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ABG Parish, Strandside South, Abbeyside, Dungarvan, Waterford (2026)

09/09/2026

𝗨́𝗻𝗮 𝗢’𝗗𝘄𝘆𝗲𝗿 𝗙𝘂𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗔𝗯𝗯𝗲𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝟵 𝗦𝗲𝗽𝘁 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲 𝗝𝗻𝟭𝟳:𝟮𝟬-𝟮𝟲

As we live, so we die. Called to come quickly on Thursday morning, Úna was smaller, more fragile than on my previous visit, and in bed, but alert and aware, knowing she was on a journey. Appreciative as ever, she thanked me for coming, and when I offered to pray, said ‘I’d love that.’ I anointed and gave a general absolution, drawing the humble, contrite response, ‘I’m sorry for all my sins.’ Looking me straight in the eye, she asked, ‘Am I okay?’ Unsure how to interpret, much less respond to such a question, I found myself fumbling and mumbling, ‘Thank you for everything, for your faith and support. You’re an inspiration.’ Showing surprise, she lifted high her eyebrows and opened wide her eyes, ‘thank you. I hope Paddy, and my mother and sisters and one brother will be waiting.’ Then, ‘what date is it?’ I looked at my watch, and she directed me to the square digital clock behind me, ‘3rd September, feast of Gregory the Great.’ Again, her eyebrows lifted and eyes widened. About to go out the front door, I was ushered back up the stairs. ‘I’m sorry for calling you back. Paddy and I wanted to hand on the faith. I told Tom when he was going out. We did our best.’

Úna always spoke highly of her family, proud of your achievements. She appreciated the care you provided, and the turns you took to come and stay each weekend. She did feel lonely and down after Paddy, and the limitations of old age, but would smile, ‘sure I’m 95, I can’t complain.’ Sometimes, if I was late calling on the first Friday, she’d put on a fry and feed me up.

When the days of driving her little, light-blue Nissan Micra ended, Úna would say, ‘I’m sorry I can’t make it to Mass, but I watch on the iPad. I love it.’ And, as I’m sure she said to many, ‘You’re great.’

I felt a weird tingling in my spine and neck the first time I walked in the path towards the front door of Fews N.S., conscious that I was literally following in the footsteps of Marcella Cunningham, my grandmother who died before I was born, and had taught there all her life. I recently learned from Úna, that she replaced Maureen Power, who in turn had replaced my grandmother. And that Marie Brennan, who was there on my first visit in 1996, had replaced Úna. Like touching the hand that touched the hand….

Úna had the great gift of appreciating everything and everyone. To bring Holy Communion to Úna was an uplifting experience, she was so thrilled to receive the Eucharist and to pray. But she also wanted to chat, ‘now tell me, how are you? I think you’re great.’

Úna was one of those people you’d like to grow old like. She was content and at ease, grateful for what she had, and conscious of others less fortunate. I think she attributed to Paddy a taming or tempering of her demands or standards. Above all, their aim was for unity.
Our last time to meet someone is generally memorable. It was Saturday, and I was zig-zagging between Úna’s back garden neighbour Nellie Moloney’s funeral, and Conor and Niamh from the local bicycle shop wedding. I called en route to the reception. Weakened now, Úna was asleep, family gathered around the bed. ‘Hello Úna,’ prompted her to stir, to lift her heavy eyebrows and peer in my direction. When she eventually spotted me, pointing to my neck she roused a strong clear voice, ‘and you’ve the collar!’ Before raising right hand to bless herself, pray and slip back to sleep.

Úna, may you be one, again now, with Paddy and your mother and siblings, and father who died in your infancy. Most of all, may you be so completely one with the One who unites and cherishes all. As you rejoiced in Sam Maguire’s long anticipated and richly deserved return to your native Mayo, we pray you indulge in your divinely empowered reunion and out of this world renewal and rejuvenation. In your heavenly home of eternal energy and intimacy, may you never grow old or get lonely.

𝗙𝗿 𝗡𝗲𝗱

06/09/2026

𝗛𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝟮𝟯𝗿𝗱 𝗦𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝗢𝗿𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲 – 𝗬𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗔

Dear brothers and sisters, this weekend the readings speak to us about our responsibility for one another. Christianity is not just about tending to ourselves but loving enough to do something for one another in growing towards faith and love.

In the first reading, God says to Ezekiel: “I have made you a watchman for the house of Israel.” A watchman doesn't stay silent when he sees danger! He has a duty to sound an alarm. We, too, must sometimes kindly speak to a brother or sister whom we see going the wrong way. It is not about being critical or hostile; it is about compassion. The Gospel itself gives us a very practical way to do exactly that through Jesus. If they hurt us, only tell them in private about their wrongdoing. We should not share with the whole world, right away. How much happier our communities and families would be if only we had learned to talk to people instead of about them!

There is a true story about a man who saw that his neighbour's garden was getting out of control. Rather than complain to others about him, he approached his neighbour and offered assistance. They had an afternoon of working together. The garden was brought back, but even more so were their friendship. What could have been a divisive issue became a bonding experience.

St Paul unlocks it all for us when he writes, “Love does no wrong to a neighbour.” Love is the last word that should come to mind when we correct, forgive and relate with each other. Jesus further reminds us that where two or three gather in his name, there he is among them. Wherever we come together in humility, with gentleness and love—there is Christ.

So let us be people who speak in love, listen with humility, forgive wholeheartedly and build not break. May our parish be such a place, honouring those whom we might approach for correction, but always in love; receiving those whose disagreements challenge us through the lens of understanding; and where Christ is physically present amongst us. Amen.

𝗙𝗿 𝗝𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀

05/09/2026

𝗡𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗲 𝗠𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘆’𝘀 𝗙𝘂𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗔𝗯𝗯𝗲𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝟱𝘁𝗵 𝗦𝗲𝗽𝘁 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲 𝗚𝗼𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗹

Not knowing Nellie was in the excellent St. Vincent’s Unit, I spotted her while passing the door and, with Pat, went in. Slouched forward in the chair, she lifted up her head, saw me and gave a big smile, ‘you’re everywhere!’

Here in Abbeyside church, Nellie was part of the furniture. Halfway down, on a Saturday night. During my time, first, travelling with the Prendergasts. Then, her children took turns to drive, returning the compliment to Betty and Seán. It was a ritual each week in the porch after Mass. The crutch would be in the greeting hand, so she’d have to pass the stick to son or daughter linking left hand, take off the glove to shake my hand. Celebrity like, everyone complimented and congratulated her strength of mind and body to take on wind and rain, a century of built-up stamina powered her on.

I’ll never forget her defiant look, when six years ago I was called to send her off, and she roused and rallied…. But as she woke up in her front room chair and looked around at the panic on family faces all piled in. ‘What’s wrong? I’m alright.’ Embarrassed to see me roped in, she was sturdy and fought back bravely to cash in the President’s cheque, and keep up her Friday ritual: pick up pension, hair-do, cup of coffee. All spruced up for weekend Mass. When able, she’d get up at 6.30am to have time to say her prayers before cycling to 7.30am Mass in the Friary. In more recent years, it was Mass at 10am. She’d walk a three-mile afternoon loop to include the bulk of an hour of prayer in church. Not a native, from Ballymac and Ballyneety, Nellie and Paddy frequented Dungarvan Mass until one Sunday morning on their return, temporary neighbour the Canon saluted, ‘I know now why you go to Dungarvan Mass, your hat wouldn’t fit in Abbeyside Church door!’ Then, they started and began to love this church, and changed allegiance.

Faith and prayer were a huge source of strength and consolation to Nellie. When a son or daughter reported getting their exams, ‘I must go down to thank the Lord and Lady.’ A common refrain, ‘all my friends are gone,’ as she continually turned to prayer to cope with husband Paddy and brothers Ned and Jim’s passing. Always allocated December as a stalwart of the Altar Society, and through son John acquired chrysanthemums in Kildalton College at knockdown prices, Nellie had the sanctuary in great style for Christmas. In the Apostolic Society, she used her handiwork to produce Mass vestments for the Augustinians and the Missions. She loved Melleray, her mother the first to be buried there. While it’s rumoured she received complimentary membership of The Park Hotel Leisure Centre on her 100th birthday, she ran aground one Saturday night. Pat failed to get her out of the car for Mass. Calm, she looked at him, ‘would you think of opening the seat belt?’

Organising a Mass and awarding of medals for long service to parishioners, Bob O’Brien phoned Pat to invite Nellie. ‘I don’t know if she’ll be able to make it,’ but when Nellie heard about it, she couldn’t be stopped, arriving with lovely red lipstick! She was immensely proud of the recognition, itself an indicator of how deeply she valued being an active church member and her cherished faith.

I’d love us to see her now, shuffling along, slowed, not by age, infirmity or over-cautious caring children but by whole hordes of relatives, friends and saints with the Lord and Lady above, crowding around to meet and greet, saying ‘what kept you? We thought you’d never turn up. Come in, sit down, say a prayer, drink tea, play bridge, catch up. Nellie, we’re thrilled to have you back.’

𝗙𝗿 𝗡𝗲𝗱

23/08/2026

𝟮𝟭𝗦𝘂𝗻𝗔 𝗔𝗯𝗯𝗲𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝟮𝟯𝗿𝗱 𝗔𝘂𝗴𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲 𝗠𝘁 𝟭𝟲:𝟭𝟯-𝟮𝟬

‘Can you be buried without a funeral?’ I was asked. ‘Of course you can, if that is what you want.’ ‘They never went next or near to Church. They don’t deserve a funeral, the way they lived. It would be a fraud. I’m not a hypocrite.’

‘It would test your faith,’ someone else said, upset at family breakdown. ‘There was nothing holy or kind about it.’

I know precious little about either situation. We could also consider the horrendously reckless driving on the wrong side of the M9, killing five and seriously injuring a family of four, brazenly broadcast on TikTok. And a similarly devastating crash in Cleveland, killing seven, including two police officers. We rush to judge.

Sometimes, maybe unconsciously, we seem to suggest that ours is a God who only loves the virtuous, rewards the good and hates the evildoer. Almost as if we can earn God’s love. In my experience, those who think they deserve God’s favour can be less than appealing, and appear unbending, devoid of understanding or compassion.

Far from the preserve of professional theologians writing learned books, reflecting on who God is, is essential for everyone, more important even than figuring out who we are ourselves. Like it or not, we are all theologians, literally: on instinct, we form an impression and put words on what kind of person created the world and to whom we either turn towards to pray, or turn away.

If we went around the church today and everybody had the chance to say who they think ‘the Son of Man is’ we would get many different and diverse answers. Whichever divine image or title we hold, determines whether we feel accepted and loved, and how we accept and love others.

All who attended the funeral of Augustinian scripture scholar Kieran O’Mahony heard that to help others have a bible-based image of a God full of love and compassion, freeing people from tyrannical images of God, was a key conviction and ministry of his.

Ours is not a God or Church of the perfect, but the Creator and community of battered, bruised and broken men, women and children and a world unable to easily reconcile and live together.

By choice, everyone can have a funeral and chance at reconciliation, because ours is a God who forgives, welcomes and reunites.

𝗙𝗿 𝗡𝗲𝗱

20/08/2026

𝗖𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻 𝗗𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗢’𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗿 𝗥𝗜𝗣 𝗔𝗻 𝗔𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗔𝘂𝗴𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲

The night before centenarian Fr Donal O’Connor died, in the excellent care of St. Vincent’s ward at Dungarvan Community Hospital, a pack of four Papermate Joy ballpoint pens sat on a hardcover copy and books on his table. An inveterate reader, Donal loved to write: on scripture, in which he was professionally trained; history, particularly Ardmore, Declan and Malchus; and art, Caravaggio his favourite.

He wrote a speculative article on the Wedding Feast of Cana and sought the expert opinion of an eminent professor at the Biblicum Institute in Rome. The terse reply, ‘I’m not the person to ask,’ Donal took to mean he was out of his depth and extremely naïve to be weighing in on such serious scriptural matters. It knocked his confidence and he stopped writing. Dungarvan native and well-known theologian Jim Mackey, encouraged him to write again, leading to Job: his wife, his friends, and his Godᶦ published as part of the Maynooth Bicentenary Series.

Donal described writing projects as his babies: he lived with each one, nurturing and developing it, until the day came to post the manuscript to the editor. Then he felt lonely and bereft for a week or so. Seeing it in print brought great satisfaction.
A creative soul, he regretted allowing the rigidity of academia and formality of poetic form in his early years to prevent him from expressing himself through poetry.

As a professor in Maynooth he became part of the folklore. Going out to students making a racket at his door one night, he asked softly, ‘can you hear my television?’ ‘No Father.’ ‘Neither can I!’
A month before he died, I saw Donal writing carefully in his hardcover book in the community room, his back turned to the blaring television and carer-led interactive session with other residents. Two weeks later, he spoke with great joy of the notes he was penning about Malchus, first bishop of Waterford, ‘it will be good, with original insights.’

Donal always recognised and sought to encourage people to use and develop their talents. While teaching in St. John’s College, he asked a student with good hands to make a model of the Temple in Jerusalem; he advised Fr Jim Curran, a good singer, to have his voice trained. A passionate art lover, he supported artists. When, in reply to his request for feedback after a lecture Fr John Kiely, then a student, said it was difficult, to which Donal said, ‘Jakus boy, do you think I find it easy!’ From the word go, he encouraged me to write, and grateful to have known him, I attempt this sketchy appreciation.

He had the great knack of making things simple. For example, he said the evangelists didn’t follow Jesus around, jotting down his every word and deed, to produce the gospels. Rather, they had inherited a huge amount of information about Jesus, stories, incidents and sayings that had nothing to do with each other, a bit like a jigsaw!

Refusing oxygen two days before he died, he told the nurse, ‘I’m ready to go.’

Sitting with colleagues around the bed a few hours before he drew his last breath, on the eve of the Assumption of Our Lady, I learned Donal had been present in St. Peter’s in 1950 when Pope Pius XII declared the Dogma of the Assumption. Just as he slipped past the security into the Basilica on that historic and dramatic occasion by offering to carry the case of a Spanish Cardinal, we pray that Donal will now be elevated with Our Lady to sit beside the Saviour he sought and found in the Scriptures, in his heavenly home.

A Dhónaill, scoláire, scríobhneoir, sagart,
Go dté tú slán, is guí orainn peacaigh.
Donal, priest, writer, scholar,
Safe home and pray for us sinners.

𝗙𝗿 𝗡𝗲𝗱

ᶦ𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘖’𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘳, 𝘑𝘰𝘣: 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘎𝘰𝘥, 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘉𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘢 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘋𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯, 1995.

11/08/2026

𝗝𝗶𝗺 𝗠𝗼𝘂𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗙𝘂𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗔𝗯𝗯𝗲𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝟭𝟭𝘁𝗵 𝗔𝘂𝗴 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲 𝗠𝘁𝟭𝟴:𝟭-𝟱,𝟭𝟬,𝟭𝟮-𝟭𝟰

I felt for Jim, when for a few short hours late yesterday afternoon I tied myself to the chair in search of something to say, while the sun beckoned everybody out for a walk, cycle or swim. For a long time Jim had to content himself, largely indoors. The painting, a rejected commission gifted to me of the steep side of the Beara Peninsula Healy Pass, which I happened to sit beside, seemed appropriate to the situation. The scene was the favourite cycling spot of the man who commissioned it and later rocked by a stroke, could no longer look at it, saying ‘I don’t feel the pull.’ No painting or piece of art can recreate the fresh air freedom, exhaustion and exhilaration of exercising in the mountains. For half of Jim’s life, he had to surrender so much of the activities he loved.

At first, I found Jim ever so slightly an enigma. Introduced on a First Friday by next door neighbours Carmel and P***e, Jim was a giant but very much reduced in his reach. His engaging eyes and vivid facial expressions hinted at a broad vision and deep expertise. Epitomising the all-encompassing role of head chef, Jim had his finger on the pulse. He proudly demonstrated his multi-motored armchair, voice controlled electric fire and the low maintenance back-garden grass. He spoke of the lagged central heating pipes in the attic, suspended above the insulation; fresh fish, sourced monthly in Ballycotton, and stockpiled in the freezer; kitchen cupboard full of spices.

I think it is fair to say that Jim’s was a life of two halves, before and after the accident. A professional chef, Jim worked in Fermoy making ice cream, experimenting with various fruits and flavours, and loved to present boxes of ‘ice cream on sticks’ to the nearby school. About to buy a three storey, end of terrace house to start a family restaurant forty years ago, Jim’s fall from a gantry, followed by spinal fusion, led to permanent pain and the decision not to proceed with the purchase. A short time later, the entire gable wall fell out from that house, convincing Jim that his accident saved the family from an even worse catastrophe.

Jim bore his pain in private, and with dignity. The largest discomfort I saw on his face, a month ago, was the agony of accepting his cancer diagnosis, and poor prognosis. Easy for me to say, but how can any of us countenance, much less comprehend, that we are in demise. Faith in God was key, and as he accepted constant back pain, Jim also faced his earthly end. Prayer, and the sacraments, were cherished. Last Thursday, weak though he was, he joined in the prayer. Similarly the previous week, even though interrupted his eye was on the spiritual, not letting me go until I finished the anointing. Earlier, at peace, he pointed up and said to family, ‘I’ll be off shortly.’ To see Jim’s joy and respect for Holy Communion was deeply uplifting.

He and I had unfinished business. From the word go, and following a hearty Hurney recommendation, I was meant to sample his cuisine. In God’s time, I, and we all, with Jim, will gather around the Lord’s table as one bread, one body.
What Jim cherished here on earth, Eucharist in a small sacramental way, we trust he’s entering, embracing and embodying entirely for evermore: the Body of Christ, Amen.

𝗙𝗿 𝗡𝗲𝗱

09/08/2026

𝟭𝟵𝗦𝘂𝗻𝗔 𝗔𝗯𝗯𝗲𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝟴,𝟵𝘁𝗵 𝗔𝘂𝗴𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲 𝗠𝘁 𝟭𝟰:𝟮𝟮-𝟯𝟯

‘Sinking slowly,’ is how razor-sharp Joe Duffy, a retired bishop and active scholar in his 90s whose energy and health are diminishing, answered my simple ‘how’re you?’ In some sense, we are all sinking. Tuning in by accident to Jim Sheridan’s film about Christy Brown, the Crumlin genius who overcame all obstacles, screened to honour recently deceased Brenda Fricker who won an academy award for her performance, plunged me into a storm of emotions. Beginning with a flashback to my first year English class in a crowded prefab, when the teacher full of sarcasm giving back an essay poked fun at my bad handwriting in front of the class. He said, ‘It’s like Christy Brown,’ whom I had never heard of. ‘He wrote with his left foot.’ Christy’s macho father who himself at first thought him stupid, defended him with a headbutt against an ignorant putdown in the pub. Lying speechless under the stairs while siblings did homework at the table, Christy made a move one night. He clutched a stick of chalk and, lying on his back, with huge effort began to scrawl, rub out and start again. As letters took shape, his family stood around in anxious amazement, until, M-O-T-H-E-R, the one who carried, loved and lobbied fiercely for him, was etched on the flagstones, leading to cheers and tears all around.

Well-known Augustinian scripture scholar and Youghal native, Kieran O’Mahony’s recent group communication rattled me. Keen cyclist, and seen often on RTE around the funeral of Pope Francis and conclave to elect Pope Leo, Kieran is the best contemporary scripture scholar I know to consistently relate the teaching of the bible with today’s world. Focused on the Mass readings, in a short YouTube talk or few pages, he can give the biblical background, type of literature they are, precise meaning of the words used, religious, political or cultural context of its time, and draw parallels with today’s situation. He often also recommends a film, shares a piece of poetry, art or music to evoke the message. He suggests how we can live and pray in light of the gospel. Imagine my shock, then, to read the following:

Final email. Dear friends and subscribers, with this email I am sending the final email to come from Tarsus.ie. Recently, my health has declined and the time has come to draw to a close this service. I thank each of you for your faithfulness and loyalty to these emails. It has been a great source of pleasure to know that my explorations of the scriptures have been popular and helpful around the world. Please continue to hold me in your prayers. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with us all, now and evermore. Amen. Kieran

What do you say to that? Should I reply and express my appreciation for the very helpful and practical presentation of insights on liturgical readings? Or would that place a burden on him of having to read (and possibly reply to) numerous communications? No more Monday morning emails popping into my inbox with concise, relevant, balanced and up to date biblical wisdom and insight.

But a friend pointed me to the Irish Catholic where Kieran’s notes can be found, which say today’s gospel is a story of an encounter with God. Rather than literal, the story is symbolic, like the appearance accounts of the Risen Jesus. It doesn’t make sense to happen during Jesus’ ministry, but makes more sense if the story is dealing a later church situation, where the community feels it is without the risen Lord; out on a stormy sea, the Risen Jesus presents himself, reassures them, and their faith is strengthened.

Kieran has been coping with cancer for some years now, and I can only imagine the consequent emotional and spiritual storms he has been navigating. Growing up, and for most of our lives, we think we will live forever, that we’re on solid ground. Illness debilitates and destabilises us. Kieran has been guiding countless students, searchers and preachers to wade out into scriptural seas, finding God-given wisdom in the perennial human pilgrimage, as we struggle through storms.

Christy Brown suffered more severe storms than most and, thanks to the heroic love of his mother and the self-belief she instilled, navigated each challenge with bravery and found his place on a world stage.

Like the faltering-in-faith Peter and ailing-in-age Bishop Duffy, but for the hand of God we’re all sinking slowly!

𝗙𝗿 𝗡𝗲𝗱

02/08/2026

𝟭𝟴𝗦𝘂𝗻𝗔 𝗔𝗯𝗯𝗲𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝟭,𝟮 𝗔𝘂𝗴𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲 𝗠𝘁 𝟭𝟰:𝟭𝟯-𝟮𝟭

‘Could he give a sermon in one sentence?’ asked a friend of a friend! The challenge prompted John O’Donoghue’s remark in a Boston lecture to come flashing back, that GK Chesterton would gladly give up all his writings if only he had come up with, ‘The Word was made flesh.’ I know my limits! Sitting, largely silent, with my profoundly deaf and now almost blind friend and former boss Fr Michael O’Byrne, two-way communication nearly impossible. Previously, he talked and I would text. Not now. Not only must one write on a placemat sized white board, but the letters in black marker must be large and precise. He who previously devoured four novels each week, now reads, letter by letter with a struggle. Restricted to two or three, preferably short, word answers, I was unable to adequately reply to most of his questions. No longer able to lip read, or to hear even his own voice, he finds more and more doors closing around him. ‘My eyesight has gotten so bad,’ he said, ‘that I didn’t recognise my niece until she came in really close to me.’

His expected visitor that evening hadn’t arrived, and I knew from an apology for an earlier meeting that an appointment had cropped up, but how could I convey that he hadn’t been dumped. Eventually, I printed the word DOCTOR followed by the man’s name. The penny dropped. ‘Is he sick? Did something happen?’ Mick asked me to ring friends, using his phone; all privacy gone. A yes or no answer was fine, anything more nuanced posed a problem.

As he spoke, and I failed to register a recognisable response, the human need we all have to connect, communicate and know we are not alone haunted me. An Indian night nurse with a big smile, as an experiment, arrived with an alphabet of cut-out two-inch capital letters, and arranged: first, 𝗖𝗔𝗡, and after he had read it, 𝗬𝗢𝗨, next, 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗. Mick thanked her for her kindness, muttering under his breath, ‘This is what I’m reduced to.’

Put to the pin of one’s collar to communicate, words and details lose their power. We’re pared back to bare basics: love, loneliness, frustration with fresh limitations. We need close contact, assurance that we can continue to cope. Mick’s farewell handshake was firmer and more gripping than before; it spoke more engagingly than the usual clutter of chatter.

Jesus didn’t just talk to the bewildered followers of the beheaded John the Baptist, he took pity on them and healed their sick. Then he challenged the disciples not to outsource the problem, but to give them something to eat themselves. Sitting with a severely deaf and practically blind person is not dissimilar. Reaching deep within, and only using words when absolutely necessary, feeling his pain, frustration and inability to glean ordinary information we take for granted, but grasping to fit in and feel in touch with others.

Can I convey all this in one sentence? Not a chance. But to boil it down, it’s about family, friends and deep connection: food for the soul, loaves and fishes.

𝗙𝗿 𝗡𝗲𝗱

26/07/2026

𝟭𝟳𝗦𝘂𝗻𝗔 𝗔𝗯𝗯𝗲𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝟮𝟱,𝟮𝟲𝘁𝗵 𝗝𝘂𝗹𝘆 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲 𝗠𝘁 𝟭𝟮:𝟰𝟰-𝟰𝟲

The Kingdom of God is in the little things. Like the joy of discovering how to find the battery in a car key (thanks to YouTube) and being able to replace it oneself. Or the unexpected thrill of seeing a lobster while swimming in Clonea Strand. Or appreciating silence. ‘The silence is powerful,’ said a man after morning Mass. ‘Everyone and everything are telling us what to do and how to live. Apps for this and programmes for that. It’s lovely to see the simplicity of the Mass. They gathered for the breaking of the bread. Listening to the Word. It speaks for itself.’ A cousin home from Brisbane for a family reunion brought his son camping to Crotty’s Lake in the Comeragh mountains to be close to nature, as his own father had memorably brought him. Or the freedom of the retired career lady, ‘I’ve spent my life trying to please others. I no longer care what people think. I’ll do my best and help if I can.’

Or the woman hanging clothes on the timber railing near the church I first thought was homeless. Touched later to see her paint a seascape on the doors of the electrical substation, and learn that she was a TV editor in Kiev, wrote film scripts and published many short stories. Painting was just a hobby. Not content to receive benefits, Oksana wants to work for a wage and is on a Council scheme. She applied to pick litter but on seeing her fistful of diplomas the manager put her painting. Forced by the war to flee her home with only the clothes on her back, at first she could only paint in black, a release of her trauma. Next, she could paint in black and white, and now, through both tears and smiles of resignation, can express the whole spectrum of her experience using every colour imaginable, as mixed on her palette. Ukrainian Orthodox, she trusts in God and prays the psalms she knows by heart. Pointing to her paint spattered trousers, ‘in Ukraine, I was a lady, a professional; now, I am a worker.’ Passersby, like me, stop to admire her handiwork and she feels warmed by the welcome.

The thrill, joy and surprise at stumbling on a treasure is how Jesus depicts the discovery of God’s presence. It is to find a freedom and freshness we want to hold on to, no matter the personal cost. From the joy of learning to change a car key battery, spotting a rarely seen wild fish to the liberating silence of not being dictated to. Reliving and handing on to the next generation, a long-cherished childhood camping experience in rugged unspoilt beauty. The wonder of growing into our own skin and feeling confident. Touched by timeless religious words and ritual which speak for themselves. To be enriched on our doorstep by the unexpected talent and resilience of a Ukrainian displaced by war yet bringing beauty to her adopted home is enriching.

Good God,
Continue to thrill as we find
And go off happy with you
Our true treasure in all that is.
Amen

𝗙𝗿 𝗡𝗲𝗱

19/07/2026

16SunA Abbeyside 18,19th July 2026 Mt 13:24-30

‘Only those who go to Mass every week should be allowed celebrate First Communion and Confirmation,’ people sometimes say. I’m wary to wade into this debate, but such an elitist attitude is not new. It was there in Jesus’ day, but he did the exact opposite!ᶦ He welcomed everyone, and told the parable of the wheat and the w**ds (darnel), suggesting good and bad grow side by side, both around and within us. Examples abound.

Rushing to Mass from Clonea Strand, I nearly crashed into a fox dashing across the road at the Railway Cottage restaurant. Seeing him at the last minute, I braked and the fox changed tack to avoid me …. And I saw the strangest sight: he was clutching a croissant between his teeth!

Mary, whose open, caring, can-do attitude I’ve always admired, said: ‘I’ve made mistakes. I struggle to be with some of my family, and sometimes it’s a burden. My son got into trouble but is doing well now. My friend asked, “do you still go to Mass?” I said, “I do. I find such peace there. I love my faith. We need something to hang on to. As a priest said, ‘Jesus has done all the work for us. We just need to do our bit.’ The Rosary is my favourite prayer. I say it in bed. It helps me to calm down.”’

Trappist monks in Tibhirine, of Of Gods and Menᶦᶦ fame, threatened by killers from the hills, kept praying, caring for the sick and encouraging neighbours, even though they could have abandoned Algeria to find safety elsewhere. Surrounded by violence and danger, they made peace internally and accepted that their deepening efforts to love the violent meant staying put, eventually being murdered.ᶦᶦᶦ

Did the fox leap up on a table and deprive a customer, or rob the restaurant, breaching health as well as ethical standards? It was a daily ritual, I later learned, the fox emerging from the trees to pick up the pastry left out by the chef! Never bitter, Mary makes peace with her past and family issues, staying soft. The murdered monks spent their final months reconciling opposites, accepting the inevitable while exploring the depths of love. We are in a violent world where it’s commonplace for the threatened to make and carry out threats; we simply must learn to live with differences. It’s natural to want to expel who or what doesn’t fit in. Sometimes, what people say and do can drive us mad and we’d prefer they moved away or didn’t exist. But God welcomes and wants each to flourish, w**d as well as wheat: w**ds to create heat by burning; wheat as food. Some anger and annoy, helping us learn to love, forgive and accept. Others are good and inspire us to imitate and improve. Jesus did not come to call the perfect and ignore the rest, but to teach, confirm and commune with everyone.

𝗙𝗿 𝗡𝗲𝗱

ᶦJoachim Jeremias, Rediscovering the Parables: A landmark work in New Testament interpretation, Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York 1966. p 175,6 [The Pharisees claimed to represent the holy community, the true people of God; the Essenes tried to form the ‘Community of the New Covenant’; and John the Baptist aimed at gathering the saved community.]

ᶦᶦhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Of_Gods_and_Men_(film)

ᶦᶦᶦhttps://www.thetablet.co.uk/features/seeking-peace-in-a-time-of-violence/

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