St Andrew's RC Church Bearsden
Follow us!
  • Home
  • Services
  • Bulletin
  • Youth Ministry
  • Reachout
  • YouTube
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Piety Stall
    • Wedding
    • Mass Cards
    • Sympathy
    • Thinking of You
    • First Holy Communion
    • Confirmation
    • Mothers Day
    • Easter
  • PPC
  • Gallery
  • Meditation Corner
  • Contact
  • Online Services
  • General Info
    • Church Halls
    • Links
    • Video
    • Justice and Peace Scotland
    • Groups
    • Fabric & Finance
    • Parish Register
    • Safeguarding

Wednesday 15th July 2020

15/7/2020

0 Comments

 
“The Daffodils”
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not be but gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
William Wordsworth
Picture

Monsignor Ryan’s Reflections on “The Daffodils”

A brief summary of the poem’s composition might be useful by way of introduction.

On the 15th of April 1802, Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy were walking around the Glencoyne Bay in Ullswater when they came upon, “a long belt of daffodils”. As Dorothy put it so memorably in her journal,
​“We saw a few daffodils close to the waterside, we fancied that the lake had floated the seed ashore and that that the little colony had so sprung up. But as we went along there were more and yet more and at last under the boughs of the trees, we saw that there was a long belt of them along the shore about the breadth of a country turnpike road. I never saw daffodils so beautiful. They grew among the mossy stones, some rested their heads against these stones as on a pillow for weariness and the rest tossed and reeled and danced and seemed as if they laughed in the wind that blew them over the lake.”
The influence of this passage from Dorothy’s journal can be seen in Wordsworth’s poem.

“Daffodils” first appeared in print in 1807 and at first to negative reviews. But the poem has in many ways become William Wordsworth’s defining work. It neatly reflects “Romanticism” and its core ideas, the relationship between man and the natural word, the solitariness of the individual and the almost religious awe that nature inspires. The plain language that Wordsworth used in this poem is the language of the ordinary man. Yet effects can be subtle. These daffodils contain much significance. These are simply a few of my own thoughts on this much loved and era-defining poem.

William Wordsworth 1770 – 1850    

William Wordsworth was born on April 7, 1770, in Cockermouth, Cumberland, England. Wordsworth’s mother died when he was 7, and he was an orphan at 13. Despite these losses, he did well at Hawkshead Grammar School where he wrote his first poetry and went on to study at Cambridge University. He did not excel there, but managed to graduate in 1791.

Wordsworth had visited France in 1790, in the midst of the French Revolution and was a supporter of the new government’s republican ideals. On a return trip to France the next year, he fell in love with Annette Vallon, who became pregnant. However, the declaration of war between England and France in 1793 separated the two. Left adrift and without income in England, Wordsworth was influenced by radicals such as William Godwin.

In 1795, Wordsworth received an inheritance that allowed him to live with his younger sister, Dorothy. That same year, Wordsworth met Samuel Taylor Coleridge. The two became friends, and together worked on Lyrical Ballads (1798). The volume contained poems such as Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" and Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey," and helped Romanticism take hold in English poetry.

Often known simply as “Daffodils” or “The Daffodils” William Wordsworth’s lyric poem begins “I wandered lonely as a cloud” is, in many ways, the quintessential English Romantic poem. Its theme is the relationship between the individual and the natural.
0 Comments

Wednesday 8th July 2020

8/7/2020

0 Comments

 
“ ‘Hope' is the thing with Feathers"
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
 
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
 
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
Emily Dickinson
Picture

Monsignor Ryan’s Reflections on “Hope” is the thing with Feathers 

“ ‘Hope’ is the thing with Feathers” is one of the best known of Emily Dickinson’s poems. An extended metaphor, it likens the concept of hope to a feathered bird that is permanently perched in the soul of every human. There it sings, never stopping in its quest to inspire. 
​
Full of figurative language it reminds us that hope springs eternal. The rhythm of the poem varies which may not be apparent at first reading. Readily set to music, the words are a reminder of the poet’s yearning for fulfilment in both creativity and love. They beautifully encapsulate what hope is for us all – something that inspires and can make us fly.

Emily Dickinson 1830 – 1886

Emily Dickinson an American poet was born in Massachusetts. Her father was from a prominent American family. He was actively involved in both state and national politics.

Emily Dickinson’s poetry was heavily influenced by the metaphysical poets of 17th century England, as well by the Book of Revelations (Apocalypse) and her upbringing in a Puritan New England town which encouraged a Calvinist, orthodox and conservative approach to Christianity.

​She was not publicly recognised during her lifetime but upon her death her family discovered 1800 poems covering a wide variety of subjects.
0 Comments

Wednesday 1st July 2020

1/7/2020

0 Comments

 
Down By the Salley Gardens
Down by the salley gardens
   my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens
   with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy,
   as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish,
   with her would not agree.

In a field by the river
   my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder
   she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy,
   as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish,
   and now am full of tears.
W.B. Yeats
Picture

Monsignor Ryan’s Reflections on “Down by the Salley Gardens”

“Down by the Salley Gardens” was one of Yeats’ great early poems. It was first published in “The Wanderings Of Oisin and Other Poems”. Although this is one of Yeats most straightforward poems it is worth exploring some of the language and imagery. What are the “Salley Gardens” and what was W. B. Yeats doing down by them with his beloved?

Although it is not known for sure one theory is that “Salley Gardens” refer to the banks of the River Ballysadare (near Sligo). Willow trees along the river were used to cultivate thatch for the roofs of houses. This may have given rise to the names for the gardens. The Latin for willow tree is “salix” but the Irish Gaelic for willow trees is “saileach” which is nearer and which may have given rise to the word “salley”.

In summary, “Down by the Salley Gardens” sees Yeats’ speaker ruefully reminiscing about his younger days with his sweetheart when they would go and meet by the salley gardens. His beloved would entreat him to “take love easy” and not to be too impetuous or rash when it came to love and relationships.

But he didn’t heed her words because he was young and foolish. Then looking back he is “full of tears” regretting the fact that he didn’t listen to his lover’s advice.

​“Down by the Salley Gardens” may be an early poem of W. B. Yeats, but it remains one of his most celebrated lyric poems because of the regret and sorrow running through it. While the locus of the poem seems to be Sligo, for me the poem reminds me of nearby Donegal, of long summer days, sandy beaches and the pleasantest of memories, good craic and good company. 

William Butler Yeats 1865 – 1939

W. B. Yeats was an Irish poet and one of the foremost figures of 20th century literature. A pillar of the Irish literary establishment he helped to found the Abbey Theatre and in his latter days he served two terms as a senator in the Irish Free State. His early works include “The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems”. He was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1923.

Although trained as lawyer he abandoned the law for art school. In addition to his poetry, Yeats devoted significant energy to writing plays. He collaborated with Lady Gregory to develop works for the Irish stage e.g. “Cathleen ni Houlihan” then “Deirdre” and  “At the Hawk’s Well”.

He became a political figure in the new Irish Free State. The publication of “Last Poems” and “Two Plays” shortly after his death further cemented his legacy as a leading poet and playwright.
0 Comments

Wednesday 24th June Monsignor Ryan

24/6/2020

0 Comments

 
The Naming of Cats
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey--
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter--
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover--
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.
T. S. Eliot
Picture

Monsignor Ryan’s Reflections on “The Naming of Cats”

The Naming of Cats was published in 1939. It was featured in a poetry collection called, “Old Possums Book of Practical Cats”. This collection contains whimsical poems about feline psychology and sociology. “The Naming of Cats “ particularly describes the names of cats and how they receive them. This is addressed to humans by the “lyrical voice” who tries to teach the reader more about feline life. The poem shares the mysteriousness and the deviousness of cats. Most of the poems in “Old Possums Book of Practical Cats” were written in the 1930’s and included in letters to T S Eliot’s godchildren. In 1939, these were included and first published. “Old Possums Book of Practical cats” includes fifteen poems. The last one in the collection, “Cat Morgan introduces Himself”, was added in the 1952 edition. The Naming of Cats” and “Old Possum Book of Practical cats” was adapted for stage by Andrew Lloyd Webber. His appraisal is the best-known musical adaptation of the poem.

“The Naming of Cats”, has a great number of literary devices such as allusion, similes, and repetitions. Personification is one of the main literary devices as cats are given human characteristics. The “lyrical voice” acquires a didactic, but playful tone. He/she explains about the naming of cats, but at the same time, he/she plays with the external references and different types of allusions. The rhythm scheme of the poem is ABAB and produces a short and rhythmical dialogue.

The “lyrical voice” explains how a cat can have three different names firstly, the name given by their human family, secondly a particular name, thirdly an unknown name for humans.

The poem begins by stating the importance of the naming of cats. There is an allusion to “Alice in Wonderland” to compare the reader’s possible thought while reading to a reference he/she knows and has read about. (“You may think that I am as a mad as hatter”).

Notice the emphasis made in capital letters to the number of names a cat has. Then the “lyrical voice” talks about the first name, the family name and gives examples of names (such as … /all of them sensible everyday names”) these repetitions and rhyme schemes create a particular rhythmical pace in the poem which is almost song like. Then the “lyrical voice” proceeds to talk about the second name a cat has. This is a particular name which the cat possesses as it brings pride to the cat.
​
Finally the “lyrical voice” talks about the third and last name. There is an emphasis on the impossibility of knowing this name (“and that is the name you’ll never guess/the name that no human research can discern”). But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess. There is some mystery about the final name, as the narrator states it will never be known to humans as is evidenced in the final lines (“of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:/his ineffable, effable Effanineffable”). This change in rhythm and structure allows the “lyrical voice” to finish the poem dramatically and to capture the reader’s attention.

Thomas Stearns Eliot 1888 – 1965 

T. S. Eliot was a British essayist, playwright and social critic. Although he was born in the United States, he became a British citizen in 1927. He moved to England in 1914, at the age of 25, and stayed in England for the rest of his life.

He is renowned as one of the greatest poets of the twentieth century. He was one of the leading figures in the Modernist movement in the early 1900’s. Among his most famous poems are: “The Waste Land”, “The Hollow Man”, “Ash Wednesday” and “Four Quartets”.

​T S Eliot won a Nobel Prize for literature in 1948.
0 Comments

Wednesday 17th June Monsignor Ryan

17/6/2020

1 Comment

 
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea 
In a beautiful pea-green boat, 
They took some honey, and plenty of money, 
Wrapped up in a five-pound note. 
The Owl looked up to the stars above, 
And sang to a small guitar, 
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love, 
What a beautiful Pussy you are, 
You are, 
You are! 
What a beautiful Pussy you are!" 
 
Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl! 
How charmingly sweet you sing! 
O let us be married! too long we have tarried: 
But what shall we do for a ring?" 
They sailed away, for a year and a day, 
To the land where the Bong-Tree grows 
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood 
With a ring at the end of his nose, 
His nose, 
His nose, 
With a ring at the end of his nose. 
 
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling 
Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will." 
So they took it away, and were married next day 
By the Turkey who lives on the hill. 
They dined on mince, and slices of quince, 
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;  
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, 
They danced by the light of the moon, 
The moon, 
The moon, 
They danced by the light of the moon.
Picture
Edward Lear

Monsignor Ryan’s Reflections on “The Owl and the Pussy-Cat” 

“The Owl and the Pussy-Cat” is probably Edward Lear’s most famous poem, and a good example of Victorian nonsense verse. But can we really analyse nonsense literature, or subject it to critical scrutiny? After all, the very name implies that it is not supposed to make sense. Yet whenever a poem attains iconic status, it is worth reflecting on how it achieved that status.

“The Owl and the Pussy-Cat” was first published in Lear’s 1871 collection, “Nonsense, Stories, Botany, and Alphabets”. The poem, in summary, tells of the love between the owl and the pussycat and their subsequent marriage, with the turkey presiding over the wedding. They obtained the wedding ring from a pig who sells own his own for a shilling. It is not so well known that Edward Lear wrote “The Owl and the Pussy-Cat for a friend’s daughter, Janet Symonds who was born in 1865 and was three years old when Lear wrote the poem. Janet was the daughter of a friend, John A. Symonds who was a pioneering poet in his own right. Concerning “The Owl and Pussy-Cat” is one male and one female? We have a definite answer supplied by Lear himself in a little known sequel. There it is revealed that the owl is male and the pussycat female.

The word “runcible” in the poem was a coinage of Lear for this particular poem. Yet nobody is sure what “runcible” actually means. It is defined in the Oxford Dictionary as simply a nonsense word coined by Lear. Lear himself didn’t help matters. As well as applying the word to a spoon he went onto to use “runcible" to describe his hat, a wall and even his cat.
​
But this still leaves us with the question is “The Owl and the Pussy-Cat” meant to mean anything or is it a delightful fantasy? After all it features anthropomorphic animals: the owl and the pussycat can talk, the owl sings a song and plays the guitar, the pig is involved in financial transactions and the turkey officiates at ceremonies. So is this making a commentary on Victorian society? There are endless interpretations and theories. My own opinion is that we are dealing with nonsense literature and should consequently treat it as such. We are clearly in a fantasy world here, and should surely simply enjoy the delicious use of language, rhyme and imagery.

Edward Lear 1812-1888

Edward Lear was an English artist, illustrator, musician, author and poet.

He is principally known for his literary nonsense in poetry and prose and especially his limericks, a literary form he took pride in popularising.
1 Comment

Wednesday 10th June Monsignor Ryan

10/6/2020

0 Comments

 
Stop All the Clocks (”Funeral Blues”)

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
 
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
 
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
 
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden
Picture

Monsignor Ryan’s Reflections on “Funeral Blues” (Stop All the Clocks)

“Funeral Blues” (Stop All the Clocks) was written and first published in 1938. It is a poem about the immensity of grief: the speaker has lost someone important but the rest of the world doesn’t slow down or stop to pay its respects-it just keeps plugging along as if nothing has changed. The speaker experiences this indifference as a kind of torment and demands that the world grieves too.

Grief in the poem, is thus presented as deeply isolating, an emotion that cuts off the people who grieve from the world around them. It conveys an unrelenting pessimism best exemplified by the last line, “For nothing now can ever come to any good’. The poem is morose, sad elegy that wonderfully describes the feelings associated with grieving.
​
The poem is principally famous for modern audiences thanks to its appearance in the successful, romantic comedy, “Four Weddings and a Funeral”.

W. H. Auden 1907-1973

Wystan Hugh Auden was an English poet, playwright, critic and librettist. He exerted a major influence on the poetry of the Twentieth century. Although born in York he grew up in Birmingham. He was known for his outstanding intellect and wit. His first book of poems was published in 1930 with the help of T. S. Elliot.
​
Just before the outbreak of Word War II, Auden emigrated to the United States. It was there in 1948 that he won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry for his work, “The Age of Anxiety”. Much of his poetry is concerned with moral issues and evidences a strong political, social and psychological context. He collaborated in writing libretti for the musical works of Benjamin Britten, Stravinsky and Mozart.
0 Comments

Wednesday 3rd June 2020 Monsignor Ryan

3/6/2020

0 Comments

 
The Old Vicarage, Grantchester
(written at the Cafe des Westens, Berlin, May 1912)
Just now the lilac is in bloom,
All before my little room;
And in my flower-beds, I think,
Smile the carnation and the pink;
And down the borders, well I know,
The poppy and the pansy blow . . .
Oh! there the chestnuts, summer through,
Beside the river make for you
A tunnel of green gloom, and sleep
Deeply above; and green and deep.
Here am I, sweating, sick, and hot,
And there the shadowed waters fresh
Lean up to embrace the naked flesh.
Temperamentvoll German Jews
Drink beer around; -- and there the dews
Are soft beneath a morn of gold.
Here tulips bloom as they are told;
Unkempt about those hedges blows
An English unofficial rose;
And there the unregulated sun
Slopes down to rest when day is done,
And wakes a vague unpunctual star,
A slippered Hesper; and there are
Meads towards Haslingfield and Coton
Where das Betreten's not verboten.
And Cambridgeshire, of all England,
The shire for Men who Understand;
And of that district I prefer
The lovely hamlet Grantchester.
For Cambridge people rarely smile,
Being urban, squat, and packed with guile;
But Grantchester! ah, Grantchester!
There's peace and holy quiet there,
Great clouds along pacific skies,
And men and women with straight eyes,
Lithe children lovelier than a dream,
A bosky wood, a slumbrous stream,
And little kindly winds that creep
Round twilight corners, half asleep.
In Grantchester their skins are white;
They bathe by day, they bathe by night;
The women there do all they ought;
The men observe the Rules of Thought.
They love the Good; they worship Truth;
They laugh uproariously in youth;
(And when they get to feeling old,
They up and shoot themselves, I'm told) . . .
The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream,
The yet unacademic stream?
Is dawn a secret shy and cold
Anadyomene, silver-gold?
And sunset still a golden sea
From Haslingfield to Madingley?
And after, ere the night is born,
Do hares come out about the corn?
Oh, is the water sweet and cool,
Gentle and brown, above the pool?
And laughs the immortal river still
Under the mill, under the mill?
Say, is there Beauty yet to find?
And Certainty? and Quiet kind?
Deep meadows yet, for to forget
The lies, and truths, and pain? . . . oh! yet
Stands the Church clock at ten to three?
And is there honey still for tea?

Picture
Rupert Brooke 1887-1915
Monsignor Ryan’s Reflections on “The Old Vicarage, Grantchester”

This poem takes me back to Primary and early High School. As they say, “You have to crawl before you can walk…”. This is what caught my imagination and gave me a taste for poetry. The rhyming couplets and the even meter, which some critics find boring and pedestrian, appeal to me. For me it is sheer nostalgia! It transports me to my youth and childhood. The quotation that propelled Rupert Brooke into the national psyche:

“If I should die, think only this of me,
That there’s some corner of a foreign field 
That is forever England.”

This is from his fifth war sonnet, “The Soldier.” The war sonnets (this is not the time nor occasion for visiting them) are probably Brooke’s finest poetry, Their quality often clouded because of the sentiments of glory they embody, were out of date almost as soon as they were expressed. Sadly Brooke died, not in the tragic heroism of Flander’s Field but rather more prosaically from sepsis as a result of a mosquito bite. He was en route to the Dardanelles when this happened. This was only six weeks after completing “The Soldier”.

Modernist critics made the Georgian poets obsolete. Brooke was judged to be a popular rather than a consciously literary poet. Having died at such an early age, he was not given the chance to redress this. Had he survived the War and been up against the likes of T.S. Elliot who knows how he would have responded to the challenge?
​
Of his Collected Poems my favourite is “The Old Vicarage” the poem he wrote in Berlin in the Spring of 1912. The Old Vicarage” named after the house in the Cambridge Village where Rupert Brooke had rooms, is a poem of nostalgia. The village was and still is an English idyll. Sitting at a table in a Berlin café, “The Old Vicarage” is Brooke’s version of “home thoughts from abroad”. Brooke recalls the scene he was missing. The poem shows Brooke’s ability to use verse, not just for varying degrees of musicality, but for scene-painting. The poem is a paean not just to this rural idyll but to English history and its people and to the ease of England compared to the regimentation of Germany. Brooke would see little of his Arcadia but in “The Old Vicarage” Grantchester he left us the perfect picture of it.

Rupert Brooke 1887-1915
Rupert Brooke was born on 3rd August 1887 at Rugby in Warwickshire. Rupert attended Rugby School where his father was a housemaster. At school Brooke excelled in both academics and athletics. From Rugby School he proceeded to King’s College, Cambridge where he completed a degree in English Literature.

He was an English poet known for his war sonnets written during the First World War.
​
After graduation he toured North America, New Zealand and the Pacific islands. He returned home shortly before the outbreak of World War I. At the outbreak of war he enlisted in a division of the Royal Navy. In 1915 he set sail for the Dardanelles. En route he developed sepsis as a result of a mosquito bite. He died on the Greek island of Skyros and he is buried in olive grove on that island.
0 Comments

Wednesday 27th May 2020 Monsignor Ryan

27/5/2020

0 Comments

 
Late have I loved you, 
O Beauty so ancient and so new, late have I loved you!
Lo, you were within,
but I outside, seeking there for you,
and upon the shapely things you have made
I rushed headlong – I, misshapen.
You were with me, but I was not with you.
They held me back far from you,
those things which would have no being,
were they not in you.
You called, shouted, broke through my deafness;
you flared, blazed, banished my blindness;
you lavished your fragrance, I gasped; and now I pant for you;
I tasted you, and now I hunger and thirst;
you touched me, and I burned for your peace.
Late have I loved you, 
O Beauty so ancient and so new, late have I loved you!
Picture
St. Augustine of Hippo, Confessions
St. Augustine’s Autobiographical Confessions 

After living a worthy life in search of truth and meaning, Augustine found what he lacked in his encounter with the Spirit of Christ. In his autobiographical “Confessions”, Augustine offers an insight into his experience of finding satisfaction in God alone.

“ Our souls are restless till they rest in You, O God.”

Augustine gives thanks to his mother (Saint Monica) for his conversion. Monica died at Civitavecchia, the Port of Rome. Augustine’s brother wanted to take their mother back to North Africa to be buried. Augustine disagreed. Even in her comatose state, Monica chided them for arguing. Her only request she told them was,

“Remember me at the altar of God.”

“Late have I loved you, O Beauty so ancient and so new, late have I loved you…”

In using this language and style, Augustine is referencing the Wisdom literature of the Old Testament, (Psalms, Book of Wisdom, Song of Songs etc). He just stopped short of plagiarising the Psalms and the Song of Songs.

This surreal time of the Pandemic has seen “Google” searches for God increase by 60%, as people turn to God for comfort at this time. This rise in searches appears to coincide with the WHO declaring a Pandemic on 11th March. We would do well to set aside a quiet moment to meditate on the lyrics of Saint Augustine and to give thanks for the gift of “That Ancient Beauty” who welcomes us into his presence daily. Like Augustine, let our prayers express our love and gratitude to God for the graces he bestows on us day by day.

Monsignor Ryan

PS There is a Guild of St. Monica, which meets on the South Side of Glasgow. They meet monthly. Their remit is to pray for sons, daughters, grand children who have lost their way. I am an unofficial chaplain to the Guild. If anyone would like to know more about the Guild, please contact me at St. Andrew’s. 

St. Augustine of Hippo 

St. Augustine, born in Roman North Africa to a devout Catholic mother and a pagan father, was a notoriously rebellious Catholic teenager who cohabitated with a girlfriend, joined an exotic Eastern cult, and ran away from his mother.

Augustine became a brilliant and renowned teacher of public speaking and was appointed by the emperor to teach in Milan, Italy, at that time the administrative capital of the Western Roman Empire.

While there, he happened to hear the preaching of the bishop of Milan, Ambrose, who baptised him in 386. St. Augustine ultimately renounced his secular career, put away his mistress, and became first a monk, then a priest, then the bishop of Hippo, a small town on the North African Coast.
 

The voluminous writings of this Early Church Father span every conceivable topic in theology, morality, philosophy, and spirituality. St. Augustine of Hippo is commonly recognised as the great teacher in the Western Church between the New Testament and St. Thomas Aquinas and is one of the Doctors of the Church.  

​He died in AD 430.
0 Comments

Wednesday 20th May 2020 Monsignor Ryan

19/5/2020

0 Comments

 
PIED BEAUTY

Glory be to God for dappled things –
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
 
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1846-1889)
As we spend more time in our gardens these days “in vacant or in pensive mood”. Are not our senses awakened by pied beauty and charged with the grandeur of God’s creation.

Gerard Manley Hopkins’, “Pied Beauty” points to the poet’s power of serious appreciation of the beauty of things around him, his poetic concentration, compassion and above all his unquestioning faith in God.
He believed that created beauty is a reflection of God, and the beauty of nature is constantly reborn and renewed. Nature has been polluted and violated by man’s industrial activities (how contemporary is that!) Yet the beauty of nature is never exhausted because,” the world is charged with the grandeur of God.”

Gerald Manley Hopkins (1846-1889) was an English poet and a Jesuit priest whose posthumous fame established him among the leading Victorian poets. His manipulation of “prosody” particularly his concept of “sprung rhythm” and use of imagery established him as an innovative writer of verse.

Two of his major themes were nature and religion. Only after his death did a friend, Robert Bridges begin to publish a few of Hopkins’ mature poems in anthologies, hoping to prepare the way for a wider acceptance of his style. By 1930 his work was recognised as one of the most accomplished literary accomplishments of the 19th century. It had a marked influence on such leading 20th century poets as T. S. Elliot, Dylan Thomas and W. H. Auden.


Picture
Picture
Right Rev. Monsignor James Ryan
0 Comments

Wednesday 13th May 2020 Monsignor Ryan

13/5/2020

0 Comments

 
​Though the dawn breaks cheerless on this place today.
My spirit walks upon a path of light.
For I know my greatness.
Though hast built me a throne within thy heart.
I dwell safely within the circle of thy care.
I cannot for a moment fall out of thine everlasting arms.
I am on my way to glory.
 
When mystery hides thee from the sight of faith and hope:
When pain turns even love to dust:
When life is bitter to the taste
And our song of joy dies down to silence,
then, Father, do for us that which is past our power to do for ourselves.
Break through our darkness with thy light.
Show us thyself in Jesus suffering on a tree,
rising from a grave,
reigning from a throne,
with all power and love for us unchanging.
So shall our fear be gone and our feet set upon a radiant path.”

(Hebridean Altars)
 Adapted by Rt. Rev. Mgr. James Ryan 

The spiritual gem that is “Hebridean Altars” was given to me by the late Canon Donald MacKay of Daliburgh, South Uist. We had been colleagues on the staff of The Royal Scots College, Valladolid/Salamanca. He gave it to me on the occasion of my leaving Salamanca in 1990. Although he was very ill he came to my 50th Anniversary Mass and celebrations and he died six weeks later.

The subtitle of “Hebridean Altars” is “The Spirit of an Island Race.” It is rarely far from my reach. This is why I would like to share this reflection with you.

“Hebridean Altars” was written by the Rev. Alistair MacLean, a Church of Scotland Minister. He was renowned for his “fire and brimstone” sermons but in "Hebridean Altars" he encapsulates the best of Celtic spirituality. This reminds us that spiritual expression is not the reserve of any one faith or creed. 
Picture
The passage I have chosen is a redaction. It is taken from two different chapters in the book, which I think bond and blend. It takes us from the brooding, cheerless place of the opening line to the exaltation of the radiant paths in the finishing line. 

This reminds us that the light of Christ is eternally glowing with a luminous radiance that can never be extinguished by any darkness, be it (COVID 19 or) even death itself.

PS. Lyricism must run in the genes. Alistair, one of his sons of the same ilk went on to be a successful author e.g. Guns of Navarone, Ice Station Zebra.
0 Comments
<<Previous

    Author

    Monsignor James Ryan
    ​

    Archives

    July 2020
    June 2020
    May 2020

    Categories

    All

    RSS Feed

Services
Bulletin
Groups
Search
Contact
St Andrew's RC Church
29 Roman Road
Bearsden
Glasgow
G61 2SN
Telephone : 0141 942 4635
Email : [email protected]
A Parish of the Archdiocese of Glasgow a Registered Scottish Charity No SC018140
Web design by St Andrews Online
([email protected] for website related matters)