ourselves, and with God. It is not easy, and faith is not a light that scatters all our darkness; it is a lamp which guides our steps in the night and suffices for the journey.

We know that personal suffering cannot be eliminated, yet suffering can assume a meaning, can be an act of love, and an entrustment into the hands of God who does not abandon us. To those who suffer God’s response is his accompanying presence; he shares our path. Even death is illumined and can be experienced as the ultimate call to faith. ‘Come!’ is spoken by the Father, to whom we can abandon ourselves in the confidence that he will keep us steadfast even in our final passage. 

Mary’s true greatness is to be found in that enduring trust in God, holding faith through the profound and perplexing challenges of her life. Her belief that the scriptures were being fulfilled called for radical renewal, evolution of her faith, deepening of it and she upheld it right to the end, to the cross itself. She is the perfect icon of faith. She exemplifies the long history of faith of the Old Testament, with its account of so many faithful  women. So Mary is our inspiration throughout the vicissitudes of life, both individually and collectively as the Christian people of God. 

And a life beyond this one, to which she has gone, is part of the Christian way of looking at things. She is one who put her trust in God and now she is gone to God, to glory. May she help us to entrust ourselves fully to Him, believe in his love,  especially in times of difficulty,  until the dawn of the undying day which is Christ himself!