He Is Risen

ALIVE !
I am grateful to Peter and Elizabeth O'Donnoghue for alerting me to this clip from u tube, and i'm sure they would want me to share it with my fellow Hermonites. This short presentation succinctly points out the essential difference between Jesus of Nazareth and other World faith leaders. ~GOSh.~

AT THE CROSS

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CRUCIFIXION

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You were one with the Father.

Then the Father turned his back on you.

You felt forsaken,

hanging there between heaven's thunder

and the dank spittle of earth.

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For that moment you belonged nowhere.

You were love, cut off from love;

truth nailed down by lies.

You must have wanted to explode, to disintegrate,

to disappear into a void.

But that was forbidden.

And that was the test.

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Your blood burst through your skin

and ran down like sweat.

Your sweat ran cold

and drained into your heart.

The universe caught hold of your pain.

The sun went blind with grief.

The earth shivered in shock.

History was torn in two.

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I stood at a distance,

my collar turned up,

like a murderer witnessing

a wrongful arrest.

Steve Turner

A BLOG TO WAIT FOR

Picture by Antoin

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AN FEITHEALANN

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It’s a while since we trawled the choppy waters of the worldwide web in search of Blogs that are a cut above the rest. John Waters, an Irish Times journalist whose opinion on most other things I regard, reckons that all bloggers are idiots. Present company excluded I think this is a ‘tabloid’ generalisation not befitting a commentator who would regard himself as a serious journalist and writer. And to prove my point I would like to draw your attention to a truly beautiful Blog called An Feithealann posted by the mysterious Antoin. The name of the Blog from the Irish is The Waiting Room, and certainly the mood of the photographs and literary selections suggest a careful and astute observer waiting with purpose ,with not only a keen sense of the solid stuff of this world, but one with an eye for the heavenly and ethereal. Antoin provides the pictures while he gleans the accompanying words from diverse sources hither, thither and yon. Here you will find prayers to still the troubled soul, poems to stir the flagging spirit and mystical musings to inspire the most jaded pilgrim. An Feithealann is a sanctuary of reflectiveness tucked away in a quiet slipstream of the web, pay a visit and decide for yourself if John Waters was right ! ~GOSh.~

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http://feithealann.blogspot.com

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Happy the man who has made harbour,
Who leaves behind him seas and storms,
Whose dreams are dead or never born,
And who sits and drinks in a Bremen beer-hall,
Beside the stove, in peace and quite.
Happy the man like an extinguished flame,
Happy the man like estuary sand,
Who has laid down his load and wiped his forehead
And rests at the side of the road.
He fears nothing, hopes for nothing, expects nothing,
But stares fixedly at the setting sun.

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Primo Levi

EARTHQUAKE ALERT !

Aftermath of devastation in L'Aquila, Italy

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SOLID GROUND

The recent earthquake in Italy serves as a stark reminder of how fragile a hold we have on our existence on this planet. One man who survived told of how he and his wife .were asleep in bed when the disaster struck in the early hours of the morning. As the roof of their house collapsed he threw himself over his daughter to protect her, they both survived, his wife was killed. So far 250 people have been confirmed dead while hundreds are still unaccounted for. It proves the point about this life that the only certainty is its uncertainty, none of us know what awaits us tomorrow and into the future. An earthquake leaves a dramatic scenario in its wake, the very fabric of terra firma is ripped asunder and lives are literally swallowed into the belly of the earth. There is something chilling about seeing the gaping chasm left by the shifting tectonic plates and the bric-a-brac of ordinary life emptied into its cavernous deep.


The old country and western hymn got it right I think when it reminded us “ This world is not my home, I’m just a’ passin’ through…” This life is not a picnic it's a pilgrimage ! Those of us who endeavour (however fitfully) to live the Christian life are often counselled by well meaning friends and relations to “ keep your feet on the ground”. Nowadays the very ground is being taken from under us, not only in the actual reality of increasing global earthquake activity, but also in the rapid descent of our worldwide economies. Jesus warned time and time again about the temporary nature of this earthly sojourn, encouraging His followers to “ … seek … first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Mt 6:33). By the way ‘these things’ were the basics we need to keep body and soul together, food, drink and clothing ! It’s all about priorities, if this is all there is then it makes sense to invest everything into the here and now, but supposing all this ‘kingdom of heaven’ talk is true , well then…



This week is commonly known as Passion or Holy week as various denominations recall the events that led up to the death of Jesus by crucifixion . The death of Jesus is another unpleasant reality that somewhat mars the ‘Utopian’ landscape of the idealists and optimists of our human condition. Like the sudden and devastating effect of an upheaval on the crust of our earth, and the stinging blow of a global recession, what happened on Calvary 2000 years ago is one more stark milestone that should cause us to stop and ponder. How could one so good and noble as Christ be put to death in such a barbaric and tortured fashion, more especially as the whole sordid affair was schemed and incited by the religious elite of their day, the Scribes and Pharisees. Was this just another inexplicable senseless human tragedy ? Not a bit of it, as one of the criminals crucified beside Jesus came to recognise, His death was different and had an eternal significance. The convicted thief turned to Jesus and seeing beyond the marred visage of his blood streaked face, understood that this death was different and asked, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your Kingdom.” (Luke 23:42)
Jesus died on behalf of that thief and on behalf of all who subsequently turn to Him recognising the power of His atonement. With all our human attributes and abilities we are , according to Scripture enslaved by the power of disobedience to Gods law, and Christ has taken our condemnation to the cross. The good news in this transient and shifting world is that the invitation of Jesus is a sure and solid dependable that we can trust even as we see so much crumbling about us. The love of God in sending His Son to die for our sins is a sure foundation on which to build a life here and now, and on which to place our hope for a glorious and everlasting future. This world will rattle and roll, our ‘certainties’will totter and disappear, but God’s truth endures forever. If you haven’t done so, let me encourage you to take that step of faith today and turn to Jesus, confessing your sins to Him and receive His gift of eternal life. No better way to mark this ‘Holy Week’ than to encounter the One who took those agonising steps to Calvary and died there for you and for me,.
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Gerard O'Shea

LAWYER AT SEA

A LEGAL RESCUE

Did you hear about the lawyer on vacation whose sailboat capsized in dangerous, shark-infested waters?
He surprised his traveling companions by volunteering to swim to the far-off shore for help. As he swam, his companions were startled by the appearance of two dorsal fins -- great white sharks, heading straight toward the lawyer.
To their surprise, the sharks allowed the lawyer to take hold of their fins, and escorted him safely to shore.
When the lawyer returned with help, his companions asked him how he had managed such an incredible feat. The lawyer answered, "Professional courtesy."

'MORIARTY' - A LIFE RECALLED

Michael Harding the author of 'Moriarty'

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A DREAMER OF DREAMS

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A man sits dreaming by an open fire while behind him atop a celestial watchtower the female narrator reveals that he is John Moriarty the late poet and thinker from Kerry. Author and actor Michael Harding plays John in this dramatic production at the Siamsa Tire theatre in Tralee, simply called ‘Moriarty’. The first part of the story is depicted by the extraordinary display of the Siamsa dancers who enact aspects of the poet’s life with energy and subtlety to the haunting musical accompaniment of the Ceoltoiri. From his childhood carefree days at the foot of Mangerton to his eventual move to Dublin and later emigration to Canada , his life is sketched through the dance and music with occasional input from the narrator.
John's disdain for city life is effectively danced in a robotic, staccato style that visually hammers home the idea of the urban landscape as a soulless impersonal space where a man can easily lose his way. The dance displays the alienation and loneliness of the urban space where the rush and coldness of the city is dramatically portrayed. Later, Harding utters Moriarty’s damning indictment of this kind of life, “ I fell in love with a girl in Dublin, but what can you compare your love to in a city ? You can hardly say, ‘You are as beautiful as the GPO’ or, ‘You’re as lovely as the bus to Clontarf’. Whereas in Connemara when you fall in love , every single thing around you, the mountains, the lakes, the sky are all metaphors for love.”

John Moriarty in touch with the Muse

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John also foresaw our economic hardships when he maintained that the most despicable area of a city is its financial sector where ‘muggers in suits’ prey upon the poor and the vulnerable. He himself left the rat-race quitting a teaching post at the university of Manitoba and returning to Ireland to live in the ‘wilds’ of Connemara and later to return home to his beloved Mangerton and the kingdom of Kerry. In these solitary rural places he found the time and the space to think and more importantly dream. There was a freedom in the natural world that allowed his philosopher head to swoon with ideas and dreaming , causing deep rumination on issues of life and death. It was in the stillness of the country that he learned not only to commune with himself and his God but with the creatures around him ,there in the silence he learned to talk to the curlew !
Harding’s portrayal of the philosopher/poet was exceptionally true to Moriarty’s voice and persona and it really fleshed out the words taken from Johns writings and delivered with uncanny faithfulness to his rich warm Kerry timbre. To the question can a Cavan man speak Kerry, the answer in this case is a definitive yes! It seemed to me that Moriarty was strangely present throughout this performance , as it was such an affectionate and sensitive homage to a wise and gentle soul.
Central to Moriarty’s thinking was Crossing over Kidron ( John 18:1) as Jesus did, entering the garden of Gethsemane and commencing the chain of events leading to His Passion and Crucifixion. In the redemptive narrative of the Gospels , John found his own salvation and identified closely with Christ’s abandonment on the cross causing Him to cry out ‘My God, oh my God, why have you forsaken me ?’ This aspect of John’s understanding was absent from the Siamsa drama and at least one theatre-goer was disappointed at what he considered this glaring omission. After the play the audience had the opportunity to interact with the writer and a gentleman who had travelled from Italy to see the production ,told of a meeting with John Moriarty several years ago that had a profound effect on his own life. Speaking with John and subsequently reading his works, this man had found his ‘salvation’ through the author's exposition of the profound implications of Jesus death and resurrection. He understandably felt that this bulwark of Moriarty’s ideology should have been referred to in the play. I think however, that Harding’s ‘Moriarty’ was not so much a potted digest of John’s ideas as the depiction of a man in a simple domestic setting, his head aflame with dreams and ideas which he sought to live out in a straightforward and ordinary manner in the community in which he lived. This ‘human’ element of the piece would draw in even those unfamiliar with the large and often difficult body of Moriarty’s writings..

Time to leave.

At the end ,John is still sitting in front of the flaming fire, the room filled with dancing shadows. When asked one time if he was ever lonely in such a setting he replied, “Lord save us, no. Sure don’t I always know that I’m there” After his cancer diagnosis and unsuccessful treatment his own mortality came sharply into focus as he wondered, “Do I have to go now. Could I have more time ?” During his chemotherapy John began loosing his once magnificent mane of hair, his solution was simple , he placed the displaced strands out in the garden so that the birds could use it to line their nests! Even in his extremity he was aware how inextricably we are connected to every living thing and how co-dependant we are. At the very last he knew that his departure was imminent, and agonised ,“I could screech with sorrow at the thought that we have to leave this world”. However his soul was stilled, his uneasiness calmed as he faced the ultimate inevitability, “Any minute now, the latch will sound and the Angel will come for me, and take me home.”‘Moriarty’ was a worthy homage to a great man and a gentle wise soul. In his life, writings and utterances John reminded us all that beautiful as this earth can be it is not our abiding home, and that even our most sublime thoughts are specks of dust in the face of an Almighty Father and an awaiting Eternity. This drama showed a man like each one of us in so many ways, yet unique in his gift and insight to see beyond what is seen and attempting to unravel the tangled sense of all our days as we quickly pass through this world.

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Gerard O' Shea

Also see :.http://dewofhermon.blogspot.com/2007/03/man-of-vision-john-moriarty.html
http://dewofhermon.blogspot.com/2007/06/johns-last-journey.html
http://dewofhermon.blogspot.com/2007/12/happy-christmas.html

POEM AT DUSK

THIS MOMENT

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A neighbourhood.

At dusk.

Things are getting ready

to happen

out of sight.

Stars and moths.

And rinds slanting around fruit.

But not yet.

One tree is black.

One window is yellow as butter.

A woman leans down to catch a child

who has run into her arms

this moment.

Stars rise.

Moths flutter.

Apples sweeten in the dark.

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Eavan Boland