Living Dangerously !

   A year or more ago when stepping into a crowded isle in church, I bumped into a man who apologised. Yes! He apologised, and explained that he was a member of the "Wobbling Club." I hadn't heard of it, and didn't admit to the possibility that I might be a member without knowing; and now I am in torment, not knowing who or what to blame when I go walking. Is it the treacherous pavements around these parts, or my walking shoes that are not of the best quality? or could it be that my limbs are not quite as strong as they used to be? “Blame”: because my gait, at times, doesn't seem quite as it should be.

   Well, to try and arrive at the truth, I crossed over the road yesterday, and set off along the footpaths that I believed to be in better condition than those on our side of the road, and all went well, until I fell, shocked! into a ravine. But, I had the presence of mind to keep my composure knowing that I had to climb back out again; and when I did climb out, I looked back in disgust at the disproportionate, dare I say, life threatening drop in the pavement that was supposed to mark the entrance to someone’s house. And I had some additional thoughts.

   Undoubtedly someone in the past thought that replacing flagstones with tarmac was a great idea, but without foreseeing the consequence; or perhaps they did, and didn't care, that as time passed, the utility companies - each in their own time -would come along and dig a hole, and then another, and yet another hole until in the end, we found ourselves walking on the the equivalent of a patchwork quilt. But that's not all: for along came the cable companies who made incisions all the way down the pavement, that sometimes, now that they are patched up - and a bit like me - veer to the right, and sometimes to the left, and almost always at a level above all the other patchwork.

   Now truthfully, I can tell you that I have fond memories of the pavements in Portrush, where I grew up. As the word suggests, they were flagged, and sometimes I enjoyed leaping from where I was to a flag in the distance. And as I raced over them, - to school that is - I know that I developed in my subconscious, a sense of proportion, - for the slabs were not all of equal size, - and precision, from the care with which, and irrespective of their size, they were laid. And I remember the men who came along and taking them up stacked them neatly at the side of the road before digging into the subsoil below. And I remember them putting them back with skill when the work was done. But sadly, in Portrush, for all it's natural beauty, the promenades are scarred with tarmac.

   Well, back home and confiding in Jenny, I told her that I didn't know whether the unsteady gait was my fault, or the fault of the wretched footpaths, but that I didn't want to resort to a walking stick, fearing, that in my 3 mile walk that would slow me down. But as wives do, she had the answer. What I needed, she told me, was a Nordic Walking Stick: so I am investigating. But, back to the outdoors.

   So as to reassure you that all this is not a figment of my imagination, let me tell you that a couple of months ago, someone, (it could even have been a battalion of them,) came along with a pot of white paint and painstakingly put a line of white around each of the areas of broken tarmac. When it first happened I was pleased, but worried, that whatever they did in the way of a repair, would be little more than a sticking plaster applied to a festering sore. But now I am a sceptic, or a cynic, or whatever word you might prefer, as nothing has happened since the white paint went down. Or, perhaps it has, as was intended: that there are fewer claims for compensation for personal injury, from people like me, - who go walking.

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  ©  Cormac E. McCloskey

A Timely Reminder

As men and women, booth religious and lay, struggle to come to terms with the reality of institutional child sexual abuse, and are at pains to know how to effectively safeguard children, we had, yesterday, in The Liturgy of the Hours, a timely reminder of the life of the Italian priest and Saint, John Bosco. Dedicated to the education of the young: the poor, the destitute and those at risk, in 1859 he founded a religious order of men, the Salesians, who, after him, would continue to work for that end. Below, and taken from the Office of Readings for yesterday, is a letter written to his fellow religious. It is as pertinent today as it was some 150 years ago, and part of its strength is in its realism:
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      "First of all, if we wish to appear concerned about the true happiness of our foster children and if we would move them to fulfil their duties, you must never forget that you are taking the place of the parents of these beloved young people. I have always laboured lovingly for them, and carried out my priestly duties with zeal. And the whole Salesian society has done this with me.

   "My sons, in my long experience very often I have had to be convinced of this great truth. It is easier to become angry than to restrain oneself, and to threaten a boy than to persuade him. Yes, indeed, it is more fitting to be persistent in punishing our own impatience and pride than to correct the boys. We must be firm but kind, and be patient with them.

   "I give you as a model the charity of Paul [St. Paul] which he showed to his new converts. They often reduced him to tears and entreaties when he found them lacking docility and even opposing his loving efforts.

   "See that no one finds you motivated by impetuosity or wilfulness. It is difficult to keep calm when administering punishment, but this must be done if we are to keep ourselves from showing off our authority or spilling out our anger.

   "Let us regard these boys over whom we have some authority as our own sons. Let us place ourselves in their service. Let us be ashamed to assume an attitude of superiority. Let us not rule over them except for the purpose of serving them better.

   "This was the method that Jesus used with the apostles. He put up with their ignorance and roughness and even their infidelity. He treated sinners with a kindness and affection that caused some to be shocked, often to be scandalised, and still other to hope for God's mercy. And so he bade us to be gentle and humble of heart.

   "They are our sons, and so in correcting their mistakes we must lay aside all anger and restrain it so firmly that it is extinguished entirely.

   "There must be no hostility in our minds, no contempt in our eyes, no insult on our lips. We must use mercy for the present and have hope for the future, as it is fitting for true fathers who are eager for real correction and improvement.

   "In serious matters it is better to beg God humbly than to send forth a flood of words  that will only offend the listener and have no effect on the guilty."      
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Cormac E McCloskey