OCTOBER 2006

ISSUE 8 - ISSN 1448- 6326

INSPIRATIONS - POEMS - REFLECTIONS

NOEL ROWE

LAST TIME - in memoriam John R. CECIL SM

It was all there the last time we met: your Elvis Presley hair, your collar turned slightly up, like mischief, that “eh?” you used to finish off opinions that might sound too strong, sandals that only missionaries wore, and, of course, your stories: the man who said you were too dumb to make a priest but drowned before he could prevent it happening, his thongs looking out to sea, the time you were adrift in the middle of some circling sharks, or in a mountain village getting rid of demons, how heat could melt a vow of chastity, how close you came to being made a bishop… We were having lunch at Circular Quay, outside, crumbling bread and sunlight. Angina pains had made you give away the life you’d led for forty years, but you were on your way to Vietnam. It was a place you’d always wanted to see (it was perhaps your greatest gift that you always found people “interesting”). “You may not believe it, but I’m getting old. I’m over seventy. I have to make the most of any time I’ve got. Besides, it was a bargain.” If you knew we’d never meet again, you didn’t mention it, and I was too busy envying the way you said, simply, “I have enjoyed my life” to notice that it might be your epitaph. You went on to say you’d filled your yard with aviaries. Perhaps by now someone has opened them to let the birds go free as Thais and Vietnamese sometime do to make a prayer.someone has opened them to let the birds go free at temples when they want to make a prayer.

SAM GENNAOUI

EASTER 2006

The tree stood stark and still, No limbs with arms outstretched. A grim foreboding image, Of death and life foretold. They brought His broken body, From fear and hate it came. With loved ones torn and tearful, They saw their Saviour die. He asked His Father’s mercy, For those who did not know. The sun went dark, the sky was rent, As Jesus Christ the man was spent. His mission served the reign of God, His death became a stumbling block, With love abounding evermore, His Gift of life to all. The tomb was empty, all could see, So where the body could it be? In flesh and blood He came to be, The resurrected Christ to see. The paschal mystery forever thus, For mankind’s everlasting life, Our soul in God’s tender care, In peace and love eternally.

GERARD HALL SM

THE STRANGER

I hear the footsteps of the stranger coming among us: do you hear him? And what will he say to those of us he finds neither watching or ready? I both want and fear his message neither spoken nor unsaid: “Do not grow older in the heart  and be a child who plays and laughs  and cries to hear the others weep”. Not the sort of message one expected to hear: to live passionately, to love tenderly, to be real. Is that all the stranger has to say? But what will I tell the people? “Do not say, but be             compassion for my people;  Do not preach, but receive             with open hands and heart;  Do not judge, but praise             the mystery in everything;  Be yourself, and know yourself precious –             a spark of God’s holy fire”.

Contributors:

Noel Rowe lectures in Australian literature at the University of Sydney.

Sam Gennaoui is a Masters student in Theology at Australian Catholic University.

Gerard Hall SM lectures in Theology at Australian Catholic University.

 

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