Grace and Mercy Await

   "Let the one who is without sin be the first to cast a stone." I am the woman Discovered undercover Caught in the act Exhumed from hiding Beneath skin and flesh The secret desirings Of heart and mind I am the boy Who took refuge there A place of escape And safe solace My habitual habitation I am every one Who exists on the outside The other side of right And there is nothing That will not be revealed In the end And this is my end The law abiding strong Throng my orthodox accuser With only one solution The right of righteousness I am petrified Panic stricken stood bowed Barely able to breathe What will the first Struck stone feel like? What part of me Will bleed and break Before I am all blood broken Bone splintered? I gasp for air For life But God is God The One who alone is Good Stands upright Sees all that I am - ALL - Absorbs me into Himself Bends down So that my bending Now has no more shame in it And the Law  That once was carved In stone He now inscribes  In...

   Christmas rose from my back garden "God has sent down to earth a bag bulging with his mercy, a small bag, perhaps, but a full one: for it was a small child that was given to us, but in him dwells all the fullness of the Godhead."  (St Bernard of Clairvaux) A bag bulging with Mercy. What a wonderful description and, though I've been reading this piece every Christmas for forty six years, this is the first time it seems to have resonated with me. Like I'm seeing it for the first time. We didn’t have a snow-white Christmas but today we have the next best thing, with a heavy frost covering the earth about us, white cars, white rooftops. We’re still in the season. Beautiful weather we have had these past few days, and it is set to continue for the best part of a week.  There’s an olive wood crib from Bethlehem itself in front of the altar here in Mervue church, a lovely physical connection for us to have with the place where Jesus was born. Physical connections are an ...

He walks with us And we do not see Him We see Him But do not recognise Him He speaks And we do not understand Until He opens our eyes To the mystery Setting our hearts on fire As we comprehend Who He is who breaks The Bread His Body at our table At the closing of the day God is with us

The Sugrue Crib It's the season of waiting. Waiting for Christmas, for some new arrival of Jesus. Waiting to see the cardiologist. A long, long wait. And I have all the time in the world. Chris Rea sings 'Driving Home For Christmas' on the radio in the waiting room, a song that is always a reminder of Maura. Little did we think that Chris would die before Christmas, God rest him. My sister-in-law's Dad, Jim, has also died and we had his funeral yesterday. His family kept vigil with him for days as he quietly made his way home to God. Most blessed of all waiting. True Advent. A very meaningful waiting.  I am privileged to be drawn into their time of waiting, with them as friend and priest, and to witness the quality of their collective loving. And the gift of him being at home and they all being with him, caring for him right to the end. Each grandchild having their personal time with him, to say what they wished him to hear. Hearing is what he did. They were all heard b...

There are Questions That require   Silence Answers That require   Time Feelings That should not   Be exposed Flickering flames To the winds of Comment A season for kindness To be witheld Lest it smother and Extinguish The ordered resolution Of our incomplete States of being The shedding of Unfinished tears A season of Waiting with  Our impatient Discomfort

"You are where you are" she said when we were talking about Galway's awful traffic which she has to negotiate twice a day. She doesn't mind it that much. Her Dad and I were saying how much we dislike sitting in traffic. My view of cars is that, once you get into one, it's meant to move forward and not stand still. We wonder if it's a female/male thing - Venus and Mars? You are where you are. She has a point. It's an Advent kind of lesson. Something for me to pay attention to, though I don't yet have to deal with it here, since I've opted not to drive for now. But it's a state of mind too that applies to other situations. Like my garden. My front garden is a wreck of Winter and sometimes I feel like it's an expression of who I am, how I am. The sight of it repels me. And I want it sorted immediately, if not sooner, as the teacher used to say. But then I go inside my front door, into the sitting room where I spend most of the daytime hours an...