Words spoken at the graduation celebration for the Leaving Cert girls of Laurel Hill Secondary School, Limerick (22 May 2019)

I know you won’t believe it but it’s 40 years since I did the Leaving Cert. Yep, I know. Looking at me, you wouldn’t think it could be any more than 35! Another thing I know is just how short life is. Life flashes by. It’s fleeting. There are four rules for life I’d like to offer you, four lessons I’ve learned as I’ve turned grey, four ways to grow. Each begins with the word ‘love.’

The first is this: Love life. It may seem obvious but live while you’re alive, from the beginning of the miracle to the unwinding of the miracle. Your school-leaving is a moment of opportunity, a time to blossom and grow. Boundless possibilities await. Grasp them. Don’t somnambulate. Don’t be curtailed by glass ceilings or self-doubt. Don’t allow anyone to put limits on what you can do, or where you can go, or who you can be. Research published last week by Cornell University found that our biggest regret in life could be never becoming who you want to be. Our world brims with colour and wonder and potential. See people and the world in all their diversity, individuality, richness. Practice present moment awareness. Be slow to judge. Be curious. Be woke. Grow in wisdom, knowledge, grace. Become the person you’d like to be. Always grow in love of life.    

Second rule: love others. Expand your heart. Tragically, ours is a cut-throat, super competitive world; a Darwinian jungle that champions rugged individualism, survival of the fittest. A ‘me fein’ battlefield with little room for idealism or solidarity or tenderness. One where, in the words of Abba: The winner takes it all.

But to grow is to open ourselves up to others, to love others, all others. It is to look beyond ourselves. The lessons of Brexit, of Trump, of impending climate catastrophe, of narrow nationalism, are that we need each other. We are codependent. It’s what the Gospel advocates – to welcome and include, to be just and tolerant, to give and forgive. It’s what climate activist Greta Thunberg has been doing for the past six months. It’s what top American opinion writer, David Brooks, advises in his new book, currently a New York Times bestseller. He explores what gives life meaning. Ultimately, he says, “We are defined by how we treat the stranger and the least among us.” Even if God doesn’t rank high in our priorities, he says, live by the values of the Sermon on the Mount. Love others. Love indiscriminately. Scatter seeds of love. Always grow in love of others.

Third rule: love yourself. Have an infinite sense of self. Our world is  suffocating and pressure-filled. Preparing for exams, you know all about that. The pressure to be successful, with a rewarding career and a big income, and a perfect family and a nice house, is huge. Social media, with its obsession with looks and money and celebrity, makes self-love even harder. It’s a reason why sales of make up, even for young men, are booming. Image trumps integrity, honesty, authenticity.

And this pressure costs. It can affect our self-esteem. We look at ourselves and think we don’t measure up, that we’re worthless, even that we’re failures. It can have other negative effects too – like self-harm, bulimia, anorexia, addiction, depression, even suicide. We become damaged, dispirited, disappointed.

For years, I struggled with self love. I had persistent acne, thick glasses, a weak left side due to cerebral palsy. I hated mirrors. I remember one day, three other student priests and I got talking to some random young women. They were shocked to discover we were becoming priests, and I’ll never forget what one of them said. Gesturing toward my three friends, she said, “You don’t look like apprentice priests,” then turning to me, she said, “but you look like one.” It wasn’t meant as a compliment. What she was saying was I was so unattractive that priesthood was all I was fit for.   

The fact is: each of us, every single one of us, is unique, irreplaceable, priceless, precious. The bible tells us God created each of us in God’s own image and likeness. God shaped us after God’s self. We reflect God, and God is perfect. God never creates failures. God, and our families, wants us to see ourselves as God sees us.

So, at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter whether you get 600 points in the Leaving or 100; it doesn’t really matter whether you attend Oxbridge or never get to college; it doesn’t really matter whether you make the Irish tag rugby team or the Irish hockey team or are allergic to sport; it doesn’t really matter whether you become a social media influencer with a million followers or are followed by a few Russian bots; it doesn’t really matter whether you are 200 pounds or 100, or a size 8 or a size 18, or are ambidextrous or have one good hand like me – the only thing that matters is that you see yourself the way God sees you and love yourself the way God loves you.

Be your authentic self. Authentic self-love is not selfish or narcissistic; it is never obsessive or jealous. It’s acknowledging the beauty and gifts you have in abundance, celebrating them, nurturing them, using them well. Love yourself. Always grow in love of you.

Final rule: love God. Religion in Ireland is going through a hard time. Many don’t bother with the church. Many are angry with it. Understandably so. But I say: love God. Don’t let go of God. Be open to the transcendent, because you will need God.

Life is difficult. No one escapes setbacks. Everyone hurts sometime. But remember, even though friends and classmates may let you down, God won’t let you down; even though individuals may break your heart, God will never break your heart; even though the church may disappoint you, God will never disappoint you. Always remember that God is with you – in the good times and the bad, the happy and the sad. Even though we may abandon God, God never abandons us. The seed of faith has been planted in you, nourished by your family and school. Cultivate that seed. Let it burrow deep in you. Water it. Always grow in love of God.

Love life; love others; love yourself; love God – four rules for life, four pathways to growth. They can be summed up in five wise words written long age by St Paul in his letter to the Ephesians. He encourages them to live a life of love. Easy to remember. Three little ‘l’s. Live a life of love. Live a life of love – and you will grow in wisdom, fulfilment, peace. Live a life of love, and you will live a life that’s full, and you will be happy.

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True love, which always speaks the truth, is the only antidote to the lies and fake news of today

Love is an overused word today. We find it everywhere from graffiti-laden locker room walls to the heart emojis in anonymous internet chat rooms. It sells everything from underwear to Ferraris. It is confused with every kind of feeling and state and emotion. I’ve been thinking of the casual way I misuse the word love:

I love chips

I love a nice lie-in on a Saturday morning

I love Liverpool FC

I love preaching

I love salt

I love a good game of hurling

I love a book that captures my imagination

I love relaxing on Cape Clear island in the summer

I love Munster rugby

I love history and politics

I’m sure all of us can come up with our own list of ways we misuse the word love.

But what is the true meaning of love? For those who are Christian, if we want to know what true love is, we need only look at God. God is love, St John tells us. God not only loves, God is love. And God showed us what true love is like by sharing it, by shaping us like himself, with an inbuilt capacity for loving. By sending his only Son among us to show us how to live.

The nature of true love is spelled out for us in St Paul’s famous ode to love that is read at so many weddings: “Love is patient, love is kind. Love is not envious, boastful, rude, and arrogant. Love does not insist on its own way, is not irritable or resentful, love takes joy not in wrong-doing but only in the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

That is the definition of true love.

True love does not change with the times. It can be cheapened by misuse and overuse but its essence never changes. Love is not infatuation or lust or obsession. It is not servile submission or putting up with. It is not grasping or abusive or domineering. It is not a one-night stand or a casual fling with someone whose name you forget the next day. True love overcomes, forgives, endures, sacrifices, empathises. It never gives up on anyone. It sees the good in everyone. Love, true love, is our best nature because it is God at work in us.

True love is never selfish, never all about me. When you love it’s not all about you anymore, you empty yourself for the one you love. You die to yourself for the one you love. Think of the give and take in a marriage or a committed relationship. Think of the parents of a handicapped child who spend themselves for that child every single day. Or the one who cares for an elderly parent. Patience, sacrifice, devotion, willingness to be there for someone always – that’s love.

True love speaks the truth. Or, as St Paul puts it, love delights in the truth. It always speaks the truth, no matter how difficult or dangerous that might be. Love speaks uncomfortable truths, whatever the cost. We can think of politicians, presidents and others throughout history, and especially today in this era of fake news, for whom that concept is alien.

Andrei Sakharov was a brilliant scientist who helped develop the Soviet Union’s nuclear programme. The Communist authorities honoured him for his achievements. But then he began to speak out in favour of social justice and human rights and against the bomb. So he was stripped of his honours and sent into internal exile in the city of Gorky, where he could contact no one. He was punished severely for telling the truth, as so many of his country men and women were. But he did not back down and he was vindicated in the end. Love speaks the truth no matter what the cost.

Love risks everything. It pays any price; lays everything on the line. Think of Maximilian Kolbe, the Polish Franciscan who willingly gave his life in Auschwitz for a man he did not know. 

True love risks everything.

The Bee Gees were onto something when they asked: How deep is your love?

Words delivered at the funeral of my aunt, Mary Kelly (Oct 20, 2016)

As we know, a bitter presidential election campaign is slowing drawing to a close in the United States. It has had many low points, and few high points. But there is a statement Michelle Obama has made a couple of times now that has resonated with many people, and that I thought of too, as I looked back on the life of my aunt, Mary Kelly. Speaking of her opponents, Michelle Obama said: “When they go low, we go high.”

Go high…

That is what Aunty Mary did all her life, both in a literal and a metaphorical sense – go high. She went high. She always went high.

She was born and bred on high ground in the hill country of Croughmarka almost 93 years ago. She crossed those hills every day to go to school. She met and fell in love with and married a young man called Paddy, also born and bred on high ground in the same hill country. They spent most of their wedded lives together living on high ground, in a house nestled in the hills of Commonaline, rearing a family in often challenging conditions, when farming was tough, and frugality a necessity, and the weather not always hospitable. But being high up in the hills didn’t matter to Mary. She loved the mountains and she loved the outdoors.

Towns, cities, exotic foreign destinations, overseas travel – none of these held the slightest attraction for her. It was on the high ground – enjoying its grace-filled natural beauty, imbibing its unspoilt, invigorating fresh air, feeling the mountain dew beneath her feet, living in tune with the rhythm of the seasons – it was in Commonaline where she felt at home and happy and fully alive.

Go high. Aunty Mary went high.

But her going high wasn’t just a geographical thing, a matter of physical location. Aunty Mary went high in so many other ways too, the ways that define and describe one’s character, the essence of who a person truly is.

She had a high moral compass – a just woman who lived by the simple truth and did not tolerate wrongdoing; values she inculcated in her children and grandchildren.

She had a highly developed work ethic and sense of responsibility. Whether outside or inside the house, she worked long hours for long years for as long as she could, no cribbing about it. For her, it was simply doing her duty.

She had high standards of cleanliness – the yards and sheds always immaculate, her house spotless, too. One marvelled at how it could be done and how she did it.

She had a high sense of respect for others, was slow to speak ill of anyone, and was always warm in her welcome. She had a knack for making everyone feel special. Her constant smile reflected that. The way those in the nursing home loved her confirmed it.

She had an extraordinarily high capacity to love. She loved Paddy in a way that words cannot capture. A long, long love stretching back almost all their lives, broken only by his passing in 2005. His unexpected death was the beginning of her end. She loved her children and grandchildren in the same lavish, selfless way. The bond she had with them and they had with ‘granny’ was a thing of rare, high beauty. She was so proud of them. The way that Anne loved and cared for her deserves special mention.

It was easy especially to witness those love bonds these past few days as she grew smaller in her bed and her breathing grew shallow and the end drew near. The love, the togetherness, the unity, the sadness were all on display and yet also a profound sense of gratitude for having had this woman among us for so long, for being lucky enough to know her and be part of her family. I found my encounters with her to be almost sacramental – an audience with a gentle, simple, smiling woman who radiated something of the warmth and tenderness of God.

And, of course, that was no surprise, because she was a woman of faith. Her love of and trust in God was high. Her faith nourished her; strengthened her; it was what sustained her through the setbacks that came her way. Dying didn’t faze Aunty Mary. Just as in life she always went high, so also when she was faced with the prospect of death.

There are many today who believe that death is the end, period. That once you breathe your last, you’re gone forever, done and dusted. The best you can hope for is to leave behind some sort of positive legacy and happy memories, and a big gap in loved ones’ lives.

For us Christians, it is different. We know that death is a door, not a wall. Death isn’t an exit to oblivion, a sorrowful slide into nothingness. It is, rather, the threshold to a new, transformed life with God forever. On Monday morning, at 6.50am, Aunty Mary crossed that threshold from life to death, from life to life. Her earthly body is empty of life now; her strong heart is quiet; her big smile has given way; all we are left with are her mortal remains. But having crossed that threshold on Monday morning, she did not journey from life to death; from a breathing, smiling, pulsating, warm, wonderful human being, a granny to everyone, into some cold, dank abyss of darkness and destruction, she passed in that moment from this life to a completely new glorified life, life with God forever.

The second reading from St Paul, read to us by Noel, contains one of the most reassuring statements in all of scripture. Paul tells us that nothing can separate us from the love we share in Christ Jesus. “For I am sure of this,” he says, “that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Mary, our beloved one, knew and subscribed to that good news all her life. Now, reunited with Paddy and all she loved and lost, nothing separates her from the warm embrace of Jesus, her saviour. In our liturgy today, as in every liturgy, we are reminded that in Christ Jesus, we remain united with those who have died. Mary is gone from us but not forever. She is separated from us, but not for good. In this knowledge, we find our solace, our inspiration, our consolation, our hope.

And so we say our farewells. We are left with our tears and our sadness but, even more, we are comforted with countless happy memories and with a joyous sense of gratitude that we could not have asked for a more wonderful wife, mother, mother-in-law, grandmother, great granny, aunt, cousin, neighbour or friend – a woman was who a bastion of common sense, a beacon of light, a rock of faith, a fountain of love, a beautiful, caring, smiling woman who always, always, always went high.

Francis reminds me why I am a Christian

Yesterday Pope Francis pulled off yet another surprise. At the end of his five-hour trip to the island of Lesbos to highlight the plight of migrants who are detained there and in similar centres across Southern Europe, he brought 12 Syrian refugees back to Rome aboard his papal airliner. According to reports, the three lucky families, all Muslim, had been chosen by lot from among the 3000 people held on the Greek island.

The pope expressed the hope that the world would “respond in a way worthy of our common humanity” as attitudes to the refugee crisis continue to harden in Europe and elsewhere. Francis’ actions were a calculated attempt to draw attention to the crisis, which he said was the worst since the Second World War. He wanted to offer hope to people left with nothing but the tiniest of hope, and also to prick the conscience of governments who now want to build walls as their preferred response to this humanitarian catastrophe.

Some will accuse the pope of meddling in politics and dismiss his gesture as yet another example of his genius for good PR. But what the pope is doing is simply putting the parable of the Good Samaritan into practice. He is trying to demonstrate that Christian love is about far more than sexual ethics or who should use public restrooms (as some Christians in the United States in particular seem to think) – it is about concrete love of neighbour irrespective of who he or she is. 

Francis reminds me of the reason I wanted to become a clergyman. The example of people like Jean Donovan and Oscar Romero, martyred for standing in solidarity with the poor of El Salvador, is what motivated me as an idealistic teenager to give my life to the church. Not lace or the allure of dressing in fancy garments, but grace and a message of hope and love. Not a desire to find refuge in a ‘smaller, purer church’ in combat with the modern world, but to be part of a church on the streets engaging with people as we find them.

That’s what Francis tries to do and teach. Thank God for him and his example.

Back on board

Two weeks ago I accidentally deleted my WordPress blog. All 79 posts were lost. Though I am disappointed to lose some of them, I know also that most of my entries, especially in the last couple of months, were just long moans about my physical pain and my frustration with life.

Everyone gets tired of that kind of moaning after a while, so I hope that there will be less whining and more positivity in this new blog. Though I am in constant pain, I’m trying to remember that life is worth celebrating. I just have to be more attuned to what is good and wholesome and to remember that there are people out there who love me more than I deserve.