Insight: The Faith of Children

A few weeks ago, my son had brought home to me, a curious little egg-carton with some soil inside.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“They’re my carrot seeds,” he replied. “I need to water it every day and put it on the window sill.”

Not having a green thumb or much exposure to gardening of any sort, I figured this kid would know best since he plays with dirt at school.  I followed his every instruction and added that we ought to have a container to catch any water that might drip from the papier maché carton.

So we waited.

He checked it daily, and watered it. I even heard him tell his ‘plant’ a little story so that it would grow. We all thought it was very cute that he had something to look after, to be responsible for and to tend to. I admit that I didn’t think much of it, save the fact that it was a nice project my son was taking interest in. I honestly didn’t think anything else would eventuate when, today while I was buzzing around from one thing to another in the school-morning rush, my daughter checked on her brother’s plant and exclaimed, “It’s sprouting! It’s sprouting!”

——–

What I’ve taken from this is the marvel of a child’s faith. Jesus taught this: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt 18:3-4)

In our own faith journey, and especially in our lives as people of God, we often doubt the possibilities of the unknown or neglect to nurture the seed with which we’ve been entrusted. We think we know better in our maturity since we’ve experienced life and its share of disappointment at the times the seed has not germinated. But thanks to God, through the lives of my children, I was reminded again that I ought to be more humble, to love with tender devotion and to embrace the simple joys in daily life.

Reflection: 17 March, Feast of St Patrick – Gratitude, Humility and Prayer

Stained glass image of St Patrick, Bishop.

The phenomenon that is the celebration of St Patrick’s Day is marked the world over, with emerald green, merriment and cultural pride. And every year, while confetti, festivities and parades fill the streets, bars and pubs, I find myself evading or avoiding the noise and following instead, the footsteps of ancient Celtic voices.

St Patrick is one of my favourite saints, not because he supposedly rid Ireland of snakes or survived capture by pirates in the rough northern waters. It’s not even because he won an ancient people and culture for Christ. While the legendary Apostle to Ireland and great bishop figure stands strong, in truth, I love St Patrick because of his gratitude, humility and prayer life. Not much is known about his life, except that he was an unlettered sheep-herder as a young lad, with no family or friend nearby except God, in whom he would find his soul friend, his calling and constant companion.  (I know this because I’ve read his letters: the Confession, written at a later stage in his life and the one To the Soldiers of Coroticus.)

In his Confession, he details his journey to Ireland, which was not the welcoming friendly place we associate the Irish with today. And in it, we meet a figure who despite all his trials, both physical and spiritual, remained wonderfully grateful as he “gave thanks unceasingly to God.” (Confession, n.46) Gratitude abounds in his writings.

St Patrick’s accomplishments in connecting with the pagans through peace and dialogue, and in converting among many, a princess of notability, were also retold with an immense humility. All he did, he claimed not for himself or by himself, but always by the grace of God:

“Therefore be amazed, you great and small who fear God, and you men of God, eloquent speakers, listen and contemplate. Who was it summoned me, a fool, from the midst of those who appear wise and learned in the law and powerful in rhetoric and in all things” (Confession, n.13)

I have an image of Patrick, surrounded by great flocks, but sitting as still as a rock in contemplation and prayer. He says himself that he prayed a hundred times a day and through the night as a sheepherder slave near the Slemish mountain in Antrim.

A view of the Slemish mountain and countryside where Patrick was a sheepherder. Co Antrim. Image credit: Douglas Craig, on TrekEarth.com

I like to believe that this foundation of prayer became the cornerstone on which he rested through the rest of his life. I believe that this was what enabled him to do great works, which have led to his appeal to this day.

However you choose to celebrate this feast, let me share with you one of my favourite Patrician resources, in honour of this admirable saint. It hasn’t been easy to track down since I first came across it years ago, but after going through many videos tagged “Confession St Patrick” (which brought up clips like “Drunken confessions on St Patrick’s Day”) here it is, thanks to Catholic Radio Dramas.

I wish all a Happy St Patrick’s Day: to those of Irish/Celtic descent and those who count themselves interiorly Celtic. A special mention goes to our sisters in Ireland and the UK, where the FCJ society has been present and instrumental since the early years. This post is dedicated you. Thank you for your commitment, dedication and service.

May God and Mary bless you. Dias muire dhuit.

Also:

Celtic spirituality at its expressive best in a composition by Maire (Moya) Brennan in The Light on the Hill.

Honesty and Its Friend, Humility

Just as the gospels say that Jesus was called ‘beloved’, so too, are we seen likewise in the eyes of God. Hearing that is not always easy, in fact coming to accept that takes years of unmasking, shedding and stripping bare the false self we put on (consciously and unconsciously),  till we are brought face-to-face with who we are.

Honesty is a key figure in this neck of the woods, and let’s not forget its partner-in-crime, humility. Without one, the other rarely shows its face in full light. Both work together in an interlocking relationship of surrendering to truth and having the courage to face it.

There is a beautiful example of this, which must be shared here (and in my opinion, over and over again.) It is a song called Gurrumul History (I Was Born Blind) by indigenous Australian singer and songwriter, Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu. The lyrics for your reference are:

I was born blind, and I don’t know why
God knows why, because he love me so
as I grew up, my spirit knew
then I learnt to read the world of destruction
united we stand, divided we fall
together we’ll stand, in solidarity

Ŋarranydja dhuwala Batumaŋ
ŋarranydja dhuwala Djarrami
ŋarranydja dhuwala Djeŋarra’
ŋarranydja dhuwala Gurrumulŋa
m..m

I heard my mama, and my papa
crying their hearts in confusion
how can I walk? Straight and tall
in society please hold my hand
trying to bridge and build Yolŋu culture
I’ve been to New York
I’ve been to LA
I’ve been to London
ŋarranydja Gurrumul

United we stand, divided we fall
Together we’ll stand, in solidarity

Ŋarranydja dhuwala Barrupa
ŋarranydja dhuwala Dhukuḻuḻ
ŋarranydja dhuwala Maralitja
ŋarranydja dhuwala Ŋunbuŋunbu

Y..e, wo wäŋawu Garrapala
Dhamutjpirr, Dhamuŋura

English translation:
I am Batumaŋ (ancestor)
I am Djarrami (ancestor)
I am Djeŋarra’
I am Gurrumulŋa (ancestor)
m..m

I am Gurrumul

I am Barrupa (my ḻikan)
I am Dhukuḻuḻ (my ḻikan)
I am Maralitja (my ḻikan)
I am Ŋunbuŋunbu (my ancestor)

Y.e wo of the country Garrapala
Dhamutjpirr, Dhamuŋura

The rawness is palpable, and the honesty, inspiring. Only in accepting ourselves first, can we then only begin to bless others and show them their belovedness.