Saturday 19 August 2017

AND THE FATHER DID DANCE....

Never, never, never, imagine being a priest has to mean having a boring life…just prayers, preaching and people. Yes, it is all this and much more…encountering God and sharing God with others. If this is your vocation you will find, as I have, this to be enriching and fulfilling. 

And yet it is also full of surprises…experiences that were never considered during the many years preparing us for ordination and then launching us into priestly ministry.
Just look at the illustration to this, my priestly reflection. This was drawn by my twin priestly brother, Isidore, in response to my describing to him an experience I had in the very early days of my ministry as Pastor  of a parish in Barbados. 

 The ugly, terrified fellow grasping the lawn mower is supposed to be me. I would remind him that we are reputed to be identical twins. In the days of the drama of me and the goat, over fifty years ago,  we  were  passingly handsome…I'm sure I was! Just look at me now.  

From my childhood I’d become accustomed to mowing lawns. This was expected of me and of my brothers. I was used to the mowers that  required energetic pushing – not the lazy-man’s motorized machines. This task demanded artistic skill in producing a well-shaved lawn with straight lines of the same width.   

I shall never forget the day some child was passing by with his parents.  With a tug and a yell he exclaimed in surprise, “Look, the priest's doing some work.”  Truth from the mouths of babes! Those of considerable age will remember the song about 'MAD GOATS and ENGLISH MEN' go out in the midday sun. I’m English. Some think I’m somewhat mad, especially when aged, as I am. I get my exercise by taking walks in the heat of the tropical sun.  

To return to the lawn-mowing. None of my alleged craziness induced what happened next. The work was going smoothly.  And then... I sensed a tingling excitement in the air… tense, threatening.  I paused, raised my head and there before me was what you see in Isidore’s illustration – to me, a bad-tempered goat with a long beard and huge horns. Its eyes fixed on me. It was breathing heavily as it braced itself to make the grand charge IN MY DIRECTION. 

Never did I feel it was seeking for us to have a playful time together! I had disturbed it,   irritated it.  This goat wanted to  charge me out of the way. Surely a miss-match – goat with huge horns and thrusting body, me, a timid priest armed with my lawn mower, fearful for my life. Here was the drama of the bull-ring with none of  the arrogant confidence and  elegant artistry.

Where this goat, this monster, came from, I can say with all reverence, ‘God alone knows!’ This at least I know: as far as God is concerned, nothing happens by accident. My simple faith tells me that  Almighty God  wanted this encounter to take place.
  
As I write  this  now  I feel the tension, the fear, of yesteryear.  With head lowered the goat moved cautiously towards me.  What could I do  but  point the mower directly at my adversary?  Then I eased myself backwards towards the presbytery. Not to be out-witted it increased its pace and attempted to out-flank me. I swerved the mower round to face it head – on.  This manoeuvre was repeated over and over again, with me and goat trying to out-guess each other. Step by step I backed closer to the wooden steps up to the presbytery. 

My  heal   pushed against the bottom step. I yelled some loud war-cry; shoved the mower towards the startled goat; pounded up the steps towards the security of the presbytery.  The goat vanished!!!  where???

And the Father did dance, this Father Priest! He did dance, he did prance, he did weave and he did duck....not on a day of joy but on a day of desperation...against a rival with evil intent. And the Father did leap...up steps. He did thrust ....with a lawn-mover. And the day was saved. He arrived where he belonged! 
All this is saying so  much to me about the pattern of my own personal salvation history?  Is it saying something to you about yours?


Peter  Clarke, O.P.

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