Petition re. ineffective policing of Abortion Act 1967

 Just a short post to ask for your support 
for a petition on

'change.org', criticising the government's totally ineffective policing of the Abortion Act 1967.

Thank you, and please pass on to family and friends. 

Please join this campaign: http://chn.ge/1lkAY

                                                                                       

                                  

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The cry of the Unborn

Hear me O God.  Hear.

From the depths of my condemned cell I cry.
None will hear me but You because You see,
I have no vote.
 

I did not murder nor did I steal or wound.
Yet I am held here helpless before the sterile steel.
Or the poisoned needle.
A death too brutal for murderers is a death
reserved for me.
 

No comforting breast nor loving Mother's arms await me.
My body will be given to be burned.
What have I done? I have not earned
this sordid unlamented end.
 

In sin was I conceived. Unwanted I die
before I shall be born.
O when the metal enters my brain,
when I shall kick my last convulsive agony,
take me, take me to Your arms.
 

None will console me, none cherish me.
None hear my last suffocated
shriek from the traitorous womb.
Save You, save only You.
O love me God.
 

                                                   John Francis Collins R.I.P. 

Grateful acknowledgement to Richard Collins -  'LINEN ON THE HEDGEROW'

'To Preach the Truth to the face of Falsehood' - Father Mapple's Sermon to the Whalers

 Resurrection of Christ - by Piero della Francisca; a fresco, painted between 1463-1465

       'Wishing everyone a blessed and happy Easter - Deo Gratias'

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                                                                     Herman Melville 1885
 ‘Father Mapple’s Sermon to the Whalers’ - from 'Moby Dick' (1851) by Herman Melville (1819-1891)
 
‘ ….  Then God spake unto the fish; and from the shuddering cold and blackness of the sea, the whale came breeching up towards the warm and pleasant sun, and all the delights of air and earth; and “vomited out Jonah upon the dry land”; when the word of the Lord came a second time; and Jonah, bruised and beaten – his ears like two sea-shells, still multitudinously murmuring of the ocean – Jonah did the Almighty’s bidding.  And what was that, shipmates?  To preach the Truth to the face of Falsehood! That was it!
   
 ‘This, shipmates, this is that other lesson; and woe to that pilot of the living God who slights it.  Woe to him whom this world charms from Gospel duty! Woe to him who seeks to pour oil upon the waters when God has brewed them into a gale! Woe to him who seeks to please rather than to apal!  Woe to him whose good name is more to him than goodness! Woe to him, who, in this world, courts not dishonour! Woe to him who would not be true, even though to be false were damnation! Yea, woe to him who, as the great Pilot Paul has it, while preaching to others is himself a castaway!’
   
 He drooped and fell away from himself for a moment; then lifting his face to them again, showed a deep joy in his eyes, as he cried out with a heavenly enthusiasm, ‘But oh! Shipmates! On the starboard hand of every woe, there is a sure delight; and higher the top of that delight, than the bottom of the woe is deep.  Is not the main-truck higher than the keelson (*) is low? Delight is to him – a far, far upward and inward delight – who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.  Delight is to him whose strong arms yet support him, when the ship of this base, treacherous world has gone down beneath him.  Delight is to him who gives no quarter in the truth, and kills, burns, and destroys all sin though he pluck it out from under the robes of  Senators and Judges.  Delight, top-gallant delight is to him, who acknowledges no law or lord, but the Lord his God, and is only a patriot to heaven.  Delight is to him, whom all the waves of the billows of the seas of the boisterous mob can ever shake from this sure Keel of the Ages.  And eternal delight and deliciousness will be his, who coming to lay him down, can say with his final breath - O Father! – chiefly known to me by thy rod – mortal or immortal, here I die.  I have striven to be Thine, more than to be this world’s, or mine own.  Yet this is nothing; I leave eternity to thee; for what is man that he should live out the lifetime of his God?’
   
 He said no more, but slowly waving a benediction, covered his face with his hands, and so remained kneeling, till all the people had departed, and he was left alone in the place.
 
(*) keelson – line of timber fastening ship’s floor-timbers to keel. (See also kelson)

Herman Melville (1819-1881).  American poet and novelist; born in New York City, son of a merchant. Particularly remembered for 'Moby Dick' or 'The White Whale', his epic novel of the sea and whaling and the life of man.

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                                                                Sir Walter Raleigh (1588)

'O Eloquent, Just, and Mighty Death' - from 'History of the World' (1614) by Sir Walter Raleigh (1552 -1618) - a prisoner in the Tower of London at the time.

'Death, which hateth and destroyeth man, is believed;  God, which hath made him and loves him, is always deferred. I have considered (saith Solomon) all the works that are under the sun, and bekold, all is vanity, and vexation of spirit; but who believes it, till Death tells it us; it was Death, which opening the conscience of Charles the first, made him enjoin his son Philip to restore Navarre; and King Francis the first of France, to command that justice should be done upon the murderers of the Protestants in Merindol and Cabrieres, which till then he neglected.  It is therefore Death alone that can suddenly make man to know himself. He tells the proud and insolent, that they are but abjects, and humbles them at the instant; makes them cry, complain, and repent, yea, even to hate their forepassed happiness.  He takes the account of the rich, and proves him a beggar; a naked beggar, which hath interest in nothing, but in the gravel that fills his mouth.  He holds a glass before the eyes of the most beautiful, and makes them see therein, their deformity and rottenness; and they acknowledge it.

O elequent, just, and mighty Death! whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised: thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty, and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words,  'Hic iacet'- Here lies ...'

 Sir Walter Raleigh.(1552 - 1618).   Courtier, soldier, explorer, writer and poet. Born in Devonshire, a Protestant and favourite of Queen Elizabeth 1, beheaded for treason under James 1. The above passage is taken from his 'History of the World' which he wrote in 1614, whilst a prisoner in the Tower of London. An interesting and revealing passage from a man, often depicted by contemporary historians as a pirate and brigand during his lifetime, yet condemning those very vices with which he has been accused.

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 'The first dart that wounds and frequently robs chaste souls of life, finds admission through the eyes.  By them David, the beloved of God, fell.  By them was Solomon, once the inspired of the Holy Ghost, drawn into the greatest abominations.'
                                     'Thoughts from St.Alphonsus de Liguori'                                              

'Go forth, swiftly, Christian Soul, to meet the Crowned Lord' - Caryll Houselander

Last week was a sad time on Stronsay, particularly for the congregation of Our Lady’s chapel, as we mourned the death of John Friel, our respected and much loved longest serving parishioner, at the relatively early age of 63 years.

                                                         John Friel - RIP

John and his wife Marilyn, both originally from the Liverpool area, moved to Stronsay in the 1980’s, when there was no Catholic chapel, and to hear Mass it was necessary to sail to Kirkwall on mainland Orkney, via the ferry, a major undertaking in those days, or for the parish priest from Kirkwall to visit Stronsay, which for various reasons was a rare occurrence.
When the Sons of the Most Holy Redeemer (F.SS.R), also known as the Transalpine Redemptorists, moved to Papa Stronsay from the Isle of Sheppey, in the late 1990’s, it was the answer to John’s prayer. He immediately put himself at the service of the monks, and as a skilled joiner and experienced general builder, it was not long before he became the virtual site manager on Papa Stronsay, under the direction of Fr Michael Mary and Fr Anthony Mary. 

                                         Approaching Papa Stronsay by boat

The development of Golgotha Monastery, Papa Stronsay, has progressed from an island  with one main house and various dilapidated outbuildings, to an island with two houses, three chapels, a large library, more than twenty individual monk’s cells with foundations for more, a large separate refectory with modern cooking facilities, a bell-tower equipped with heavy working bells, extensive concrete footways, strengthened and repaired  pier and sea walls, a very large greenhouse in which is grown a wide variety of fruit and vegetables, guest’s accommodation, three purpose built warehouses plus numerous modernised outbuildings for storage of farming equipment, materials, animal feed, etc, and for sheltering the cattle and other animals in the extreme winter months. 

                     

                                         Repairing the sea wall on Papa Stronsay


Not content with immersing himself in the work on Papa Stronsay, John was also involved in the conversion work of Our Lady’s chapel, Stronsay, which when the monks first arrived was an  outbuilding at the end of the quay, used mainly for storage purposes. Today we have a beautiful Chapel in which the Blessed Sacrament is kept, and in which daily Mass is offered.

 





      
     Our Lady's Chapel 2012          ---        prior to conversion 2002                        
                                                                                                                                      

 





   Our Lady's Chapel 2012          ---           prior to conversion 2002                                                                                           
  (photos courtesy of Transalpine Redemptorist's website)

John was first diagnosed with cancer about nine months ago and the prognosis was not good – he was given only weeks to live. He underwent chemotherapy and amazingly, some said miraculously, the cancer on his lung disappeared. Sadly his joy was to be short-lived, for the cancer returned, and in spite of treatment, spread throughout his body.

He died last Monday morning at about 1.20 a.m. fortified by the Rites of Holy Church, with his wife Marilyn and Fr Youssef  FSSR at his bedside. John was a devotee of Our Lady and wore the Brown Scapular in her honour, and I truly believe that she was taking special care of John in his last hours. The weather here has been really wild and stormy over several weeks, to such an extent that the monks on Papa Stronsay, which included Fr Michael,  have often found it impossible to bring their small boat across, and have been  stranded sometimes for days, waiting for the weather to improve.

Fr Youssef was scheduled to return from the Mission in New Zealand, at the end of January, and in fact arrived back in Stronsay last week, just two or three days before John died. He stayed in the monastery house (St Magnus) on Stronsay, about 100 yards from John’s home, and was immediately at hand in John’s last hours; truly a great blessing, I’m sure through the intercession of our Blessed Lady.

John’s funeral was held last Friday, 7 February, on Papa Stronsay, with a sung Requiem Mass celebrated by Fr Michael Mary FSSR, with  Marilyn and her two sisters, John’s two brothers, the FSSR community and Stronsay friends in attendance, followed by internment in the monastery cemetery. The weather was unusually and exceptionally kind, another great blessing.

John will be greatly missed by us all, not least by his friends from Our Lady’s chapel. He was a faithful and cheerful Catholic, courageous in his belief and not afraid to say so. He was absolutely loyal to the Magisterium of the Church, and was delighted to give his total and absolute support to Fr Michael when he  pledged his  loyalty and that of the FSSR community to Pope Benedict XVI after Summorum Pontificum (July 2007).  

‘Eternal rest give unto him O Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen.’

Please remember John in your prayers, also his wife Marilyn, and his brothers - thank you.


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I recently came across this rather lovely poem, written in the early 1940s by Caryll Houselander - Catholic writer, poet, mystic.

                                                                       Caryll Houselander


A Coffin in Church

By the Sanctuary
There is a small coffin,
It is draped with a violet pall,
And round it
Four candles burn,
Four flames of peace.

I cannot guess
The hidden features,
But I think that they are smiling,
Because they have passed
Through the valley
Of the shadow of Death.

And the Blessed,
With extended hands,
Welcome
The soul that is crystal
Reflecting light
From the purifying fire.

The haloes of the Blessed
Are the lights
Across the water
From the shore,
That shelters
The last harbour
Like the crook
Of a lover’s curved arm,
Holding the Beloved
At rest.

The Angels
With their wings crowding,
Come like flocking birds
To guide a sparrow,
From its rifled nest
To the sun.

And Mary,
God’s Mother
With mild almond eyes
That laugh softly,
Sees but a child in a cradle,
Waiting
For the morning
To wake it.

I, who am still
In the valley
Of the shadow of Death,
Fondly speed him.

“Go forth, swiftly,
Christian Soul !
To meet the Crowned Lord.
Who is crowned with the thorn
In flower.

“Go forth !
Like Lazarus,
Who was once poor.”

Ack. Caryll Houselander – written early 1940s.

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 'Renew each day the resolution that you have taken of advancing in perfection.  Do not lose courage in whatever state of tepidity you may find yourself  '
(Thoughts from St Alphonsus)