We’re pleased to share the latest edition of the Glenstal Abbey Chronicle, which may be viewed here.
We’re pleased to share the latest edition of the Glenstal Abbey Chronicle, which may be viewed here.
Last month we had a conference on Jungian psychology at Glenstal Abbey. I spoke to the fifty strong group and was surprised to get a question on bees at the end of my talk, which was about Projection in Jungian psychology. The person asking the question confessed to being a beekeeper, and she wanted to know what I had learned from my fifty years working with the bees at Glenstal.
I was surprised by her question. My response surprised me. I said I no longer thought of myself a beekeeper – that this was somehow a misnomer. Yes, I have bees but ‘no’ I am not ‘beekeeping’. This term suggests a kind of ownership or possession of the bees with which I no longer feel comfortable.
The term belies the wider issue of how we live and relate to the world of creation, of which we are a part. We speak of ‘nature’ and the ‘environment’ and of ‘going out into nature’ as if it were object ‘out there’, at a distance – as if we could live outside creation. This is not only wrong, but crazy thinking and leads to all sorts of abuse of the very world of which we are an integral part. If it is ‘out there’ we can do what we like with it, spend our lives tormenting it into doing whatever we want. ‘Nature’ is hitting back. Bees are in peril.
I told my questioner that I am searching for a new term to describe my relationship with bees – ‘tending them,’ ‘minding them’ but above all getting away from the idea that I own them or am keeping them or even managing them. I told her the most appropriate gesture for me in the apiary is to take a step back and see the mystery before me. I need to recover my ‘right size’, my appropriate stance before the bees in my hives.
I admitted that it had taken me until I was almost fifty to ‘see’ a bee. Until that moment, I viewed bees functionally – bee colonies were for production. I wasn’t quite as crass as that but I didn’t see them. I never marvelled at their magnificence. My aggressive, utilitarian approach dulled my perception and allowed me free reign to interfere, manipulate, and disrupt the bees. I was managing them using every management technique, every new beekeeping tip I could glean from magazines, journals and books.
Then one day everything changed. I ‘saw’ a bee. It landed at one of my hives, its pollen basket packed with golden, yellow pollen. It had only just made the alighting board weighed down as it was with its heavy load of life giving protein. There it was – a bee. Astonished at my discovery, I stared while the bee recovered enough strength to go inside the hive and hand over its load. The bee was too exhausted to mind my intrusive gawking. It was as if scales fell from my eyes. That moment taught me about the ‘tyranny of our conceptual frameworks’ – taught me that I needed to shatter the perceptual framework through which I viewed the world and start again and begin looking at the bees with loving rather than greedy eyes.
As I look back now on that, ‘moment of innocence’, seeing a bee for the first time, I recognise it as a ‘moment of reverence’ before the mystery. Living on this planet for 50 million years longer than we have, how can we be threatening their very existence? It woke me up to the destructive power of an irreverent mind-set and how it infects my relationship with the world in which I live.
We need to recover our organ of reverence before the wonders of creation – take a step back and look with astonishment at what is happening in and around us. This is not asking people to be naive but to recognise that our relationship with creation is dangerously out of joint – it threatens our very existence and that of the bees. We need to recover a stance that will allow us and the bees to survive on this beautiful and mysterious planet.
James Freeman Clark, an Easterner who traveled to the Western United States of America in the nineteenth century, wrote in his book on Self-Culture, ‘when I lived in the West, there came a phrenologist to the town, and examining the heads of all the clergymen in the place, found us all deficient in the organ of reverence. More than that, we all admitted that the fact was so, that we were not, any of us, especially gifted, with natural piety or love of worship. Then he said, ‘You have all mistaken your calling. You ought not to be ministers.’[1]
I might add, ought not to be ‘beekeepers’ either.
Simon Sleeman OSB
[1] James Freeman Clark in Van Wyck Brooks, The Flowering of New England (New York: Modern Library, 1936), 268.
We remember at this time Father Bernard O’Dea OSB – the first Irishman to enter the monastic community at Glenstal Abbey – whose 25th anniversary takes place later this month.
Born in Inagh, County Clare, on 3rd October 1909, Gerald O’Dea went to school at St Flannan’s College in Ennis. He briefly attended the Patrician Brothers’ School in Mountrath, County Laois.
Matriculated in 1928, he trained as a pharmacist and worked as an apprentice in Dublin. Having been advised and introduced by an Augustinian spiritual director, he entered Glenstal Abbey on 19th June 1932, receiving the name Bernard. He made profession on 1st October 1933, the first monastic profession in Glenstal. The following day, he went to our motherhouse of Maredsous Abbey in Belgium for further formation and studies.
Following the study of philosophy there from 1933 to 1935, he studied theology at the Congregation’s scholasticate in the monastery of Mont César in Louvain from 1935 to 1938. He made solemn profession at Glenstal on 1st October 1936. Returning definitively to Glenstal, he was ordained priest in Thurles on 12th June 1938. While finishing his theological studies here, he was appointed Subprior and Guestmaster.
When travel to and from Europe became possible once more after the Second World War, Glenstal Abbey’s founding abbot, Dom Celestine Golenvaux, visited the monastery for the month of October 1945. On 8th December of that year Father Bernard was appointed prior of what was still a dependent foundation. On 6th February 1948, the monastery achieved independence as a Conventual Priory and Father Bernard was appointed Conventual Prior. He held this office until forced by ill health to resign on 1st August 1951.
During Father Bernard’s term as Prior, many initiatives were taken. On 9th October 1948, a university hostel was opened at Balnagowan, a house in Palmerston Park in Dublin. A year later, a good tillage-farm with a substantial house at Ballyvoreen – some five miles from Glenstal – was acquired from the brother of Archbishop Harty. Always interested in horses, Father Bernard encouraged riding in the school and there are photographs of him giving an exhibition of show-jumping on one of the playing-fields. He once said, “give me a horse and I’ll live for ever.” However, when he fell from a horse near the back lodge in his late eighties, community sympathy was limited!
A major decision taken was to build a monastic church, as the temporary chapel of 1932 was proving increasingly inadequate. Dom Sebastian Braun of Maredsous was appointed architect. Father Gregory Barry, an accountant and former Spiritan priest, was appointed director of fundraising. The estimated cost at the time was £75.000.oo – about €3.6 million in today’s money. In the impoverished Ireland of the period, the only possibility of financing such a major undertaking was to supplement local endeavours, such as a Silver Circle, with foreign assistance. The main focus was on the United States. From February to September 1951, Father Bernard and Father Gregory made a successful tour of that country, exploiting Father Bernard’s network of County Clare exiles, many of them priests. From this period, Father Bernard’s admiration and reverence for the United States, already strong, remained undimmed. He returned to Glenstal for the laying of the foundation-stone on 14th October 1951. This occasion marked the emergence of the monastery into wider public awareness. The foundation-stone was laid by Archbishop Kinnane of Cashel and the ceremony was attended by the President of Ireland, Mr. Seán T. O’Kelly.
Following his resignation as Prior, Father Bernard took a long holiday on medical advice. In the archives there is a photograph of him skiing in Switzerland. The photograph does not tell the whole story as one such descent ended in a broken leg!
On his return to Ireland, Father Bernard assumed the running of Balnagowan and continued an expanded ministry as a retreat-giver in Ireland and abroad which he maintained until late in life. For a short period, he resumed the role of Guestmaster.
As time went on, he suffered progressively from SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) which made it difficult for him to support the Irish winter. In the early 1980s he spent two years with the developing foundation in Nigeria in Ewu-Isan. On his return, he began to spend extended winter-periods in Florida, being hosted by his network of Irish priest-friends. Increasing frailty eventually made such sojourns impossible but Father Bernard was helped somewhat by the purchase of a full-spectrum sun-lamp.
Despite indifferent health, he maintained his huge network of friends and a vast correspondence. He was a great believer in what he believed to be the values of the 1916 Rising, and of the superiority of Irish country culture of neighbourliness and self-help as exemplified in the Muintir na Tíre movement, founded in 1937 by his life-long friend, Canon John Hayes of Bansha, County Tipperary. To the end, he remained an inveterate ‘tracer’, that is, a tracer of family lineage. Once successfully identified, the traced would be told. “I have you now,” he would say.
His last years were punctuated by frequent stays in hospital. It was not until the final days of his life that he began to accept that he was not going to recover from the cancer that had been diagnosed. He spent his last ten days in Milford Hospice, continuing to receive friends and well-wishers. Father Andrew Nugent stayed with him round the clock and was present when he finally died in the early morning of 23rd May 2000.
May he rest in peace.
Fr. Luke Macnamara: Whenever the Risen Lord appears to the disciples, he greets them in the same way: “Peace be with you.” The Risen Lord continues to offer his peace to us today. He does so at this Mass. After the Our Father we will hear his words: – “Peace I leave you, my peace I give you”. This peace is not the absence of war or strife, it is something much more. Wherever we are in the world, in whatever situation we may be, however difficult, the Lord with hands outstretched offers us his peace. We may have lost a beloved spouse, broken up with a girlfriend, lost a dear friend, developed a severe illness or be under threat of violence – the Lord’s peace reaches beyond the surface into our deepest selves, so that we be truly at peace.
The Lord doesn’t force his peace upon us. We can be reluctant to believe, we can have doubts and fears about exposing ourselves to the Lord’s touch. When the Lord appears to Thomas he asks him: “Give me your hand”. The hand represents our action in the world – so much of what we do involves our hands. It is only when they don’t work through illness or handicap that we come to realise how much our hands allow us to do. To give one’s hand to another implies a relationship of trust and much more. The clearest example is in marriage – “to give your hand in marriage” is more than a handshake – it is a giving up of one’s autonomy to share life with another. That sharing will involve moments of love and joy but also heartache and pain. However where there is true sharing, there is a deeper peace that sustains through the hard times.
There is something of this dynamic in the Lord’s invitation to Thomas to give him his hand. Thomas must trust even if that hand is to be placed in a tangled wound. The Lord shares the glory of his resurrection with Thomas but also the pain of his passion. Thomas by giving his hand replicates the Lord’s journey through the passion and death to the resurrection and life. By giving his hand to the Lord, he receives the Risen Lord’s gifts of peace and forgiveness. The Lord invites us to do the same, to trust and open our hands to him, that he may fill us with peace and forgiveness. The Lord invites us to open our hands to one another to share his peace and forgiveness. There is great power in a chain of open hands – we will share something of that power at the sign of peace. May we truly then go in peace at the end of Mass and bring that peace to all those we meet.
Luke Macnamara OSB
Fr. Lion Moreira: We have just heard Saint John’s account of how the tomb of Jesus was found empty. This is the story of a spiritual race, where the disciple whom Jesus loved was the first to cross the finish line. He saw and believed (Jn 20:8), and it was a while before Mary Magdalene, Peter and the other disciples reached that point. Let us briefly examine the successive stages of this race, which, in a sense, is also our own.
First upon the scene was Mary Magdalene. When she got to the tomb, she saw that the stone covering its entrance had been removed (cf. Jn 20:1). Relying solely on the testimony of her senses, she jumped to the wrong conclusion: ‘They have taken the Lord out of the tomb,’ she cried, ‘and we do not know where they have laid him’ (Jn 20:2).
On hearing this, Peter and the other disciple set out at once. The two were running together, says the Evangelist, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first (Jn 20:4). What is the significance of this? Why was Peter following (cf. Jn 20:6) the beloved disciple, and not the other way round? There seems to be a connection here to an earlier incident, when Jesus was brought before Caiaphas. On that occasion, both Peter and the other disciple were following their Master (cf. Jn 18:15), but Peter denied being one of Jesus’ disciples (cf. Jn 18:17). Now, on the way to the empty tomb, Peter was being led by the one who had never turned away, so that he too might run the path of discipleship without wavering.
At the entrance to the tomb, the beloved disciple stepped aside and let his companion go in before him. Then Simon Peter saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself (Jn 20:6-7). At this point, Peter understood that he was looking at signs with a special significance. First, he realised that the neat positioning of the linen wrappings and the facecloth showed that the body had not been stolen. Then, he began to recall what Jesus had said and done. Perhaps the first thing that crossed his mind was the response Jesus had given to the Jewish authorities just before the Feast of Passover: ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up’ (Jn 2:19). It is written in Saint John’s Gospel that Jesus was speaking of his own body and his resurrection from the dead (cf. Jn 2:21). But this could well have been Peter’s original interpretation – a truth that began to dawn on him when he stood inside the empty tomb.
While Simon Peter was still reflecting, the other disciple also entered the tomb. He saw and believed (Jn 20:8). His was the gaze of someone who had already pieced it all together and now fully realised that God had fulfilled his plan to save humankind by raising Jesus from the dead. He understood this with his mind, believed it with his heart, and was ready to proclaim it with his lips.
In this episode from Saint John’s Gospel, there is a marked contrast between Mary Magdalene on one side, and Peter and the beloved disciple on the other: Mary appears alone in the dark of night, unable to see beyond the evidence of her senses, while the other two are shown running together on the path of discipleship – an action that leads to faith in the resurrection of Jesus. The story, however, does not end there. Mary follows closely behind Simon Peter and the other disciple, and when she reaches the tomb again, the risen Lord reveals himself to her, making her the first herald of his resurrection.
The conclusion is easily drawn: at times, we may feel lost in the darkness of this world, where we are told there is no scientific evidence that anyone has ever risen from the dead. But if we persevere in following Jesus together with his other disciples, as members of his Church, the risen Lord himself will open our minds to recognise the signs of his living presence – so that we can sing and proclaim with joy: Christ has risen, alleluia!
At the conclusion of the recent Universal Synod in October 2024, Pope Francis quoted Madeleine Delbrêl in saying that “there are places where the Spirit blows, but there is one Spirit who blows in every place.”
As we mourn the passing of Pope Francis we thank God for the particular way in which he himself was a bearer of the Holy Spirit, giving voice to the cry of the poor, to the cry of the earth, calling us to solidarity across nations and cultures, championing the rights of migrants and calling the Church back to the synodal dynamics of her springtime.
He encouraged each of us to play our part, no matter how small. For Pope Francis, “small is not a handicap; it’s a resource.”
May he rest in the peace of Christ, and may the Holy Spirit continue to guide us on our pilgrim way.
Abbot Columba McCann OSB
Abbot Christopher Dillon: There is a great deal happening in this scene of the woman who has been caught in the act. At the same time, one wonders what had become of her partner. She cannot have been alone and they are each as guilty as the other; indeed, the Law which the priests and the Pharisees are quoting prescribes that the man should be stoned before the woman. Whatever about that, the point here, of course, is that Jesus is being put to the test on the horns of a dilemma. The Law is clear: the woman must be stoned. On the other hand, Jesus is beloved by the crowd for his reputation for mercy. Which is it to be? The righteous indignation, even the vindictiveness, of the accusers is palpable, as they press Jesus for his response, while he writes or doodles with his finger on the ground, avoiding their gaze and probably gathering his thoughts. But when he stands up, the simple expression of his conclusion both challenges and rebuts their judgmentalism, “Let the one among you who is without sin cast the first stone.” His response is as brilliant in its simplicity as in its justice. He does not minimise the gravity of the crime or question the justice of the sentence, but he reveals the unworthiness of the woman’s accusers and their own sinfulness rendering them incompetent to raise a hand against her. Among those present, Jesus alone is competent in his sinlessness to lift a stone against her, which he forbears to do. Instead, Jesus invites the woman to make a new beginning, leaving the past behind, to go and sin no more.
Is not this what Jesus is doing for all of us, as he embarks on the final stretch of his mission among us and embraces his passion in these coming weeks? The first reading from Isaiah has God leading us on a new Exodus inclining us to thanksgiving rather than complaining. Then St Paul speaks of straining forward to faith in Christ instead of striving for perfection by his own efforts.
In this woman who has sinned and indeed in her sinning partner, Jesus is urging us to go and sin no more. For the Lord wishes not the death of sinners but that we be converted and live. God’s justice and mercy are infinite, but somehow his mercy outweighs his justice. We should study his example and learn from it to apply it in our own lives. The goal of all God’s action in Jesus is that we have life and have it to the full. Is that not what God is working towards by means of the passion of Jesus in the astonishing phenomenon of the resurrection?
We have much to reflect on with that woman and with her we have much for which to be forever grateful.
Please note the following changes to the liturgical timetable during Holy Week and the Octave of Easter:
Holy Thursday
Morning Prayer: 7am
Midday Prayer: 12.30pm
Solemn Mass of the Lord’s Supper: 7pm
Compline: 9.45pm
Good Friday
Morning Prayer: 7.30am
Midday Prayer: 12.30pm
Solemn Liturgy of the Lord’s Passion: 3pm
Compline: 8.35pm
Holy Saturday
Morning Prayer: 7.30am
Midday Prayer: 12.30pm
Evening Prayer: 6pm
Solemn Vigil of the Lord’s Resurrection: 10pm
Easter Sunday
Solemn Morning Prayer: 8am
Mass (no singing): 10am
Sung Mass: 12 noon
Solemn Vespers: 6pm
Compline: 8.10pm
+ A monk will be available to hear Confessions in the Abbey Church on Good Friday at 11am, 4.30pm and 5.30pm, and on Holy Saturday at 11am, 3pm, 4pm and 5pm.
+ Lauds (Morning Prayer) will take place at 7am from Easter Monday to Sunday 27th April.
+ There will be no Compline (Night Prayer) in the Abbey Church on Easter Monday.
+ The usual liturgical timetable will resume on Sunday 27th April.
+ The guesthouse will be closed from Wednesday 16th April to Friday 25th April.
+ The opening hours of the Monastery Reception and Shop will be as follows:
Holy Thursday: 9am-5pm
Good Friday: 9am-3pm
Holy Saturday: 10am-5pm
Easter Sunday: 9am-1pm
Easter Monday: Closed
Tuesday/Wednesday/Thursday of Easter Week: 10am-2pm
Friday of Easter Week: 11:30-5pm
Saturday of Easter Week: 9:30am-5pm
The above quotation from Frederick Douglass, the nineteenth century American slave turned abolitionist, testifies to the pleasure and value of reading. For Douglass it was patently true; the ability to decipher words on a page was key to his release and future success as a social reformer. However reading can yield deeper levels of freedom than that.
One can read for pure pleasure. Who has not stopped and savoured the first lines of some works of fiction! ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.’ (‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen.) And the whole of Emily Bronte’s ‘Wuthering Heights’ has given aesthetic pleasure to generations of readers. The same can be said of ‘The Grapes of Wrath’ (by Steinbeck), ‘All the Light We Cannot See’ (by Anthony Doerr) and countless other novels. With them a reader thus ‘lives a thousand lives before he dies ….. [whilst] the man who never reads lives only one.’ Such ‘great reads’ introduce one to something deeper than aesthetics, they bring one to another place where one encounters other people and other predicaments. In time one learns to read a novel vertically as well as horizontally, and to understand literature not just as story but to value it for its ‘eternal freight’. This requires being open to literature as a study in depth of human nature from which we are enriched, rather than dismissing it as fanciful and to be replaced by a textbook of biology. But to read literature many of us require a teacher, either a formal one or an informal one and friend.
EXULTATION is the going
Of an inland soul to sea,—
Past the houses, past the headlands,
Into deep eternity!
Bred as we, among the mountains,
Can the sailor understand
The divine intoxication
Of the first league out from land? [1]
However for all the pleasure and companionship literature gives, and the voice it gives to man’s ultimate concerns, it is insufficient in responding to our search for meaning. The Bible indeed can be read for its literary quality alone: the Book of Esther for its epic plot, Second Isaiah and the Psalms for the beauty of their language, Sirac and Proverbs for their critical thinking, but to the believer these texts have another dimension; they resonate with something ‘other’, from beyond the horizon of everyday experience. These books have a character which is both human and divine. But while the reading the Bible is full of promise it is not easy to plumb its depths. At the most basic level the Jewish Rabbi, for example, does not see the Bible a narrative whole, in contrast to the Christian view. For him it is not a story of disaster in the Garden of Eden leading on to ultimate rescue, but a cryptic text (where no detail is unimportant) that offers guidance for life. For Christians it is a collection of books that does form a single whole and is unified by the New Testament. In this it testifies to Jesus as the Messiah and Son of God. To recognise this, and much more, one is best off when accompanied by a guide who can reveal its depth of meaning.
Christian tradition from earliest times has guided readers on four possible levels of meaning in scripture: first is the literal interpretation or what the author meant. This may not always be obvious as we run the risk of reading elements of our own cultural mindset into that of ancient times. As Origen said, taking the text on face value, as some people do, can be a sign of stupidity. (Whoever heard a snake speaking in Hebrew, as related in Genesis 3!). A second level of meaning is ethical; make the comparison between the Law of Moses and the teaching of Jesus from the Sermon on the Mount! A third level of scripture, termed ‘allegorical’, consists in taking people, places and things of scripture as pointing to realities on a higher plane in a symbolic world. The story of the good Samaritan has been read as representing Christ’s mission of salvation to all humanity. And finally, ‘anagogical’ interpretation detects mystical signs of the after life in biblical events and statements. In each level of interpretation Jesus Christ is shown to be the fulfliment of the Old Testament. A most ironic of all biblical passages is when Jesus, in the synagogue on the sabbath, having read from the scroll of Isaiah announces that “this text is being fulfilled today even while you are listening.” (Lk 4:16-22).
Monks have long approached the biblical literature along these lines though under the rubric of ‘Meditatio – Contemplatio – Oratio’. It is known as ‘Lectio Divina’. What could be better than to ruminate on the inspired scriptures so as to extract its divine essence, infused as it is through human words! For this kind of literature we may need a pedagogue! There are very many. Scripture commentaries come in varied user-friendly editions. Cf. footnotes for a few. [2]
Benedictine monks, at least during the season of Lent, ‘each receive a book from the library which they shall read through consecutively’. [3] If you too need guidance and encouragement in reading the Bible it may help to use a commentary or join a guided-reading group. It may set you on your path to freedom as a child of God, forever!
John O’Callaghan OSB
[1] Emily Dickinson
[2] ‘A History of the Bible’, by John Barton; Penguin Books 2020; ‘Jesus of Nazareth’ by Pope Benedict; Bloomsbury 2007; ‘The People’s Bible Commentary’ published by the Bible Reading Fellowship, Oxford; ‘Letter of HH Pope Francis on the Role of Literature in Formation’ ..
[3] Rule of Benedict; Chapter 48
Fr.Luke Macnamara: Life is far from perfect in our lives, year groups, families, community. We make mistakes in our relationships, with God, with others, and with ourselves. Embarrassment and shame can stop us from mending relationships. We can live alongside rather than beside one another. This is not being fully alive but only a half existence.
The Gospel story reflects this reality. It speaks of a dysfunctional family – where relationships are messy: the wayward younger son (Junior), the resentful older son (Senior). As the story progresses, Junior and Senior no longer regard themselves as sons. Junior hopes to be treated as a hired servant. Senior regards himself as having worked as a slave for his father. While both Junior and Senior are physically alive, they think of themselves as slaves and not as sons. They live apart from their father.
When Junior returns home, he is greeted by the Father who runs out to him, welcomes him with a kiss, gives him his finest robe, a signet ring and sandals, indicating his status as a son in the family. The feast is held to celebrate because as the Father’s says: “This son of mine was dead and has come back to life, he was lost and now is found.” How can this be? How can the Father overlook Junior’s many faults? Is Junior looking for some nice clothes and a full belly? How pure are his motives? The Father asks none of these questions – he simply embraces his lost son.
Although assured of the Father’s welcome, how can we take this difficult road back to the Father? Jesus has taken this road before us and for us. He has become lost and found for us, he has died and risen for us, that we might have fullness of life. Through the power of Christ’s death and resurrection, we are reconciled with God. Let no feelings of inadequacy come between us and the offer of Christ’s powerful reconciliation which leads to fullness of life, now, and in the world to come. Those joined to Christ become a new creation. Let us use these last three weeks of Lent to join ourselves close to Christ, to be reconciled to God, each other and ourselves, that we may receive his Easter gifts of peace, love, and life.