But at last he grew old (as must we all), his health failed, and Fergus knew he was going to die (as must we all). So he gathered his councillors, his warriors, his poets, and his priests, and asked his servants to carry him out to the meadow in front of his fort. Oh, you can be sure there were long, tearful goodbyes to his wife of fifty years, and to his many children and grandchildren.

Then, as life was quickly ebbing, the King looked up at the green hills, the blue sky, the golden fields, and the silver lakes of the Kingdom of Kerry, and loved them all and all its people. Finally, as he was about to breathe his last, he reached down and scooped up a clump of thick, rich Kerry turf.

So the next thing ye know he’s at the tall, golden gates of the glorious city with its gleaming, massive, ivory walls. Right in front of the gates is a man sitting at a computer (what else?), with a fishing rod leaning next to it. “And who might you be and what would you be wanting from us?” asks your man Simon Peter, looking up from his screen. “Well,” the king says respectfully, “I’m Fergus McDermot O’Donnell, king of Kerry, and if you wouldn’t be minding it, I’d like you to let me into this beautiful city.” (All the while the king is holding the clump of Kerry turf behind his back.)

“Well, let’s see. O’Donnell, is it?” Peter types in the name for a search and hits ENTER. “Ah yes, your majesty, we have a long record on you here in our file, and most of it’s fine, very good indeed. A few wild times you weren’t proud of, going astray in your youth, but, be sure now, Himself forgave and forgot them long before you ever did. To tell you the truth, me lad, there’s a ready welcome for you here.” “Well, I’m thankful enough for that,” King Fergus says with a great west of Ireland sigh. Peter punches in a code and, nice as you please, the huge golden gates begin to open.

“Now just a minute there,” your man says as King Fergus walks by him. “What’s that you’re holding in your hand?” “‘Tis nothing at all.” “‘Tis too. And what have you got there?” “‘Tis nothing but a wee bit of Kerry turf to remind me of home.” “Well, you can’t have it. Against the rules. No one enters the glorious city except with empty hands.”

“Begging your reverence, if that’s the lay of the land,” King Fergus says, “then I’d just as soon not go in, if I can’t bring me piece of Kerry turf along.” “Rules is rules,” your man Peter insists. “Then I’ll just wait out here,” declares Fergus His Kingliness.

Peter, dismayed, puts in a quick hurry-up call, murmurs quietly into the phone, listens for a bit, says “Aye,” and hangs up. Hardly a minute later the golden gates swing open and out strides the Lord God Himself. You might be interested in knowing he’s easily ten feet tall and looks like a line backer for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. It’s true. He embraces the king right off, slaps him on the back, and booms out, “Faith, it’s good to see you, Fergus, me boy. We’ve been waiting up a long time for you – come on in. There’ll be singing and dancing and telling of tales all night long. We’ll make a meal of it. Oh – just ye let loose of that bit of Kerry turf there and toss it aside, won’t you now.”

Well, our man Fergus McDermot O’Donnell is warmed, of course, by this fair greeting, but alas, not warmed quite enough. Like many of us, when he gets his back up, he can be quite headstrong. “Saving your reverence,” the king says “but I’ll only come in if I can bring me little handful of Kerry turf. What harm’s there in that?”

Now the Lord God looks mighty disappointed. “Faith, we can’t let you do that, Fergus, me lad. Rules is rules. No one enters the glorious city except with empty hands. I don’t make the rules, you know. Well, actually I do, but that’s one we just can’t change, if you take my meaning.” “Then I’ll just have to hold on,” the king says determinedly.  So now the Lord God sighs a deep west of Ireland sigh and walks slowly back into the city. And the great golden gates clang shut.

“If it’s all the same to yourself,” the king says to Simon Peter, still real headstrong, “I’ll wait out here in the rain.” Did I mention it’s raining outside the glorious city? Well, of course it is – this is an Irish story, don’t forget.

But y’know quite well the Lord God is more than determined to win this one and will stop at nothing to get us out of the rain and into the city, so He disguises Himself quite cleverly and several times besides, trying to coax Fergus to drop the handful of dirt. And still every time old Fergus resists the offer, and has to be told, “No one enters the glorious city except with empty hands.”

Now to wrap it up quickly: the night gets darker and the rain gets colder and the Kerry turf more crumbly and King Fergus begins to reconsider. “Sure Fergus,” he says to himself, “and it’s a perfect donkey ye be. This isn’t Kerry. They make their own laws here and they’ll sure not be changing them for the likes of a legend-in-his-own-mind such as yourself, no matter how long you hold on. Isn’t it about time ye be coming to your senses?” So with the deepest sigh of the day doesn’t he shamble over to Peter’s desk, toss the turf to the ground and say, “There’s no use in fighting the Lord God, is there now?” “Not at all, not at all,” says our man Simon Peter quietly, happily as he punches the computer code again and the big golden gates swing open. “There’s no one goes through here except with empty hands.”

So King Fergus walks slowly through the gates, feeling pretty much the fool and mourning the loss of his Kerry turf. And do you suppose you know what he finds there inside? Well, I’ll be telling you here’s what. Inside, waiting for King Fergus McDermot O’Donnell are the green hills, the blue skies, the golden fields, the silver lakes – and the whole Kingdom of Kerry!

Reflection: (Note to self: lose the Hollywood brogue!) this little fable might well be taken as a fair description of the average human soul and spirit – distracted, attached, self-involved, and about their slow, anything-but-smooth awakening, their conversion, if you will, brought on by the steady movement, invitation, persuasion, even pursuit of God’s grace.  Let me suggest then, my brothers, that holding on to even a little of our former sovereignty (read: ideas, behaviors, attitudes, certainties, finger-pointing, convictions, fears, grudges, , hurts, demands) crowds out the wondrous new gifts God is ready and eager to bestow in their stead.   Let’s face it, how often, how easily, if at all, do we ever let loose of anything much, confident that by so doing God will open up and enrich our lives, making them more fruitful, more expansive in his surprising ways?

So, release, detachment, letting loose flow mightily from our remembering  how our attempts to resist that invitation of God’s grace, to keep a grip on people, places or things, to dictate the laws of the land, lead only to a dark and chilly isolation (wouldn’t even call it a “life”), fraught with worry, conflict and chaos.  For as long as we cling to any other design for living which impedes the Spirit’s plans, we are caught, exiled outside in the rain, hopelessly mired in the muck, and sadly, thoroughly disconnected from to God’s love, light and direction.  His grace is persistent, however, as we well know from our own miracle stories,  and his waaaaay better plan keeps inviting us time after time, day after day, to release our grip on all and sundry and move forward, get on with our journey, joyous, eager and free (so to speak), to what’s still ahead, other vistas – radiant new settings – where we can learn to live rooted in the plan of God and in loving service to others, rooted in the consciousness of his presence and his mercies toward us.

So when we respond to the grace of letting go, a generosity, a possibility, an ease and comfort flood our lives.  That’s to suggest we’re debonair, humble, serene, flexible, open-minded, agreeable, respectful, understanding, gracious, even-keeled, come what may! So then and only then we’re better prepared and unpacked for the journey through the gates, into the realm of the Spirit, into the new life and resurrection light God Father, Son and Holy Spirit have waiting for us there.