Day Twenty: St. Stephen's Green & the Family

Thankfully there was no need to get up early this morning.  I rested well last night and after breakfast headed up the street to see if I could find some CD shops.  Yes.  I guess I know how irrelevant that sounds.  Irish music is, I am certain now, downloaded more than purchased in solid form.  I had spotted a place not far from Trinity College yesterday, but much as I thought I would walk by it, the twisty streets of Dublin led me elsewhere.

I did successfully land in St. Stephen's Green a very pleasant and sculptured park the size of a few city blocks.  It provides immediate respite from the grey patina of the urban environment and the noise and particulates produced by vehicles.  After a relaxing time with the flora and fauna, I continued to make my way toward the site of the Eucharistic Congress. 

Bronze companion.
As the song says . . .
Art is present everywhere in the city.  You are not alone and you can find figures standing, sitting, pushing carts and generously imposing themselves on the landscape to remind you that we are on the journey of life together. 

I arrived on time to secure a bit of a lunch and chat with others.  The theme for the day was family life.  And while issues are abundant, I found it an opportunity to reflect on one thought in particular.  Individual lives do not move in straight lines, nor do lives in families.  While it may take time, effort and most of all grace, it is so important to acknowledge the acts of perfect love given imperfectly, because that's really the only way we are going to experience or share love at all.  The love we want is not, I think, so much an ideal as it is something that we actually experience but in some way limited by the interference patterns that we must accept are part of the variables of human life. 

Parents certainly know this.  How often in the midst of struggle with their children do they sense love most clearly?  Quite often I think. 

Cardinal Vingts-Trois et al
The Archbishop of Paris, Cardinal Vingts-Trois (what a name! -- 23) presided and preached in a most humane, direct and humble way.  The Irish mist was coming down from time to time and I was glad that I had opted for my jeans and not dress pants today.  I also had my umbrella and a waterproof jacket, which I put on under by vestments (which are washable anyway).  Sartorially, that ended up being a bit more fetching than the clear plastic rain ponchos which most of the clergy had resorted to.  Aah, pride -- it is a terrible thing! 

I met up with some priests afterwards, including one whom I have not seen in twenty years.  Three of us went out to dinner tonight at the Wynn's Hotel, a Dublin institution.  And now my entry is capping off the day.  Anon. . . .

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