by Nadia Ramoutar MMM Communications Coordinator Ireland 01.02.2024
The path to a woman becoming recognised as a saint is never very straightforward and St Brigid is not an exception, though while she was exceptional, her story is one that is very complex and in some places confusing.
After many years of effort and educating, an Irish organisation named Herstory, launched a successful movement in 2016 to see St Brigid have a National holiday in Ireland. This year for the second time, Ireland will celebrate St Brigid’s day and we will all get a day of rest and reflection. St Brigid holds many important roles in Irish culture. For one thing she was the first Irish saint actually born in Ireland, unlike the much more well-known St Patrick whose Irish National holiday is celebrated all over the world (though not always in ways I think St Patrick would appreciate at all).
As we look at why St Brigid’s day is significant we find that there is much confusion and controversy about Brigid. It was not just in 2016 that St Brigid’s importance was recognised. After her death allegedly three Knights in the 13th Century took part of her skull and presented the relic to King Denis of Portugal, who then placed it in the Royal Monastery of Odivelas.
Legend has it that the relic went missing on the journey and turned up in Lumiar. They eventually delivered it to Odivelas, only for it to disappear again and turn up in Lumiar again. King Denis then ordered that the relic be permanently placed in Lumiar. We can only ask ourselves how did the knights get her skull in the first place and why was it being traded between nations?
Just to complicate matter further – two Lisbon churches now lay claim to holding relics of Brigid—the Igreja de São Roque, or Church of St Roch, one of the earliest Jesuit churches, where a frontal part of her skull is still to remain; and the Igreja São João Batista, or Church of St. John the Baptist, near Lisbon airport.
In 2019, a campaign was launched to return her skull to Kildare for her 1,500th anniversary, however the campaign has not been successful – yet.
We know then that the legacy of St Brigid’s healing and compassion made her significant far beyond Irish shores. There are many tales of her generosity, beauty, devotion, compassion and love. Brigid was not just known as a leader but as a healer, a creator and a muse to the poets. St Brigid was luminous and she brought light where there was darkness.
After many, many centuries of male dominance in religious and political life, Brigid is also, a powerful and empowering symbol for Irish women and women everyone. We can look to Brigid for her divine feminine gifts and inspiration to be creative, generous and unusual. We can celebrate that as winter comes to an end, Brigid leads us again into the light. We can also see that a group of women working together can get a change made at a national level. Imagine if we worked together what else we could change in our world? I bet St Brigid would encourage such an ideal.
by Sr. Rita Kelly MMM Ireland 30.01. 2024
I often hear, through the media, of certain people described as an “Influencer”. My understanding is that it is now a profession! I ask myself, “is not every person an “influencer”, whether in the negative or positive sense?”
I looked up “Google” and ChatGPT and they described “influencers” as individuals who have established credibility. Influencers can be considered a profession. This is news to me. Personally, I think we are all influencers in our daily living and in our relationships with people.
As I collect stories from the local people in Drogheda about Mother Mary Martin and her legacy, I am struck by her influence on people at the personal, social, and spiritual level and continuing down through the generations.
One example is the story of Mary.
Mary lived across the road from the hospital. She remembers the hospital being built and playing around the building (1952). One day, when she was 10 years of age, she was playing with two balls against the walls of the Laundry of the hospital. A car came and stopped; the window rolled down. It was Mother Mary Martin. She was so shocked that Mother Mary would stop and talk to her, “a scruffy little girl”, as she described herself. This lady grew up with the stories of Mother Mary, the Sisters and the work they did. She continues the story by remembering a spontaneous act of her daughter in 1995.
The war in Rwanda was raging. Mary had a daughter, age 10 years. It was summer time. The little girl was attending a summer camp in the Droichead Arts Centre. At the summer camp they were learning to play musical instruments. The little girl had brought an old accordion. One morning, on the radio, they heard the MMM sisters talking about the war in Rwanda. The Sisters had gone to Rwanda ,and were describing the situation and the hundreds of people looking for assistance. Mary described the interview as “really emotive”.
The daughter said she could gather money by busking. She said her friends who played recorders and concertinas would help her. Poor Mary was left to do the organising. There were no mobile phones. She had to phone the homes of the children to get permission from the parents. Also, she had to get a permit from the Garda Barracks for the children to busk.
Eventually, Mary got a permit for a Tuesday and Wednesday and permission for the children to play in the center of the town. She also managed to get two now famous local musicians, Tadgh Murphy and Sean Og Collins to come and play with the children. For the two days they collected €3,360. It was given straight to the MMM for the Rwanda Project. Mary explained this act as “spontaneous, MMM meant so much to us, a 10-year-old girl who wanted to busk for the Sisters.”
This one of the many personal stories that the people of Drogheda are sharing portraying the influence of Mother Mary Martin and the Sisters. I don’t know whether Mother Mary would describe herself as an “influencer” but she had credibility.
by Nadia Ramoutar MMM Communications Coordinator Ireland 28.01.2024
For my day job, I am the Communications Coordinator for the MMMs. For my night and weekend job, I am an artist.
I think the lack of words and the interaction with colour and shapes are important to balance my life (if there is such a thing as balance) with all the words I have to use all week long. I spend a lot of my time on screens and using words in writing, texting, emailing, presenting, meeting and discussing. I love words but even I have my limits.
So, I try to spend time in nature on the weekends and love a good walk in a forest or woods. I love to just ramble and have no agenda in comparison to my scheduled time during the week with lots of times to adhere too. I often take photographs and later paint what I see, but I challenge myself to try and see things in a new way. I don’t want to reproduce reality. I am not a camera.
Recently, I very fortunately came across a set of photographs that were finalists in a contest to take close up photographs of things in nature, flowers, animals and insects. I was fascinated by what I saw. Here is the link so you can be fascinated too, though I run the risk of you stopping reading…Okay, I will put the link at the end instead. You will have to wait.
It is so fascinating to see how beautiful an insect is up close. Amazing to see the tiniest mushroom of the forest floor look like a giant tree. There is an incredible image of a mosquito egg raft and if it was not labelled I would have not known what it was. It is beautiful, but if you have travelled to the tropics or lived there referring to a mosquito as beautiful is very rare.
What captivates me is seeing things in a new way. We have a pattern seeking brain that likes for things to be safe and to stay stagnant. Change is avoided and things unrecognised are highly suspicious. I think this is an issue for us humans who have somehow placed ourselves at the top of the planet’s food chain. We often seem to rush and lose sight of the beauty of small things. We often miss the small and less obvious points altogether.
In our rushing we experience a lot of stress which doesn’t do us any favours at all. I love to study neuroscience and how our brains operate. It seems that we often miss how many beautiful patterns there are within our natural lives. We just don’t see the beauty and marvel that is right there in front of us.
Slowing down is an act of rebellion and defiance in a world so motivated to focus on productivity and function all the time. What if we commit to seeing things in a new way and to train our brains to seek beauty in the ordinary. What then?
https://www.cupoty.com/winners-5. The Website as promised. It is from Close Up Photography of the Year.
Editor’s Note: This week, leading up to the anniversary of Mother Mary’s death on January 27th, we hear the stories of some of our early MMM Sisters, of how they met Mother Mary, and of how their lives changed.
Sr. M. Immaculata Nichols (1917 – 2002) Ireland 26.01.2024
“My first meeting with Mother Mary was at the time she was thinking of founding the Congregation. It was in 1935. A friend of mine told me about a Miss Marie Martin and her hope to start a missionary Congregation, dedicated to Our Lady. Sr. Magdalen, my friend, had joined the pioneering venture. Miss Martin was looking for volunteers to help. I was already working with the Legion of Mary and had a great love for Our Lady, so the idea had great appeal for me, moreover this Congregation was to help the poor in Africa with emphasis on the mother and child. My big problem was that my parents did not approve of my plan. My mother warned me that it wasn’t an established convent, and she didn’t know who Miss Martin was.
For weeks I tried to put the idea out of my head, but Miss Martin wasn’t easily put off. She wrote asking me to meet her outside the Catholic Library in Dublin. We talked about everything at first, but Mother soon spoke of what was nearest and dearest to her heart, the infant Congregation. The depth of her faith, fired by her zeal to found a Congregation inspired by Our Lady’s willingness to go to her relative in need at the Visitation, roused my determination to join Miss Martin and her first companions.
We parted quietly that day after our chat, but already Mother had imbued me with some of her fire and courage to overcome my family obstacles. Thinking back on it, I saw Mother Mary as a woman of great faith and simplicity. She was very frail, petite, but oozing with personality. At the time she was up against great obstacles, but despite these, she went on in faith and obedience to found the Congregation. One was very conscious that she was close to God, and this came over to me very forcibly as I talked with her.
Then the first miracle took place. I found myself, beside Mother Mary, six weeks later at Heuston Station, Dublin, then known as Kingsbridge. The train was bound for Limerick, and we went on to the Benedictine Priory, Glenstal, some miles from that city. I was to join my friend and another woman whom Mother Mary had also inspired. My Glenstal days will always remain in my heart.”
Editor’s Note: This week, leading up to the anniversary of Mother Mary’s death on January 27th, we hear the stories of some of our early MMM Sisters, of how they met Mother Mary, and of how their lives changed.
Sr. Magdalen O’Rourke MMM (1909-2008) Ireland 24.02.2024
“In the summer of 1934, I first met Mother Mary Martin. I met her through the Legion of Mary. Her aunt, Miss Janey Moore, who worked in the Catholic Central Library, was President of a Praesidium to which I belonged. Fr. Dermot Bolan, who afterwards entered the Carthusian Order, was our Spiritual Director. He had great faith and was enthusiastic about Miss Martin’s plan to found a congregation for medical missionary work. Few knew of her intention, nor could it be openly spoken about. The necessary Church permission hadn’t been granted. While waiting a home was found with the Benedictines in Glenstal. Fr. Boylan helped me see where the Lord was calling me, that I had a missionary vocation and he asked me to join Miss Martin.
I wasn’t a bit enamoured with the idea. Being a Franciscan Tertiary with a great love for St. Francis, I was at the stage of deciding whether I should join Mother Kevin’s Congregation or the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary. Mother Kevin I knew, and admired her work for the lepers, and her work for the mother and child in Uganda.
On Fr. Boylan’s advice, I did go to see Mother Mary who was in her house at Monkstown, Dublin. But I made it clear that I was really joining a Franciscan Congregation. She did not try to dissuade me. She shared with me a little script on the mystery of the Visitation which she and Fr. Hugh Kelly SJ had prepared as a source of inspiration for the future Congregation.
The way she portrayed the great need in Nigeria for care of young mothers and their children inspired me. this visit I learnt that for the better part of the previous three years were spent in bed, recovering from an illness. She looked to thin and frail that I wondered how she could hope to carry out this gigantic task. What impressed me was her extraordinary eyes. Her interior spirit of love and union with God shone through and one immediately sensed the Divine in her and that she was someone special. Many people who knew Mother Mary would agree with me about the extraordinary appeal in those blue eyes. I went away with the softness and drawing power of her eyes haunting me, knowing how much she longed for a companion to join Miss Nora Leydon. After a week of prayer and fasting, the Holy Spirit guided me to say my ‘fiat’.
I was inspired by the trust Mother Mary put in people. She left two of us in Glenstal to carry on following her instructions and under the direction of Dom David Maffei while she was ill.
Editor’s Note: This week, leading up to the anniversary of Mother Mary’s death on January 27th, we hear the stories of some of our early MMM Sisters, of how they met Mother Mary, and of how their lives changed.
Sr. Patrick Leydon MMM (1907-2001) Ireland 22.01.2024
“I went to work in Kiltegan in 1930 and was secretary to Mgr. Whitney who was establishing St. Patrick’s Missionary Society. It was there that I met Mother Mary for the first time. As she passed through the office, Mgr. Whitney introduced me to her and later I went to visit her at her family home in Monkstown. My first impression of Mother Mary was that she had a serious countenance; that she was thinking of something big, a woman of vision, of faith in God.
I was very happy in Kiltegan because I was involved in missionary work, but then I heard more about what Mother Mary was thinking of, so I was anxious to meet her. This I did in 1934. On March 19th of the same year, I found myself in Glenstal, Co. Limerick, as Mother Mary saw the need of monks there as an opportunity to help advance her own idea of a missionary Congregation. In exchange for help in running the newly founded monastery, the secondary school and the arts and crafts school, the monks had agreed to give religious formation to Mother Mary and the members of the new Congregation.
For many months I found myself on my own. Mother Mary had arrangements and plans to take care of, plus the fact that she was hospitalized for some time due to an accident when a radiator fell on her toes. It was in February the following year that I got my best letter from her. The news was a Miss O’Rourke, later Sr. Magdalen, was coming to join me. Full of joy, I set out in a pony and trap to meet her at Boher station. We came back and had lunch together and then we went to the chapel and sang the Magnificat in thanksgiving for Miss O’Rourke’s arrival and prayed that Mother Mary would come back to us soon. It was August of 1935 that Mother Mary rejoined us and along with her came our third member, Miss Moynagh, later known as Sr. M. Joseph.”
by Sr. Margaret Anne Meyer MMM U.S.A. 20.01.2024
Reviewing my last blog on my third year medical at university I somehow omitted two rotations that were especially important in my training. When I try to recall the actual times they happened, after sixty years, my mind is a little blurred, but the actual facts are as clear as day.
I was assigned to Professor Paddy Fitzgerald. professor of Surgery, with three other students. Perhaps since I lived closest to his residence, he used to call for me on his way to the hospital where he would perform surgeries. I was delighted to be able to assist him and felt very honored to do so. I remember going to Cappagh Hospital where he performed orthopedic operations on children. I thought it was a marvelous work of sculpture to get the good parts of the bones aligned and perform an arthrodesis so that the children could walk again. We also assisted sometimes in the surgery he undertook in St. Vincent’s Hospital.
One case in particular stands out. It was a patient who had a repair graft done to her aorta by a renowned visiting surgeon. He said,” My grafts never clot” but eventually it did. Professor Fitzgerald and his team planned to tackle the challenge, even if the entire process took eight hours. Somewhere in between, I almost got a fit of giggles because I was way down the line holding a retractor and Professor told his registrar, “Steady Eddie, Steady Eddie”. I could see nothing, but Eddie was steady because the operation was an enormous success. Some years ago, I retold the story to a vascular nurse working in Chicago and she told me this type of operation can be done in 10 minutes these days. May God bless medical science and innovative ways!
Our daily routine during this time was to be in the hospital with our consultant, at out-patient clinics, ward rounds, or operations. We were getting firsthand learning then as well as lectures in Medical School in the afternoons. The registrar would give us tutorials after our college lectures at 5PM. We would cycle back to Rosemount and be in time for supper at 7 PM. I loved every minute of it.
One Saturday afternoon, I was assisting Professor Fitzgerald at an operation, and he asked me if I could stay on for another one. I told him I was sorry to say no, but I had to get back to Rosemount to finish knitting my pram cover for the Sale of Work. These Sales of Work were a huge undertaking in the Mansion House in Dublin. So many people came, and the students volunteered to help to wait on tables and prepare food. It was truly a great feeling of doing something to help the Sisters and people on the Missions. I remember one afternoon in particular that one of the Sisters warned us, “Sisters ‘don’t eat those sausages!” She did not say why, but when we arrived, starving with hunger after a full day’s schedule, we looked at the sausages and got a very pleasant surprise. They were not sausages at all, but German frankfurters which Americans call “hot dogs”. Martha and I were in for a treat because we had not tasted one for four years and they were delicious.
The next rotation was with Professor D.K. O’Donovan, Professor of Medicine. He was a very formidable man but an excellent physician. I asked to be his student because I wanted to get to know him and not be afraid of him if he examined me for my final medical exam. I enjoyed his clinics and we also attended sessions of his preparing final medical students on how to take a history and examine a patient. No stone was left unturned, and he exacted extremely lofty standards. My turn came up one day to present a case and my patient was the first woman in Dublin to receive an injection of insulin many years ago. She was in the Maternity Hospital at the time and insulin saved her and her baby’s life. I took an excellent history and how the state of her diabetes was now but when I went to do the examination of her central nervous system, I was not so exact. I learned it very rapidly from then on as Professor DK, as we called him, spoke plainly with me. I benefited a lot from my time with him. Of the twelve doctors who were in line to examine me for my final med exam, he was not one of the eight who eventually did. By that time, I was no longer afraid and trusted in God to help me through. And that is another story…
by Eilin Teeling AMMM Ireland 18.01.2024
My baby granddaughter has just learned to walk, and I’m fascinated. Most of us learn this vital life skill and yet does anyone remember learning to walk as a baby? Once we learn, we will walk every day of our lives until our legs grow too old or we suffer a serious accident or illness. She won’t remember learning to walk either but maybe some distant memory of being encouraged, being praised, and feeling pleased with her efforts will remain with her.
I’m fascinated with the process. How did she know what to do? For two or three months she progressed from standing, to taking a couple of steps, to walking on her own. Over and over again, she stood up, fell, picked herself up, stood for a few seconds, then fell again. She became steadier and was able to stand holding on to the sofa with one hand but falling if she let go. Slowly, she took one step alongside the sofa, then falling, taking two steps, then falling, until she was able to walk along the full length of the sofa without falling.
Her parents, our daughter and her husband, and us grandparents cheered with love, pride and delight when she walked a few steps without holding on to anything. She was 16 months old when she mastered this skill at her own pace. What a joy!
While watching her, it struck me how free she seemed to be from the negative thoughts that us adults are so good at. Imagine an adult undergoing the same process: “I’m no good at this”, “look at the other babies in creche, they learned to walk sooner than me”, “this is ridiculous, all this falling on my bottom and getting up again, I’ll stick with crawling.”
How often do we adults give up our goals because we feel discouraged, or we failed? Do we have so many negative thoughts that we don’t even try? Is this what Jesus meant when He said “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 18:2-4.
My baby granddaughter just kept going until she succeeded. She didn’t add in complications such as negative thoughts, or worry about self-image. She expressed delight and wonder but then just got on with playing. Can we too approach our daily tasks with child-like hearts that are open to imagination, surprise and wonder?
I’m appreciative of the wonderful home that her parents have given her, with space, warmth, and security. I pray for those babies who may never be able to learn to walk, for those babies with families stuck in unsuitable accommodation, in places of war, or whose parents who are unable to provide the smiles of encouragement due to the stress of just trying to survive. May we be able to love and take care of all our babies.
by Sr. Therese Kilkenny MMM Ireland 16.01. 2024
First published by MMM in 1980.
The following words are taken from the ceremony of dedication of nurses.
“May God bless your hands in protecting life,
In caring for the sick,
In restoring health,
And in assisting the dying.”
Recently we had such a ceremony in the hospital oratory in Drogheda. It is a simple ceremony, but very meaningful in its simplicity. It takes place just before the offertory of the Mass when the priest traces the sign of the cross on the palms of the hands and closes them together saying the above words.
The blessing or anointing of hands is an ancient custom and in our modern times the blessing of nurses’ hands must have a deep significance for those whose profession commits them to the care and service of others.
For me, the blessing of my hands reminds me once again that these hands touch, comfort, minister unto, reach out to my fellow brothers and sisters. It is fitting that they should be blessed because my fellow brothers and sisters are precious in the Lord’s sight. They are made in his image, his likeness, sacred.
My blessed hands remind me that I must use them with great gentleness, sensitivity and care. Suffering is only when nobody cares. And I must care and communicate that care and concern to others. How privileged I am to be called to His healing ministry!
by Sr. Sheila Devane MMM Ireland 14.01.2024
Today is January 8th as I am writing this, and my Christmas decorations are coming down in slow instalments! I will keep the 77 Christmas cards for the entire year and take them out in twos and threes to read over and remember the precious people who thought of me over this beautiful season – people I also remembered, prayed for and am so deeply grateful to have in my life.
This year instead of hanging up the cards on strings I kept them on the kitchen table and sat at mealtimes with five or six cards at a time. I was able to appreciate the pictures, read the contents and most of all remember who had sent me each card and then quite often recall times in life when we met, did things together or shared a similar challenge! I will do this again.
I received cards from friends in many places with some of them handmade, others sponsoring a particular charity, many showing the Holy family, others more secular with Santa, reindeers, photos of places of note and each one worthy of my time, thoughts, and gratitude.
Let me tell you about three of these cards, the people and their stories!
The first of these to arrive came from a family of neighbours and was a painting done at school by their middle child Karl; I got several cards drawn by schoolchildren – one a child as young as 5 years old. Karl is fifteen and has Down’s Syndrome; his card was really well painted and showed a house like his own with the baby Jesus in a very comfortable looking bed in a room with a big fire and a heavily decorated Christmas tree. He refused to draw a stable or crib arguing that Jesus God should live in a house like his – even better as this one had more windows! Isn’t Karl so right? I am proud of him.
I got my sister’s card hand delivered when I met her. For the first time ever, the writing on it was not hers. I looked at it twice – even thrice – and realised that this year she had been unable to write the card. My wonderful older sister has Parkinson’s disease and is struggling to keep up the beautiful family traditions, gifting and great care of others that have been hallmarks of her life. I am so proud of her – if saddened too.
Donna’s card came by post of December 29th. I was surprised and anxious when I opened it. I thought of her many times over Christmas and indeed over the past year and asked myself on numerous occasions should I send her a card? I decided not to. At a carol service in December, I heard the story of the soldiers from opposing sides in the first World War crossing the line to sing together on Christmas eve and realised this happened because one soldier bravely risked his life to take the first step. I had contemplated the first step of reconciliation with Donna but as her card last year announced her severing of our (short) friendship, I decided to respect her wishes of “no further communication.” I only know her about four or five years. At a function we both attended, just after lockdown, a “hot topic” came up for discussion – one on which she holds a strong position and which she was happy to give her views on to all the guests there. My error, or ‘slight’ to her, was that I changed the conversation at my end of the room and began talking of something else to the woman sitting beside me. This led fairly quickly to a second conversation on the floor. Donna said she felt affronted and insulted. Her life experience left her knowing extremely well what life in an orphanage and with nuns who were unkind could feel like. My action (and I am a nun too) reminded her of this in some ways and invalidated her cruel life experience; she was really hurt. She cut me off her acquaintance list. Her Christmas card shows a dove with an olive branch in its mouth, and she added her own words to the lovely messages in English and Irish inside. I sent a New Year’s card. Maybe we will meet again this year. I am proud of her action and relieved.
I am grateful for the inspiration of these three courageous people and value their particular messages for me.
This card is one of my favourites – I received it on January 6th. It shows the Three Kings setting out from a Muslim city with the Star of David overhead – sad yet hopeful at this tough time of war in the land in which Jesus was born.
A blessed New Year to all the blog readers!
