Collections

Amazing the things we gather and collect over the years. Take the music and video field for instance. How many DVDs and music CDs do we have at home? Have we listened to all of them more than once? How many times can we see the same DVD feature movie; or the Series of that famous TV show we like?

Time was when all these movies were on VHS tapes; and our music collection was either cassette tapes or old vinyl. Then the system changed; and we had to change too.

Now it’s DVDs and CDs soon to be replaced by Blu-Ray, MP3s and a variety of other formats no doubt.

And there’s also all those photos we took with our modern cameras. In the old days it was a film which had to be developed and printed on paper. It cost money – so we were careful how many photos we took. Now it’s digital and we can click away to our heart’s content and put all these photos on CDs and build a large collection which we see once and then forget about it.

I wonder, will there be time in Heaven to sit back and see all those DVD movies we never have time to watch? Or our favourite TV shows which ran for several Series? Or all those photos we took of all the holidays and events we went to? And listen to all our music collections we amassed over the years?

And will they have a machine in Heaven which runs all formats regardless whether your memories are saved on Betamax, VHS or the latest digital system?

And how about our lovely shoe collection? One pair for each occasion? Or our lovely handbags … dresses … hats … ties … sets of golf clubs … watches … and numerous other things we buy and collect over a lifetime?

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Matthew 6: 19-21.

The elephant story.

Once upon a time there was an explorer in the jungle doing what explorers normally do … exploring. I believe he was writing a book about something or other … various toppings for pizza I think, and he was out in the jungle searching for inspiration … anyway … it doesn’t really matter what he was there for. The fact of the matter is that this explorer was out in the jungle and he came face to face with an elephant.

Well … not quite face to face … he, being a short man and the elephant being as big as an … elephant!

Oh … I forgot to tell you. This short explorer had previously been a doctor. Being so short he became a knee specialist since this is as far as he could reach.

So … to cut a long story short he became and explorer and here he was face to … body … with an elephant.

The elephant was lying on its side with its trunk in the air and flapping its ears … well, he was flapping one ear really, because the other one was under his head as he lay there on his side.

The short explorer also noticed that the poor creature was bleeding from its front paw … or foot I suppose. Do elephants have paws? It’s not a foot either is it? Not like a human foot. Anyway … let’s get on with the story. This is taking longer than I thought!

The short explorer got nearer to the elephant and noticed a big thorn stuck there at the bottom of the elephant’s foot.

“Aha” … he thought, “I remember reading a story about a man who found a thorn in an animal’s paw … it was a lion I think. Then the man took the thorn out and the lion and he became friends. They met again many years later and the lion recognized him and befriended him all over again!”

Cheered by this happy story the man approached the elephant ever so slowly and using a pair of pliers which he happened to have on him …

All right … don’t ask me why a short explorer in the jungle happened to have a pair of pliers on him. Maybe he had been a dentist and this was a tool he had to extract teeth … after he gave up being a knee specialist.

To continue … using the pliers he extracted the thorn from the elephant’s foot.

The elephant was so relieved! He stood up at once and let out a big trumpet sound to say thank you and ran away happily in the jungle.

Many years later the same short explorer was visiting a zoo whilst on holiday and would you believe it … there in the elephant’s enclosure was a majestically big elephant.

The explorer looked up at the elephant. He was still short that’s why he looked up. And the elephant looked down at the man.

Their eyes met each other … not literally, just a figure of speech to say they looked at each other.

The elephant moved slowly forward and put his trunk through the big metal bars of the enclosure and ever so gently with his trunk he caressed the explorer’s head. The short man smiled. A tear ran down the elephant’s eyes as he continued caressing the explorer.

Then suddenly the elephant wrapped its trunk round the explorer’s neck and started to strangle him tightly until he was blue in the face. Luckily the zoo-keepers managed to free the explorer before he was killed.

Why did the elephant behave this way? You may ask.

The answer is simple.

It was not the same elephant!

And the moral of the story is: Not everyone who says he’s a Christian is necessarily so.

Not everyone who calls me 'Lord, Lord' will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but only those who do what my Father in Heaven wants them to do. Matthew 7:21

A hell of a question.

There are times when children ask us questions which make us stop and think. Our answer needs to be well thought out and considered before our mouth is engaged into action.

Father Ignatius was at the local Catholic School for his usual Catechism class. This is what happened when a ten years old girl asked him her question.

“Father … is it OK to pray for those people in hell?”

The priest took off his spectacles and cleaned them of imaginary dust in order to gain some thinking time.

“Why do you ask?” he said gently.

“Well …” she hesitated, “we pray for the souls in purgatory so that God forgives them and they go to Heaven.

“Why don’t we pray for those in hell? They were bad when they were alive but now they are dead they are in hell for ever. I feel sorry for them!”

“It’s good of you to feel sorry for them,” replied the priest, “it shows a charitable spirit … it shows you’re very kind and considerate.

“But we must remember this. No one goes to hell by mistake.

“As you say, these people were bad when they lived and they had plenty of opportunities to be good and to do what God asks. They had many chances to repent and ask God to forgive them and to do good. But they disobeyed, time and again, and they turned their back on God.

“God is merciful and He forgives … but He is just too. Those who are in hell have sent themselves there by their behavior.”

Another child raised his hand and asked a question.

“But Father … Sister Josephine when she was here yesterday, she said that Jesus told us to love our enemies. He said to God to forgive them when they put Him on the Cross.

“The people in hell are the enemy of God. Why does God not forgive them? Does He not love them?”

Father Ignatius prayed silently for inspiration before answering.

“Of course He loves them” he replied after a short pause, “God loves everybody because they are His creations. I suspect He even loves those in hell and He is very sad that they are there.

“But there are times in life when people put themselves out of God’s loving nature.

“Let me explain it another way.

“Suppose your parents bought you a puppy for your birthday. You love that puppy very much and you play with him every day. But as he grows up he becomes a little threatening and he growls at everyone. One day he bites your hand. And he continues with this bad behavior to the point where you can’t come near him in case he bites you again.

“For your own safety, and that of others, your parents decide to take the dog away and put him in a Dog Rescue Shelter where he’s looked after by other people.

“It’s the same with us. God loves us all when we’re born and we’re babies. But as we grow up, some people turn against Him and become bad. No matter how often these people are told to do good they never ask God to forgive them and they continue to do bad things all their life.

“When these bad people die they go to hell because of what they have done … God still loves them. Just as you love your dog in the Dog Shelter!

“In fact I believe God grieves for those in hell. He’d rather the place was empty and we were all with Him in Heaven. But some people put themselves in hell by their bad behavior.”

“So do we pray for those in hell or not?” asked the original questioner.

“There is nothing wrong with praying,” Father Ignatius replied, “God will listen to your prayers, as He does all prayers, and will respond in an appropriate and just way. When you pray, say to God how sorry you are that there are people in hell, and ask Him to help you be good all your life.

“Every one of us, young and old, like me, must always pray that we do not give God reason to grieve by behaving badly and ending in hell.”

Patron Saint of ...

I have been tagged by Karinann to join a Patronage Meme.

The idea is to imagine that I have died and gone to Heaven and somehow the wise people in the Vatican have decided to nominate me a Saint.

If that were to happen … which Patron Saint would I be?

Ha … the very idea! Me … a Saint!!!

The very thought of it is making Jesus laugh out loud right now and St Peter is rolling on the floor with tears of merriment in his eyes whilst St Thomas is telling everyone “I don’t believe it!”

You know … if I’m ever to be a Patron of anything, whether in Sainthood or in lowly life here on earth, I think it should be “Patron of Laughter”.

Because laughter is important in this life. It’s good for you you know!

Laughter releases dolphins within you which move around and tickle you from the inside.

If there was more laughter on earth … really loud and hearty laughter … the sort of laughter that makes you have tears of joy in your eyes and the need for a change of underwear … well, the world would be a better place for it.

And we’d have extra laundry too!

So there you have it. Patron of Laughter.

Because God created laughter you know. At least I hope He has … otherwise I’m in dead trouble.

On a serious note though … this Meme is good because it makes us think of who we are here on earth and how far short we fall when compared to the Saints in Heaven.

Try this little exercise. Pick a Saint. Any Saint … Peter, Paul, Therese of Avila, Charbel or whoever you wish.

Now compare how they lived here on earth to the way we do!

See what I mean?

That’s why I say I’m no Saint, and not likely to be either. But I try …

Now enjoy this video.

God bless.

Close encounter of the ghostly kind

There are times in life when you’re compromised in a situation and you have to do the best you can to get out of it.

This happened many years ago when three friends and I went out on a Friday night. Colin was driving his old Mini and Peter was sitting next to him. Harry and I were at the back.

I thought we were going to a pub somewhere in the countryside and was somewhat concerned when we stopped outside an old cottage somewhere remote.

“What are we doing here?” I asked, and was assured that it’ll be OK and I’ll like it really.

We entered the house and were greeted by a middle-aged lady who ushered us into a waiting room were another five people were waiting. An old man, two middle aged women, a young woman and a man in his thirties or so.

Eventually we were led into a darkened room lit by a couple of candles and asked to sit in a circle round a large table. It was obvious that we were to witness a séance where a medium would attempt to communicate with the other side.

Peter had mentioned the subject a few days earlier and Colin had shown an interest in attending such an event. I had made it perfectly plain at the time that I did not approve of such things which explains why they had not told me where we were going.

So there I was, sitting round a table with Harry on my left and the old gentleman on my right.

The woman who greeted us when we arrived entered the room and sat opposite me. We were asked to remain silent and hold hands.

After a few seconds the so-called spiritualist asked “Is anyone there?” and at that very moment, as bad luck would have it, my stomach started to rumble. I had not eaten for a while and I was somewhat hungry.

“I heard something,” said one of the women “it sounded distant and from a great depth!"

“Yes, I heard it too …” said someone else “it was creepy ...”

My stomach rumbled again in response.

“Please remain silent” said the medium sternly.

And my stomach gurgled yet again defiantly.

The medium then started breathing heavily and deeply.

“What’s the matter with her?” asked the old man sitting on my right; and the young lady sitting on his right whispered gently “She’s in a trance!”

“She’s going to dance?” he asked, “why is that?”

“In a trance …” I whispered emphatically under my breath.

“In France? How can she be in France and sitting right there?” he asked loud enough to be heard by one and all.

“Please be quiet!” reprimanded the medium.

It was then that I noticed Harry on my left sniggering and having great difficulty stifling a laugh.

This didn’t help me one bit as I too tried hard not too laugh. I looked at Harry and noticed in the dark his shoulders shaking uncontrollably in silent laughter. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to think of something serious … something dire and terrible to make me stop laughing.

But no … my vivid imagination got the better of me. I could see in my mind’s eye the medium doing a dance in France. The cancan it was. There she was kicking her legs high in the air as the lively music which usually accompanies that dance whirled round in my head ever so louder.

The harder I tried to suppress my laughter the worst it got, especially as I heard the old man on my right say to his companion “this chap here said the medium is going to France!”

I blurted out a laugh and pretended to sneeze. Harry did the same and “sneezed” too as the old man said “bless you!”

It was then that I felt a presence in the room. It wiped any shred of hilarity within my body as I froze solid.

I kid you not … there definitely was a presence in that room.

Something brushed gently against my left leg and then seconds later against my right leg … ever so gently but forcefully enough to turn my suppressed laughter into total panic.

It certainly stopped my stomach gurgling once and for all. In fact it was the best cure to stomach noises in the whole universe albeit it could have triggered other natural reactions!

I opened my eyes and looked at Harry and the old man on my right. Harry had stopped laughing and the man on my right was silent too. No one had noticed the evil presence in the room. They silently looked ahead at the medium still breathing deeply and heavily in and out.

The presence brushed against my legs once again.

I was petrified with fear.

I looked down and saw a cat walk past my legs and out of the room.

The séance ended soon afterwards with no spirits calling on us that evening. I suspect they were all in the pub enjoying a drink!

Sharing poverty.

Father Frederic from Bishop’s House was due to visit St Vincent Church later in the day. He was sent by the Bishop to discuss church funds at St Vincent, or more precisely, why the church’s contribution to the Bishop’s Fund has decreased over the past year.

Father Ignatius knew all too well why his contribution to the Bishop’s Fund had decreased. They were in the middle of a severe recession. This particular town had been hit harder than most with business closures, bankruptcies and redundancies. Most of his parishioners were poor and looking for work. The Sunday collection had been getting less and less every week.

“But try telling that to a young priest fresh from College!” thought Father Ignatius.

Father Frederic had graduated as an accountant before becoming a priest; and the Bishop knew too well how to use his talents with figures.

He sent him round to all Parishes to “help improve their finances” and to encourage them to increase their annual contributions to the Bishop’s Fund.

Early on the day that Father Frederic was due to visit, Father Ignatius got in his office and waited for the Parish Treasurer to arrive.

“Have you got the map?” the priest asked Kim, the volunteer treasurer, as she entered the room.

She nodded as she unfolded a large map of the town which she pinned on a large board the priest had acquired for the purpose.

Father Ignatius pulled out four boxes of pins from his desk drawer; some with red colored heads, some blue, some green and some yellow.

He consulted the Parish Records and placed various pins on the map. Kim sat in the armchair silently until he finished. She was about to ask a question when Father Frederic was brought in by Mrs Davenport, the housekeeper.

After the introductions and coffee had been served, Father Frederic looked at the map with all the colored pins and said, “That’s impressive Ignatius. What do these pins represent?”

“Oh well … you see …” mumbled Father Ignatius politely, “Kim and I were analyzing the breakdown of our parishioners’ propensity to consume according to income just as you came in … and from that we could deduce their ability to contribute to church funds …”

Kim raised an eyebrow, not understanding a word Father Ignatius had said.

Father Frederic nodded knowledgeably and said, “That’s very useful … we could use such a system in other Parishes. Show me how it works …”

“Ehm … well, this is a map of the whole town and surrounding countryside,” explained Father Ignatius.

“These red pins all over here represent parishioners who are either out of work, or in very poorly paid jobs … you see how they’re all in the poorer inner city areas where business closures have been particularly prevalent! Sadly, they form the majority of our parishioners, and although many of them do contribute generously to the Sunday collections and other appeals there’s a limit to how much they can donate!”

“Quite so …” said the young priest, “what about the blue pins?”

“Well … they’re middle income families. Office managers, shopkeepers, factory supervisors … that sort of thing … we have a few of those in the Parish and they contribute to the church and the local Catholic schools were they send their children. There’s a limit to how much we can ask of them since they would reduce their donations to the schools to increase ours. Can’t serve two masters you understand …”

“Indeed … yes indeed …” agreed Father Frederic.

Encouraged by his visitor’s enthusiasm Father Ignatius went on.

“Now these green pins … they represent the countryside. You’ll note there’s much fewer of them and they’re all out of town. They are Catholic farmers in the main who not only donate generously financially but also in kind. Many of them donate food and produce from their farms, which is distributed by the St Vincent Society amongst poor parishioners.”

“That’s admirable Ignatius … admirable” nodded Father Frederic.

“And as you may have guessed Father,” Father Ignatius continued, “the yellow pins represent those parishioners who are helped by the church. They are recipients of our generosity rather than contributors.

“Now … would you like to see our weekly accounts of Sunday collections, and how the money is used? Kim here has prepared all the books for you to examine.”

“No that is not necessary …” said Father Frederic, “I’m in a bit of a hurry and have to visit another Parish. This is splendid Ignatius. I’ll explain to the Bishop and he’ll be most impressed ….”

After the visiting priest had left Kim spoke for the first time.

“This map Father,” she said, “and all those pins … does every pin represent a parishioner in St Vincent?”

“Of course not …” replied Father Ignatius with a smile, “I couldn’t possibly remember every parishioner and their personal circumstances and pin them on the board just a few minutes before he arrived …

“I just put a few red pins in the poor area of town. And a few green ones in the countryside … and the others I spattered here and there …

“I’ve met these young enthusiastic priests before, eager to impress the Bishop. Just show them a map with a few colored pins and they’re most impressed at your efficiency and grasp of the situation.

“Strictly speaking, what I said is correct. We have more poor people in this Parish than those able to contribute to our funds.

“If I’d said that, Father Frederic would have asked more questions and wanted more details. But show him a few colored pins on a board and he’s as happy as a child with a new toy!

“I’m far too busy looking after my parishioners, and I prefer to help them in their difficult lives rather than squeeze a few more pennies out of them.”

Father Ignatius paused for a moment or two as he took off all the pins and returned the map to Kim.

“I wonder if our Lord had a board and pins when He helped the poor and the sick …” he asked.

Helping Auntie.

There are times dear friends when one thing leads to another and a collection of events follow each other as if conspiring to make ones life, or my life to be precise, ever so difficult and embarrassing.

There I was visiting an old aunt in the countryside the other day. She lives in a lovely cottage in a small secluded village where everyone knows everyone else. It’s not a big house, two up and two down as they call it in old parlance, meaning that apart from the bathroom and toilet she has two bedrooms upstairs, and a living and dining room downstairs. Not forgetting the kitchen, of course.

She made me a nice pot of tea and biscuits and we sat by the open fire reminiscing about the past and how different life was then.

Whilst chatting with her I noticed that the smoke from the log fire tended, every now and then, to blow back into the room rather than flow gently up the chimney. A typical sign of a blockage somewhere in the chimney, I thought.

As it was the weekend, it would be almost impossible to get the services of a chimney sweep. You know the kind, a Dick Van Dyke sort of fellow like in the film Mary Poppins. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen such a fellow ever; especially now that most people live in air-conditioned and centrally-heated buildings. Not much call for chimney sweeps most of the time, let alone weekends.

Being a kind sort of fellow, as I usually remind myself, I tried to sort things out for my old aunt.

Big mistake!

I went outside to see if there was smoke coming out of the chimney and noticed, quite visibly, bits of twigs and straw like pieces on top of the chimney. It was obvious that a big bird had attempted to build a nest there.

This can be easily removed, I thought, as I put the ladder against the wall and climbed up quite confidently. Once up top, my confidence began to wane.

How do I get to the chimney, which was situated some distance from the edge of the house? In the center of the roof, in fact!

I eased myself gently onto the roof, stood up gingerly, and attempted to walk very slowly and extremely carefully towards the apex of the roof to reach the chimney.

I looked down and saw my aunt standing there, Rosary in hand.

There are times, believe me, when a Rosary does not inspire much confidence; and this was such a moment. All I needed is a priest and an undertaker standing there beside her to drain any remaining ounce of courage still lurking within me.

I smiled at her and moved on ever so slowly until I reached the chimney.

I reached for the offending debris in order to remove it from the opening and … dash it all … it slid gently down the chimney.

I grasped the chimney tightly with both arms hugging it for dear life as I almost lost my footing.

What do I do now? Do I leave the straw there and climb down, having made a bad situation worse? Or do I manly continue with my mission to help an aunt in distress?

What if I reached inside the chimney and try to grab the straw out?

I courageously stood up straight, still holding tight to the chimney, and slowly let go of my right arm and reached down the chimney.

Can’t find a thing … a little deeper … yes, I can feel the bits of straw … reach in a bit more.

Panic! I’m stuck. I can’t pull my arm out. Help somebody!

“Are you OK?” I hear auntie calling. She can’t see me from where she’s standing, so she crosses the road to see me stuck there up her chimney.

“I’ll call for help!” she shouts as she vanishes away. I wish she hadn’t. A crowd is now beginning to gather; mostly her well-meaning neighbors and other villagers.

“What’s he doing up there?” I hear one of them say.

“Poor fellow is threatening to jump and end it all!” replies and elderly man, “Can’t blame him, the economic situation being what it is. If I had the energy I’d go up and join him”.

“I’m not suicidal …” I think to myself, “but I’ll soon be if I don’t get out of this embarrassing situation. I wish I hadn’t had that second cup of tea!”

To make matters worse it starts to rain. Not much … just a drizzle, which is enough to make me wet and cold.

The onlookers are not deterred however. They bring out their umbrellas and stand there on the opposite side of the road looking at me. My aunt is not amongst them. Where is she? No doubt inside the house making tea and serving biscuits to her new found friends. She’s never been so popular until now.

I’m getting desperate now. The tea inside me and the rain outside me combine to nudge nature into action. I’ve really got to go … can’t hold it any more!

What’s this I hear? A siren from a distance, getting louder as a fire engine is seen coming down the hill.

Minutes later they extend their mechanical ladder which slowly edges ever closer to me with a fireman standing on the platform at the end.

He gently wriggles my arm around and somehow manages to set me free.

As the ladder platform gently lowers me to terra firma I rush into the house for the toilet to the sound of applause from the welcoming crowd.

So … what have I learnt from this experience? Two things really!

First, when I got home that evening and re-played the event over in my mind, my thoughts turned to those people who lowered their paralyzed friend through the roof so that Jesus may heal him.

What Faith they must have had. It’s obvious this was not their house, yet, they felt confident enough to climb on the flat roof with their friend, take away the tiles or whatever it was that covered the roof, and lower the sick man through the gaping hole regardless of any trouble they may get into with the house owner.

Sometimes we’re too tired and ill to even pray, let alone muster enough Faith that the Good Lord will help us. It’s at times like these that we have to rely on the Faith of others praying for us and believing that God listens to all prayers, including those made on our behalf.

The second thing I’ve learnt from my roof experience is that it is just impossible for Father Christmas to get down the chimney and leave presents for children everywhere. There isn’t enough room inside a chimney for your arm, never mind a well-rounded jolly old man carrying a sack full of toys. Perhaps he gets in through an open window or by tampering with the door locks!

Bicycle.

After much thought and deliberation I have come to the conclusion that bicycles are dangerous and should be abolished. I don’t mean motorcycles; but common old pedal cycles.

Let me explain.

In an effort to be environmentally friendly and to save the planet I’ve decided to cycle to work instead of taking the car. “Quite laudable”, I hear you say; and you’d better say it because I’ve risked life and limb to save this planet of ours from pollution and whatever else it suffers from.

Besides, gas (petrol) costs so much these days, so a bit of cycling would save me money, I thought. These days when I fill the tank it costs me more than the value of the car itself.

As I was saying before I interrupted myself … I bought a new bicycle and with it a book entitled “How to ride a bike in one easy lesson!” You should read it I think … all one hundred pages of it!

My first difficulty was reading the book and attempting to cycle at the same time. Can’t be done! Not enough hands to hold the book and handlebars simultaneously.

So I rode the bike, leant on a nearby tree on the sidewalk, and read the book.

Passers-by wondered what I was doing but I fooled them by looking at my watch every now and then and pretending I was waiting for someone.

Eventually, I was ready to go. I put the book in the little pannier at the front of the bike, and eased myself gently away from the tree.

For some unexplained reason my feet froze on the pedals and the cycle did not move. It stood still for a second or two and then fell horizontally to the left.

I hit my head hard on the grass verge, but luckily I was wearing my new helmet which softened the blow somewhat akin to being punched hard by a champion boxer. I waited for a count of ten before getting up again.

I leant against the tree, re-read the first chapter of the book, and started again.

Success! This time I fell horizontally to the right and hit my head hard on the firm tarmac. The helmet was not as effective at softening the blow.

Several falls later, five to the left and four to the right, I decided to change strategy.

This time I pressed hard on the pedals as I moved away from the tree. The bicycle moved forward a few yards but then lost momentum and fell … to the right I think!

My determination egged me forward as I eventually managed to turn the pedals a few more times and move further on … wobbling as I went.

And then disaster struck. My trousers got caught in the chain contraption near the pedals and the bicycle jumped forward like a bucking bronco throwing me head first over the handlebars and landing me hard on my back with the bike on top of me still attached to my trouser leg.

The next day I tried again. I really had to master this new mode of transport over the weekend if I’m to cycle to work on Monday.

As they say, necessity is the mother of invention.

I think I’ve invented, or to be more accurate, discovered, a major improvement to be incorporated in the manufacture of bicycles. They should all be fitted with satellite navigation systems as a standard feature.

This is essential, I believe, to avoid the dangers of cycling at some speed into trees, lamp posts, letter boxes and other street furniture.

As I managed to gain forward movement I noticed that my cycle always managed to go straight for a stationary object rather than avoid it as a car would do.

Somehow, the handle bars would wobble left and right yet still propel the bike towards the obstacle it is meant to avoid.

Anyway … what’s all this leading to, I hear you say.

Basically, it’s that this latest experience reminded me of a story an old priest friend of mine told me years ago.

Once upon a time there was a young boy of six who’d been taught by his parents that Jesus is always with him. Protecting him, helping him, and guiding him throughout life.

One Sunday afternoon they all went out cycling in the park. Mom and dad on their bicycles followed by the six-years old on his small tri-cycle!

They cycled gently until they reached a small hill. Easy enough for the parents to climb; but a little hard on the little boy, despite his parents' encouragement.

He pedaled as hard as he could with his little legs but the tri-cycle would not move forward; in fact it was sliding backwards somewhat.

Eventually the boy got off his cycle and said: “It’s no use Jesus. You’ll have to get off the bike and help me push!”

Now why can’t we have as much Faith?

I lost my bow tie.

There I was the other day in a hurry to attend an important meeting when … dash it all … I could not find my bow tie!

You know the one; light turquoise with small pink flowers!

I looked everywhere and could not find it. Perhaps my cat had taken it and used it as a toy … it had vanished and I was in a hurry.

I prayed to St Anthony to help me find it but I think he was too busy searching for something else. So I chose my spotted ordinary tie instead, put on my best hat, and off I went.

Whilst in the taxi I thought about that old lady in the Bible who’d lost a coin. When she found it she held a party for her friends and neighbours to celebrate. Well, I certainly won’t be doing that if I ever find my bow tie … cheaper to buy another one, I thought. Although light turquoise with small pink flowers is somewhat rare, I tell you.

Then my thoughts wandered about what else people can lose and feel really bad about.

Money … jewellery … prized possessions … someone’s love perhaps … or even worse, a loved one.

It must be terrible when we lose a loved one and, although we believe as Christians that people go to a better place when they die, their departure does affect us greatly. We miss them … and to miss someone means that their presence had a good effect on our lives. Now they’re gone we feel the pain and anguish of their absence.

My empty brain was freewheeling now with one thought following another aimlessly through the various dark recesses of my mind.

What, for me, would be the greatest thing I could ever lose; something from which I would never recover, besides my turquoise bow tie, that is?

A small voice deep into my cranium whispered:

My Faith.

Sleepwalking into hell.

 Father Ignatius’ sermon started with a warning.

“You will not like my sermon today!” he declared.

“In fact I don’t like it myself and I would rather be giving you a different sermon. A gentle one which tickles your ears and makes you feel warm and comfortable.

“The reason I don’t particularly like this sermon is because perhaps it speaks to me too as well as all of you.

“When Jesus was raised to Heaven He gave His disciples and all of us a Mission. He asked us to go and preach the Good News about God and about Him.

“But are we doing as He asked? I mean each one of us in our daily lives, within our families, at work or wherever we may be? I don’t mean of course that you need to stand on a soap box in the middle of the street and shout at the top of your voice. Or knock from door to door and try to convince people on their doorsteps. Some people do just that and I admire their courage and determination.

“What I mean is” he paused for a moment to concentrate his listeners’ attention, “what I mean is, do people who know you recognize you as a disciple of Christ?

“Is there anything in your behavior or your character that is different? Something which makes people say ‘he or she is a Christian you know!’ Even in a derogative sense; at least it shows they’ve recognized something in you which is different.

“St Francis of Assisi advised his followers to preach the Gospel by the way they live.

“When people look at us do they see Christ in us?

“More important, when you look at the mirror in the morning do you see Christ there?”

He stopped again to ensure his point struck home. He then repeated slowly.

“When you look in the mirror do you see Christ?

“Our Lord said ‘Not everyone who calls me 'Lord, Lord' will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but only those who do what my Father in Heaven wants them to do.’

“In other words we can assume that there are no parrots in Heaven!”

The congregation laughed silently. Father Ignatius went on.

“God requires from each one of us action throughout our lives. Each one of us is tasked, to the best of their abilities, to do something in their lives, just a little, day in and day out, to put Christ in someone else’s life.

“We can’t all be Mother Theresa and leave our native land and go help others elsewhere. And indeed God does not ask us so to do … not all of us anyway.

“To most people He asks that we live Christ everyday … in our families, at work, at play or wherever we go and whatever we do.

“It is not enough to go to church on Sunday, and then get on with our own lifestyles the rest of the time.

“Nor am I saying that we should spend our lives on our knees collecting scars and calluses. That is not the first thing that St Peter will check for when you get to meet him!”

They laughed quietly again.

“God does not want us to endure this life. He wants us to enjoy it. And at the same time He wants us to tell others that there’s better to come when we meet Him in Heaven.

“We can each do as God asks in our own way … and best of all by living the Gospels day after day.

“Instead … I fear; there are too many so called Christians who are sleepwalking their way into hell!”

Old Henry’s sin

As Father Ignatius arrived at Old Henry’s cottage he recognized the doctor’s car pulling away, so he parked in the vacant space and rang the doorbell.

The seventy-five year old opened the door ashen faced and not having shaved for a few days.

As the priest went into the house he asked tentatively, “That was the doctor leaving … have you not been well Henry?”

The old man sat down and said: “I’ve been in terrible pains since Friday night. Shivering and feeling cold yet sweating and with a temperature. I felt tired and light-headed and thought my time had come!”

“Since Friday night?” asked the priest, “did you call the doctor then?”

“Yes I did. There was no one there. And they don’t work during the weekend either. The doctor finally came on Monday … and he came again today. You just saw him leaving!

“He gave me a variety of pills … all different pretty colors like sweets, and said if I don’t improve he’ll take me to hospital.

“Fat chance! I can’t go to hospital and leave the dog at home alone.”

“But … if this started on Friday night, why did you not call me Henry? I would have come straightway!” said Father Ignatius.

“Oh … I thought you’d be too busy Father” Henry replied, “I bet you had the church full of sinners at every Mass this weekend. Am I right?” he asked with a glint in his eye.

The priest smiled.

“The thing is …” continued Henry, “at my age I don’t have much opportunity to sin. I don’t think I’ve broken any of the Commandments. I haven’t killed anyone nor stolen anything … and I doubt I have the energy to covet anything my neighbor might have … either his wife, who is ugly and as large as a gorilla, or his donkey … because he hasn’t got one!!!” He chuckled to himself.

“But I’ll tell you something Father …” he continued, “I did despair with God over the last few days … Now that’s a sin I’m sure!

“I was in terrible pain and although I prayed He didn’t listen. Too busy with someone else I suppose … I begged Him many times to take the pain away, but it got worse. At times I did pass out and sleep for hours then the pain would wake me again.

“I though God had abandoned me.

“I still believed in Him you know. I believed in His power to heal and His love for us. I knew He could heal me … but I felt He did not want to.

“Now why would He do that?

“He can heal, yet He withholds His healing power for some … including me. I suppose I lost my Faith in Him.”

“That is not so,” said Father Ignatius gently, “when we are in difficulty, or as in your case, in great pain, we doubt and we question, but we do not lose our Faith.

“Our human nature can’t understand what is happening to us. But deep inside we still believe.

“You said yourself that you still believed in God. So your Faith remained intact.

“But your pain and your fears said otherwise. The trauma of it all overwhelmed you.

“It’s human nature. God knows that.

“When Jesus was on the Cross, His human nature thought He’d been abandoned. But His Godly nature, as part of The Holy Trinity, knew otherwise.

“So have no fears Henry! God loves you and He has already forgiven you.”

The old man smiled feebly.

“Now tell me,” continued the priest, “did the doctor say what you can eat?”

“He said toast and butter would be OK, and tea with lemon, not milk.”

“I can do that … how about a hot meal?”

“He said chicken soup with bread … something light!”

“Mrs Davenport, our housekeeper, makes a great chicken soup with vegetables.” said Father Ignatius, “I’ll ask her to bring you some this afternoon.”

Over the next few days Father Ignatius made sure that a group of people took turns at visiting Old Henry until he was up on his feet and ready to sin again. Small sins of course!

Theodore's Deal.

Father Ignatius visited Theodore Luxton-Joyce, the eccentric rich benefactor, at his magnificent mansion in the countryside to discuss Parish Council business.

But it was obvious that this was the last thing on Theodore’s mind.

“Ah … welcome Padre” he said with a grin on his face like a child wishing to share a secret or surprise.

“How nice to see you once again! Let’s go to the library, I have something there I wish to show you. I’m sure you’ll like it what?”

The priest followed the millionaire through the large entrance hall and down the corridor towards the library.

“Here … what do you think?” said Theodore as he flew open the library doors and entered the spacious room.

Father Ignatius said nothing at first; wondering what it was which was supposed to interest him.

“Over there … just by the window …” said Theodore “they call it a treadmill. It’s a brand new contraption which is all the rage in London you know.

“Apparently, in London they have these in hospitals to give people who’ve been somewhat poorly much needed exercise. I wouldn’t be surprised if some day some enterprising person wouldn’t have these machines in a hall somewhere and charge people to use them.

“I might think of doing it myself perhaps. Meantime, I bought myself one … want to try it?”

“What is it exactly?” asked the priest hesitantly.

“It’s an exercise machine old boy …” enthused Theodore, “that bit down there is a continuous belt which goes round and round automatically. It’s electric you know. You switch it on, stand on it, and walk … Here let me show you.”

Theodore jumped on the treadmill and walked slowly for a few minutes before switching it off.

“Simple … isn’t it? You can walk for miles without leaving the house!”

“But, why would you do that, when you have such beautiful countryside around you?” asked the bemused priest.

“Aha …” replied Theodore still excited about his new acquisition, “with this machine you can walk at any time, day or night, in all weathers.”

Father Ignatius smiled.

“And what’s more …” continued Theodore, “you can march to the sound of bagpipes … I switch on the music first and then hop onto the machine.

“Doesn’t go so well to the sound of classical music of course, but I have plenty of records of military bands marching to the sound of pipes and drums. Takes me right back to my days in the forces … don’t you know!”

“I’m glad you found something to help you exercise …” said the priest quietly.

“One main drawback though …” Theodore went on with a frown on his face “It’s very cumbersome when you’re holding a glass of whisky whilst walking. I tend to spill most of it all over the place. Good twelve years old single malt too!

“I thought of putting the whisky in a small bottle and using a straw to drink … but it’s difficult putting ice cubes in the bottle. Unless you crush them first of course … what do you think?”

Father Ignatius was at a loss for words. After a moment’s or two of silence he said, “It’s good to have some physical exercise to keep fit. If only we could also encourage people to have some spiritual exercise!”

“What do you mean?” asked Theodore.

“You know …” said Father Ignatius putting his hands together as if praying, “more time with Our Lord is good for the soul.”

“Well … I go to church on Sundays, Father. As you know all too well!”

“Yes … of course. But I also meant more time in silent contemplation here at home. Reading the Bible perhaps or some other Christian book. Or visiting church more often … or our Prayer Group meetings … or …”

“Oh no … definitely not that!” interrupted Theodore, “not your Prayer Meetings with people waving their hands in the air and speaking in unintelligible incomprehensible words. My wife Rose has been to the Prayer Meetings and told me all about them …”

“Yes … she’s often there.” said Father Ignatius, “she doesn’t wave her hands about nor speaks in tongues … Yet, she takes part in the singing and prayers. She wouldn’t continue to attend if she didn’t get any benefit from it. Why don’t you join her sometime?”

Theodore said nothing as he poured two large glasses of whisky. You could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind.

“I’ll attend with Rose on one condition …” he said finally, “You walk for a minute or two on this treadmill and try it out. I’ll hold your whisky for you!”

And that’s how Father Ignatius gained another member to the weekly Prayer Group.

Receiving Jesus.

Father Ignatius finished reading from Matthew Chapter 8 Verse 5 then waited for the congregation to sit down.

“Imagine …” he said, “that I asked you to share your lunch with me today …

“If I said that Mrs Davenport, our housekeeper, has gone away suddenly and has not prepared Sunday lunch. So instead of staying at home alone with a piece of bread and ginger marmalade, I’d come home with you after Mass and share your meal with you.

“What would you think?”

He waited patiently for a few seconds.

“Would you think … Oh no … I haven’t had time to clean the house. It’s in a right state and I don’t want him to see it this way!

“Or … Not today, without prior notice … All we have at home is a few eggs and some bread …

“What other reasons would cross your mind, I wonder, to stop me from visiting you unannounced?”

After a few seconds’ pause he continued.

“In today’s Gospel we read about a Roman Centurion asking Jesus to heal his servant. And when Jesus agrees and makes his way towards the house the soldier says, ‘I am not worthy that you come into my house …’

“He doesn’t stop Jesus because the house is not clean, or because he has nothing to offer Him by way of refreshments … He says that he is not worthy to have Jesus visit him.

“He is a Roman Officer, a member of an occupying army with many soldiers under his command. He has power over many men and territory. Yet, he does not feel worthy enough to have such an eminent person as Jesus visit his home.

“He goes on to say ‘Just say the word and my servant will be healed!’

“What Faith, from someone who supposedly should have no Faith at all in Jesus! After all, Jesus was considered by the Romans as just another Jew in this occupied land ... nothing special.

“He says to Jesus, ‘I trust you enough and in your power, that you only have to say it, and my servant will be well.’

“And of course Jesus heals the servant without visiting the house.”

Father Ignatius stopped for a few moments once again.

“I wonder if we have similar Faith!” he asked.

“Do we trust Jesus enough to believe that He will listen to our prayers? Or do we harbor some doubts in our minds?

“Are we worthy to have Him visit us in our homes? Or will He be shocked by the cobwebs in every corner of our soul?

“And when we come forward for Holy Communion, and repeat the Centurion’s words, do we really mean them? I am not worthy to receive You ... ... ...

“Or do we hide the cobwebs of sin in our very souls? For make no mistake about it. This is what Communion is … Jesus abiding within your very soul.

“And if there’s sin hidden in our hearts … then we are not worthy indeed to receive Him.”

Ancient.

Father Ignatius was on his way back from a school trip to the museum in the big city with the young children from St Andrew’s School.

The young seven-year olds were a little boisterous and excited after their first school outing; and the six adults on the bus had their work cut out keeping them in their seats. When everyone was seated, Mr Foster, the Headmaster, took a roll-call to ensure that no one was missing.

As the bus made its way slowly through the busy traffic the children discussed amongst themselves their museum visit and the souvenirs they had bought from the museum shop.

A few of them sitting next to Father Ignatius discussed the various ancient exhibits they had seen from years gone by and asked him which were his favorite.

“I wouldn’t say I had a favorite as such,” replied Father Ignatius, “but I suppose it is impressive how many of these exhibits have survived all these centuries and how much we have to learn from ancient civilizations …”

“Are you ancient?” asked a seven year old.

“I suppose I am …” replied the priest with a smile.

Mr Foster smiled too, but said nothing.

“Will they put ancient people like you in the museum? And people will come to see you?” asked another youngster.

“Now that’s a good idea …” replied the priest, “do you think anyone would be interested?”

“No …” replied another promptly, “old people are not interesting … my grand dad is old … he is 58 and he does not like burgers and milk-shake.”

“Ah … that’s the ultimate test of antiquity,” declared Father Ignatius, “being 58 and having a dislike for burgers and milk-shake!”

The children continued discussing amongst themselves and the priest started reading a book about Ancient Civilisation which he had bought from the museum.

About half-an-hour later he closed the book and looked up.

“Learn anything interesting Father?” asked Mr Foster.

“I suppose so … whilst reading this book I’ve been thinking about our attitude to age and ageing …”

“What do you mean?”

“We seem to be in awe at something ancient …” continued the priest, “we wonder at the pyramids, and ancient monuments and relics. We marvel at old paintings by the great masters … and in this country we even have some buildings listed so that they cannot be altered or pulled down because of their historical architectural significance …”

“What’s wrong with that?” asked the headmaster.

“Oh … nothing wrong as such … but I can’t help wondering how many old people here in Britain live alone. Their families having grown up and moved on, these old folk are rarely visited by friends or neighbours. Perhaps Social Security visits them every now and again …

“There are quite a few in our Parish you know …”

“Yes … it’s modern society I’m afraid …” said the headmaster glumly, “people are too busy living life to care about each other … or their old folks. Some are too eager to put their parents in an old-folks home … too busy to look after them I suppose … I can understand that …”

“Can you? Some countries do in fact honor and respect their old people. Sending them to an old-peoples’ home is unheard of in those countries. They all live together in large families and the grand-parents have a lot to contribute to the family and the children’s up-bringing …

“But as you say … it’s different here in Britain … our modern lifestyles make us more interested in an ancient vase or similar relic than in human beings … it's such a pity we don't value our old people as much as we value an old building ...”

“Perhaps the Government should have old-folks listed, just like buildings!” joked Mr Foster.

Father Ignatius smiled. “There’s one thing I’ve learnt from this book,” he said with a glint in his eyes, “you’d better make friends with an archaeologist … because the older you get the more interested they are in you!”

The headmaster laughed and then added “Perhaps we can do something about it Father … in a small way … in our Parish that is …”

“What … have our old people listed by the Government or get them to meet up with archaeologists?”

“Can we not organize a group of volunteers from the church to visit lonely parishioners in our midst? Help them with the shopping perhaps, or with small jobs in the home or garden? I could get some of our older pupils to accompany the adult volunteers. It would help our youngsters no end … teach them to respect and help their elders … we could also involve the other Catholic school in town …”

And the enthusiasm of Mr Foster, which started from a conversation on a bus, soon turned into reality in a matter of weeks. And it's still going strong in that small Parish community.

A desperate prayer.