Word in the Hand

Gospel Luke 7:11-17  Jesus went to a town called Nain, accompanied by his disciples and a great number of people. When  he was near the gate of the town it happened that a dead man was being carried out for burial, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. And a considerable number of the townspeople were with her. When the Lord saw her he felt sorry for her. ‘Do not cry’ he said. Then he went up and put his hand on the bier and the bearers stood still, and he said, ‘Young man, I tell you to get up.’ And the dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him to his mother. Everyone was filled with awe and praised God saying, ‘A great prophet has appeared among us; God has visited his people.’ And this opinion of him spread throughout Judaea and all over the countryside. The Gospel of Luke plays with time, just as we so often do. Written in a theatrical way it plays with flashbacks and portents like an epic story where the audience is in on all the acts. ...

We are an impatient people. The Great Vigil Mass, meant to finish with the new day,  tends to start as soon as the sun begins to fade. So sometimes can be celebrated by the early end of the evening with hours until the turning of the day. This bright season means that the Mass will begin after 8.00pm. The brightness of the day suggests a starlit ending is promised. Much to look forward to. But first is the waiting, not a thing I am good at to be honest, I can meditate for hours....but waiting always brings out the 'what can I be doing?' in me. To-ing and fro-ing from church all day yesterday and now - stillness. At the Good Friday Service we were given Holy Communion reserved from Holy Thursday. As I received the host into my hands a thought came into my head 'What if this was all there is? What if, after this receiving of this Sacrament, there was no more?  What if the God mind changed? What if the Father had decided that Jesus has suffered enough? How...

my mother and my grand-daughter two years ago Today I visited my family home for perhaps the last time. My mother died nearly five months ago now, peacefully at home and after a long illness,  and it has taken this long for the initial sense of loss to pass; the paperwork to be processed and the division of belongings, bequests and gifts to be made. Today I called in to collect the last items before the house goes on sale. Books, pictures, unmatched crockery, glass bowls and vases; holy statues and pictures; the usual accumulation that remains after 48 years of living in the same house. Those items of sentimentality and personal taste that none of us  wants and no-one can bear to throw away. Indeed it was a dying wish that nothing was thrown away. My father also died at home, five years ago, and I have to say that I have never gone into the house without being aware of his presence. To the point that sometimes I used to pray for him to go. But the truth is, that ...