by Sr. Margaret Anne Meyer MMM U.S.A. 14.11.2022
The Ashes will sit in the front pew. This is what I remember from our reception into the novitiate on September 8th, 1956. I thought it sounded funny, but Sr. Gabriel Ashe had a large family, and it was good to see them at the ceremony. All my family and two high school friends came to share my joy. Our postulant days were over, and we sensed a new beginning of deepening our relationship with Jesus and the Medical Missionaries of Mary. We were getting to know one another and to learn what it means to be a missionary.
Our life was amazingly simple combined with household tasks, prayer, conferences, recreation, and outside groundwork. Every Friday we had adoration of the Blessed Sacrament from early morning to before supper. I loved the quiet of the chapel and the beautiful woodwork. It had once been a ball room for dancing. The orchestra were up in the present choir loft. Every evening at 7 PM the radio in the choir loft was put on to hear Cardinal Cushing recite the rosary. He had a loud melodious voice and I loved praying with him. In the summer months the windows of the chapel were open, and I could hear the motorboats cruising in the Mystic Lake near where we lived. My father had told me that he knew I had a vocation if I could spend the summer in the convent without wanting to come home and live in our bungalow by the sea. I must say, I often went out in the boat with Jesus in prayer. I loved the water very much.
During our Spiritual Year we had two visits from our family. After traveling back to New York in a blinding snow storm my father was hesitant to come again at Christmas. He doubted they would get home alive. Thank God, they did, and all went well.
Sister Visitation Chambers came to visit us. She was working in Ogoja with the leprosy patients. The first-year novices spent Saturday afternoons sorting medical samples which were donated. We took the extra wrapping off and put the tablets together and shipped them to Ogoja. We were delighted to hear all about Ogoja and the patients with Hansen’s Disease.
The second-year novices visited Holy Ghost Hospital in Cambridge and spoke to the patients. One elderly lady was in a crib and told me she liked the Scripture passage of Ephesians, One Lord, One Father of us all. I always think of her when I hear that passage being read or spoken of.
The second-year novices also were sent out to do Mission Appeals. There was a passage in the 1940 Constitutions which said that the Sisters must not blush at poverty. I came back from one appeal with a red face and told Mother Margaret O’Conor that I could not help blushing for poverty. When I extended the pole with a bag attached down the pew, I kept on almost knocking the ladies hats off. Thank God that practice did not last long.
Although we lived in a mansion, the spirit of poverty was always with us. We were conscious of the need to raise money for the Mission Houses as well as our own. We novices repaired holes in sheets for a linen company and made vestments to sell in our gift shop among other things like hosting Communion Breakfasts for the Women’s Committee and Lawn Parties.
Soon it was getting time for Profession and Mother Mary was going to visit us in June 1958. Matron Phelan from Drogheda was accompanying her. I asked permission to get up a little earlier and write a play for Mother Mary. It was the centenary of Our Blessed Mother appearing in Lourdes to St. Bernadette. I used the book “The Song of Bernadette.” All the novices picked out their parts from a hat. Sr. Bernadette Kenny picked out Bernadette and did an excellent job. All went well until Bernadette was dying and Sr. Catherine Ann did not get the music going on time and we all started to giggle. The play soon ended but Mother Mary seemed pleased with our efforts. Mother saw each of us individually which was a great thrill for all of us to meet her. She told us news of the novices in Drogheda at that time and we felt connected somehow.
Our two months preparation for First Profession was spent in the usual work but the afternoon recreation was given to quiet time outside or up on the hill. The day, September 8th, 1958, came when we, Gabriel Ashe and I vowed ourselves to God for one year as Medical Missionaries of Mary. My two brothers were there as altar servers and saw me smiling all the time. I was incredibly happy. I thanked God for His mercies in completing the novitiate and now begged for further help in traveling to Ireland to pursue medical studies and fulfill my dream of being a missionary to Africa.
That is another story.
by an unknown MMM author Ireland 12.11.2022
How often have you walked into the greeting ‘God sent you’ or ‘you’ve been on my mind’. Our Lady’s journey through the hill country was a concerned visit to her cousin Elizabeth. Pondering the words and happenings she had heard from the angel, recalling the awe of the Annunciation, gave a sense of urgency to Mary’s journey. Her urgency was to lend a friendly hand and helping presence; which was welcomed by her cousin. ‘God has sent you’ the greeting and the embrace of the two women expresses the concern each hold for the other. Both in a unique way knew God’s creative power; both were experiencing totally unexpected pregnancies. They were on each other’s mind.
In the mind of Mother Mary Martin was the urgent need to bring modern health care to Africa especially to mothers and young children. Secondly, but equally important, was the training of women in family health care. From her own strong family bonds she was profoundly aware of the influence of mothers in the home. Family support was of the very fabric of life in Africa, very evident and obviously to be supported. She saw the distance, time, the difficulties of travel were all shortened by the desire to be with family, clanswoman, tribal member in any kind of need.
Mother Mary Martin found in the Gospel account of the Visitation the motif for the Medical Missionaries of Mary. Despite her own ill health, and other obstacles, the Congregation took root. In Africa particularly she saw the urgent need to be with other women making modern medical care available, realising that for families, illness and need arrive at unexpected times. Medical Missionaries of Mary would be God-sent and they would be attuned to the needs around them, ready to journey to the hill country and stay while needed with a woman’s touch.
Nowadays, visitations take Sisters into the slums of the ever-expanding cities of the third world where people have gathered hoping for a better quality of life. But instead, are often in dire need. Further visitations take Sisters into remote areas with healing hands alongside women awaiting the birth of a baby or perhaps gently soothing an extremely ill patient. Often visitations under difficult circumstances can mean long hours of waiting through the night hours. Visitations call for sisters to rise before dawn, load their land rover and stretch out in all directions to local villages offering basic and fundamental health care to local communities. For the Sisters, as for Mother Mary Martin, these visitations are God-bearing visits. They have saved many lives, transformed care, and offered hope. No wonder people say ‘God has sent you’, ‘you will be forever in my mind.’
Mary’s journey through the hill country was a concerned visit to her cousin Elizabeth. Pondering the words and happenings, searching the crevices of memory gave urgency to Mary’s journey. If the news should be true, a friendly hand and her presence would be welcome.
St. Luke tells us that Mary was a young woman recently engaged. Elizabeth was an old woman, wife of a religious official. ‘God has sent you’ the greeting and the embrace expressed the concern each holds for the other. Both experienced God’s creative power; both were experiencing a totally unexpected pregnancy. Both acutely bewildered yet trustful. Family support is an important part of life and in Africa it is especially evident; distance, time the trials of travel are shortened by wanting to be with family, clanswoman, tribal member in any time of need, ‘God has sent you.’ The problem or predicament is shared. Shared first in word, when hidden anxieties and cloudy hopes become known through patient listening. Shared then in time, being with the other, watching and waiting for time to reveal its meaning. Mary stayed with her cousin. For Mary and Elizabeth, it was in their sharing and patient waiting that new understanding and deeper friendship grew.
From Mary’s first hurried steps over the hills to the last slow step up the hill of Calvary, God sent her. ‘God sends you’ to your family or friends who may know unexpected reversals such as insecurity through redundancy, violence, or loss of faith. ‘God sends you’ to a person with re-assuring hand, the tight hold saying I understand the already gripping cancer; the fever or anxiety of a diagnosis, the anticipation of new life in birth pain, feeling the pulse of thought, and yet understanding that God is in all.
God intervened in Mary’s life and so she journeyed to Elizabeth. Mary walked into the greeting ‘God sent you’. From the greeting Mary knew that she was welcome.
by Sr. Sheila Campbell MMM Ireland 10.11.2022
For some time now I have had a phrase running through my head: “I am already there”. What do I mean by that? Where did it come from? I think it all started earlier this year with the news and excitement around the new Webb space telescope, able to penetrate far back into space and time. They think that they can go back, close to the “Big Bang” which started this all off.
Well, it didn’t all start with the Big Bang if we believe in a Creator God. Then I had this wonderful thought, before the physical universe started, we were all in God’s plan. I am held in being because God wants it to be. That means before all recorded history, before all the kings and queens and even the Pharaohs of Egypt, I am already in the heart and mind of God. I am already there, before dinosaurs, ice ages and the formation of stars. Isn’t it the most comforting of experiences to know that we are held by God, brought into a physical being at this moment in time but already enfolded in God’s love and care. What will death be but a return to that immense love? I am already there.
Sometimes I have to hold myself in check. While all the above is true, I am also called to live in the ordinary, mundane world of today. I am called to be a good Sister, a good neighbour, a kind, warm and patient person. Most times patience is an ideal rather than a reality! So being a human person is like living in “both/and” situation, rather than “either/or.”
One of the reasons I like “I am already there” running through my head is that it reminds me of a bigger world and the ocean of love in which I am, in fact, swimming. Now, isn’t that a comforting thought on a winter’s morning!
It may seem to some people that finding God in nature is a trendy idea and is even referred to as “eco-spirituality” which does have a ring of modern lingo about it. But, the truth is that the idea that we feel God’s presence more profoundly is not in any way a new concept but it one worth examining. For anyone alive today we are faced with a monumental question, can we live more simply and require less resources so future generations can enjoy our world. It appears that if we don’t take this question seriously, then we will be leaving a mess for future generations. This does not seem like a spiritual choice to make.- I will be more cautious about using electricity
- I will walk more or use my bike more
- I won’t travel in my car unless needed
- I will pick up litter when I can
- I won’t buy single use bottles
- I will honour nature daily by taking a walk in it
- I will seek God in all the people I meet
- I will appreciate nature more and practice gratitude
by Sr. Sheila Campbell MMM Ireland 06.11.2022
Embroidery on paper is a hobby that I picked up later in life. Strange, isn’t it? I think of myself as physically a bit clumsy, but at least my hands work well. I make greeting cards, and this is a useful skill in a house where the elderly Sisters keep up written contact with people in the various countries where they were in active ministry. Recently, one Sister made a comment that stayed with me for days.
She was looking at a card I was making, admiring the pattern and the delicacy of the work. Then she turned it over to the back. This is where the threads are cut and glued together, where pattern is not so obviously, where one thread shoots across the page to start up again in another spot. Frankly, the back of the card looks messy. Eventually I put a backing on this so that the finished card hides the cut threads.
“That is exactly like our life”, said Eileen Mary. “We only see the tumble and mess and God turns us over and sees the beautiful pattern that is out true self”. How wise, I thought. And then I realised another truth. The pattern I was making was made from small bits of thread. These are the bits that are left over from a larger pattern, but still too long to just throw away. For God, too, there are no scraps. Everything has a use in the economy of the universe. Everything forms a pattern. There are times when I cannot see the grand scale of things. I get bogged down in the messiness of everyday life.
This is when I am called to trust. Trust in God who has a wider, more loving and embracing sense of who I am. More importantly, every day encourages me to thread my needle and embroider an even more beautiful self.
So today I ask for the grace to attend to the small things of life – God will make the pattern in the long run!
Marianne Grisez AMMM U.S.A. 04.11.2022
Marianne, a volunteer nurse from California, member of Lay Mission Helpers, was so sorry Sr. Ann Flynn had been “cheated” out of experiencing the Big Rains at Gambo in Ethiopia that she wrote her the following graphic description of what she had missed. First published in the MMM Magazine in 1976.
To understand what rain is, you must experience a rainy season. Being an American, where we do not have such things, I have been fortunate enough to have the opportunity to live in a country where there is such a season. Most countries in Africa have one. It does not matter which land you are in. What counts is the amount of RAIN.
Before I came to Ethiopia, a heavy rain meant a sudden summer evening thunder and lightening storm. It would rain hard for a short time and often the thunder was much more than the amount of water. Here in Gambo, Ethiopia, we have two Rains. The small rains are usually in February or March. It rains everyday for a short while or all day for several days in the week. The Big Rains vary each year but occur generally from July through August and September. In a typical year it rains every day, all day. The moisture on the 15 miles of dirt-filled road from the main road to Gambo makes a thick, gooey mud. It is only passable in a Land Rover or jeep-type vehicle. This is because of the rough terrain, interspersed with muddy patches, often knee-deep.
On the last day of August, I got my first taste of being stuck in the mud in the rainy season. It is a rare privilege and reminded me of the days when as children we made mud pies. At dusk our Land Rover was returning to Gambo from Jigessa, another mission two hours journey away. We had safely crossed the first river without difficulty (no bridge) and rounded a bend about to enter the worst part of the trip. It is a low-lying place between two groups of trees and the mud is thick, black, glue-like muck. We put the car into four-wheel drive and forged ahead. Right in the middle of this mess the driver slowed down and stopped. In trying to start again we only managed to drive the back wheels into the mud up to the axle and springs. The three of us hopped out, shovel in hand and started to dig out the back wheels. It was first suggested to place some boards under the wheels and then try and push the car unto the boards and then out. But the wheels were too fast in the mud. I forgot to mention that there were three of us and the back of the Land Rover was full of firewood which added to the weight which caused the car to sink so low.
By this time a group of local people had come upon the scene and were watching with great interest as the three of us with shovel, pick and bare hands, were trying to clear the goop from the back wheels. The wheels dug out, we tried again, but unsuccessfully to free the car. We only had one more alternative – to unload all the firewood and have these ten men watching us push the car out. After much watching, everyone finally pitched in and helped us unload and push the car and reload it. We three passengers were covered from elbow to ankle in soggy, muddy clothes. In the process it had become dark and we, of course, did not have a flashlight. We broke the shovel, lost the jack, but learned first-hand about the rainy season. The story ended happily with finding the jack and arriving home safely, only an hour late.
The more experienced members of our community say it is even more interesting in the rain without a shovel and the wood. This is when you really get an appreciation of rain, mud and land rovers. When I am back home in California the summer storms will seem only a tiny example of the Ethiopian rains. The adventure must be appreciated first hand only. Come and join the fun!
by Sr. Sheila Campbell MMM Ireland 02.11.2022
When I think of Behaviour Change I think of all the brain-washing techniques that have gone on over the years. We have all heard of Re-education camps for the Uyghur Muslim minority group in China. I can think of indigenous children being separated from their families in Australia and in Canada in the past so that they could be ‘taught’ to be white. It makes my skin creep.
But recently I heard a story that has begun to change my mind. One of the Sisters was sharing at coffee about working with young couples who were in marital difficulties. In the culture where she was working, the custom was that the mother would feed her husband first. Then she would feed the children. Lastly, and only when she had all the chores done, she would eat herself. At the Health Centre where she worked, they had a different philosophy. They asked the couple to try a different system. They asked them to feed the children first and then sit down together to eat. Just that. They were not into therapy as in the Western world, but just a small change to help the husband and wife see each other as equal human beings, both concerned with the education and upbringing of their children.
The change was remarkable. Not alone did marriages improve, but the level of domestic violence in the society as a whole was drastically reduced.
Now, I think to myself, what small change can I make in my life patterns to produce good results like that? Recently I was reading a blog by one of our young Sisters. She was recommending acts of kindness. When you do a small act of kindness, it changes you on the inside to becoming a kinder person. It also has a ripple effect. When you notice a small act of kindness you want to reach out and do one yourself.
I remember being in Chapel one day and a Sister who was confined to a wheelchair noticed the person in front of her was cold. She inched forward until she was near enough to reach her and draped a shawl around her shoulders. That is kindness. Up to the end of her life she was thinking of others and how she could help.
So that is my challenge today – be kind, notice others’ needs, and maybe God will be kind to me and help me be a better person.
by Sr. Ese Idogen MMM Angola/Nigeria 31.10.2022
Yes!! After three weeks, I had an opportunity to join in the celebration of the Eucharist and bring back consecrated host for the community. How could I miss this opportunity! Where? It was at a neighbouring village, she said.
Since it was past noon, it will take forever to get a commercial boat to take us there and our boat driver was not available, we resorted to using ‘Okada’’ (motorcycle). Unfortunately, we got only one Okada so we go on one. I didn’t mind sitting between the Motorcyclist and the sister, I felt like a hot sausage between the two of them. I didn’t care, I was going for Mass.
We started our journey, and it was a long road. I was not particularly comfortable on the motorcycle, but I was hopeful as I kept saying to myself ‘We will get there soon,’ but with every minute, it seemed it got farther.
The road was very sandy, the motorcycle was going up, down, up, down and before I knew it, I was on the ground, the motorcycle had fallen!
I quickly got up, picked the altar bread and as I was trying to shake off the sand from my cloth that has become so rumpled like a crumpled piece of paper. It was only then I realized that my beloved sister and the rider were struggling to lift the motorcycle off the ground. The sight was very amusing, but I dared not to laugh at that time.
We were set to continue our mission, but this time, my initial excitement was mixed with worries. Hope was becoming frail, “Are we ever going to reach our destination?” I looked at the man, he was sweating profusely. He seemed to me, he felt he had no choice but to carry the ‘Sisters’. I could hardy breathe, his sweat was dripping on me, with a strong stench of local gin! Wait a minute, could this man be driving under the influence? My mind began to wander, maybe that explains the continual swerving of the motorcycle. What could we possibly do now? We are too far away from home, and it will take grace to reach our destination. I was not sure if to mention it to the Sister or not. She would definitely freak. I whispered to the man to go slowly and I began to pray in hope that we will arrive.
We kept going, slowly, slowly, and slowly. it was a lonely road, all I could see were trees and later I began to see houses, little further, I started seeing piercing eyes behind curtains and finally when I saw children dancing in the street, I breathed a sigh of relief as I said to myself, “ we are almost there…”
Life can put us in difficult situations sometimes and the only thing we can do at the time is to hope. Sometimes I embark on a journey with great enthusiasm but half way through, especially when things are not going exactly as I have planned, I begin to feel hopeless.
Hope is me going through life with a positive disposition. Knowing that no matter what challenge life throws at me will pass. Learning to see each experience as an opportunity to grow and trusting that all manner of thing will be well as Jesus had told Julian of Norwich.
If I am to live a good and happy life, I must learn to live in the moment with hope, and trust that all of life, past, present and future is in good hands. I must remind myself that I am only a worker and not a master builder to borrow the words of Oscar Romero. Only the master builder has the whole picture, mine is to work and live daily and trust the plan of the master builder.
So, for those of us already taking our steps of hope, despite life uncertainties, Great! We must Keep walking. Those of us only beginning like myself, I hope this finds you well and I hope you have got your walking shoes ready because it is going to be a long walk but we can be sure of one thing “Jesus walks with us…” Henri Nouwen says “…and speaks to us on the road. When we listen carefully, we discover that we are already home while on the way.”
Just when I started feeling alive again, still riding on the motorcycle, I heard the man say in Nigerian pidgin language “Oya make una come down”, (it is time to get off my motorcycle) I replied with a quavering voice “you say make we come down? Why ? We don reach? ” (why are we getting down? We haven’t arrived) And then he added “Una go use leg waka the rest, I don reach my last bus stop”). “You have to walk further to your destination; I cannot go further.” He had an unusual smile on his face as if he was happy with the progress he had made so far. I looked at the long sandy road in front of us. “Okay…”, I managed to say. “…thank you”. I struggled to get down from the motorcycle and we literally began our steps of hope.
Did we eventually arrive? Yes, we did, but I am sure you will be amused when you find out how. That is definitely a story for another day!
by Sr. Prisca Ovat MMM Kenya/Nigeria 29.10.2022
The time at home on holiday brought me a brand-new experience. For the first time, I noticed a different pattern of living amongst my people; wrongs were made right out of ignorance. In Nigeria, especially in some small towns and villages, the doctors and nurses known and trusted are often without former education but are trainees of pharmacists and general practitioners. They, in turn, train others who litter pharmaceutical shops around the villages, posing as health care experts. Some medical institutions in these said localities are often unwilling to employ qualified personnel for pecuniary gains. So, they enroll young persons to carry out certain procedures reserved for healthcare experts.
Once, I had the opportunity to interview one of them. The revelations were not amusing. “We learn to set and give infusions, injections and conduct appendectomy,” she said. She continued: “Most of us are secondary school graduates and dropouts. Some do not even have secondary education.” Listening to her, it became obvious to me that the above-described clinics thrive due to proximity and lack of proper health institutions.
This reckless culture of healthcare provision nearly claimed my father’s life twice within the space of a year. After a ghastly road accident, several hours passed before the “doctor” pulled himself to the clinic to attend to a severe bleeding patient. As expected, it was followed by a misdiagnosis. Moreover, an only child of a parent died from 3rd-degree burns because the quack nurses did not know what to do while the doctor was away for two days. A young man died from a brain hemorrhage following an auto accident because they thought he was drunk. Awkwardly, they repeatedly slapped him to remain quiet. Another young man had a septic shock from a mismanaged appendectomy. There was also another who received an “IM only” injection intravenously. He collapsed immediately. It is annoying that the very moment an ill person (young or old) presents themselves at these chemist shops, they immediately receive prescriptions for typhoid and malaria, accompanied by a certain number of injections and infusions to exaggerate its severity, satisfy the minds of the sick and their family, and extort exorbitant money. Such unprofessional practices have led to several avoidable deaths.
I had visited a chemist for paracetamol. While I waited, a woman walked in and requested five capsules of Amoxil. The dosage on demand kept my mind wondering. What condition required five capsules? I thought it was no longer her business alone, so I asked. Surprisingly, the medication was for a one-year-old low weight baby, and his mother intended to split the capsule into halves to be administered in the morning and evening. I then turned to the chemist and asked whose interest he had in mind: the money or the people. Wouldn’t he have educated the woman and suggested the syrup form with the right doses? If only he knew the right thing. In effect, for every acute condition, a person receives what is described as the “one dose” magic – one capsule of Amoxil, two tablets of paracetamol, two tablets of vitamin C, one tablet of ibuprofen, one tablet of vitamin B complex, all to be swallowed at once. My people are in trouble! I concluded.
The firsthand experience of this great ignorance incites the idea of health promotion. It became obvious that a health awareness seminar was absolutely necessary. I immediately engaged the parish priest in a dialogue, expressing my concerns. He immediately convoked a seminar and obliged that announcement be made across the Parish outstations. Soon they gathered. About a hundred and twenty persons were in attendance, of whose ninety percent were within the age bracket of the 50s. The youths were heard saying their health is no one’s business and requires no external information for self-care. Such ignorance!
Now, my people are predominantly farmers, so when a disease sets in, it becomes a financial burden for the family and the community. On the morning of the seminar, one of our MMM aspirants came to join me. Together with another volunteer, we administered free blood pressure check. Amidst the attendees, those with high blood pressure (unknown to them) outnumbered those with normal blood pressure. Appropriate referrals were made. Throughout the seminar, I repeatedly admonished saying: “only a healthy person goes to the farm or market.” Following the general talk, the participants were split into four groups to discuss issues on health, domestic violence, pastoral responsibilities, and the importance of the mother tongue. A few experts amongst them served as moderators. They practically proffered solutions to their issues.
A crucial point raised by those in the health group resonated with the reality of poverty. An argument broke out in the group. A few boldly confronted the only professional medical doctor at the seminar noting that he has no regard for emergencies. The allegation stated that for lack of a 50,000 Naira deposit (approx. 118 USD), patients die at his clinic’s door while he walks away, cursing his trainees for calling him without first receiving a deposit. What is $118 in exchange for life? I ruminated. As a response, the doctor cited the danger of compromising for lack of money. My intervention in calming the situation was based on our MMM charism: going in haste in response to a human need, with lives at the heart of our missions.
The people were made to see that in their quest for immediate survival – visiting chemist shops to receive their usual one-dose magic medication for 200 Naira (0.3 USD) so that life may go on for a week or two before the next dose, they contribute to complications ensued from delayed proper medical attention, thus upsurging their economic burden. Likewise, the people were brought to realize that the last demons to contend with are certain unnecessary but overwhelmingly embraced cultural practices such as the “Aso Ebi” custom – a Yoruba term generally used to describe a set of uniforms worn at ceremonies. Sometimes, people send more money to celebrate the deceased’s funeral rites than to save the latter’s life when needed or invest the money in the education of the deceased orphans.
In conclusion, this initiative was the first of its kind, as expressed by the assembly. It also occurred to me (a missionary) that being fully present to a people or culture has so little to do with solving all their problems, to which we may have no appropriate answers. Instead, it has everything to do with helping them discover their hidden treasures and continually purify their culture, traditions, perceptions, and attitude to life in response to the sign of times through proper orientation and awareness.
by Sr. Aideen O’Sullivan MMM Ireland/Scotland 27.10.2022
Here in Ireland, the sea has been in the background of our lives as we are sort of surrounded by it. The tang of the sea readily brings to mind childhood memories of family picnics, the serious business of building sandcastles, the noisy splashing in and out of water with the general feeling that it was all great fun. And, of course, the sun always shone in those days.
As the years of childhood rolled by, we may well have come to view the sea in a different light, a power to be feared, a place not to be alone, or perhaps fear may not have been part of our experience at all. Whatever way it was, one thing is for sure now, our coastline provides us with stretches of space and potential for personal enrichment.
To get in touch with the mystery of the sea one needs first of all to befriend it; to come into relationship with the rhythm of the waves, the ripples in the sand, the voices in the wind, the playfulness of the spray, the rock pools, the driftwood and the shells. Then the ocean depths will begin to yield up its treasures and will begin to reveal something of the mystery of its life.
Such an opportunity presented itself to me in the Spring. A chalet at the end of the tide in the middle of nowhere, with miles of deserted shoreline for company. The song of the waves to lull me to rest and each morning, the sound of the sea for breakfast. As I set out, the weather wasn’t the best, to put it mildly.
I breathed a prayer to the Eternal Artist for the sun to break through and added that a bit of heat would not go unnoticed and would be much appreciated too. I must admit that my faith took a drenching when I arrived at the chalet to be greeted with gales and monstrous waves, boisterously pounding up the beach and threatening to envelop me in one swoop. However, once I had navigated myself safely indoors and had a hot cup of soup, life began to look decidedly better.
Within a few hours the wind dropped. The rain moved away along the coast and the sun, rather apologetically, came to brighten up the scene, bringing with it more than a hint of warmth. It reminded me of the story in St. Mark’s Gospel, Chapter 3, where the Lord calmed the storm for the terrified disciples. They were in a boat, I know; but it is much the same when you’re pent up in a chalet waiting for the next wave to engulf you.
he sea and I settled down after that and by nightfall I was beginning to feel the rhythm of the waves and the restful silence between ebb and flow. It wooed my busy mind into a place of rest and left me with a sense of expectancy. Of what, I didn’t know. I felt different and this difference would somehow reflect itself back to me as I meditated and pondered in the company of the sea. There is something awesome about watching for the dawn, looking out across the ocean expanse, waiting for the sun that would surely rise but which might not show its face.
I walked for miles along the shoreline and there a stone found me. It was half white and half grey. It spoke to me of the paradox of life and death, and the wisdom of it all. This stone seemed to be saying to me “Like the different parts of you are firmly held together, but the Eternal Artist is not finished his creative work in you yet and that is all right”. I put the stone gently into my pocket, and it felt good.
When the sea and its shoreline befriend you, it is important not to search for treasures but rather to wait for the treasure to find you. Greedily searching one could miss its gifts altogether. I fell into that trap myself and almost missed the driftwood that nudged my foot. It was shaped like a hand. When I brought it together with my hand, it stirred my heartstrings. Words from the prophet Isaiah echoed in my heart “I will never forget you. I have carved you in the palms of my hands”. I felt loved.
The morning I bade farewell to the sea, the sunrise was uneventful and spoke to me of the need for contrasts in life. We need the ebb as well as the flow of the tide. I knew that the sun was above the clouds but that was cold comfort. I waited, waited, and looked out to sea. Then to my delight, the clouds parted briefly, and a shaft of bright white light shone across the black waters, transforming them, giving light and holding everything in breathless stillness. It was as though creation paused and rested for a moment. “Be still and know that I am God”. This was my parting gift as I turned and walked away from my friend, the sea.
