MissionFor almost a century, the Missionaries of the Holy Family have had a special care for the Catholic community in the Prelature of Tromsø. The Fathers who came in 1931 were predominantly German; now it is the Polish province that Read More
PremonitionsThis striking painting graces the public church of the Carmel in Tromsø. It was done by Guro Giske, who entitled it ‘Mary, Premonitions’. The shade of blue evokes the glow of ‘the blue hour’ that is a feature of winter Read More
FossilAny reader of Scripture, anyone whose life is paced by the liturgy, is used to living within a long chronological continuity. The life of Christ our Lord, the voyages of Paul, the Psalms of David, and even the creation and Read More
MannI first encountered Hanns Zischler on the screen as the ambiguous Captain von Lerenau in Europa Europa. He was eerily credible as Klaus Barbie in La Traque and as the amiable forger Hans, an unlikely Mossad agent, in Spielberg’s Munich. Read More
MissionFor almost a century, the Missionaries of the Holy Family have had a special care for the Catholic community in the Prelature of Tromsø. The Fathers who came in 1931 were predominantly German; now it is the Polish province that provides us with priests, men of courage and generosity, who continue to do much to build up the Church both materially and spiritually. Last year Mateusz Rodziejczak produced this cinematographical account of a remarkable mission. The dialogue is in Polish, but the images speak for themselves, and need no subtitles.
Ulrik Sverdrup-Thygeson RIPRomans 14.7-9: None of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. John 14.1-6, 27: I give you my peace, not the peace the world bestows. Face to face with death, the Church sings of peace. She does so whether the deceased was a greybeard full of years or a tiny infant; whether death took place in a well-made bed surrounded by dear people or in the chaotic isolation of a trench. Requiem! The word awakens associations of comfort even in those who haven’t darkened the door of a church for years. Mozart, Verdi, Fauré have given the Requiem Mass universally accessible musical expression. We can easily forget how paradoxical it is, in fact, to sing of death in a tonality of tenderness that pulsates with hope. Humanly speaking death is shocking, also when it is foreseeable. What reverence we feel at someone’s deathbed! The dying person may be quite unconscious but is clearly and emphatically there. Then death comes; and suddenly we are keenly aware of an absence. In Norwegian we say that the dying person ‘takes leave’ of us. It’s not a daft expression. Nor is it daft to speak of those ‘left behind’. They remain at the crossroad, powerless. This experience can call forth strong reactions of grief, rebellion, rage. And yet we sing of peace? The Gospel account tells us that this peace has a twofold origin. The first concerns an act of will. ‘Let not your hearts be fearful’, Jesus tells us. Fear paralyses. When others seek to manipulate us, they try to make us afraid. Fear is not, however, determined. We can to a remarkable degree deny fear access to our mind. We do so by acknowledging things as they are: ‘So now I am here. Now it’s like this.’ We can cope with the real; what terrifies us is the fantastical. As long as we set out from facts, we can make reasoned choices. We feel trapped when we entertain the notion that what is ought not to be. In order to encounter death peacefully we must accept it as part of life. We have neither to conceal it nor to prettify it. We must simply look it in the eye as something that comes to us, as something given us. The second Gospel condition for peace is faith. ‘Have faith in God, have faith in me!’ Faith is often a complex matter for Norwegians. It’s a curious effect of Reformation rhetoric that ‘faith’ has come to seem the ultimate kind of ‘deed’. We know we must have faith, that salvation presupposes faith. But how can we know we have faith enough, that our faith possesses the requisite purity? From literature, and possibly from life, we know examples of women and men who have toiched despair on account of such questioning. It may be helpful, therefore, to shed some Biblical light on the matter. In the vocabulary of the New Testament the word for ‘faith’, pistis, can also mean ‘fidelity’. To believe in Biblical terms is no agonisingly solitary pursuit. ‘Faith’ stands for resolute certainty that Someone is keeping his hand both over me and underneath me so that I can walk, and stand, secure. ‘Thou dost beset me behind and before’, we read in a Psalm of David: ‘If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there thy hand shall lead me’. Thus speaks Biblical faith. It is founded, first, on a carefully pondered, rational understanding of God, nurtured by Scripture and theology. Next, it rests on careful observation of the lives of others. The lives of the saints are vital to us because they show, with wonderful diversity, how faith takes embodied form in a vastly various circumstances. That way we can find helpful guidance for our own lives of faith. Thirdly, faith of this kind comes from experience. The older we get, the more clearly we see that it’s true: God really is faithful; in consequence I may believe, I am gifted with faith. Fearlessness and fidelity: it is not hard to recognise Ulrik’s profile in these qualities. Many of you have known him a lot longer than I. You will see whether you agree; but for my part, I can’t really imagine Ulrik agitated. He was deliberate and upright. He called a spade a spade. Occasionally the spade appeared different to other observers. He thought that an honest business. But set out from what he saw. He had long since taken the measure of death. He spoke of it undramatically, with respect, but also with a tiny, and beneficial, touch of irony, even when he seemed to all intents and purposes to be quite well, remarkably fit for his age. He simply recognised that he was no longer young, and that death would be the next epochal transition. His genial realism generated, without needing grand words or gestures, a kind of warmth about him. That warmth was a blessing for others. Ulrik’s faith was utterly unsentimental. That is not to say it was unfeeling. Now and then he voiced the intimate importance to him of his Catholic faith. One was always a little surprised, for he was a private man. Here, too, his concern was to speak things as they are. By reflection and experience Ulrik had reached the conclusion that existence is not meaningless; that life has a direction and a goal; that we are carried by an immense power that regards us benevolently; and that this Power has made itself known in Christ Jesus, whom we, as a result, can call ‘Lord’ without any loss of personal dignity. Ulrik, a bureaucrat by profession, knew all about the formal parameters of society. He had come to see, though, that faith in Christ was the precondition for a definitive fellowship that transcends boundaries of time and space, in the context of which death is a necessary procedure, though unpossessed of defining jurisdiction. Well, if that’s the way it is, then one must say it, that was the Ulrikian approach. Then others would see for themselves whether or not they wished to enter this fellowship. Just as Ulrikian was a high regard for others’ freedom. He passed into eternity fearlessly and faithfully, with gratitude. A few days before his death he sent me a message from hospital. ‘Am being royally treated, royally!’ The adverb was twice repeated. Surrounded by his wife Tone and the rest of the family, lovingly nursed, he took peaceful leave even as he had peacefully built his tabernacle on earth, as if the passage through death was nothing but a somewhat differently configured skiing trip. His backpack was ready. He knew the way. We remember Ulrik in peace. We pray he may peacefully rejoice before the face of the eternal King. Amen. Ulrik Sverdrup-Thygeson 1944-2026
PremonitionsThis striking painting graces the public church of the Carmel in Tromsø. It was done by Guro Giske, who entitled it ‘Mary, Premonitions’. The shade of blue evokes the glow of ‘the blue hour’ that is a feature of winter in Tromsø, when light is reflected off the snow and sea, reminding us that the austerity of a long Norwegian winter is an image, somehow, of the Marian mystery of patience, exercised in the certainty that life will conquer death and light will pierce darkness. The image of Mary as Star of the Sea is especially suggestive in the north, where the night sky for much of the year is a feature also of daytime. Perhaps that is why Grieg came up with one of the most beautiful settings of the ancient poem.
FossilAny reader of Scripture, anyone whose life is paced by the liturgy, is used to living within a long chronological continuity. The life of Christ our Lord, the voyages of Paul, the Psalms of David, and even the creation and fall of Adam and Eve are somehow contemporary with us, brought close by that relativisation of time that faith enables, and indeed presupposes. On Svalbard I was given a tangible reminder that even such antiquities are really rather recent. Before leaving, I was given this lovely fossil of an ammonite. It is, give or take a few millennia, some 40 million years old. I cannot begin to understand what such a time span means; but I do see that it puts much that seems to us present emergency into perspective. I shall keep the ammonite on my desk, as a reminder.
MannI first encountered Hanns Zischler on the screen as the ambiguous Captain von Lerenau in Europa Europa. He was eerily credible as Klaus Barbie in La Traque and as the amiable forger Hans, an unlikely Mossad agent, in Spielberg’s Munich. Now you can see him as Thomas Mann in Paweł Pawlikowski’s Fatherland, a brilliant account of Mann’s journey to Weimar in 1949, to receive the Goethe Prize. The Nobel laureate thought this foray into the Soviet-occupied East a unifying, grandly European gesture. In fact it embroiled him as a pawn in a political game. Mann’s mixture of egotism and humanity is rendered in a way that seems to me accurate. Chilling is his response to the news of his oldest son’s suicide. With intelligence and tact, Pawlikowski develops the theme of Mann’s ambivalence in such a way that viewers are brought to consider, uncomfortably, the relative purity of their own motivations. In a recent interview, Zischler spoke of his engagement with the role. He says he would count it among the three or four most consequential of his career. That is a big statement, coming from one of our time’s best actors.
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Today we celebrate the feast of St. Teresa of Calcutta. St. Teresa known as “Mother Teresa” dedicated her life to helping the sick and the poor and founded The Missionaries of Charity Order. She was beatified by Pope John Paul II Read More 12 Likes
Today we remember St. Mac Nissi (or Oengus) When he was born, Oengus was baptised by St. Patrick at a Holy Fountain that sprang from the earth. He studied under St. Patrick and his disciples growing up, and was gifted with Read More 2 Comments
Today we celebrate St. Gregory the Great, pope and doctor of the Church St. Gregory the Great, Roman noble who was Prefect of the City before becoming a monk. As pope, he established a pattern for the papacy in years Read More 1 Comments
Conducted Holy Hour of Eucharistic Adoration Led by Fr. John Keane , Director of Eucharistic Adoration Holy Hour St. Patrick's Church, Fermoy - Monday 21st September Rosary at 7pm Eucharistic Adoration at 7:30pm It will be an hour of resting with Jesus, asking Him Read More 2 Comments
In Midleton recently. Absolutely beautiful Holy Hour . God Bless you Fr Keane.A wonderful preacher.🙏🙏Every every success to you i loved loved it in castledermot
East Cork Camino of Faith, Hope and Friendship The third stage of the inter-parish Camino takes place on Saturday 5th September from Castlemartyr to Ballintotis. This stage will be guided, and pilgrims are asked to stay together as a group Read More 1 Likes
