Category: Covid-19

Ode to Joy – Homily for Christmas 2020

For any of us to lose our hearing is a tragedy. It cuts us off from much of life. But imagine being a supremely gifted composer, a musical maestro – and losing the one faculty you need most of all for your work. It’s akin to a pilot losing her eyesight, or a brain surgeon developing a tremor in his hands. Such was the catastrophe that befell Ludwig van Beethoven, born 250 years ago this month.

In his twenties, still honing his talent, Beethoven’s hearing began to deteriorate. He had to abandon his promising career as a concert pianist. Over the years, he tried every manner of medical intervention, to no avail. As a silent world enfolded him, he grew increasingly frustrated, irritable, withdrawn. Eventually, stone deaf, he had to rely on what he called his ‘mind’s ear’ when composing. Yet, despite this callous twist of fate, this cruel life sentence, Beethoven was able to conjure music of astonishing beauty, exquisite harmonies that soared. He crafted compositions of unprecedented complexity and grandeur, sublime, transcendent, immortal.

Music always remained for him a labour of joy. Beethoven’s symphony No. 9, his last symphony, ends with the Ode to Joy, a triumphant celebration of sisterhood and brotherhood that has become an anthem of European unity. It’s a majestic choral masterpiece that does what it says on the tin – a hymn to joy unconfined, a touch of the divine. Imagine being able to write something so extraordinary when you’re profoundly deaf.

Ode to joy. For Christians, Christmas is the great season of our joy. We mark the birth 2000 years ago of Jesus, Immanuel, God with us, who in his life, his message, his dying and rising, made our salvation possible. His birth is joy to the world, as the angels sing, joy unconfined. We celebrate God’s labour of love that gave birth to joy.

Joy is an experience our battered world badly needs after the long year we have endured.

Last May, as George Floyd choked under a policeman’s heavy knee in Minneapolis in the United States, his last gasping words were, “I can’t breathe.”

“I can’t breathe” is an apt metaphor for 2020. It describes the experience of those flattened by Covid 19. It encapsulates so much of our human experience.

“I can’t breathe” is an expression of the wearied cry of the world’s poor, whose plight is worsened by the pandemic.

“I can’t breathe” is the jaded cry of those continuously crushed by racism, in Ireland as well as overseas.

“I can’t breathe” is the exhausted cry of women and LGBT+ people and all who suffer discrimination.

“I can’t breathe” is the plaintive cry of our plundered, pulverised planet.

“I can’t breathe…” Three little words that express the suffering of our beautiful world. Three words that remind us of all we need to do to fulfil the angels’ message of joy to the world.

There are many for whom Christmas is the most painful time of the year – a time of sadness, loneliness, grief, loss.

We cry out for hope, for good news, for respite from drudgery and lockdowns and routine. Joy is something we need to experience and celebrate, and Christmas is the season of joy.

Pope Francis loves the word ‘joy.’ It’s sprinkled throughout his preaching and writing, it’s in the titles of his major letters and encyclicals – the joy of the Gospel, the joy of love, rejoice and be glad. It’s no surprise he loves that word because joy is the hallmark of our Christian faith.

Joy is the essence of this feast. The joy in knowing God is with us; the joy in knowing God has not forgotten us; the joy in love shared; the joy of families united. Christmas is an ode to joy.

And though Covid has left us weary, there is much to be grateful for this year, many reasons to rejoice. Gratitude for our dedicated doctors, nurses, carers, all our frontline workers, who have given of themselves so selflessly this interminable year; gratitude for the sense of community and shared responsibility that has kept transmission of the virus under control; gratitude for modern communications technology that allows us to stay connected, that enables businesses to keep going and liturgies to be broadcast, that helps us stay sane. Gratitude for the joy of sport, its ability to draw us together, for the excellent boost Limerick’s All Ireland hurling triumph has given the people of this city and county. We have many reasons to rejoice.

So remember today what brings our Christmas joy. Jesus’ humble birth has prepared a way for us to draw near to him. In our brokenness, our poverty, our weakness, our need, God comes to us. God’s presence is healing and life-giving and renewing. We shout for jo for we have been saved.

Feel that joy today. Let it seep into every molecule of your being. Let it envelop you. Invite it in, especially if you have lacked its fullness this year. Inhale it. Nurture it. Treasure it.

Share that joy. It’s a precious, priceless gift. Reach out to those you know who have found this year difficult, who find this time of year difficult, those laid low by illness or financial worries or separation or loss. By your words and actions, lift them. Carry them. Carry each other.

Hold onto that joy. These festive days will pass. Post-Christmas blues will sweep in. Our long Covid nightmare isn’t over. But when normality resumes, choose to continue to take refuge in God and to rejoice. Because of Jesus’ arrival 2,000 years ago, we are now able, even in the midst of darkness and uncertainty, to experience the joy of God’s presence forever.

An overflowing joy of which Beethoven’s immortal music is but a tiny little foretaste.

Relationships in a time of crisis – homily for Day 4 of Limerick novena

Last autumn my sister became a granny for the first time. In fact, in the space of six weeks, she became a granny twice over. Two little boys. Future Limerick hurlers. Future Liverpool supporters. A joyous time for us all.

Then, the lockdown came. My sister could no longer hold or hug her grandsons. Because her job exposed her to vulnerable people, she could no longer smother them with grandmotherly affection. She had to keep her distance to keep them safe. A tremendous sacrifice.

I have felt the pain of isolation, too. Though safely cocooned in my monastery, I missed my loved ones. All of us have felt the pain of separation during this time.

If the lockdown has reminded of us anything, it is of the importance of touch. Human touch is essential to our wellbeing, from the moment we are born. It’s how we transmit love, care, meaning, belonging. Touch gives life. It tells us we’re alive.

Jesus knew the importance of touch. He was deliberately tactile. He made sure to lay his hands on those who were ill. He touched them physically, skin against skin. He didn’t have to touch them. His words alone were sufficient. But Jesus knew the healing power of touch.

Having to ditch long-established gestures of greeting and intimacy, such as handshakes, hugs, embraces, has been one of the most challenging aspects of the long lockdown. Not being able to be present with loved ones in hospital. To not be able to comfort loved ones as they died.

Imagine if we had a touchless future, if we could no longer enjoy what makes us fully alive.

Hopefully, the worst is now over, and that we have a greater appreciation of the importance of physical touch and personal space. The Covid-19 crisis has offered us some key reminders.

First, that we depend on each other. We need each other; we cannot live without each other. The old Wild West notion of rugged individualism is still strong, the idea that a person is totally self-reliant and independent, not needing anyone. The lockdown has reminded us that none of us can go it alone. We live in relationship.

This truth is at the heart of our Christian faith. We are not comprised of individuals but a community, a family of sisters and brothers, sharing the one bread, the one cup, animated by the one Spirit. Think of the relationship between the three persons of the Holy Trinity, which is the model for how we should live. There is no such person as the private Christian. We are social and relational. We need one another.

This crisis has reminded us to value our loved ones more, never to take them for granted. Mark McKinnon is a political consultant in America. Some time ago, he wrote a book about a new wisdom he has gained. He describes himself as being extremely lucky. He had a good life and a great career, making lots of money. He had two beautiful daughters and a wife, Annie, who was his high school sweetheart.

Then, disaster struck. Annie contracted an aggressive form of cancer. Her chances of survival were just 15 percent. But, against all the odds, she recovered.

Annie’s battle with cancer led McKinnon to examine his life and what was important to him. He realised he had been given a precious gift, the gift of time – more time with Annie; time to watch their children grow and have children of their own; time to enjoy his loved ones.

And he was going to make the most of it. So he sat down and looked at his age, his family history, and his own medical history. He calculated that, all going well, he could expect to live for another 10,136 days. Then he bought two glass jars – and 10,136 beads. He filled one jar with the beads, left the other one empty, and put both jars on his desk. Now, every day he takes one bead from the full jar and places it in the other. That’s how his measures his days.

“Every day when I take out a bead, I stop for a moment, and say a prayer of thanks. Thanks for my health. Thanks for my friends. Thanks for my daughters. Thanks for a lucky, lucky life. And thanks, most of all, for Annie.”

Annie’s illness had led him to recognise what was most important – his wife, his family, his children. Her cancer was his wake-up call. Covid-19 is our wake-up call – to treasure our loved ones, to invest in them every day, never to take them for granted.

Covid-19 is a reminder that we’re not perfect; we are a work in progress. Being locked down for so long may have put a strain on our relationships. Reports suggest there’s been an increase in domestic violence and in alcohol abuse. The extra stress may have highlighted our faults, our weaknesses. It may have highlighted aspects of our character, our personality, we need to work on.

In his letter on family life, Pope Francis reminds us that families are a work in progress. No family drops down from heaven perfectly formed, he says; “families need constantly to grow and mature in the ability to love… All of us are called to keep striving towards something greater than ourselves and our families, and every family must feel this constant impulse.” We must always keep aiming toward being better. Growing all the time – in forgiveness, patience, selflessness, understanding, love. Always growing in perfection.

Covid-19 has been devastating for our global family in so many ways. But one good outcome is that it has offered us a unique opportunity to reflect on and improve the quality of our relationships. Use this time well. Don’t waste it. Grasp it. Grow.

“I can’t breathe” – homily for Day 1 of Perpetual Help novena

“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.”

Famous lines from WB Yeats’ poem “The Second Coming.” Published a century ago, “The Second Coming” is one of the most plundered poems in the English language, its lines popping up regularly in books, songs, films, TV, speeches and newspapers. It’s a poem we turn to in uncertain times: Things fall apart…

Lines from another Yeats’ poem, “Easter 1916,” are repeatedly plundered, too: “All changed, changed utterly, a terrible beauty is born.”

Yeats was referring to the 1916 rising. He could just as easily have been describing our world today. When we’re lost for words, we turn to poets to better express how we feel. Yeats’ words summarise the catastrophe of Covid-19: Things fall apart… All changed utterly.

Unlike the recession of 2008, the Covid-19 pandemic has impacted every country. It has cut across differences of age, gender, ethnicity, wreaking devastation and despair. It has brought sickness, death, loss, loneliness, isolation, domestic violence, collapsed credit, closed churches, shuttered shops, deserted workplaces. It has tested and tormented us—the deepest depression in a century.

These past few months, all changed utterly – but not all for the bad. Some change has been positive.

Our sense of connectedness has deepened. Physical distancing has reminded us to treasure our relationships, to nurture them, to never take them for granted. It has reminded us of those priceless traditional values we were in danger of letting go – community, neighbourliness, solidarity, empathy, concern for one another.

We have a new appreciation for health care and front line workers, those often overlooked, overworked and underpaid. We are reminded that those who hold many of the most critical jobs don’t have fancy degrees or smart suits or posh addresses; that without these essential workers, society would crumble. We’ve been invited to value people and jobs that often we disregard.

Planet earth has had a chance to catch its breath. Smog lifted, air pollution plummeted, waterways cleared, fauna and flora flourished, nature nurtured—a real springtime for our common home.

All welcome developments, but at a terrible cost. Covid-19 has been that rare plague that has affected everyone in some way.

Last month, as George Floyd choked under a policeman’s heavy knee in Minneapolis, his last gasping words were, “I can’t breathe.”

“I can’t breathe” also describes the experience of victims of Covid-19, struggling frantically for air. It describes so much of our human experience.

“I can’t breathe” is an expression of the wearied cry of the world’s poor, who have been hit hardest by this pandemic.

“I can’t breathe” is the jaded cry of those continuously crushed by racism, in Ireland as well as overseas.

“I can’t breathe” is the exhausted cry of women and LGBT people and all who suffer discrimination.

“I can’t breathe” is the plaintive cry of our plundered planet.

“I can’t breathe…” Three little words that express so much of what’s wrong with our world today, problems compounded by the pandemic. Three little words that remind us of the work we need to do if we are to love and care for each other as we should.

Covid-19 proposes three points for reflection, three lessons for us Christians.

Covid-19 has been a wake-up call, a chance for us to think about what matters most. Many of us lead busy lives. There is so much to do, so many commitments that seem important. The lockdown has forced us to slow down, to put plans on hold. It’s been an invitation to examine our activities, our priorities, to practice present moment awareness. A chance to breathe.

I’ve heard more birdsong this spring than at any time in my life. The birds have always been singing, of course. It’s just I was too distracted to hear them before. A retreat from the world, even if imposed on us, is an opportunity to take stock. Grasp this chance while you can. See, smell, listen, hear, touch. Breathe.

Covid-19 has highlighted the major fault lines in our society and church. Like how we treat our elderly. Why have nursing homes and residential institutions been so severely affected? How can we take better care of our most vulnerable?

Racism isn’t just an American phenomenon. It’s present here, too. We must hold the incoming government to its pledge to end the scandal of Direct Provision. We must confront racism wherever we encounter it.

How can we better reward and recognise our frontline workers, those drivers and carers and cleaners and shop assistants and delivery people, who have risked their lives at the coalface these past six months?

Shuttered churches have given us a painful foretaste of what it’ll be like in 20 years when there will be few priests left to celebrate the sacraments. How can we become a less clerical, more inclusive church?

The shutdown has shown how quickly the earth can breathe anew if given a chance. What can each of us do to help it breathe?

Finally, this pandemic reminds us of a wonderful truth about our God. On the cross, Jesus said, “I can’t breathe.” His breath was taken from him. But God raised Jesus from the dead. And remember what Jesus did when he appeared to his followers in the upper room after his resurrection: he breathed on them. His first act was to breathe on them. The breath of new life. The breath of the Holy Spirit – the Spirit of peace, of forgiveness, of courage and strength. We have been given that same Holy Spirit. That same Spirit breathes in us. The Holy Spirit lives in us, so that even in our suffering, even in our grief and hardship, even when things fall apart, even when all is changed utterly, even when we struggle for air, God is by our side. And with God by our side, we need not be afraid.