Monsignor Kevin Nichols. d.15 th January 2006; RIP.

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1 Monsignor Kevin Nichols. d.15 th January 2006; RIP. As the years roll by, fewer of us will have had the privilege of personal memories of Kevin Nichols. It will be left to the anecdotes of his inspired teaching, records of his gentle leadership, but especially, his legacy of poetic and liturgical work which continue to remind us of what a great contribution has been made by a humble man of humble origins. Monsignor Nichols was born in Wallsend in 1929 and lived in High View, in St. Columba s parish. Growing through our schools, he went on to St. Cuthbert s Grammar School and Mount St. Mary s College, Derbyshire. His priestly training was undertaken at Ushaw College and he was ordained at St. Mary s Cathedral in A move to Cambridge University to study English gave him the good fortune of studying under CS Lewis who is famous for his Chronicles of Narnia series of books, but whose work includes essays, novels and poetry reflecting deep religious devotion and enquiry. They must have been kindred spirits. Were we to annotate Monsignor Nichols career achievements, like some clerical Curriculum Vitae, it would in itself be impressive: popular and inspirational Teacher at St. Cuthbert s School (where he returned after graduation), lecturer in Theology and Religious Education at Liverpool Hope University (then called Christ s College), becoming its Head of Education. His national reputation led to being a National Adviser for Religious Education in England and Wales. His linguistic skill and theological rigour led to membership of the International Committee for English in the Liturgy. His international reputation led to a post as Associate Professor of the Catholic University of America in Washington. It was his intellectual prowess and contribution to education for which he was honoured with the title Monsignor by Pope Paul VI. That would be, though, to miss the passion and empathy that Monsignor Nichols showed as a person, priest and poet and it is to his published words that we should turn to find the humanity and spirituality of this modest man. In Stations of Affliction 1, a series of prayers guiding us through the torment, death and resurrection of Jesus, Kevin is so sparing with words that we are almost compelled to meditate on every facet he lays before us: 1 Condemned Men cannot bear too much innocence. They bring in the verdict of guilty and they add no recommendation for mercy. I am silent, I make no protest. 1 Stations of Affliction; Kevin Nichols; 1987 Catholic Truth Society; London; 1987.

2 Where would we have been at the condemnation of Jesus? Why would we have felt that way? And so the prompts on the Stations of The Cross continue throughout the slim volume to generate our mental pictures, provoke our senses, until the glorious triumphant cry of the New Testament: On the third day he rose again from the dead according to the scriptures. In Sequences 2 we are invited to share in some revisited prayers of the Church, but also allowed an insight into those moments Kevin found memorable or joyful or sad. In the poem Usually March 3 we are left wondering if he is thinking about a month or a life... Usually March. Usually March is spare and neutral just the bare bones of a month, but occasionally crazy escaped winter runs amok in its early days, sets the year back a bit; more rarely it ends in a lyrical burst of summer. Usually March is a month you d scarcely notice though tradition is right about the wind, dead leaves and papers swirl outside my window; still March as a rule is a month you d be hard pressed to write poems about. May has often been pointed out as interesting elegiac September a sure-fire annual heartbreak but the most you d want to say about March really is that usually it s followed up by April, though not perhaps always. So Kevin reminds us that we cast aside without thought sometimes those every year events, disregarding, unseeing of their character and uniqueness: do we do that with people? Scarcely notice? 2 Sequences; Kevin Nichols; Sursum Corda Publications; Newcastle upon Tyne; Ibid page 20.

3 Kevin s love for the beauty of his home region and its patron saint, Cuthbert, shines through in St. Cuthbert 4 St. Cuthbert This northern sea of ours you knew, this island set apart where once you dwelt in quietness this Eden of the heart; knew the gull s way, knew the wind s way knew the secrets of the sea and the Lord walked there in the evening as of old in Galilee. Yet no one is an island of empty desolate shores, but the death of each one lessens me and the life of each restores. Then from that island s solitude, a neighbour s call you heard: Come over now and help us who hunger for God s word. in that word s strength, in the gospel s power, you left that tranquil place: God s traveller, God s journeyman on your pilgrimage of grace. For no one is an island of empty desolate shores but the death of each one lessens me and the life of each restores. (St. Cuthbert s feast day is March 20 th ). It seems that Kevin s line of thought is invaded by images, interjections of natural mystery: knew the gull s way, knew the wind s way... Anyone knowing the Northumberland coast will be familiar with the vagaries of wind and sea! And again, in the second stanza, Kevin is overtaken by the whelm that Cuthbert must have experienced in response to the Word. 4 Ibid page 25.

4 Arguably, Kevin s finest work was the collection Decryptions 5 published after his death in That passion and sensitivity for the ordinary person rings through, especially when faced with a changing, less friendly world. The Death of God 6 When it was announced the obituaries Were blank, but the headlines pealed, We are free At last to discover our true selves and To choose unfettered our human destiny. It was a giant step for mankind; only The poor hearing it wept bitterly, Knowing with a surety of the pulse how pitiless The next gods would be. Kevin s empathy for the faithful rings out. The shocking, ironic isolation of the words We are free, prepares us for the emptiness we face in a mankind trying to live without God, just as those words cannot work without their surrounding sentence. We will not explore here, the references to Martin Luther King or Neil Armstrong, only in that their words have many times been misconstrued and abused, as Kevin seems to suggest. It is human experience that brings us closer to God: simple, painful, inarticulate experience. We find God not in the silver words of the scholar or the mighty deeds of people, but in our own battered, footsore souls, as Kevin seems to have discovered: Preaching 7 The words at first came fluently enough, Seasoned by time and by occasion; he mined The seams of scripture and sacrament, rode The roller coaster of salvation-history. Walking one day across the lean acres Of his experience, he unearthed A few raw words: gist, threadbare, roots, Horizon, drought and fracture, hoping Against hope they might be gathered up Into the great poem and transfigured. Perhaps we are reading Kevin s humble hope that his real experience of faith and his own best efforts, frail as they are, will be engulfed in the oneness of Jesus, the only person who can see the potential, the truth in our own personal gist, threadbare, roots. 5 Decryptions; Kevin Nichols; Sursum Corda Publications; Newcastle upon Tyne; Ibid page 9 7 Ibid page 13

5 With it all, Kevin loved nature, saw in it the glory of God and the eternal freshness that is God s love in the world. Succinctly put in Winter Word. 8 Winter Word The snowdrop stirs under the still season, as silence only begets faith. The wind s gutturals enclose the soft vowel of the tide to speak a word unbroken, that is truth s first syllable and love s token. Most of us will read Kevin s name without realising it, when we open our hymn books to sing one of the British Church s favourites: In Bread We Bring You, Lord. It is a great hymn: it explains, it offers, it praises, it is joyful. It is one of many that Kevin gave to our celebrations. Kevin s real epitaph, though, is short, full of love, a simple request. These words of his are inscribed upon his headstone at Minsteracres: Prayer 9 Master let your grace lightsome as a snowflake settle on us. Kevin Nichols. Priest. Poet to Ibid page Ibid page 25.