Laughter and silence

Today we celebrated the Requiem Mass for Fr Ray O'Shea, former parish priest of Christ the King, and, a long time ago, assistant at St Brigid's.  As with all funerals at the moment, we had to stay within the restrictions of the present situation, with no more than 30 present, social distancing etc. Thank God, all went well.

Ray had the ability to light up a room, and bring laughter and joy into a situation. Here of course, his coffin before the altar, he had been reduced to silence, a silence we could all fill with our own memories, thoughts and prayers.  

After posting "Bridge Over Troubled Water"  from the concert in Central Park, it was suggested I add "Sound of Silence" from the same performance, another of Simon and Garfunkel's classic songs.

Hello darkness, my old friend  I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping  left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains
Within the sound of silence

 

In restless dreams I walked alone,  narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp   I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light that split the night
And touched the sound of silence

 

And in the naked light, I saw  ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking,  people hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share,  and no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

 

"Fools", said I, "You do not know  Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you,  take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell  and echoed
In the wells of silence

 

And the people bowed and prayed  to the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning  in the words that it was forming
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets 

are written on the subway walls  and tenement halls"
And whispered in the sound of silence