Christmas past and present

I remember the Christmas Santa brought me a bus. It was fitted with battery operated lights. I spent most of that day down on my hunkers 'driving' the bus around the floor. It so happens that right now I'm sitting in the room in which I unwrapped the parcel that contained that bus.

And all the blather I have heard between that day and now. Of course I have heard good words too. But.

My late parents always come to mind at Christmas. They were completely different to one another. My mother burned her bra before Irish women were wearing them and Dad was a gentle soul. That's not to say Mum was not gentle and my father was not strong-willed. Anyway, what's 'gentleness'? I have met the biggest hoodlums, who in the common estimation of 'men' were 'gentle' and 'kind'. The 'holy' ones too.

The main 'thing', maybe the only 'thing' I know about holiness is the lives my parents lived.

Earlier this year a senior cleric referred to the hard work and holiness of a priest. I was fascinated by the comment and spent many hours thinking, laughing, comparing the 'holiness and hard work' of the priest with the holiness and hard work of my parents.

For me the moral of the story was and is, we priests need to be careful with our words.

In the name of my parents and in their memory, happy Christmas to readers of this blog.