THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK: Offaly columnist advises to begin the week again with God

Some Sundays and weekdays, I slip quietly into the chapel of the Poor Clare convent in Galway for Mass. There is something profoundly moving about beginning the Lord’s Day in such stillness, surrounded by women whose entire lives are given to prayer. The silence is not empty; it is full of presence, full of God. Sitting in their simple chapel, I often sense that heaven is nearer than we imagine.

Last Sunday, the priest spoke about a poem entitled “When I wake in the morning”, by Mary Oliver. At first, it seemed ordinary, almost too simple. Yet, as he reflected, I began to perceive the profundity, to wake in the morning is no small thing. Each dawn is a quiet miracle, a blessing, a fresh start. Every sunrise is unearned grace, a chance to begin again. God whispers to us: “I have given you another chance. My mercies are new. Begin again with Me” (Lamentations 3:22–23). Each morning this week, whisper the psalmist’s words: “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118:24). Before reaching for your phone, pause and name one gift God has bestowed on you. Let gratitude be your first prayer.

The wonder of small things

Mary Oliver writes: “Hello, sun in my face… Watch, now, how I start the day in happiness, in kindness.” This is not a prayer of grand words, but of open eyes. Each morning invites us to see the world anew such as dew on a blade of grass, mist curling like prayer-smoke, sunlight catching autumn leaves as if God Himself painted them with fire. Jesus said, “Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). Children notice. Children marvel. Perhaps the holiest act each morning is to notice and whisper, “Thank You, Lord.” By week’s end, try and name seven small wonders you have discovered. “Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your law” (Psalm 119:18).

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A season of God’s teaching

Autumn preaches without words. The trees dress themselves in amber and russet, only to release their leaves into the wind. Fields fall silent after harvest. Light sharpens, evenings shorten. This season teaches the wisdom of letting go. “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24). The earth itself teaches patience and attentiveness.

It reminds us that God’s timing is perfect, that transformation often comes through surrender, and that even decay bears fruit for new life. Mary Oliver’s wisdom in her poem resonates here, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” What must you release, old wounds, resentments, fears, so God can bring new life? Place your burdens in His hands. Tear them from your grasp as a symbol of trust (Psalm 55:22, 1 Peter 5:7) Autumn is also a season of harvest. What fruits of the Holy Spirit such as "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control" (Galatians 5:22–23) are ripening in your life? Offer them to another this week through small acts of compassion, sharing food, time, patience, or forgiveness (2 Corinthians 9:11). The season carries tender melancholy too. Shadows lengthen, light fades, loved ones are gone. Yet Scripture reminds us: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). Light a candle. Pray. Reach out to the grieving. In grief and gratitude, God is present.

Following St. Francis

St. Francis of Assisi whose feast day we celebrated recently this month shows us how to live with radical love and attention to God. He embraced poverty, humility, and simplicity, yet faced the brokenness of his world in situations of war, greed, social exclusion, and corruption. You might say not too unlike present times! He did not shrink from confronting injustice, even at great personal risk. His life was uncompromising, he refused wealth, embraced Lady Poverty, and ministered to lepers. He taught that attachment to possessions binds us, leaving little room for love, God, and relationships. Walking through the Poor Clare chapel at times, candlelight flickers against the stone, and I remember Jesus’ words: “When you pray, go into your room, close the door, and pray to your Father who is unseen” (Matthew 6:6). Prayer is not performance; it is intimacy, a daily awakening to God’s presence.

St. Francis also understood the power of reform. In his call to “repair my Church,” he began with himself, recognising that lasting change begins in personal conversion and transformation, not condemnation of others. He demonstrated that faithfulness spreads outward, when we are transformed, we invite transformation in others. He loved all creation as brother and sister. The sparrow, the sun, the moon, the smallest flower, they were kin, and through them, he praised God. “Praise be to you, my Lord, through our Sister, Mother Earth, who sustains and governs us” (Laudato Si’). True care for nature, justice for the poor, and interior peace are inseparable. Even our late Pope Francis, choosing his name, reminded us: “Don’t forget the poor… a Church that is poor and for the poor.” St. Francis teaches us that holiness is available to all, especially those who try to embrace poverty of spirit, to notice, to love, to serve, to trust in God. St. Francis didn’t want his friars or fellow brothers to preach salvation as much as he wanted them to be salvation. He wanted them to model, follow and mirror the life of Jesus in the world, with all of the vulnerability that would entail. Through his living example, St. Francis teaches us about living in kinship with all humanity and all creation and always giving glory and praise to God.

Living in God’s will

Every so often, we must ask: What are we doing with our lives? Are we chasing what fades, or pursuing God’s will, who is passionately in love with us? St. Francis teaches us to listen attentively, to follow wherever God calls, even when it demands letting go of comfort, wealth, or recognition. When we embrace God’s will, we find freedom, joy, and deep peace. We rebuild our lives, our communities, our church, and our world. Each small act of love, each humble surrender, each attentive prayer brings us closer to Christ. Rebuilding, reforming, and healing always begins in love.

St Paul reminds us: “So faith, hope, and love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love” (1 Corinthians 13:13). Love awakens us to the presence of God, to the dignity of others, and to the wonder of creation. God’s love is planted in each of us as the Holy Spirit, teaching us to see and act with divine awareness. True prayer is being fully present to this love and allowing it to flow outward. As Jesus said: “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me” (John 15:4-5).

St. Francis teaches that holiness is not reserved for the exceptional but available to all. By embracing poverty of spirit, humility, and radical attention to God and neighbor, we begin to repair the fractures in ourselves, our communities, and the earth. In our struggles, in our failures, in our small daily acts of courage, we participate in God’s ongoing work of restoration. Even amid the chaos of our times such as wars, environmental degradation, social inequities, political divisions, we are invited to a radical yes: a yes to God's will, a yes to justice, a yes to mercy, and a yes to love. St. Francis concludes his Canticle of the Creatures praising Sister Death and God’s holy will: “Blessed are those whom death will find doing your most holy will… Praise and bless my Lord and give him thanks and serve him with great humility.” May we too live this way.

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Thought for the week

As your thought for the week, remember to take a breath. Let the world fall silent around you. Each morning, whisper: “Thank You, Lord, for this day.”

Notice one small wonder such as the morning light, a bird’s song, a smile. Let it fill you with gratitude. Before the week ends, do one intentional act of compassion for someone in need, maybe a call, a visit, a donation, a prayer, a candle lit. In these small acts, the Kingdom of God draws near. May your mornings begin with gratitude, your days be marked with kindness, your autumn filled with God’s gentle presence. Let us marvel, let us release, let us share, and trust that even in endings, God is planting new beginnings. Let me leave you with one of my prayers for the Autumn season, "Loving Creator, in every sunrise You give us new mercies. In every leaf You show us the beauty of release. In every harvest You remind us of Your generosity. This autumn, teach us to let go with trust, gather blessings with thanksgiving, share with compassion, and walk in Your presence with wonder. Lord, Your love is infinite and embraces us even in our weakness. Teach us to be gentle with ourselves, to love others with compassion, and to live simply, like St. Francis. Open our eyes to see You in creation and in the poor, and draw us into the peace of Your presence. Let our lives reflect Your everlasting love. Be close to the brokenhearted. Be warmth for the lonely. Be a shelter for the vulnerable. Be light in the gathering dark. May each of us grow in these four relationships — with God, with others, with nature and with ourselves. Lord of the seasons, walk with us today, tomorrow, and always. Amen."