Deep in the Irish Heart…
Deep in the Irish heart
there is music to heal the soul
there is laughter to build a bridge through the hurt
there is a jig for times of sorrow and times of joy
there is remembrance of both famine and feast
there is a hunger for community
there is a fierce protection of family
Deep in the Irish heart
there are tales told to teach and lament
there are meals that always have room at the table
there are memories of those lost
there are ballads of loss and grief
there are tunes of perseverance and pride
Deep in the Irish heart
there is truth to be told of who we are and who we aren’t
there is integrity to be lived in what our faith requires of us
there is tradition that keeps us tender, tearful, tenacious and trusting
Deep in the Irish heart
there is love
My grandmothers taught me to be Irish.
Not the kind of Irish that is the caricature of this day – green beer, inauthentic Irish music and poorly cooked corned beef.
No, my grandmothers were women of strength, gregarious laughter, great stories, unflappable faith and resounding authority. As many households, ours was driven by the strength of the Irish women.
I want you to meet “Gram” – well, actually, some of you who are reading this are equally related to her…
Mary Ellen McKenna – first generation Irish and only one of two in a family of ten to leave the farm and marry. A teacher, a seamstress, a lover of family and a commander of attention. Never mind the apparent quiet disposition – it was inadvisable not to pay attention the first time.
Gram taught me how to tell a good story…and the person from whom I learned “every story I tell is true, and some of them actually happened.” She varied the ending depending on the point she was making and it was important that you were ready for the “moral of the story.”
She taught me about the “little people” who are not leprechauns that dance a jig, but the ones that live within and demand integrity. She taught me that the best place to cry is in the shower and that the dance of life is sometimes written in a minor key. From melancholy to melody, she taught me to listen to the rhythm of the spirit and follow it – even if everyone around you thinks you’re mad or off-key…it is the song of your own heart that matters.
Most of all, she gave us a blessing one year of abstention from all Lenten fasting on St. Patrick’s Day. And, my father – thought that the one year abstention was a lifetime commandment – only joy on St. Patrick’s Day. Gram proclaimed it as a day of glad-making and love-giving and laughter-making.
And so, in the spirit of the Irish…and our own dear “Gram”
Do something that lightens the heart, fills the spirit, refreshes the well and enlivens the gladness.
For…
there is love
Tomorrow…back to Lent
Today,
I’ll meet you in the shamrock patch,
Bridget
