NO DOUBT AT ALL!

We – my husband and I - met him on evening perambulations which ended at the grotto.  The exchange would be humorously peppery – Thomas the Watchman never lacked for repartee. He could be testy and truculent at the best of times, but that often irascible exterior held a dutiful heart.  

 

In those months that Thomas was on night duty, he signed off at 6 AM, the time that I arrived to set up the keyboard for Sunday morning Mass.  He observed me just once.  From that time on the keyboard was in place ready and waiting, the chairs and mics for the cantors were also set.  All I had to do was switch on and play.  Thomas himself would be sitting in Church, three pews down in silent communion with the Eucharistic presence.  Before leaving, he would come and ask, ‘Everything ok?’  He was and is the only watchman who ever did that service for me.  I cannot forget.

When he received notice of his retirement, he asked if there was any job for him as a watchman.  But his health did not permit heavy duty.  And his attitude was read by many as disrespect.  Thomas, apparently, did not believe in the Carnegie doctrine: he certainly did not go out on a limb to win friends or influence people. And yet his was an unforgettable, instantly recognisable presence. The numbers at his final journey spoke for themselves.  

It is fitting that his funeral oration also bore the mark of his earthy humour: When challenged by St. Peter at the gates of heaven, Thomas is thought to have replied, "I guarded the gates of the Lord’s House for twelve years and any time you need a replacement, I’m willing to do your job!"

St. Peter is not likely to relinquish duty at the pearly gates, but there is no doubt that we’ll meet Thomas within.

A QUESTION OF ANONYMITY

Blogs should be bright and breezy.  Entertaining. Easy to read.  And serious ones, like medicine, should be honey coated to make them palatable.

 

Not this one.

A friend has been targeted by that all too frequently used weapon – the anonymous letter. My friend is not all sweetness and light.  She is no angel singing to tuneful accompaniment upon the harp.  And she knows that getting the job done does make enemies.  She takes that in her stride. But I do not. I am appalled by the cowardice that can accuse and allege but will not acknowledge ownership of such accusation.  I am even more appalled to discover that authority takes cognizance of such content. It is considered ‘feedback’. No smoke without a fire?

Not too long ago, I had the privilege of working with a very pragmatic boss.  If someone approached him with a grievance against a colleague or superior, he would bring accuser and accused together and ask for an open discussion where he served as mediator.  While this invariably sorted out matters, the method caused quite a bit of discomfort!  The anonymous letters commenced.  The boss made a very public announcement.  ‘I have received a number of complaints, all of them unsigned.  Since I am unable to acknowledge these directly, I am pleased to make a general announcement that all said complaints have been seriously, thoroughly and immediately addressed.  They have been consigned to the paper shredder.’  Now, that’s treating the anonymous letter with the contempt it deserves.

There is anonymity and anonymity.  And there is need to understand the difference.  There was a time when women authors would never have been published and so took on male pseudonyms; others did not want to be identified with their published work because of their public persona and used the pen name route, cloaking their own name with another.  Media knows all too well about sources that ‘do not wish to be quoted’.  A classic of its time – All the President’s Men – relied on ‘Deep Throat’ as informant.  But each lead was meticulously followed and checked.  Truth was the objective.  We have seen how courageous whistle blowers are dealt with, making the anonymous route even more desirable.  So, am I making a case for the anonymous complaint or not?

There is a fine line which divides the ethical from the dishonourable and we need to understand the difference. Anonymous letters are written by real people who presumably like to think that they have a conscience.  It would be well to remember that conscience and courage go hand in hand.

It would be a good thing, too, to call to mind yet another breed of people who prefer to remain unnamed: the numerous secret benefactors who do much to make this world better. 

The best time and place to be anonymous is when giving with a generous heart.

IN THIS TIME OF MIRACLES

Perhaps it’s because they’re ‘Religious’.  Steeped in the word of the Lord, daily prayer and commitment to God’s work, it must come naturally to them that ‘what needs to be done will be done’, even if it takes a miracle to see things through. Times without number I’ve exclaimed, ‘Sister, you’re asking for a miracle!’ and Sister will calmly reply, ‘Yes.’

 

I’ve also lost count of the innumerable times that I have emphatically stated, ‘It simply cannot be done,’ and Sister has replied, ‘Just do it!’

We have an annual day coming up and, against the odds, we have a program to execute. Limited time, limited resources, limited talent, myriad things to do and it must all come right on the day. Perfection is demanded. Teachers are harried, children are hustled, helpers scurry, suppliers are summoned – there is an air of frantic anticipation and the tension can be cut with a knife.  Schedules overlap, tempers snap, rehearsals are called and cancelled or rearranged, props are lost and found, children are temporarily mislaid (they are on a quick trip to the loo and get ambushed by friends on the return trip), voices are raised in cross-chatter as instructions are called and countermanded, and everywhere there is bustle.  Harness that energy and you could light up a city!

Two days to go before dress rehearsal.  We go through the instructions, the sequence, the words, the actions, the song, one more time.  Will they get it right?  One child is out of sync.  One child stops to ask, ‘Miss, I haven’t got my costume.’ Another, ‘Miss, one girl is absent.  Should we keep her place?’ Another, ‘Miss, I need the bathroom.’ I take a deep breath and let it out. The costume problem is sorted out.  The absent girl is relegated to the back row if at all she turns up for dress rehearsal and the children are given a collective bathroom break. And we start again.  Now, there are two children out of sync.  We stop and practice the actions once again.  Everybody is together.  So, we sing.  They lose their note and do not notice!  (It’s good to remember that ‘sing’ is used more figuratively than literally – our children’s voices are not music to the ears).  I make them revise the tonic sol fa and we start again.  One, two, three, go! We get through the song with more enthusiasm than finesse.  Isn’t that what children are all about? I hope so.  Because, by now I’m limp, wrung out, brain dead.  Never mind.  There’s always tomorrow.  And then the event will be over before you know it.  If I survive till then.

Will everything go right on the day? 

I couldn’t say for sure.  What I do know is that it will take a miracle!

That ‘WOW’ Feeling

A priest, who recently conducted a session on preparing for the Liturgy, told us that every celebration of the Eucharist should be a ‘Wow’ moment – we should come away feeling that the experience had been awesome, out of this world, each and every time. 

And I found myself thinking: Like yeah – prayers routinely muttered in monotone with spattered responses, everyone doing their own thing, boring sermon and really bad singing.  So, where’s the ‘Wow’?

Then I was hauled up to play keyboard at a funeral.  What hymns? The usual.  Who’ll be singing? Not known: whoever turns up. Oh dear!

I dutifully trotted to the church, set up the keyboard, arranged the music and waited.  One ‘singer’ turned up and with her help I set the pitch.  She was soon followed by a few others – all altos – who insisted that I keep the pitch low.  My heart sank proportionately. Gradually, the group grew – a motley crowd indeed.  They arranged themselves around the microphones and waited for Mass to commence.

The celebrant was young and as we launched into the entrance hymn, he joined in from the altar - fresh voiced and exultant - adding to the unexpected four voice harmony that emerged from the ‘cobbled together choir’.  It sounded amazingly beautiful, as did all the hymns and Mass parts that followed.  Our celebrant led us encouragingly through the various parts, enjoining us to ‘please stand, be seated, kneel’ for the purpose intended.  This unified the congregation in gesture and response. He preached a homily that spoke to the heart, referring to the deceased as if he spoke of his own mother – gently, affectionately and appreciatively.  Each part of the Eucharistic celebration segued with the next: each crested wave, higher than the last. Uplifting, illuminating, fulfilling, invigorating. Every response carried an inbuilt ‘hosanna’. This, indeed, was a funeral Mass with a difference. This called for complete and unconditional presence.

The deceased may have been quieted in death, but she was a vibrant personality in life.  Perhaps her spirit infused the celebration of this, her final Eucharist?

I’m still feeling that ‘WOW’.

Was that God?

These words were sent to me:

‘Look back on your day, find those moments when you encountered God and thank him.  In that gratitude, find joy and the reason for being you.’

So, I looked back on the day:

A watery sun breaks through the clouds, early in the morning, after a spell of violent gusting rain.

Was that God?

A friend called to say that she was thinking of me and had prayed for my well-being.

Was that God?

Went shopping and – unusually - got all the items on my list! (And I did not need to open my umbrella on the way home.)

Was that God?

My favourite breakfast cereal is back on the shelves after years (happy, happy surprise).

Was that God?

Sat down with a colleague to complete a task:  it turned out to be a sharing experience at many levels.

Was that God?

Still found time in a busy day for my favourite hobby – crochet.

Was that God?

And even more time to read the next few pages of my current library book.

Was that God?

Tried a new recipe.  It turned out tasty.

Was that God?

Received many uplifting quotes on FB.

Was that God?

Shared a chocolate bar with the elderly woman who sits at the corner of the street.  Her smile was dazzling.

Was that God?

In another time, another place, I came across the words: If you can be grateful for everything - appreciating the good and forgiving the bad - then you are peace with yourself, with God and with man.

The gift of reading – that encounter with the word – is that God?