The joy of children

Second Reading I got it wrong in this column recently. Not about the Shell to Sea campaign. There will be no recantation.

“Christmas is a magical time, especially for children. I reckon that our best memories of the festival are embedded in our childhood experiences”

Second Reading

Fr Kevin Hegarty

I got it wrong in this column recently. Not about the Shell to Sea campaign. There will be no recantation, not even a Galileo-like one, of what I wrote there.

May I say, however, I was pleasantly surprised by the reaction to that column? The vast majority of people who responded to it were positive. They were glad that someone said publicly what they were thinking privately. There were, of course, the negative reactions, among which the letters of Ms Leila Doolan and Mr Edward Moran were most prominent.

Their letters were trenchant, if rather verbose, reiterations of the Shell to Sea position. Nothing new there. Implicitly, they confirmed my view. The Shell to Sea campaign is camped in a cul de sac. None of their leaders or fellow travellers seem to have the insight and courage to recognise the reality of the legal consents which Shell have obtained.

People have the right to be obdurate or blind in the face of reality. I respect what Leila Doolan and Edward Moran have said. One of the fundamental principles of my life is the dictum of the French philosopher, Voltaire: I may not agree with your opinion but I will defend to the death your right to express it. What disappointed me in their responses was their failure to condemn tactics of Shell to Sea that are anti-democratic; the taunting of An Garda Síochána as they seek to maintain order at Bellanaboy, the verbal intimidation of those working for Shell and its ancillaries and the vandalising of the property of local businesses providing services to the project.

Enough of that for now. The season of goodwill is upon us. Let us place our swords back in their scabbards.

It was last week that I got it wrong. Reflecting on Mary, the mother of Jesus, I wrote that, in the month before his birth, like all pregnant women, she could only watch, wait and wonder for the awesome moment of creation.

My reflection amused a friend. In the final months before the births of her children she was frenetic. To the chagrin of her husband, she even moved heavy furniture about their home – an activity she now recognises as part of the resting syndrome.

It just shows how little I know about pregnant women! Part of the charm of male-female relationships is that we never fully understand each other. A book title puts it well: ‘Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus’. What hope has a male celibate of understanding the experience of Venus?

My friend and I agree on one important thing. Children are a sign of hope and joy in our world. What would the world be like without children. PD James, the English crime writer, conveys intricate plots in exquisite prose.

Some years ago she deviated from her usual course to write a science fiction novel, ‘The Children of Men’. She imagines a future England where human infertility has spread like a plague. In the year 2021 no children have been born in England for a quarter of a century.

It is one of the most haunting books I have ever read. The old are driven to despair and suicide while the final generation of young people are violent and cruel as they desperately seek the key to survival.

Eavan Boland beautifully expresses the meaning children bring into our lives, in a poem dedicated to her daughter, Eavan Frances:

“Tryers of firesides,

twilights. There are no tears in these.

Instead they begin the world again,

making the mountain ridges blue

And the rivers clear and the hero fearless –

And the outcome always undecided

So the next teller can say begin and again

And astonish children.

Our children are our legends.

You are mine, you have my name,

My hair was once like yours.

And the world

Is less bitter to me because you will re-tell the story.”

Last week the British Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, and his wife, Sarah, entertained the children who won the ‘Woman’s Own Children of Courage Awards’ to breakfast at Downing Street. Among the winners was Myles Fitzpatrick, a ten-year-old autistic boy who saved his mother’s life after she suffered a near-fatal asthma attack. Myles has a severe form of autism, which means he is unable to carry out even simple instructions. His mother, Leza, is ‘amazed that he managed to step outside his world just long enough to save my life.

The stories of these children illustrate the hope, joy and courage children can bring into our lives. They renew us by their enthusiasm and innocence.

Christmas is a magical time, especially for children. I reckon that our best memories of the festival are embedded in our childhood experiences. At the centre of this Christian celebration is the birth of a child – not just any child, but the child of God. What children do for us is magnified beyond words in the birth of Jesus.

John Montague has written a poem on Christmas morning:

“Lights outline a hill

As silently the people,

Like shepherd and angel

On that first morning,

March from Altcloghfin,

Beltany, Rarogan,

Under rimed hawthorn,

Gothic evergreen,

Grouped in the warmth

And cloud of their breath,

Along cattle paths