An Easter Message

Robin Redbreast

Amid the ruins of St. Kevin’s Monastery, Glendalough,

this Robin Redbreast was perched upon an ancient tombstone.

It was as if he was waiting for me.

Fearlessly, he allowed me to come so close, within six inches.

With his knowing look, he shared with me his story:

“Many, many years ago a Robin Redbreast was there on Calvary

on that dreadful Friday.

Jesus was crucified and the Earth was darkened.

That Robin Redbreast was the only bird that dared to be present.

He perched on the very cross beam beside the torn and bleeding Hand.

Amid the jeering taunts of the mob, the Robin sensed the muted sobbing of the women, the forgiving words of Jesus and His cries of agony and loss.

What could he do?

Only what he knew. So he raised his little head and began to sing

as beautifully and loudly as any robin could.

Throughout those three long hours, he sang and he sang.

Then his Master, crying out in a loud voice, bowed His Head and died.

The little robin’s heart burst in sorrow and song.

Falling from the Cross, his chest brushed against the bleeding Hand of the Master, to be forever marked by the Precious Blood.

Forever afterwards, each and every Robin around the world bears that mark of un-ending love”.

May you find in your heart this Easter and always, that same unending Love.

Peter

Grace Cottage

28 March 2013

What do we really need to give and to receive?

It’s a time for Christmas greetings and best wishes. Coming from an ingrained Passionist tradition, my old heart responds to the joy, the pain and the hope of Christmas. 

Why is it that joy and pain are brothers? They are, as the dance of darkness and light, moving to the unpredictable beat of our often violent, then serenely calm weather.

We really never know what life is going to be like from one moment to the next. Where can we find constancy, a guiding permanent light, a steady and sure hope? We all look for these, especially this Christmas.

Could we have a darker moment than Sandy Hook Primary School? This unfathomable tragedy becomes a focal point of all the darkness, cruelty and evil across the countries of our world. What can stand against it? How can we survive?

Maybe the answer is found in the very midst, in the heart of those terrible events. In a true sense it takes me back to Calvary, not Bethlehem, to darkness and pain and fear and death.

Yet, in the middle of that darkness, in a little washroom, is a teacher with her 25 little children, huddled, trying to be silent in the darkness with the sound of continual gunfire on the other side of the door. The teacher, in extreme fear, believes that she and the little ones are next.

What can she do? She thinks of the parents of these little ones. What would they do? And, in this moment, she hopes she is not over-reaching her position, but what she is to say, she knows, comes from her breaking heart.

“I love you. I love you. Every one of you. I love you so dearly. You are my children. I love you. Do not be afraid. All will be well. I love you. I love you.”

Later she explains, “I believed that we were next. We were going to be shot. I did not want the last sound that these little ones of mine would hear, would be the violent sound of gunfire. I wanted them to hear ‘I love you. I love you’.”

What more needs to be said about Christmas? What else do we have to do?

Peter cp

Passionist Family Group Movement

Grace Cottage  Sydney, Australia