Mary Kenny
As I left Mass last weekend, one of the parishioners came after me to say – “There will be no more Mass now for four weeks.” Actually, it could be longer. In Kent, where I am presently sequestered (and sequestered is the word), the authorities are talking about compelling all older people to remain in self-isolation for four months. Quite a stretch.
It’s obvious that we all have to do the responsible thing to contain and deter the coronavirus as much as possible. We have to protect ourselves in order to protect other people.
And yet, my thoughts went back to the Penal times in Ireland when despite all the deterrents and punishments, people sought out Mass on wild rocks or down by the seashore where the authorities could not follow.
In England itself, Catholic priests risked being hung, drawn and quartered – and some were – if they said Mass for secret Recusants. They willingly took that risk.
Electronic means
Circumstances are different today. Nobody is closing churches to persecute faith. And Mass can be accessed via electronic means – the Vatican itself plans to “stream” the Easter ceremonies.
But still, it’s all pretty sad to lose that connection with the real presence, and with the community too. There is a tradition of the hermit in Christianity, but few of us have the calling to be hermits.
The open church is such a symbol of spiritual comfort and a place of peace to all. In Dublin, I pass Donnybrook church regularly on the bus, and each time I look, that portal is open.
Perhaps it will make us appreciate many things we didn’t appreciate before – including the life of the Faith community”
Perhaps, on the other side of the coin, this crisis is also a message to us to ‘love our neighbour’, and to be as altruistic as we can in thinking about the impact on others.
Perhaps it will make us appreciate many things we didn’t appreciate before – including the life of the Faith community.
It’s also an opportunity for priests to exercise pastoral care in other, alternative ways. I hope they can show that care, and that spiritual and moral leadership too.
Walking away from weekend Mass, for the last time for a long time, was a kind of valediction. Who knows when I shall dip my finger in that font again?
Licensed to thrill for another term
I think I may have to let go of my ‘bucket list’ dream of doing a petrolhead lap in a sports car at Mondello Park, which I had fantasised about for a senior birthday. There comes a moment when we have to face our limitations and I guess a Lewis Hamilton-style stunt is out.
Still, I’m grateful that my driving licence has been renewed – a welcome birthday present. Older people really need to be able to use their cars, if only for short local journeys – and that’s especially true for anyone living in the countryside. I know 90-year-olds still zooming around the wild Atlantic ways of Connacht – bravo to them.
Younger generations are actually driving less, and fair play to them. They are looking at a new world where, hopefully, there will be more and better public transport, and new solutions to the problems of air pollution. But for the moment, for a senior generation – it’s drive on, Macduff!
A poignant thought for Mother’s Day…
It was the anniversary of my mother’s death on the Ides of March, nearly 30 years ago, and it’s often a day of bitter self-recrimination. The weather had been bad in the months leading up to her death, and I had put off travelling to see her. How stupid, selfish and heedless I had been! I was so wrapped up in my own busy life, I didn’t even anticipate the fact that, at 89, she might so easily depart this world.
I recall it all so well: I was at the dentist when I got a message to call my uncle. He gave me the news. I lay down on my bed, sort of stunned, and read a favourite poem of hers, Goldsmith’s The Deserted Village.
I know we should consign the past to the mercy of God, but regret is one of the most painful of all emotions. And blessed are those who are there for their mothers at the departure.
That is my thought for Mother’s Day, this Sunday.