Daily prayer in Ordinary Time 2025: 88, Tuesday 5 August 2025

‘He made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side’ (Matthew 14: 22) … a boat on the other side of the Ouse in Old Stratford (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2025)

Patrick Comerford

We are continuing in Ordinary Time in the Church Calendar and the week began with the Seventh Sunday after Trinity (Trinity VII, 3 August 2025). The calendar of the Church of England in Common Worship today remembers Oswald (642), King of Northumbria, Martyr.

Before today begins, I am taking some quiet time this morning to give thanks, for reflection, prayer and reading in these ways:

1, today’s Gospel reading;

2, a reflection on the Gospel reading;

3, a prayer from the USPG prayer diary;

4, the Collects and Post-Communion prayer of the day.

A boat in the small harbour in Loughshinny in north Co Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Matthew 14: 22-36 (NRSVA):

22 Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. 23 And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, 24 but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. 25 And early in the morning he came walking towards them on the lake. 26 But when the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified, saying, ‘It is a ghost!’ And they cried out in fear. 27 But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, ‘Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.’

28 Peter answered him, ‘Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.’ 29 He said, ‘Come.’ So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came towards Jesus. 30 But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ 31 Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’ 32 When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. 33 And those in the boat worshipped him, saying, ‘Truly you are the Son of God.’

34 When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret. 35 After the people of that place recognized him, they sent word throughout the region and brought all who were sick to him, 36 and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.

A boat full of tourists off the coast of Crete … is the only difference between tourism and people smuggling the way people pay? Or is it the difference between present pleasures and future hopes? (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Today’s Reflection

In recent months, I have enjoyed being on boats in Sarawak and Singapore, barge trips on the Grand union Canal, and watching rowers and boats in York, on the Backs in Cambridge and on the river in Oxford. I even had the pleasure many years ago of one college boat club in Cambridge asking to use one of my photographs in a fundraising drive.

It is almost 60 years since I first went rowing as a teenager on Lough Ramor in Virginia. But I had long thought that I would be left regretting that I had gone to Cambridge as a student too late in life to learn, or to re-learn how to row.

I had come to enjoy rowing as a sport and an activity, but in a very passive way.

Then, shortly after I arrived in Askeaton in 2017, one evening, as I was standing at a slipway by the banks of the Rover Deel, I was invited suddenly and unexpectedly to get into a boat and to row.

I was fearless. It was a pleasure I had often hoped for and wished for. And for almost an hour, we rowed upstream, under the bridge at Askeaton, and as far as the castle, and then downstream past the factory, although not as far as the estuary. When I suggested that I might be too old to learn, or re-learn, how to row, I was told brusquely and with humour that once I stopped learning I had stopped living.

Later that same week, I watched children and teenagers hop in and out of boats, freely and fearlessly, confident of their own ability and the ability of those who were training them.

Fearlessly. But as I was messing about on boats in Crete some weeks earlier, hopping on and off them in the sun as I visited smaller islands and lagoons, I thought of how this was a pleasure that I was paying for and wondered but how many refugees were full of fear as they boarded boats in the dark trying to arrive on Greek islands, having paid exorbitantly for the risk and the dangers.

Fearlessly. What are your worst fears?

I know, at present, many of us have fears arising out of the wars between Russia and Ukraine, the wars involving Israel in Gaza, and the global insecurity created by the mercurial decision making by the Trump regime.

As we grow up and mature, we tend to have fewer fears of the outside world, and as adults we begin to cope with the fears we once had as children, by turning threats into opportunities.

The fears I had as a child – of snakes, of the wind, of storms at sea, of lightning – are no longer the stuff of recurring nightmares they were as a child. I have learned to be cautious, to be sensible and to keep my distance, and to be in awe of God’s creation.

But most of us have recurring dreams that are vivid and that have themes that keep repeating themselves. They fall into a number of genres, and most psychotherapists identify a number of these types of dreams that most of us deal with in our sleep at various stages in adult life.

They include dreams about:

• Drowning.

• Finding myself unprepared for a major function or event, whether it is social or work-related.

• Flying or floating in the air, but then falling suddenly.

• Being caught naked in public.

• Missing a train, a bus or a plane.

• Caught in loos or lifts that do not work, or that overwork themselves.

• Calling out in a crowd but failing to vocalise my scream or not being heard in the crowd or recognised.

• Falling, falling into an abyss.

There are others. But in sleep the brain can act as a filter or filing cabinet, helping us to process, deal with and put aside what we have found difficult to understand in our waking hours, or to try to find ways of dealing with our lack of confidence, feelings of inadequacy, with the ways we confuse gaining attention with receiving love, or with our needs to be accepted, affirmed and loved.

Saint Peter’s plight in the Gospel reading (Matthew 14: 22-36) at the Eucharist today seems to be the working out of a constant, recurring, vivid dream of the type that many of us experience at some stage: the feelings of drowning, floating and falling suddenly, being in a crowd and yet alone, calling out and not being heard, or not being recognised for who we are.

Peter sees Christ walking on the lake or floating effortlessly above the water. At first, he thinks he is seeing a ghost. But then Christ calls to him, and Saint Peter responds.

Once he recognises Christ, Saint Peter gets out of the boat, starts walking on the water, and comes towards Christ. But he loses his confidence when he notices the strong wind, he is frightened, and he begins to sink.

He cries out: ‘Lord, save me.’ Christ immediately reaches out his hand and catches him, saying to him, ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’

They get back into the boat, the wind ceases. And those in the boat worship him, saying, ‘Truly you are the Son of God.’

Was the sight of Christ walking on the water an illusion?

Was Peter’s idea that he could walk on the water the product of an over-worked mind while it was sleeping?

Did he realise he was unprepared for the great encounter?

Did the wind cease when he woke from the dream?

All of these questions are over-analytical and fail to deal with the real encounter that takes place.

Even before the Resurrection, in his frailty, in his weakness, in his humble humanity, Saint Peter calls out to Christ: ‘Lord, save me’ (verse 30).

Do the others in the boat fall down at Christ’s feet and worship him because he can walk on water? Because he can lift a drowning man out of the depths? Or because they recognise that in Christ they can find the end to all their worst dreams and nightmares?

In this come-and-go summer, we know too, as they say, to expect the unexpected. On a few occasions, black clouds have moved across our rivers. The weather could turn, the waters could become choppy, and this can be a frightening experience, even on rivers, close to the river bank and close to firm land.

As seasoned boat-handlers, the Disciples know not to try walking on water. They know the risk of sudden storms and swells, and they know the safety of a good boat, as long as it has a good crew.

But since the early history of the Church, the boat has symbolised the Church.

The bark (barque or barchetta) symbolises the Church tossed on the sea of disbelief, worldliness, and persecution but finally reaching safe harbour. Part of the imagery comes from the ark saving Noah’s family during the Flood (I Peter 3: 20-21). Christ protects Peter’s boat and the Disciples on the stormy Sea of Galilee (see also Mark 6: 45-52; John 6 16-21). The mast forms the shape of the Cross.

It is an image that appears in Apostolic Constitutions and the writings of Tertullian and Clement of Alexandria. We still retain the word nave for the main part of the church, which, architecturally often looks like an up-turned boat.

So, I do would not want any of us to risk walking on water, or to play stupidly in boats on the river or on a lake, and certainly not off the coast or out to see.

But if we are to dream dreams for our parishes, for the Church, for the Kingdom of God, we need to be aware that it comes at the risk of feeling our dreams may be the nightmares of others.

If we are going to dream dreams for our parishes, for the Church, for the Kingdom of God, we may need to step out of our safety zones, our comfort zones, and know that this comes with a risk warning.

And if we are going to dream dreams for our parishes, for the Church, for the Kingdom of God, we need to keep our eyes focussed on Christ, and to know that the Church is there to bring us on that journey.

Let us dream dreams, take risks for the Kingdom of God, step outside the box. But let us keep our eyes on Christ and remember that the boat, the Church, is essential for our journey, and let us continue to worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.

An icon of the Church as a boat, including Christ, the Apostles and the Church Fathers (Icon: Deacon Matthew Garrett, www.holy-icons.com)

Today’s Prayers (Tuesday 5 August 2025):

The theme this week (3 to 9 August) in Pray with the World Church, the prayer diary of the Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel), is ‘Indigenous Wisdom’ (pp 24-25). This theme was introduced on Sunday with reflections from Dr Paulo Ueti, Theological Advisor and Regional Manager for the Americas and the Caribbean, USPG.

The USPG Prayer Diary today (Tuesday 5 August 2025) invites us to pray:

Lord, bless Jocabed, Winston and Isabel as they stand up for justice. Strengthen their advocacy, protect the communities they belong to, and guide us to stand together in faith and action.

The Collect:

Lord God almighty,
who so kindled the faith of King Oswald with your Spirit
that he set up the sign of the cross in his kingdom
and turned his people to the light of Christ:
grant that we, being fired by the same Spirit,
may always bear our cross before the world
and be found faithful servants of the gospel;
through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.

Post-Communion Prayer:

God our redeemer,
whose Church was strengthened by the blood of your martyr Oswald:
so bind us, in life and death, to Christ’s sacrifice
that our lives, broken and offered with his,
may carry his death and proclaim his resurrection in the world;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Collect in the Eve of the Transfiguration:

Father in heaven,
whose Son Jesus Christ was wonderfully transfigured
before chosen witnesses upon the holy mountain,
and spoke of the exodus he would accomplish at Jerusalem:
give us strength so to hear his voice and bear our cross
that in the world to come we may see him as he is;
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.

Yesterday’s reflection

Continued tomorrow

Learning, or re-learning, how to row on the River Deel at Askeaton, Co Limerick

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition copyright © 1989, 1995, National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. http://nrsvbibles.org

Ordinary people, in ordinary time, doing extraordinary things

‘He saw two boats there at the shore’ … two boats at the Pier in Kinvara, Co Galway, at the weekend (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2022)

Patrick Comerford

Sunday 6 February 2022,

The Fourth Sunday before Lent

9.30 a.m. Saint Mary’s Church, Askeaton, Co Limerick, the Parish Eucharist (Holy Communion 2)

11.30 a.m. Saint Brendan’s Church, Tarbert, Co Kerry, Morning Prayer

Readings: Isaiah 6: 1-8; Psalm 138; I Corinthians 15: 1-11; Luke 5: 1-11

There is a link to the readings HERE.

‘The fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets’ (Luke 5: 2) … fishing boats and nets in the harbour in Loughshinny, Co Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

May I speak to you in the name of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen

The Season of Christmas came to an end on Wednesday (2 February 2022) with the Feast of the Presentation or Candlemas, which we celebrated in Holy Trinity Church, Rathkeale, last Sunday morning (30 January 2022).

Between now and Ash Wednesday (2 March 2022), we are in what the Church Calendar calls ‘Ordinary Time.’

So often, our celebrations in Church ask us to identify with the great saints and martyrs, in contrast to the ordinary people who are so often the focus of Christ’s ministry in the Gospels: ordinary people who are poor or on the margins in society; ordinary people with everyday jobs like fishermen and tax collectors, or publicans and farmers; ordinary people in the villages and towns; ordinary people with a need for healing or who are hurt and broken by loss and grief.

Ordinary people like you and me, living ordinary lives in ordinary time. Not sinless people, but ordinary people, conscious of our weaknesses and our failings, humbled in and all too aware of our own sinfulness and flaws.

In our readings this morning, we hear the call of Isaiah, a renewed call to David the Psalmist, the response of Saint Paul to his call, and the renewed call to some of the disciples, including Peter, James and John. These calls come not to people who feel they are worthy of this call, that the deserve this, that they have inherited a call, or who think they are entitled to speak on God’s behalf. They start off as very ordinary people, like you and me.

Isaiah is in the Temple, feeling he is lost and ‘a man of unclean lips’ when he hears and responds to God’s call, only to find he becomes isolated from his own people.

The Psalmist is in God’s presence in the Temple when he finds God answers his prayer and gives him a new calling or new spiritual gifts. Yet David begins life as a small and weak shepherd boy.

Saint Paul tells us he feels he is ‘the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle.’

The three disciples, Peter, James and John are called not only to speak on Christ’s behalf, but to do what Christ commands and to follow him.

In all these readings, Isaiah, the Psalmist, Saint Paul and then Saint Peter, all express their feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness, yet accept God’s call to speak in God’s name unconditionally and in faith.

In our first reading (Isaiah 6: 1-8), the Prophet Isaiah hears his call from God to be a prophet. Isaiah feels unclean and unworthy in the presence of God, and yet he sees God. He sees the people as unworthy too, but one of the seraphs purifies him, rendering him fit to speak God’s word to his people.

Our Psalm (Psalm 138) thanks God for his steadfast, enduring love and for his care for his faithful followers. When the writer calls upon God, God not only answers him but gives him a new calling or makes him more confident spiritually: ‘you increased my strength of soul’ (verse 3).

In the Epistle reading (I Corinthians 15: 1-11), Saint Paul tells us that the Risen Christ first appeared to Cephas (Peter), then to the twelve, then to 500 at one time, then to James, then to all the apostles, and finally to Paul himself.

Saint Paul realises that he is not the first choice, not the second choice. He is way down the list, not among the first 12, not even in the top 500. Until then, he has been an ordinary Jewish Pharisee of the day, making a living mending tents and sails.

But he now knows that through his Baptism he shares in Christ’s suffering and death and that he has been raised to new life in Christ.

Our Gospel story (Luke 5: 1-11) is a story of commitment to Christ, to his message and to his destiny. Simon is named Peter for the first time in Saint Luke’s Gospel in this reading (verse 8). Christ calls Simon or Simon Peter to be a disciple, promising him he is to be a ‘fisher of men,’ and Peter, James and John leave everything and follow Christ.

Try to imagine the roles or the calls being reversed.

Can you imagine King Uzziah giving up his throne to be a marginalised prophet like Isaiah?

Can you imagine a powerful king accepting God’s call to be a despised shepherd boy?

Can you imagine a Roman Governor accepting the call to work with the disciples in an ordinary fishing boat?

Had Pontius Pilate heard Christ’s call would he have given up privilege, or paid heed to the inevitable obloquy that would follow his extraordinary use of power?

Our Gospel reading opens us to the concept that God does extraordinary things with ordinary people, in ordinary places, in ordinary times.

This episode begins beside the ‘lake of Gennesaret,’ on the south-west shore of the Sea of Galilee. The crowd is pressing in to hear Christ, the Word of God, to hear the Christian message.

Jesus gets into the boat with Simon Peter. There are two boats in this episode, and James and John are also fishing in one of the boats.

Simon acknowledges Jesus as ‘Master’ or teacher. The disciples do what Christ tells them to do, and they are amazed at the consequences. Simon Peter responds by falling down before Christ in humility, pointing to himself as a sinful man, and calling Jesus ‘Lord,’ which becomes an expression of faith.

Peter, James and John are ordinary working men who make an extraordinary and total commitment to Christ; they leave everything, and follow him.

In traditional illustrations, the boat is often used as an image of the Church, while the fish is an image of Christ. In the Early Church, the fish came to symbolise Christ because the Greek word Ichthus (ΙΧΘΥΣ), meaning ‘fish’, is an acrostic for ‘Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour’ (Ἰησοῦς Χριστός, Θεοῦ Υἱός, Σωτήρ).

The Church is the boat, Christ is the fish, and God calls us as ordinary people, in ordinary places, in ordinary times, to realise that God sees us – you and me, each and every one of us – to work with him, where he finds us. God sees us in our everyday lives as his partners in the boat. And we are all in this boat together.

It is in being the ordinary people we are, in our ordinary lives, in our ordinary times, that God calls us. And if we chose to respond, then, like Peter, James and John, we may find we are amazed at the catch Christ brings into the Church through us.

Are we brave enough to face this possibility? Or is that ordinary challenge too much for us? If we have any doubts, remember how Christ says to Simon Peter, ‘Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.’

And so, may all we think, say and do be to the praise honour and glory of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

‘He saw two boats there at the shore’ … two fishing boats at the harbour in Skerries, Co Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Luke 5: 1-11 (NRSVA):

1 Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, 2 he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. 3 He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. 4 When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, ‘Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.’ 5 Simon answered, ‘Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.’ 6 When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. 7 So they signalled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. 8 But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, ‘Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!’ 9 For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; 10 and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, ‘Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.’ 11 When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.

An icon of the Church as a boat, including Christ, the Apostles and the Church Fathers (Icon: Deacon Matthew Garrett, www.holy-icons.com)

Liturgical Colour: Green

The Collect:

O God,
you know us to be set
in the midst of so many and great dangers,
that by reason of the frailty of our nature
we cannot always stand upright:
Grant to us such strength and protection
as may support us in all dangers
and carry us through all temptations;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

The Collect of the Word:

Most holy God,
the earth is filled with your glory,
and before you angels and saints serve in awe.
Enlarge our vision to see
your power at work in the world, and by your grace
make us heralds of your Son,
Jesus Christ, our Saviour and Lord.

The Post-Communion Prayer:

God of tender care,
in this Eucharist we celebrate your love for us and for all people.
May we show your love in our lives
and know its fulfilment in your presence.
We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord.

When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, ‘Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch’ (Luke 5: 4) … a fisherman at work at Torcello in the Venetian lagoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Hymns:

321, Holy, holy, holy! Lord God almighty (CD 19)
358, King of glory, King of peace (CD 21)
395, When Jesus taught by Galilee (CD 48)

‘When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him’ … fishing boats on a shore at Mount Athos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition copyright © 1989, 1995, National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. http://nrsvbibles.org

Material from The Book of Common Prayer (the Church of Ireland, 2004) is copyright © Representative Body of the Church of Ireland 2004.

Sunday intercessions on 24 January 2021, Third Sunday after the Epiphany

‘He saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets’ (Mark 1: 19) … a fishing boat in the harbour at Loughshinny, Co Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2020)

Let us pray:

‘Put no trust in oppression; in robbery take no empty pride’ (Psalm 62: 10):

Heavenly Father,
we pray for the world,
that your blessings may guide the rulers of the nations and all people.

As Holocaust Memorial Day approaches,
We Remember.
We pray for all who defend democracy and human rights,
for all who stand against racism, prejudice and oppression,
for all nations torn and divided by war and strife,
and we pray for all peacemakers.
We pray too this morning for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris,
as they begin their terms of office in the United States.

Lord have mercy,
Lord have mercy.

‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near’ (Mark 1: 15):

Lord Jesus Christ,
we pray for the Church,
that we may heed your call and follow you.

In this Week of Prayer for Christian Unity,
we rejoice in the diversity and variety found in the Church today.
We pray for all churches,
particularly our neighbouring churches in Co Limerick and Co Kerry,
that we may be blessed in their variety and diversity.

In the Anglican Cycle of Prayer this week,
we pray for the Church of Bangladesh
and the Most Revd Samuel Sunil Mankhin,
Moderator and Bishop of Kushtia.

In the Church of Ireland this month,
we pray for the Diocese of Armagh
and Archbishop John McDowell.

In the Diocesan Cycle of Prayer this week, we pray
for our diocesan schools and all teachers and students
boards of management, school secretaries and cleaners.

We pray for our own parishes and people and for ourselves …

Christ have mercy,
Christ have mercy.

‘Wait on God alone in stillness, O my soul; for in him is my hope’ (Psalm 62: 5):

Holy Spirit,
we pray for ourselves, for one another as children of God,
for those we love and those who love us,
and we remember those who have brought love into our lives:

We pray for the mothers, survivors, adult children and staff …
of the former ‘Mother and Baby Homes’ and their families …
who are grieving and mourning, and reliving their losses …

We pray for those in need and those who seek healing …
for those working for healing …
for those waiting for healing …
for those seeking an end to this Covid crisis …

We pray for those who are sick or isolated,
at home or in hospital …

Linda … Ann … Daphne … Declan … Sylvia …
Ajay … Ena … Eileen … George … Louise …
Ralph …

We pray for those we have offered to pray for …
and we pray for those who pray for us …

We pray for all who grieve and mourn at this time …
for Margaret, Nigel, Brian and their families …
we remember and give thanks for those who have died …
especially for Alan Fitzell … George Hill …
for Martha Gray-Stack, once a priest in this diocese …
remembering too her husband Charles, once a priest in this parish …
and for those whose anniversaries are at this time …
including Kathy … Stephen … Dorothy … Kathleen …
May their memories be a blessing to us …

Lord have mercy,
Lord have mercy.

A prayer from the Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel) on the Third Sunday after the Epiphany:

Loving God,
The Earth and all its beauty are yours.
Help us, whom you have made stewards of the Earth,
to care for it and treat it with love.

Merciful Father …

‘In God is my strength and my glory; God is my strong rock; in him is my refuge’ (Psalm 62: 7) … a rocky outcrop in the Ionian waters off the west coast of Paxos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

These intercessions were prepared for use in the Rathkeale and Kilnaughtin Group of Parishes on Sunday 24 January 2021, the Third Sunday after Epiphany

Mid-winter sunshine on a winter afternoon in Skerries and Loughshinny

Mid-winter sunshine and blue skies on the South Beach in Skerries this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2020)

Patrick Comerford

I had planned to come to Dublin last week after the Christmas Day services, and to take a day off on Sunday last, with hopes to see my GP later this week for a check-up on my sarcoidosis and a booster shot for my Vitamin B12 deficiency.

But, as so often happens in ministry, life and circumstances need flexibility. There was a funeral in Tarbert on Sunday, and eventually I got to Dublin last night (Monday).

I am not so sure how long I can stay here during this lockdown after seeing my GP. But today was a sharp, cold day, with clear blue skies, and two of us decided to head north for a walk on the beaches and by the harbour in Skerries, and around Red Island.

I was last in Skerries in March, before the first major lockdown began, and it was good to back there after a nine-month absence.

Mid-winter sunshine at the Harbour in Skerries this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2020)

It is undeniable that families begin to feel cabin fever after a few days at home during the Christmas season, and there were as many people walking the beach and around the harbour in Skerries in the mid-day winter sunshine as one might expect on a day in late summer before children return to school.

Brexit deal or no-deal, the harbour was filled with a large number of trawlers and fishing boats. Every coffee shops and food outlet that was open had large queues of patient people waiting outside.

After a walk on the South Beach and stopping in Gerry’s to buy The Irish Times, we collected coffees and falafel-and-humus wraps from Olive on South Strand.

Mid-winter sunshine reflections in the arbour and blue skies on the beach in Loughshinny this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2020)

Later, we decided to stop off too at Loughshinny, with its long beach and small harbour.

I was last there four years ago, in December 2016, and was surprised at how many families were there too this afternoon.

Loughshinny has poor parking facilities – although these seem to be undergoing improvements – and no coffee shops to hold visitors, and the beach feels almost like a private beach. But the beach and harbour, which once were hidden delights, have become more familiar to many families, it seemed this afternoon.

There were clear views across to Lambay Island, off the coast of Portrane, and with its narrow streets, its white-washed and thatched cottages, and harbour filled with oyster pots and fishing nets, this could be small fishing village in south Wexford or on the coast of Cornwall.

Coming back past the airport, we caught a rare but clear sight of a plane coming in to land, and thought about the many flights we have missed this year and our many cancelled travel plans. But it was good to revisit Skerries and Loughshinny this afternoon.

Loughshinny has the charm of a small fishing village in south Wexford or on the Cornish coast (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2020)

There is a beauty to winter that I did not appreciate in my younger years

A winter’s afternoon at the harbour in Skerries in north Co Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Patrick Comerford

I was in Dublin for a day yesterday, to collect some books needed for work reasons and to see my GP for a Vitamin B12 injection and for advice for a major travel trip planned in the New Year.

The busy preparations and demands of Advent, Christmas and Epiphany and the extra rounds of school visits and church meetings mean I have spent little time in Dublin in recent weeks.

After yesterday’s working morning in Dublin, two of us decided to take a break and spend the afternoon in Skerries.

The storms and high waves the previous night meant the harbour was quiet and most small boats had been lifted over the previous day or two.

In the rain and with high waters, the harbour looked forbidding, even foreboding, but still very beautiful. There is a beauty to winter weather that I never appreciated when I was much younger.

Darkness was closing in, and we decided against a walk on the beach on such a wet, cold afternoon, and instead went for lunch in the Olive on Strand Street and then crossed to Gerry’s, where the wine shelves are still the most fascinating in any supermarket I know, and to buy some candy canes for a sermon illustration on the Sunday after Christmas.

As we made our way back along the north coast, Loughshinny and Rush were blanketed in a winter darkness that I have learned to appreciate at Christmas-time.

Google Maps warned us to avoid the traffic on the M50. We should have ignored the warning. We ended up on narrow, remote, dark and flooded roads in parts of north and west Dublin that I am sure I have never seen in daylight or sunlight. If Chris Rea is using Google Maps, then I understand why he is still ‘driving home for Christmas.’

Back in Knocklyon, I read a report in The Guardian that while a diet like mine is generally healthy, low in cholesterol and protective of heart disease, people like me must take vitamin B12 supplements or risk a condition that causes permanent numbness in their hands and feet.

The report cited experts who say most people get their vitamin B12 from milk, but the plant-based substitutes do not have high enough levels to protect adults and children from peripheral neuropathy, which is irreversible.

I had been warned about all this over 10 years ago when a battery of tests confirmed both my sarcoidosis and my severe Vitamin B12 deficiency, and I had heard the warnings then of the danger of a serious neuropathy. Other risks include bone fractures as a result of lower bone density.

I was glad I had visited my GP earlier in the day. But the walk around the harbour at Skerries also lifted my spirits before returning to Askeaton today. I may have sarcoidosis and a Vitamin B12 deficiency – but they will never have me.

In Olive on Strand Street, Skerries, for a late afternoon lunch (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Summer sun shines on the harbour and the beaches in Skerries

Summer sunshine at the harbour in Skerries this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Patrick Comerford

After a busy weekend, and another busy round facing me this week, I took a day off in Dublin today [23 July 2019], and went for a walk on the beaches and along the harbour in Skerries in north Co Dublin.

For many years, while in I was living in Dublin and working in the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, Skerries was one of my favourite places for a walk on the beach at the weekend, along with Bray, Greystones and Kilcoole in Co Wicklow , Bettystown and Laytown in Co Meath, and Donabate, Portrane, Rush and Loughshinny in north Co Dublin.

It was almost seven months (29 December 2018) since I had been on a walk on the beaches in Skerries, and even that visit came after an absence of two years (December 2016).

There was a strong breeze, but the temperatures were in the high 20s, and there was a holiday atmosphere in Skerries, with families taking shelter on the grassy areas above the sand, children picking their way through the rockpools, teenagers hiring kayaks at the harbour, long queues for ice cream outside ‘Storm in a Teacup,’ and all available space taken or booked in the cafés, bars and restaurants lining the harbour.

The North Beach and summer sunshine at the Harbour in Skerries this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

On the walk around the headland, there were clear views of the Skerries rocks and the islands, and the Mourne Mountains in the distance, sweeping down to the sea.

I could hardly visit Skerries and not stop in Gerry’s for the newspapers and a bottle of wine – I have long extolled the taste of the wine buyers in Gerry’s.

The pleasure of summer wine during a late lunch in the Olive Café in South Strand Street, Skerries (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Later, two of us lingered over lunch and summer wine in the summer sunshine in the garden at the back of the Olive Café on Strand Street.

All around us, people were talking about the election of Boris Johnson in tones that showed they were somewhere between being aghast and disgusted.

But at least the summer sunshine is a promise that life goes on, and it brings too the hope that he may wither away by winter.

We returned through Loughshinny and Rush, with clear views of Lambay Island in the distance, and passed the cricket club at Kenure, recalling with pride how Eoin Morgan embodies so many of the positive gifts Ireland has to offer England.

The sun shines on the beach in Skerries this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Seven Last Words (5): ‘I am thirsty’

‘Give me a drink’ … an icon of the Samaritan Woman at the Well, in the Church of Aghios Nikolaos in Vathy on the Greek island of Samos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

5, John 19: 28

Patrick Comerford

Reading: John 19: 28-29.

The words: ‘I am thirsty.’

Reflection: (5) Distress

‘I am thirsty.’

This is the fifth of the seven last words and is traditionally called ‘The Word of Distress.’ Commentators regularly compare the thirst of Christ on the Cross with the request he makes to the Samaritan woman at the Well of Sychar: ‘Give me a drink’ (John 4: 7), and the promise that follows: ‘those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty’ (John 4: 14).

In expressing his thirst out loud in that cry from the cross, Christ shows his humanity and his humility. In expressing such a basic need, he shows his solidarity with all those in humanity, living or dying, healthy or sick, great or small, who are in need and who in humility are forced to ask for a cup of water (see Matthew 10: 42).

Saint John tells us Christ spoke these words, ‘I am thirsty,’ “in order to fulfil the Scripture’ (John 19: 28). Once again, the dying Christ calls out drawing on the words of Psalm 22: ‘My mouth is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to my jaws; you lay me in the dust of death’ (Psalm 22: 15). And again, later in the Psalms, we hear the words: ‘and for my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink’ (Psalm 69: 21).

The Psalmist’s words treat of physical thirst. But on the lips of Christ on the Cross they give a messianic perspective to his suffering.

In his thirst, the dying Christ seeks a drink quite different from water or vinegar, as when he asks the Samaritan woman at the well: ‘Give me a drink’ (John 4: 7). Physical thirst on that occasion was the symbol and the path to another thirst – the thirst that leads to the conversion of the Samaritan woman.

On the cross, Christ thirsts for a new humanity to be formed and shaped through his incarnation, life, passion, death, resurrection and ascension, and that looks for his coming again.

The thirst of the cross, on the lips of the dying Christ, is the ultimate expression of that desire of baptism to be received into the Kingdom of God. Now that desire is about to be fulfilled. With those words Christ confirms the ardent love with which he desires to receive that supreme ‘baptism’ to open to all of us the fountain of water which really quenches the thirst and saves (see John 4: 13-14).

‘The voice of the hidden waterfall’ … above the beach at Loughshinny, Co Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Some years ago, on one of my beach walks near Skerries in north Co Dublin, I was climbing up behind the shoreline in Loughshinny, and came across what I imagined to be a secret waterfall.

I was reminded how the poet TS Eliot concludes his poem Little Gidding (1942), the last of his Four Quartets, with his deep thoughts about the spiritual refreshment to be found in water, in rivers and in the sea:

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always –
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

And I was reminded too how we take water for granted in this country, despite the debates and protests and arguments we had about water charges. We use it freely. We baulk at any efforts to charge us for it in restaurants. It was interesting at the time how the great political battle we had then was not over the cost of recapitalising the banks but on the follow-up to introducing water charges.

Already the world is suffering from a scarcity of water. Those who analyse future security risks point to the danger of wars in the Middle East caused not by militant Islam, nor by militant Zionism, but by competition for access to the waters of the Nile, the Jordan and the rivers of Mesopotamia, the Euphrates and the Tigris. This is part of the battle scenario that was played out in which the self-styled Islamic State may have been the pawn of a greater power in the Middle East.

We take water for granted at the moment. But our water crises are created precisely because we take water for granted. They are not caused by us using too much water, but by us wasting too much water, mainly through not maintaining the pipes that bring water from our lakes and rivers to our homes, factories, offices and schools.

If we do not remedy this soon – and it can only be remedied through political will, political action and public spending – then we face a series of major water crises, every year, each winter and each summer.

If this problem is not addressed, the cost of supplying accessing water, like all taxation, will rise steadily, drip-drip-drip, that people will be cut off, that major health problems will arise. Profit, not health and cleanliness, could soon become the primary motive for supplying water.

At present, this may appear to be a prospect so dismal that it is almost a fantasy of Orwellian dimensions. But it can come about through our own complacency, our own carelessness, the way we continue to think that water … well … that water is going to continue flowing freely, in saecula saeculorum (εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας τῶν αἰώνων, eis toùs aionas ton aiṓnōn, Philippians 4: 20).

Why do we take water for granted?

Why, when we ought to be in wonder and in awe?

Up to 60% of the human body is water, the brain is composed of 70% water, and the lungs are nearly 90% water. About 83% of our blood is water, which helps digest our food, transport waste, and control our body temperature. Each day, each human must replace 2.4 litres of water, some through drinking and the rest taken by the body from the foods we eat.

When water finally flows from Christ’s side on the cross, we know that he has given us all.

God gives us all in the water of life.

Yes, we ought to be in wonder and in awe.

To quote again from TS Eliot, he writes in The Dry Salvages (1941), the third of his Four Quartets:

I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river
Is a strong brown god — sullen, untamed and intractable,
Patient to some degree, at first recognised as a frontier;
Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce;
Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges.
The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten
By the dwellers in cities — ever, however, implacable.
Keeping his seasons and rages, destroyer, reminder
Of what men choose to forget …

Yes, we ought to be in wonder and in awe.

But so often we forget about water in our town and our cities until it becomes a problem. And then, when the problem goes, we forget about the way in which water is the first and the last of God’s great blessings in nature, immediately after creation itself.

● Creation comes on the first day, in the story in Genesis, and life begins to have possibilities and to take shape on the second day, when God separates the waters.
● The slaves are led from captivity to freedom and promise through the waters of the Red Sea.
● The exiles weep and dream of promise by the waters of Babylon.
● In the waters of the Jordan, Christ is revealed as the Beloved Son, and the Spirit hovers above the new creation.
● We hear Christ thirsting on the Cross in his dying moments.
● Water flows from the side of the Crucified Christ.
● The waters of Baptism incorporate us into the Body of Christ.
● And then, God’s creation reaches the climax of its potential, its potential beauty, with that image in Revelation of the City of God with the River of Life running through its centre.

Too often we see water as a problem – rivers to be bridged, tsunamis to clean up after, storms to clear up from, leaky roofs, dripping drains, flooded fields, stormy shores, barren deserts when water fails … drip-drip-drip

And we blame not ourselves.

I begin each day in the shower, thanking God for water, not just the water that cleans me, restores my health and quenches my thirst, but thanking God too for the waters of baptism, in which I was bathed in the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, when God called me his own.

The Samaritan Woman at the Well … a sculpture by Samuel Peploe Wood (1827-1873). This missing drinking fountain once stood at the corner of the Museum Building in Lichfield, where it was erected in 1862 (Photograph courtesy David Titley)

Christ shares water at the well in Sychar with the Samaritan woman, who is an outsider in so many ways. Sharing water with her, he tells her she is not an outsider, she is accepted by God, she is truly called into the Kingdom of God.

He offers her living water, and those who drink of this water that he gives us will never be thirsty. The water that he gives us will become in us a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.

It is water that cannot be tainted, water that cannot be commoditised, water that privatisation cannot stop from flowing freely.

Lord, I thirst. Give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty, Amen.

Prayer:

Lord Jesus Christ,
you thirsted physically on the cross
that our spiritual thirst might be quenched.
Draw us even deeper into the living wells of our salvation
that we may long more and more
for the things of the Spirit,
for your mercy’s sake. Amen.

(Revd Canon Professor) Patrick Comerford is priest-in-charge, the Rathkeale and Kilnaughtin Group of Parishes. This is the fifth of seven reflections on ‘the Seven Last Words’ on Good Friday, 19 April 2019, in Saint Mary’s Church, Askeaton, Co Limerick.

Basking in the long-setting winter sun in Loughshinny and Skerries

The setting sun casts its rays across the beach at Loughshinny (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2016)

Patrick Comerford

The post-Christmas crisp winter weather continues. Around mid-day, the grey clouds pushed back, and there was a clear blue sky with few clouds over Fingal in north Co Dublin.

Two of us planned to go to Skerries for a walk on the beaches and a late lunch in the Olive. But our way was blocked by a Garda patrol at Loughshinny, where we were told the coast road was closed between Loughshinny and Skerries.

Not to be deterred from our plans for an early afternoon beach walk, we turned down to Loughshinny and parked the car overlooking the horseshoe-shaped beach and the small fishing harbour.

The tide was out and there were no trawlers at work in Loughshinny this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2016; click on image for a full-screen view)

The tide was out, there were no trawlers at work, and there was just a handful of people walking on the beach and along the quay wall.

Although it is observable that the days are beginning to stretch out a little in the late evening, the sun was already beginning to set slowly, sitting like an orange balloon above one of the promontories, and casting its rays across the calm, still waters.

As we prepared the leave, a large family group was on the beach, playing with their dogs, and the lights and colours of the long-setting sun cast a sepia-like set of tones across the scene.

Clear blue skies and blue waters at Skerries Harbour this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2016)

The police checkpoint was still blocking the coast road from Loughshinny to Skerries, and instead we made a circuitous way by Baldongan and by the Hills Cricket Club into Skerries.

We walked along the South Beach and up around the harbour, where the lights of the long-setting sun were still casting their rays across the Harbour and the North Beach.

Back in Skerries, we had a late lunch in the Olive and two double espressos, before being joined by two friends from Balbriggan. By the time we got back to the South Beach for another walk on the sand, the sun had already set and grey clouds were beginning to fill the sky.

The afternoon sun was taking a long time to set in Loughshinny this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2016; click on image for a full-screen view)

‘For those who walk in darkness and in the shadow of death’

Walking on the beach in Loughshinny this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2016)

Patrick Comerford

We celebrated Candlemas or the Feast of the Presentation a little early this evening with the Candlemas Procession in Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin.

Earlier in the day, I had presided at the Cathedral Eucharist, and at the Candlemas Procession this evening I led the intercessions:

In peace let us pray to the Lord.

By the mystery of the Word made flesh
Good Lord, deliver us.

By the birth in time of the timeless Son of God
Good Lord, deliver us.

By the baptism of the Son of God in the river Jordan
Good Lord, deliver us.

For the kingdoms of this world,
that they may become the Kingdom of our Lord and Christ
We pray to you, O Lord.

For your holy, catholic and apostolic Church,
that it may be one
We pray to you, O Lord.

For the witness of your faithful people,
that they may be lights in the world
We pray to you, O Lord.

For the poor, the persecuted, the sick and all who suffer;
that they may be relieved and protected
We pray to you, O Lord.

For the aged, for refugees and all in danger,
that they may be strengthened and defended
We pray to you, O Lord.

For those who walk in darkness and in the shadow of death,
that they may come to your eternal light
We pray to you, O Lord.

Father, source of light and life,
Grant the prayers of your faithful people,
and fill the world with your glory, through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Between these two celebrations, two of us went for a short walk on the beach in Skerries and for lunch in the Olive, accompanied by the best double espressos served in Fingal.

Later in the afternoon, we went for a walk on the tiny, secluded horseshoe-shaped beach in Loughshinny, halfway between Skerries and Rush.

Watching the tide flow into the bay at Loughshinny in the dimming lights of the evening, and as I prayed this evening “for refugees and all in danger” and “those who walk in darkness and in the shadow of death,” it was impossible not to think about and pray for those who are caught in the waters of the Aegean Sea between the coast of Turkey and islands of Greece, or the refugees from Syria who became the victims of racism and Islamophobia when they reach other countries in northern Europe.

Good Lord, deliver us …

We pray to you, O Lord …

Seven Last Words (5): ‘I am thirsty’

‘Give me a drink’ … an icon of the Samaritan Woman at the Well, in the Church of Aghios Nikolaos in Vathy on the Greek island of Samos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

5, John 19: 28

Patrick Comerford

Reading: John 19: 28-29.

The words: “I am thirsty.”

Reflection: (5) Distress

“I am thirsty.”

This is the fifth of the seven last words and is traditionally called “The Word of Distress.” Commentators regularly compare the thirst of Christ on the Cross with the request he makes to the Samaritan woman at the Well of Sychar: “Give me a drink” (John 4: 7), and the promise that follows: “those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty” (John 4: 14).

In expressing his thirst out loud in that cry from the cross, Christ shows his humanity and his humility. In expressing such a basic need, he shows his solidarity with all those in humanity, living or dying, healthy or sick, great or small, who are in need and who in humility are forced to ask for a cup of water (see Matthew 10: 42).

Saint John tells us Christ spoke these words, “I am thirsty,” “in order to fulfil the Scripture” (John 19: 28). Once again, the dying Christ calls out drawing on the words of Psalm 22: “My mouth is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to my jaws; you lay me in the dust of death” (Psalm 22: 15). And again, later in the Psalms, we hear the words: “and for my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink” (Psalm 69: 21).

The Psalmist’s words treat of physical thirst. But on the lips of Christ on the Cross they give a messianic perspective to his suffering.

In his thirst, the dying Christ seeks a drink quite different from water or vinegar, as when he asks the Samaritan woman at the well: “Give me a drink” (John 4: 7). Physical thirst on that occasion was the symbol and the path to another thirst – the thirst that leads to the conversion of the Samaritan woman.

On the cross, Christ thirsts for a new humanity to be formed and shaped through his incarnation, life, passion, death, resurrection and ascension, and that looks for his coming again.

The thirst of the cross, on the lips of the dying Christ, is the ultimate expression of that desire of baptism to be received into the Kingdom of God. Now that desire is about to be fulfilled. With those words Christ confirms the ardent love with which he desires to receive that supreme “baptism” to open to all of us the fountain of water which really quenches the thirst and saves (see John 4: 13-14).

‘The voice of the hidden waterfall’ ... above the beach at Loughshinny, Co Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Some time ago, on one of my beach walks near Skerries, I was climbing up behind the shoreline in Loughshinny, and came across what I imagined to be a secret waterfall.

I was reminded how the poet TS Eliot concludes his poem Little Gidding (1942), the last of his Four Quartets, with his deep thoughts about the spiritual refreshment to be found in water, in rivers and in the sea:

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always –
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

And I was reminded too how we take water for granted in this country, despite the debates and protests and arguments about water charges. We use it freely. We baulk at any efforts to charge us for it in restaurants. It is interesting how the great political battle today is not over the cost of recapitalising the banks but on the follow-up to introducing water charges.

Already the world is suffering from a scarcity of water. Those who analyse future security risks point to the danger of wars in the Middle East caused not by militant Islam, nor by militant Zionism, but by competition for access to the waters of the Nile, the Jordan and the rivers of Mesopotamia, the Euphrates and the Tigris. This is part of the battle scenario being played out at the moment in which the self-styled Islamic State may only be the pawn of a greater power in the Middle East.

We take water for granted at the moment. But our water crises are created precisely because we take water for granted. They are not caused by us using too much water, but by us wasting too much water, mainly through not maintaining the pipes that bring water from our lakes and rivers to our homes, factories, offices and schools.

If we do not remedy this soon – and it can only be remedied through political will, political action and public spending – then we face a series of major water crises, every year, each winter and each summer.

If this problem is not addressed, and water charges are not controlled, then we can be sure, that like all taxation, those charges will rise steadily, drip-drip-drip, that people will be cut off, that major health problems will arise. Profit, not health and cleanliness, will soon become the primary motive for supplying water.

At present, this may appear to be a prospect so dismal that it is almost a fantasy of Orwellian dimensions. But it can come about through our own complacency, our own carelessness, the way we continue to think that water … well … that water is going to continue flowing freely, in saecula saeculorum.

Why do we take water for granted?

Why, when we ought to be in wonder and in awe?

Up to 60% of the human body is water, the brain is composed of 70% water, and the lungs are nearly 90% water. About 83% of our blood is water, which helps digest our food, transport waste, and control our body temperature. Each day, each human must replace 2.4 litres of water, some through drinking and the rest taken by the body from the foods we eat.

When water finally flows from Christ’s side on the cross, we know that he has given us all.

God gives us all in the water of life.

Yes, we ought to be in wonder and in awe.

To quote again from TS Eliot, he writes in The Dry Salvages (1941), the third of his Four Quartets:

I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river
Is a strong brown god — sullen, untamed and intractable,
Patient to some degree, at first recognised as a frontier;
Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce;
Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges.
The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten
By the dwellers in cities — ever, however, implacable.
Keeping his seasons and rages, destroyer, reminder
Of what men choose to forget...

Yes, we ought to be in wonder and in awe.

But so often we forget about water in our cities until it becomes a problem. And then, when the problem goes, we forget about the way in which water is the first and the last of God’s great blessings in nature, immediately after creation itself.

● Creation comes on the first day, in the story in Genesis, and life begins to have possibilities and to take shape on the second day, when God separates the waters.
● The slaves are led from captivity to freedom and promise through the waters of the Red Sea.
● The exiles weep and dream of promise by the waters of Babylon.
● In the waters of the Jordan, Christ is revealed as the Beloved Son, and the Spirit hovers above the new creation.
● We hear Christ thirsting on the Cross in his dying moments.
● Water flows from the side of the Crucified Christ.
● The waters of Baptism incorporate us into the Body of Christ.
● And then, God’s creation reaches the climax of its potential, its potential beauty, with that image in Revelation of the City of God with the River of Life running through its centre.

Too often we see water as a problem – rivers to be bridged, tsunamis to clean up after, storms to clear up from, leaky roofs, dripping drains, flooded fields, stormy shores, barren deserts when water fails ...

And we blame not ourselves.

I begin each day in the shower, thanking God for water, not just the water that cleans me, restores my health and quenches my thirst, but thanking God too for the waters of baptism, in which I was bathed in the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, when God called me his own.

The Samaritan Woman at the Well … a sculpture by Samuel Peploe Wood (1827-1873). This missing drinking fountain once stood at the corner of the Museum Building in Lichfield, where it was erected in 1862 (Photograph courtesy David Titley)

Christ shares water at the well in Sychar with the Samaritan woman, who is an outsider in so many ways. Sharing water with her, he tells her she is not an outsider, she is accepted by God, she is truly called into the Kingdom of God.

He offers her living water, and those who drink of this water that he gives us will never be thirsty. The water that he gives us will become in us a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.

It is water that cannot be tainted, water that cannot be commoditised, water that privatisation cannot stop from flowing freely.

Lord, I thirst. Give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty, Amen.

Prayer:

Lord Jesus Christ,
you thirsted physically on the cross
that our spiritual thirst might be quenched.
Draw us even deeper into the living wells of our salvation
that we may long more and more
for the things of the Spirit,
for your mercy’s sake. Amen.

(Revd Canon Professor) Patrick Comerford is Lecturer in Anglicanism, Liturgy and Church History, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, Dublin. This is the fifth of seven reflections on “the Seven Last Words” on Good Friday, 3 April 2015, in All Saints’ Church, Grangegorman, Dublin, where the Vicar is Archdeacon David Pierpoint.

Back on the Pugin trail in Rush in a former Ashlin and Coleman church

The Ashlin and Coleman church in Rush has been transformed into a library in a prize-winning project by McCullough Mulvin Architects (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2014)

Patrick Comerford

I found myself back on the Pugin trail again when I visited the prize-winning Library in Rush in Fingal, north Co Dublin. McCullough Mulvin Architects, who designed the innovative library project, were recognised internationally when they were honoured at the World Architecture Festival in Barcelona.

In 2010, it was recognised as the Best Conservation / Restoration Project. The library project involved the transformation of the former Saint Maur’s Church, which I have often seen from the outside, but only visited for the first time this afternoon.

The former Saint Maur’s Church dominates the village green on the western edge of Rush, opposite the former entrance to Kenure House. It stands on the site of an 18th century chapel. But the present building is Victorian Gothic in style, with its pink surrounds, grey stone walls and Gothic windows and tower.

The church was deconsecrated and served as an arts centre until 2007, when Fingal County Council commissioned McCullough Mulvin to transform it into Rush Library.

At the time, Niall McCullough said: “The work combined a careful investigation and conservation of the existing structure with a particular concern for the rescue of ordinary materials, making a distinctive intervention into it to hold the new facilities.” He explained: “This is formed as an undulating walnut plane which fills the nave running across the floor and up on both sides; the shape is barely contained, pushing tensely against the shell of the existing building.”

He told the Irish Independent: “Though not ruinous, the building was not in good condition when discussions began about the new work. There was extensive dry and wet rot and repair required to many features. The nave had formerly been dry-lined internally, leading to extensive spalling of plaster to walls. Minimal repair was taken as the approach.”

Original decoration in the chancel is typical of Pugin-style churches (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2014)

The cruciform shape of the former church was retained and the original entrance is now the entrance to the library. The architects said: “The chancel was retained as it stood with some brickwork construction exposed, making a highly coloured space at the focus of the building. The main body of the interior was painted white on a lime plaster base and the confessional cubicle became a music listening booth.”

A chapel was first built here by Canon Thomas Murphy in 1760 on the site of an earlier mass house. This chapel was remodelled and enlarged in 1851 by the Parish Priest of Rush, Father Andrew Fagan, who removed the wings of the T-shaped building, preserved the nave but lengthened it, raised the walls to give the building a give greater elevation. The result was a fairly spacious oblong church, but devoid of all architectural merit.

The church that had been crudely repaired and extended in 1851 was showing signs of disintegration when Canon Michael O’Hea was became Parish Priest of Rush in 1898. He consulted George Ashlin, then Ireland’s most eminent Church architect, who recommended a complete remodelling of the building.

Tiling in the chancel ... part of the Pugin-style work retained in the library (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2014)

The body of the Church was retained as the nave of the new work, and transepts and chancel were added in alternate courses of red and white concrete blocks, all finished off with a handsome bell-tower, leaving it one of the most spacious and architecturally perfect rural churches in Dublin at the time. The work cost £5,123, and a furtrher £500 was spent on altars, stations of the cross, Communion rails, confessionals, and other additions.

The Dublin-based architect, George Coppinger Ashlin (1837-1921) is closely identified with the work of the Pugin family, and was a son-in-law of AWN Pugin. He was the third son of John Musson Ashlin, JP, of Rush Hill, Wandsworth, Surrey, and his wife Dorinda Coppinger, and was born at Carrigrenane House, Co Cork, on 28 May 1837.

Ashlin was educated in Liège, and then at Oscott College, near Birmingham (1851-1855), where he was already preparing for a career in architecture.

Oscott was one of AWN Pugin’s great projects, and In 1856 Ashlin became a pupil of Pugin’s son, Edward Welby Pugin, first in Birmingham and then in London, and from 1858 to 1860 he was also a student at the Royal Academy.

When Ashlin went into partnership with Edward Pugin, he undertook setting up a Dublin branch of the practice and taking charge of the Irish commissions, including the large new church of SS Peter and Paul in Cork.

By 1861, he had opened the office of Pugin & Ashlin at 90 Saint Stephen’s Green. Many commissions followed, almost all of them for Roman Catholic churches, convents and monasteries, including the new cathedral at Queenstown (Cobh), Co Cork.

The partnership of Pugin & Ashlin was dissolved at the end of 1868, but, as Ashlin had married Edward Pugin’s younger sister Mary Pugin (1844-1933) in 1867, family ties remained close.

Ashlin was in partnership with his brothers-in-law, Peter Paul Pugin and Cuthbert Pugin, from 1875 to 1880, but worked under his own name in Ireland, where he had a highly successful practice.

In 1903, he invited his former pupil and office manager, Thomas Aloysius Coleman, to join him in the new partnership of Ashlin & Coleman. His other pupils and assistants included Alfred Ignatius McGloughlin, who supervised the Portrane Asylum project before emigrating to the US ca 1900.

As president of the RIAI (1902-1904), Ashlin represented Irish architects on the RIBA’s committee on registration.

Alfred Edwin Jones, who became a pupil in Ashlin & Coleman’s office in 1911, remembered Ashlin as a tall, commanding figure with “an appearance of distinction.”

Ashlin died at the age of 84 on 10 December 1921, at St George’s, Killiney, the house he had designed for himself. He was buried in Glasnevin Cemetery. His only child, Miriam Francis Xavier, married his nephew and partner, Stephen Martin Ashlin, in 1904.

The Communion rails, a side altar, the pulpit, and the the stained glass in the church in Rush were the work of Earley and Co (1907-1912), the Dublin church decorators and stained glass artists based in Upper Camden Street who were successors to the partnership of Earley and Powell.

On the beach in Loughshinny this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2014)

Before visiting Rush Library, two of us had spent the afternoon walking two beaches in Fingal. We first stopped in tiny Loughshinny, where, despite the gloomy clouds overhead, there was a small yacht in the nay, some fishermen selling from their trawlers in the harbour, and later, one lonely rower in a kayak.

Walking on the North Beach in Skerries this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2014)

In Skerries, we stopped for lunch and double espressos in the Olive Café on Strand Street, which has a new menu, had opened a new Deli next door, and still serves the best espresso in Fingal.

The second-hand book section of a charity shop seemed to be irresistible, and I ended up with a handful of bargains before walking for a short time on the North Beach.

The grey clouds overhead did not deter the number of children there enjoying the sea and sand. Children always seem to know how to make the best of summer.

Summer colours on Strand Street, Skerries, this morning (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2014)