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My Dad is from Bray in Co Wicklow. When I was young, my brothers and I would have spent a lot of time there with my grandparents. They lived in a beautiful Victorian house facing a park, number 5 Sidmonton Square. Behind their house there was small street called Glenard Avenue. Now we used to refer to this little road as the ‘back lane’. I am not sure what the good citizens of Glenard would have made of us calling that! There was door in the garden wall that opened out into this little independent republic tucked away in the sea-side town. They were our second set of neighbors, our summer time family and they loved the three ruddy kids from country who would visit from time to time, shattering the tranquility of neighborhood with footballs and bikes and whatever else we could borrow from our Bray cousins during our holidays. One of the citizens of Glenard Ave was June Wheeler – June was a survivor of polio.
When she was young, like so many of her generation, she fell ill. After many many months in hospital she came home a very different person. I never knew her with braces or crutches, she had been sick along time even before my grandparents settled there. The scares of her illness however remained with her for life. June was special to us. She lived in a small house, filled with photos of another era, holy pictures and bits and pieces belonging to her deceased mother, each with their own place, each with their own story. Despite her frailty, her left arm was practically powerless, she worked every day in little shop on the Meath Road, the proprietors name to us was irrelevant – we only called it June’s. She cared for her mother until she died in her eighties – and only then dared to put the official name of the her house on the door – Victoria Villas – her mum came from firm republican stock!
June had two loves. Her little dog Skippy, who she walked slowly but determinedly every day in the Park in front of my Grandparents house and the Italian Capuchin saint, Padre Pio. She maintained that it was both of these that kept her going. Every month she organised a bus to the Capuchin’s in Church St, Dublin to a Mass for his canonization. Ironically, I learned of her death when I was on a trip to San Giovanni Rotondo, St Pio’s town, when I was a student in Rome.
Growing up June was one of those people who made mark on my life and lives my brothers and cousins. We knew nothing about polio. Unlike when my grandparents were young and starting their own family, polio was not threat and had for us had receded into history. For June and for many people like her, polio is as real now as it was then. Coming in and going out of her house, visiting her in the shop, playing with her dog, going on the bus Church St, we could not even begin to imagine what she had gone through as a child, as only survivors of polio can understand.
The Gospel today tells the story of the road to Emmaus. It’s a real Easter story. The two men, one called Clopas, the other unnamed had just experienced the most traumatic event of their lives. They had witnessed their dreams, their plans for the future, their hopes evaporate before their eyes. Jesus, whom they hoped would answer all their questions had been taken from them, crucified and buried. They felt as if they had no option, but to leave. They waited till the dust settled and on the first day of the week, they skipped town. They had heard foundationless rumors that he was still alive, but they knew best, he was gone, that was it. And as they were talking about it all writing two lines under their bad debt, the risen Jesus comes to them. He asks them what is wrong, and not without irony, he is told. Only after a long time can they see him for who he is. Their hearts burning as they go back to confirm what the others knew – Jesus is risen and had appeared to Simon.
What really strikes me about this story is the range of human emotion that is presented. Fear, maybe anger, cynicism, regret, then coupled with joy, love, passion and faith. It says that their hearts burned within them and when they realized what had just happened to them they ran back to Jerusalem in the dark – a dodgy enough endeavor. When illness comes our way, we can identify with the two men. Many of you who are listening today will have had the experience of a doctors office; being told news that changes everything. An accident, a diagnosis, results of test can burst us. In an instant dreams and hopes can be replaced by the fear of the future, uncertainly and darkness. The experience of post polio is certainly like that. When life seems to be just fine, everything seems to going well, another cross, another Calvary is added to what may already have been a life of challenge. Sometimes the painful memories of the past can return to play with us. Separation from loved ones, hard and difficult treatment, abuse (mentally, physically and sexually) can return to scourge us like the whips of Good Friday, refusing to let us heal.
Jesus walks with us in all things – good and bad. Some times we know he is there, sometimes he is hidden from us, we have to look hard to find him. Sometimes he is in the face of a friend, other times in the kind words of stranger. If you feel alone this morning, cut off from friends and family, if illness or disability or infirmity has stolen your dreams – during this Mass when we meet Jesus in the scripture and the breaking of the bread - let us walk with you. Be it polio or any other sickness, old age or any suffering of body, mind or spirit that is holding you back – stay with us for a while, for Christ is here. Everyone at some time or another feels the pain of loneliness and disappointment. Jesus tells us today that everything is okay – even apparent disaster.
As we gather in his name today let us allow him, tell us we do not suffer alone. He as gone before us, he knows our pain and he will make our hearts burn within us with his love – and the love that is in hearts of all people - if we but reach out and take it.
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