(Musings on a woodland in St. Catherine's Park)
Some days ago, I sat in Lucan Cathedral,
a place not of bricks and mortar but of God's own making.
Its gothic arches fashioned not by human hands but by the very hands of the Creator.
Its tall trees now bare of leaf are in an Advent of their own,
awaiting the caress of Spring to call them to new life.
New life will surely come and colour will return,
a quiet transformation, a miracle of resurrection.
a miracle so easily missed.
It's a tranquil place where the fast-flowing waters of the Liffey can be heard,
calling to mind the waters of Christian baptism, which gave to us new life.
I heard prophetic voices there, echoing in my mind;
a young Swedish girl incandescent with rage, calling on mankind to awaken to the sad destruction of God's beauty, before it is too late.
I though on John the Baptist.
The aged Bishop of Rome exhorting us to preserve and protect that which has been given,
by living in this world as stewards of creation, and not arrogant owners.
Let those who have ears listen!
As I sat and contemplated all around me, people passed.
Young families with children on their bikes,
babes held in loving arms,
proud parents keeping a watchful eye, treasuring God's gift of life.
Young lovers too passed by, hand in hand with their futures about to unfold, the spring of youth in their steps, ready to embrace the challenge and excitement of the future.
Many in their golden years know the magic of this place, and walk the great aisle of this Cathedral. The wondrous colours of Autumn leaves have laid a carpet underfoot creating a quiet almost reverential path. Those who walk here can draw hope and inspiration from its living message and quiet testament to life, if only they will truly see.
God is truly present in this place.
"When I see the heavens, the work of your hands, the moon and the stars which you arranged, what is man that you should keep him in mind, mortal man that you should care for him!"
Philip Curran, St. Mary's, Lucan