II Timothy

"Be sure of this, that in the world's last age there are perilous times coming. Men will be in love with self, in love with money, boastful, proud, abusive; without reverence for their parents, without gratitude, without scruple, without love, without peace; slanderers, incontinent, strangers to pity and to kindness; treacherous, reckless, full of vain conceit, thinking rather of their pleasures than of God. They will preserve all the outward form of religion, although they have long been strangers to its meaning."  3:1- 5
" The time will surely come, when men will grow tired of sound doctrine, always itching to hear something fresh; and so they will provide themselves with a continuous succession of new teachers, as the whim takes them, turning a deaf ear to the truth, bestowing their attention on fables instead." 4:3-4

Tir na Nog.

I've noticed myself starting to go grey,  Scream and dull thud as Servus collapses on the floor, gibbering in horror of full blown mid-life crisis!!!!  Nah! can't be bothered with all that self-analytical navel gazing.
But why does it matter to so many?
It used to be the case that women dyed their hair to hide grey,to maintain that look. Now every time I flick on the google box I see men desperately lathering themselves in hair dye, age defying cream (at last we can control the space time continuum!!) and other concoctions. Don't get me started on cosmetic surgery
 What happened to growing old gracefully?
It used to be the case that the elderly were treated with respect since they were valued for their wisdom, now advancing years is seen as the ultimate sin, remain youthful for as long as possible, experience all that you can. Wisdom has taken a back seat to subjective feelings and sense impressions. Fleeting, impulsive, non-commital and usually with a price tag attached. There are no lessons to be learnt, no knowledge to be passed on, too busy feeling and being.  And if you get too old to be economically viable or socially appropriate well there is always the elderly homes or better still .... when quality of life is diminished. ( quality now there is a deliberately vague word.)
Yet perhaps under this layer, lies another more subconcious issue that is being expressed.
If God has been banished, what comes next?
If the eternal is absent, age begins to assume a dreadful finality.
Stay young, defy age for afterwards there is only  oblivion.
That perhaps is one reason why the elderly are not as valued as they once were, they visibly remind us of our mortality and what lies beyond that door. And if God ain't the doorman....?

Chaos at the Crossroads!

Now  my  friends   make  sure  that  you  are  sitting  comfortably.  Yes?  Good.  Then  I  shall  begin.

     Once  there  was  a  crossroads.  A  place  where  four  roads  from  the  four  cardinal  points  of  the compass  met.  It  was  beautiful.  The  north  road  swept  down  from  the  high  mountains  and  the  snow  plains  where  the  icy  wind  was  king.  The  east  road  snaked  its  way  through  the  dense  jungle,  full  of  exotic  animals  and  plants  thriving  in  the  sticky  humidity.  The  south  road  came  from  the  desert,  bleached  by  the  incessant  sun.  Finally  there  was  the  west  road  winding  its  way  through  ancient  forests.  There  were  many  legends  of  travellers  who  had  used  this  crossroads,  of  their  exploits  and  their  lives,  some  of  these  were  questioned or  debated.  Yet  all  agreed  that  the  crossroads  had  been  made  by  the  Great  Traveller,  it  was  He  who  had  shown  the  Way  and  it  was  He  who  had  given  instructions  on   how  to  use  the  crossroads.  Then  He  had  departed  forging  a  new  road  for  those  who  wished  to  follow  Him.  Everybody  knew  that  this  new  road  began  at  the  crossroads  and  that  it  led  to  the  undying  land,  the  home  of  the  Great  Traveller.

      Many  who  wandered  the  lands  discovered  this  crossroads.  It  became  a  meeting  place  for  all,  for  the  land  round  about  was  fair  and  pleasant.  Many  rested  here  and  called  it  home,  for  it  brought  a  sense  of  fullness  and  contentment.  Dwelling  there  seemed  to  answer  all  the  questions  that  these  wanderers  had.  The  very  land  was  sacred.

    The  years  passed  and  from  a  humble  crossroads,  with  the  occasional  cart  or  solitary  voyager , sprouted  a  beautiful  land,  filled  with  those  who  had  a true  sense  of  place.  They  were  no  longer  wanderers  rather   they  called  themselves  pilgrims,  travelling  on  a  different  path,   they  began  to  give  thanks  and  express  their  belief  in  song,  verse  and  art.  Their  music  and  their  buildings  soared  up  to  the  heavens  from  whence  all  had  come.  Yes  indeed  it  was  good.

    Centuries  passed,  some  peaceful  and  some  tumultuous.  There  were  arguments  and  sometimes      pilgrims  left  to  find  new  lands  and  construct  their  own  crossroads  that  they  hoped  would  lead  to  the  light  on  the  far  horizon.  Then  slowly  change  began  to  happen  in  the  land.  New  ideas  came,  not  a  bad  thing  in  itself,  but  this  led  the  pilgrims  to  begin  to  see  reality as  confusion  and  complicated.  Somehow  the  light  that  had  shown  the  path  had  dimmed  (or so they  were  led  to  believe) and  they  were  left  to  their  own  devices.   The  pace  of  life  quickened  and  everybody  seemed  so  self-absorbed   yet  nobody  seemed  happier,  so  the  grumbling  started,  especially  among  those  who  felt  that  they  were  really  important.  The  cry  went  up  that  the  crossroads  was  too  slow.  All  these  important  people  with  their  important  tasks  in  their  important  lives  could  not  wait  interminably  at  the  crossroads.  So  the  idea  started  that  perhaps  the  people  could  do  a  better  job  by  themselves,  that  they  could  create  new  rules  for  travelling.  This  was  terribly  upsetting  to  many  pilgrims  who  still  believed  that  the  crossroads  was  an  important  thing  and  had  to  be  cherished.

     Eventually  after  many  contentious  traffic  jams, some of the more foolish  pilgrims  decided  to  talk  to  the  important  people  to  decide  how  best  to  preserve  the  crossroads  but  make sure  that  everyone  was  happy.  The  busy  important  people  agreed    and  used  encouraging  words  like  “progress”,  “all-embracing”  and  their  favourite word  “dialogue.”  But  in  secret  they  began  to  plot  how  best  to  get  rid  of  it,  they  scorned  the  fairy tale  of  the  Great  Traveller,  the  crossroads  was  a  dangerous  relic.

   The  two  sides  met  and  talked  and  talked  and  talked,  and  when  it  seemed  that  they  had  finished  they  talked  some  more.  Finally  a  decision  was  reached  and  everybody  (apart  from  an  unimportant  few)  agreed  that  this  was  the  way  into  the  future.  The  declaration  was  that  traffic  lights  would  be  placed  at  the  crossroads.  Although  most  pilgrims  were  not  used  to  it  they  could  quickly  learn,  if  the  Great  Traveller  were  here  now,  said  the  experts,  he  would  put  lights  at  the  crossroads.  The  pilgrims,  it  was  argued,  had  lost  sight  of  what  He  really  wanted.  Now  there  was  confusion,   it  was  clear  that   red   was   for  stop  and  green  was   for  go,  but  what  about  amber,  what  did  that  mean?  No  one  seemed  able  to  clear  up  the  matter  and  many  pilgrims  now  avoided  the  crossroads  and decided  to  find  better  routes.  The  worst  was  yet  to  come  for  you  see  the  busy  important  people  and  their  experts  had  played  a  nasty  trick.  For  the  traffic  lights  they  had  installed  were  the  newest  and  most  modern  lights  that  they  could  find.  At  night  and  when  the  traffic   lessened,  these  lights  talked  amongst  themselves.

 “ My  travellers  are  coming  from  the  cold  north  and  need  to  warm  up  fast  so  they  should  have right  of  way,”  said  the  light  standing   proudly   on  the  north  road.

 “ Yes  that  is  a  fair  point  and  I  hear  your  need  and  respect  your  opinion,”  said  the  emotional   south  light, “  but  my  voyagers  have  felt  thirst  and  need  quickly  to  find  water  and  comfort.  Surely  you  can  not  ignore  their  experiences?”

  Then  the  west  light  reluctantly  changed  to  red  and  spoke  up.  “  Its  really  not  in  my  nature  to  be  red,”  it  said  plaintively. “  I  really  should  be  true  to  myself  and  what  I  feel.  After  all  that  is  where  reality  is  most  present,  in  my  feelings.”

  At  this  point  a  new  sound  began  to  be  heard,  it  was  the  crossroads  clearing  its  dusty,  venerable  throat.

 “  You  all  talk  of  rights  but  none  of  duty. You  can  not  all  do  what  you  please.  You  were  placed  here  to  serve  a  bigger  purpose  than  yourselves,  if  you  do  not  function  as  you  were  made  then  all  will  be  chaos.

“ Quiet  you!”  Snapped  the  pluralistic   east   road  light,  “ do  not  dare  to  oppress  us,  we  are  the  future  that  is  inclusive  of  all  who  journey  on  these  roads,  not  your  outdated  and  dictatorial  ways.”

  The  crossroads  lapsed  into  silence  and  listened  with  a  mixture  of  amusement  and  alarm  as  the  traffic  lights  debated.  They  agreed  by  committee  that  each  of  them  had  a  valid  reason  for  holding  their  views  and  that  all  views  should  be  equally  respected.  The  consensus  reached  was  that  if they  wanted  to  turn  green  at  any  time  then  they  could.   Democracy  and  equality  were  hailed  as  the  winners  of  this  discussion.  My  friends   you  can  see  where  this  is  going.

  The  very  next  day  during  the  morning  rush  hour  there  was  a  terrible  crash  at  the  crossroads.  All  the  traffic  lights  had  turned  green  at  the  same  time.  There  was  the  crumple  of  metal,  the  tinkling  of  glass,  the  blaring  of  horns  and  the  screech  of  tyres.  In  the  very  middle  of  the  crossroads  a  terrible  argument  broke  out  about  whose  insurance  was  going  to  cover  the  damage.  In  fact  I  believe  the  argument  is  still  going  on  to  this  day,  since  all  those  unfortunate  pilgrims   believe  (thanks  to  the  lights)  that  they  are  in  the  right.

    So  you  see  the  busy  important  people  and  their  plan  prevailed.  With  all the  arguments  and  confusion  at  the  crossroads  they  were  able  to  open  up  their  brand  new  six  lane  highway,  which  they had  been  building  in  secret.  More  and  more  wanderers  used  it   (for  a  small  toll  fee  of  course)   and  they  loved  the  convenience  of  speeding  off  into  the  distance  away  from  the  muddle  of  the  crossroads.  Indeed  I  am  sad  to  report  that  many  pilgrims  also  forsook  their  precious  gift  of  the  crossroads.  The  allure  of  the  sparkling  new  expensive  highway  was  such  that  any  one  who  drove  on  it  never  wanted  to  get  off.  Many  never  found  their  way  home  to  the  crossroads.  No  one  knows  where  the  highway  goes  to  over  that  dark  and  foreboding  horizon.

   If  my  friends    there  is  a  salutary  lesson  to  be  learnt,  then  here  it  is.  Be  warned  you  pilgrims,  those  of  you  who  are  happily  speeding  along  relevance  avenue,  be  careful  that  you  don’t  spin  off    at  relative  curve.

©servus2008.

Road to nowhere.

So the Easter ceremonies are over for another year. They were absolutely beautiful , from the procession on Palm Sunday, the "Miserere" of Tenebrae, the stripping of the high altar on Holy Thursday to the joyous mass on Easter Sunday, beautifully and reverently prayed and attended (apart from the NO heads who attended on Sunday clapped after the recessional when they had been told not to, and despite being told that reception was kneeling and on the tongue, stormed off in a huff when they stuck out their hands and were politely told that this was not the norm). 
    To attend and participate prayerfully ( no active participation for me no siree!) in the ceremonies was to immerse oneself in the mystery of Easter, the passion , death, burial and resurrection, it was to journey through the sacrifice of the Redeemder and to become reborn through his victory on the cross.
 Journey, now there's a word, with the rare gift of common sense it denotes a trip from one place to another, there it is a definite action it has a beginning and an end.
Let's for a moment pretend that some people don't avail of common sense, you know the ones to which I refer in particular the Catholics who don't exercise their God given faculties. To them journey denotes something esle, namely the aimless meandering through their life, akin to a drunk trying to negotiate their way home after a night on the tiles. Manys the time I have heard this nonsense from clerics, religious and laity.
      The destination is not important it is our experience as a pilgrim people on this journey that matters.
What absolute and utter rot!  Imagine getting into a car one fine sunny morning and saying to your passengers."Listen I don't know where we're going, in fact I'll not hold onto the steering wheel, but I know it will be a lovely experience wherever we are going."   If the journey doesn't abruptly terminate in a wall, then the occupants could find themselves anywhere out of petrol and lost. And because they have been so busy paying attention to the experience and how they are feeling then they have not noticed the signposts. Consequently the first place that they come across that looks nice they decide that this must have been their destination and they pitch camp there. Hence the Catholics that have been lost to protestantism, islam, buddhism, hare krishna, hinduism, confucism, secular humanism and atheism. What is the response of our bishops? "Well they are on their spiritual journey and have searched outside the church. Sure wont they find God there? After all in a modern pluralistic society there are many voices with a hint of the divine in all of them" (Nostra Aetate has a lot to answer for!!!) This is always said in a smiling yet slightly pleading manner, desperately seeking reassurance, for the clergy need to be affirmed by those who really matter (eg anyone but a faithful Catholic) that the enormity of their negligence can be glossed over. And those in the know will nod their enlightened heads and say unto the bishops, well done and pat them on the head and send them off until they are ready to attack the Church again.
   Yes we are a pilgrim people but we know exactly where we are going, the route is mapped out from the cradle to the grave and providing we have the map the right way up then we can follow it. No one said it would be easy, in fact it is damn hard but then if it was easy the prize would not be worth striving for. And what a prize it is. The journey continues every day, let us keep our eyes on the prize and not stray off the path into darkness, Lumen Christi.