Sr Anne Kilroy is a small, neat bundle of Loreto talent, a true daughter of Mary Ward with multiple gifts of mind and heart. In a long telephone call form Belfast on Saturday morning, we discussed our native Celtic spirituality. Our ancestors understood the unity of all creation with the creator God and made no artificial splits between this world and the transcendent. They were aware of God in the ordinary and in everyday happenings. As Joseph M Plunkett wrote, ' I see his face in every flower, the thunder and the singing of the birds are but his voice….'

And today technology also helps. As we sat at our separate computers on Saturday morning, Anne and I could examine her selection of Celtic knots, appreciating the continuity and oneness in the beautiful shapes, which were Christianised by the ancient monks. ‘You can trace it with your finger’, Anne said. The monks of old also introduced human and animal shapes into the sacred texts, as we see in the Book of Kells. And every Irish student must enjoy the nameless academic monk who had a problem with mice, and who owned a cat called Pangur:

I and Pangur Bán my cat, 'tis a like task we are at:

Hunting mice is his delight, hunting words I sit all night.

(Trans. Robin Flower)

Already I had decided to use the words and music of my favourite hymn to introduce a community reflection on Creation. What could be more seasonal and cyclical than ‘Ag Criost an Siol’. The line in italics below emphasises the circulatory renewal in nature -and grace; death is not the end:

Ag Críost an síol, ag Críost an fómhar

I n-iothalainn Dé go dtugtar sinn.

(Christ's is the Seed, Christ's is the Harvest

Into God's barn may we be brought)

Ag Críost an mhuir, ag Críost an t-iasc                           

i liontaibh De go gcastar sinn

(Christ's is the sea, Christ's is the fish

In the nets of God may we be caught)

O fhás go haois is ó aois go bás

do dhá láimh a Críost anall tharainn

(From Birth to age and from age to death,

May your two arms, O Christ, be around us.)

O bhás go críoch, ní críoch ach ath-fhás

I bPárrthas na nGrást go rabhaimíd

(From Death to the end, not the end but a rebirth,

In the Paradise of Graces may we be.)

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