Chris
McDonnell, UKchristymac733@gmail.com
Chris
McDonnell, UK
christymac733@gmail.com
Previous articles by Chris Comments welcome here
September
26, 2018
I'm
just passing through
The opening lines of Mary Chapin Carpenter's song 'Goodnight America' tell a story of a journey
"I'm
standing at a traffic light somewhere in West L.A.
waiting for the sign to change then I'll be on my way.
The noise, the heat, the crush of cars just robs me of my nerve
and someone yells and blasts their horn and pins me to the curb.
I'm a stranger here, no one you would know
my ship has not come in but I keep hoping though..."
Journey songs and journey narratives abound. They speak of the travels of individuals or groups travelling together, of their joys and tribulations, their anxiety and troubles and often, of their painful loneliness.
We have all been there sometime, in a strange place, hesitant in an unknown town or city, not sure of the next step to take. Others, our friends and neighbors, have been there too, often in our company but unable to share the experience. Being a stranger, whatever the circumstances, can be an unsettling experience.
Many are feeling a sense of discomfort in the Church in present times. They feel that they have become a stranger here, 'no one you would know, I'm just passing through' , to quote again from the lyrics of Goodnight America. Being a stranger in an unknown place is difficult enough, but experiencing such isolation in one's own home, that is of a different order.
The news that Francis has summoned the Presidents of world-wide Bishops' Conferences to Rome early next year to address our current crisis of confidence in their leadership, is more than welcome. But it is only the first step; the outcome must be more than words of contrition and comfort. We have been down that route all too often. What we now need is a radical revision of our current behavior code, a way of responding to serious allegations and proof of misconduct with firm and effective action. Such a move will take courage and vision; and it must involve the laity. The closed shop of 'protective clericalism' has had its day. New ground rules are called for, not only from within our familiar home of the Christian family, but also in our relationships with the secular Authorities of Government. The respect between Church and national Government needs to be established on the basis of clear judgment and transparency. When crimes are committed there should be no protective hiding place.
It is our lot to ride these rough waters together, not in despair but in trust that the Lord is still with us in the boat just as he was with the fishermen when storms swept the sea of Galilee.
He shares our Journey Time. These few words were written some time ago for a friend in trouble. They are pertinent to our Church in these present days.
Out of all this
must come laughter
and the gradual drying of tears,
fears diminish as the finish,
slow to show at first is seen
-after all this is done and gone.
When raging hurt swells
and finally breaks composure
surely born, when worn
by passing days
you reach that no-more time
-after all this is done and gone.
When dull deep ache, easing
drifts away, nights in sleep
return, when much is lost in distance,
just as day is chased by dusk
and only birds remain
-after all this is done and gone.
When night-wrapped world has turned
and night lights that burned
are blinded by the sun to nothingness,
when dawn dispels those darkened hours
and day flares in brilliance
-after all this is done and gone.
Then indeed comes morning awakening,
time for rebuilding, remaking, reshaping,
as sunlight breaks,
dreams stream between blinded windows,
fingering hands open in expectant greeting
-after all this is done and gone.
We should always remember that Dawn follows the darkest of nights to make things new again. The pilgrimage we make has many bumps and twists that cause personal disruption and difficulty; they might slow the journey time but they can be overcome if we persist.
Towards the end of Carpenter's song, there come these lines.
" I'm looking with a pilgrim's eyes upon some promised land, and dreaming with my heart outstretched as if it were my hand. And I'll hit the cross Bronx just in time to beat the rush hour lock, I've got no clue what time it is from this world's busted clock"
Faith tells us that the clock ain't busted, just presently telling of troubled and disconsolate times.
END
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