Homily of Fr. Michael Sheerin at the closing Mass of the Triduum in honour of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin to commemorate the 170th anniversary of St. Mary’s Church, Navan, 15th August 2009
She went as quickly as she could. She went unnoticed. Mary hurried through towns and villages, along roads and over rivers, past strangers, in a country ruled by foreigners.
In her, all newness was developing; from her, all newness would be born. Everything around her was going on in the old-fashioned way. It was as if everything was happening, and at the same time, nothing happening at all. She was alone with her pregnancy and her promise.
When the Roman security forces stopped her, she would have thought: “If only they knew”. When she stopped on the way to buy some food, she would have thought: “If only they guessed”. But nobody knew, and nobody guessed. She knew, and she believed. Joseph knew, and he believed. Who else, but they? No one, until the moment she met Elizabeth. Here was another who shared her belief, and confirmed her hope. “Of all women, you are the most blessed, and blessed is the fruit of your womb”. Only then did she burst into that song that is repeated in so many congregations today. These two had needed each other’s support – which explains Mary’s haste in travelling to the hill country, despite all the risks involved.
We, too, need that kind of affirmation – that the world is pregnant with newness, with God’s life, - even, and especially, in the midst of the ordinary, when nothing seems to be happening at all.
Isn’t it strange, as we move from boom to bust, to recession, to NAMA, - and what next? – that we rarely speak of issues like this: of God’s life within our world too? Isn’t it strange that life seems to go on almost heedless of our most fundamental hope – a hope relegated to, maybe, a sermon, a prayer on Sunday, or an almost private devotion? Leaving our faith dimension unspoken and unsung affirms it neither in ourselves nor in others. And isn’t that affirmation what we need most in a time when being a believer is sometimes very difficult, when doubts creep into the hearts of the best among us – when ATHEISM IRELAND is proposed as the way to go, the place to be – as if like some bright IKEA it would answer all our questions, provide for all our needs, so to speak, under the one roof – and out of the rain too. If only it were that easy!
The song of Mary expresses her feelings. She does not mince words. She makes it clear what she expects her Son to do. It seems so spontaneous, so ordered, that she must in time have sung it to her Son as a baby, and even when He was older, explaining to Him then why she had said YES to an angel. It is not a violent song; it is about peaceful change. We are not incited to take up arms for a crusade or path of violence. The song describes how God will take care of all who seem to have lost out, how God will work that original plan of Creation where all God’s children have ‘a place in the choir’. And it is a song sung by one who has suffered discrimination, as a Jewish woman living in an occupied country, taxed and administered by strangers. She sang of the Son who would restore the old SHALOM, who would break bread with everyone, sharing the fruit of the vine and work of human hands – first her bread, her wine, her hands.
Children learn the Gospel message first – if at all – from the lips of parents who consciously introduce them to issues of justice and peace, who guide them in the practice of love, and who help them solve their conflicts in non-violent ways, guiding footsteps in the way of peace. Generation after generation of parents of the newly baptised, have been given that final blessing and familiar prayer of today – “These parents will be the first teachers of their child in the ways of faith. May they be also the best of teachers, bearing witness to the Faith by what they say and do.” And just consider: if through the generations, parents had not committed themselves to this ideal, if they had not declared time and again: YES, WE CAN, this building, this magnificent church dedicated to Mary under the title of The Assumption would not be here in the manner and style we see today. A building, yes, - maybe – but surely not the familiar welcoming home it has been and still continues to be. Once in a dramatic Gospel scene from the final days of His life, Jesus said to those trying to still the voices round Him: “If these should stay silent, the very stones would cry out” And still they do cry out, and all the more as lovingly maintained, refurbished, and when necessary, restored.
I read that, for the celebration of this church’s centenary in 1939, “a sermon was given by a grand speaker”, and smile at the omission of his name – maybe a wise tradition and one worth maintaining. The “grand speaker” in question was, in fact, a man drafted in to replace the original choice, Fr. Tom O’Farrell, from Mount Argus in Dublin, who had died suddenly a short time before - a salutary reminder, perhaps of the risks involved in taking on such a task. … But more to the point: the question posed to the congregation then, having been reminded of the Parish Priest, Fr. Eugene O’Reilly, starting off with 39 helpers and just 19 pence in the kitty – old pence too … The question: “would the children of those present love this church as their forbears had loved it – or would they call it their FATHERS’ FOLLY?” Strange. That final phrase brings to mind a similar story from the same time and a much different place, but which highlights the same vision and courage of Fr.O’Reilly and his small band of helpers here. When the original St. Patrick’s in New York had to be replaced – it too in the 1800s – the site chosen was a country area about 3 miles north of the original, completely removed from the city as then known. The verdict of many at the time is best summed up by the phrase “M’CLUSKEY’S FOLLY” – a verdict not just on the site chosen, - they said “nobody will go up there”- but on the priest of Irish parentage, Fr. Joe McCluskey –later a Cardinal – who chose that location. But in time, the wisdom of that choice became more apparent as an old city made way for a new one, and the old St. Patrick’s –still in use to this day- gave pride of place and prestige to the magnificent building on Fifth Avenue today – surrounded by skyscrapers, though dwarfed by none of them – a building that, in the hearts of Catholic and non-Catholic alike in that city, is the jewel in the crown. Likewise, it is fair to say, this church stands in it own right and certainly in the hearts of Navan people, home and elsewhere, as the jewel in the crown; and it too, surely can claim over the generations, to breathe life into the heart of Navan - and indeed much farther afield. We can still say; LORD, IT IS GOOD FOR US TO BE HERE.
In this August time, farming people survey the fields with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety, for the future remains uncertain. In this August time too, exam results emerge from the traditional envelope, or via e-mail or Internet. The manner may change; the mixture of anticipation and uncertainty do not. The immediate question of WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? can bypass the greater question of WHAT AM I GOING TO BE? As we honour Mary today, and praise God for all we can see with our eyes and recall with our minds, her Assumption assures us once more that we can set our ambitions high. God exalts the lowly. God puts the greatest ambition of all within reach of the unimportant, the unlearned, the unsuccessful. On this day especially, the faithful ones of many generations are hailed and haloed in our ongoing story and celebration of this church of Our Lady Assumed into Heaven. The Fair Green is no longer green, and no longer the scene of a fair as in the old days. But the medallion of Our Lady gazing heavenward over that same doorway still reminds the passer-by that we have here no lasting city but seek one still to come. While in the calmer atmosphere within these walls, the Assumption image in stained glass on the other side encourages the worshipper, the sightseer, or the merely curious, to turn thoughts from the fear and the finality of death, to where joys are doubly dear, where sorrow’s bitterness is soothed, and where every tear will be wiped away.
Thoughts wander – and indeed they should – to other days, other faces, other celebrations here. Thoughts of my last time to stand here, to celebrate the life of one of those countless ones who have held this place dear. Of Marie – first Blake, and then faithfully and finally Clarke … led here first by a parent’s hand, and in time – a short time now it seems – herself a parent holding a child’s hand. Faithful in ministry of Word and Sacrament here, faithful to marriage and family; faithful above all to the memory of all whose stories merge with her own, many of them now nameless and unremembered – but only in time. Assumption however is not about time, but eternity. Faithful through life and through death; forever faithful.
For it is the faithful ones – and here you can slot in your own special memories of them – it is the faithful ones who form the real church of Navan, ever dying, yet ever coming back to life – a story for which this church with all its qualities and appeal, is only the inadequate outer expression. The building lives because of the people worshipping here, and constantly reforming the community of the faith. Long may it live as the steady focus of the rich faith life of this community and our local church. The many who look and listen through the WORLD WIDE WEB today find no trace of the old Preston School on one side or the well-loved Fair Green on the other. But the church they have known, and a faith spoken and sung, welcomes them too, back to the joys of their youth and to a FATHER’S house. Long may it be our joyous responsibility to make that call once more, and to open welcoming doors.
A faith unspoken and unsung is affirmed neither in ourselves nor in others. Today, that faith is spoken and sung in the words of Mary that we can forever make our own too: MY SOUL GLORIFIES THE LORD. MY SPIRIT REJOICES IN GOD MY SAVIOUR.
