Week ending October 29th 2013
It is scary time again, Hallow’een, the eve of All Hallows or All Saints. Friday next is our day, my day, your day, everybodies’ day, All Saints Day, the first of November, Lá Samhna. Most people would be too shy, too humble, too honest to include themselves among the saints, but in the early church all followers of Jesus were referred to as ‘saints’ in the ‘Acts Of The Apostles.’ The fact is, as far as I can see it, that most people of any religion or none do very little wrong, very little that could be described as sinful, and they can be easily referred to as saints. Most would blush at the thought, but this is the kind of ordinary sainthood
celebrated and commemorated on All Saint’s Day
It is a day set aside for the people who will never make the bigtime, never be canonised or considered as official saints, but they are saints nonetheless, all the more saintly in many cases because they have gone unnoticed, earned their sainthood in the ordinary and everyday, the giving of themselves for others that so many people do for their families and those living with them or near them. We used to think that the statement thet there is no greater love than to lay down your life for others referrred to martyrdom or war, when it is in fact far more applicable to daily living.
I was thinking recently of a story I heard many years ago in the Aran Islands about a young priest who was sent there, like most of us at the time, with very little Irish. He was hearing confession at one side of a church in Inis Mór on his first Saturday, while the Parish Priest was in the box opposite. When they were finished the young curate referred to the Irish word for cursing – eascaine, which he had heard used in the confession box for the first time: “I don’t know what this eascaine is,” he told the Parish Priest, “but there are an awful lot of them at it.”
They were innocent times when so many people felt the need to invent ‘sins’ to have something to tell in confession, because in fact most of them had no sin on them at all. More than thirty years ago when confession was being rebranded as ‘The Sacrament of Reconciliation’ I remember the day that Archbishop Joseph Cunnane brought Monsignor Gerard Mitchell, a former Professor of Dogmatic Theology and President of Saint Patrick’s College, Maynooth around to a Diocesan Priest’s Conference in Clifden, to speak on the subject. Monsignor Mitchell, then Parish Priest of Ballinrobe, was a down to earth man who told things as he saw them.
There was a sharp intake of breath from priests who were about the age I am now when the Monsignor mentioned that he saw no point in people running to confession when they had nothing to confess. One senior clergyman even went so far as to say: “You don’t really mean that, Monsignor.” He did. Catholics worldwide saw the sense in that too, and drifted away from frequent confession. There was nothing to tell. Most were and in fact are saints in the sense that All Saint’s Day is being celebrated this Friday. Many countries have memorials to ‘The Unknown Soldier” The church has its own memorial day on November 1st: “To The Unknown Saints.” It is worth celebrating, and the fun and games of Halloween help us to do that.
celebrated and commemorated on All Saint’s Day
It is a day set aside for the people who will never make the bigtime, never be canonised or considered as official saints, but they are saints nonetheless, all the more saintly in many cases because they have gone unnoticed, earned their sainthood in the ordinary and everyday, the giving of themselves for others that so many people do for their families and those living with them or near them. We used to think that the statement thet there is no greater love than to lay down your life for others referrred to martyrdom or war, when it is in fact far more applicable to daily living.
I was thinking recently of a story I heard many years ago in the Aran Islands about a young priest who was sent there, like most of us at the time, with very little Irish. He was hearing confession at one side of a church in Inis Mór on his first Saturday, while the Parish Priest was in the box opposite. When they were finished the young curate referred to the Irish word for cursing – eascaine, which he had heard used in the confession box for the first time: “I don’t know what this eascaine is,” he told the Parish Priest, “but there are an awful lot of them at it.”
They were innocent times when so many people felt the need to invent ‘sins’ to have something to tell in confession, because in fact most of them had no sin on them at all. More than thirty years ago when confession was being rebranded as ‘The Sacrament of Reconciliation’ I remember the day that Archbishop Joseph Cunnane brought Monsignor Gerard Mitchell, a former Professor of Dogmatic Theology and President of Saint Patrick’s College, Maynooth around to a Diocesan Priest’s Conference in Clifden, to speak on the subject. Monsignor Mitchell, then Parish Priest of Ballinrobe, was a down to earth man who told things as he saw them.
There was a sharp intake of breath from priests who were about the age I am now when the Monsignor mentioned that he saw no point in people running to confession when they had nothing to confess. One senior clergyman even went so far as to say: “You don’t really mean that, Monsignor.” He did. Catholics worldwide saw the sense in that too, and drifted away from frequent confession. There was nothing to tell. Most were and in fact are saints in the sense that All Saint’s Day is being celebrated this Friday. Many countries have memorials to ‘The Unknown Soldier” The church has its own memorial day on November 1st: “To The Unknown Saints.” It is worth celebrating, and the fun and games of Halloween help us to do that.
Week ending 22 October 2013
I seldom have to deal with three funerals in one week but have had to do so recently in the Kilkerrin half of Carna parish. Normally that would be difficult enough but not unduly pressurised, as many funerals are of people who have lived good long lives and died natural deaths. A big loss to their families and friends, but not shocking or unexpected, as the drowning of a relatively young man with a wife and three children recently was. By contrast one of the others was a man of ninety-seven and the third of a woman whose cancer had given her family time to prepare and to come to terms with her illness. This does not take away the grief, but it does not come with as much of a shock as a fisherman drowned in the course of his work. As always happens on such occasions family, friends and neighbours were a wonderful help, but the long process of grief has now to be faced by the bereaved.
Coastal communities seem to have their own unspoken network. A drowning tragedy in one is felt in all the others. Not just coastal communities but all who live by lake or river in which drownings have occurred. There is a deep sense of loss, a reliving of similar happenings in ones own community, a great desire that bodies will be recovered so that families can have closure. The fact that those who die are not known personally in faraway communities makes little difference. Each drowning touches the hearts of those who have had similar experiences. As all of my priestly life has been spent close to sea or lakeshore I have far too much experience of such tragedies. The fact that one man I knew drowned while fishing in Alaska made no more difference than if he had drowned in Galway Bay. It was a tragedy for his family wherever it happened.
I have been asked to say Mass in November for the crew of a Spanish trawler called the Olarosa which was lost with its crew in waters off Southwest Conamara. The people organising the memorial Mass never met or got to know the crew of that boat, but they have such sympathy and fellow feeling for those complete strangers that they want to pray for them and pay their respects long after the tragedy. The coastal network I mentioned at the beginning of this article is not just national but international. The drowning of the three Bolger brothers off Waterford some months ago was felt deeply all around our coasts.
One of the things that impressed me most in my time in the Aran Islands was the extent to which people are prepared to risk their lives for others. This is particularly true of lifeboat crews, but I saw it too on an occasion in which a small plane crashed into the sea to the North of the island of Inis Meáin. The one-seater aircraft had been flown from the USA for delivery to a client in Ireland and it had come that close to its destination when it ran out of fuel. Currachs were launched in inclement weather, foolishly in my estimation, but that took nothing away from the bravery of those who put to sea to try and save the life of a complete stranger.
This type of courage and commitment to human life can be overlooked at a time of doom and gloom with every news story about the economy worst than the next. It is easy to forget the goodness out there that comes to the fore at the time of every tragedy, domestic or international. It is not just at times of tragedy that the goodness of people is evident. I am constantly astounded by the sacrifices parents make for their children. Jesus’ observation that there is no greater love than laying down your life for your friends is not about dying for them but living for them. For friends, substitute family in many cases. We don’t complement the real do-gooders of this world half often enough.
Coastal communities seem to have their own unspoken network. A drowning tragedy in one is felt in all the others. Not just coastal communities but all who live by lake or river in which drownings have occurred. There is a deep sense of loss, a reliving of similar happenings in ones own community, a great desire that bodies will be recovered so that families can have closure. The fact that those who die are not known personally in faraway communities makes little difference. Each drowning touches the hearts of those who have had similar experiences. As all of my priestly life has been spent close to sea or lakeshore I have far too much experience of such tragedies. The fact that one man I knew drowned while fishing in Alaska made no more difference than if he had drowned in Galway Bay. It was a tragedy for his family wherever it happened.
I have been asked to say Mass in November for the crew of a Spanish trawler called the Olarosa which was lost with its crew in waters off Southwest Conamara. The people organising the memorial Mass never met or got to know the crew of that boat, but they have such sympathy and fellow feeling for those complete strangers that they want to pray for them and pay their respects long after the tragedy. The coastal network I mentioned at the beginning of this article is not just national but international. The drowning of the three Bolger brothers off Waterford some months ago was felt deeply all around our coasts.
One of the things that impressed me most in my time in the Aran Islands was the extent to which people are prepared to risk their lives for others. This is particularly true of lifeboat crews, but I saw it too on an occasion in which a small plane crashed into the sea to the North of the island of Inis Meáin. The one-seater aircraft had been flown from the USA for delivery to a client in Ireland and it had come that close to its destination when it ran out of fuel. Currachs were launched in inclement weather, foolishly in my estimation, but that took nothing away from the bravery of those who put to sea to try and save the life of a complete stranger.
This type of courage and commitment to human life can be overlooked at a time of doom and gloom with every news story about the economy worst than the next. It is easy to forget the goodness out there that comes to the fore at the time of every tragedy, domestic or international. It is not just at times of tragedy that the goodness of people is evident. I am constantly astounded by the sacrifices parents make for their children. Jesus’ observation that there is no greater love than laying down your life for your friends is not about dying for them but living for them. For friends, substitute family in many cases. We don’t complement the real do-gooders of this world half often enough.
Week ending 15th October 2013
Because I now have two sides of the parish, Carna and Cill Chiaráin, under my iron fist, I do not have as much time to write as I did previously. This may come as a relief to the known world, but I still hope to fit in a while in front of the laptop on most days. Writing a small amount every day can lead to a novel or similarly sized book at the end of a year. My next book will be considerably shorter than that, as I was pleased to hear recently that my main publisher down through the years, Cló Iar-Chonnacht has accepted for publication a story I have written in Irish aimed at ten to twelve year olds. It came as a bit of a surprise to myself that I could manage to write something suitable for that age-group, as it means taking account of young people’s vocabulary and interests in life. I was not foolish enough to try and compete with the pads and pods of today’s youth, so I settled on the story of a horse.
Not just any old horse but probably the most famous horse that ever came out of Mayo. Coranna was the horse that won the Chester Cup for the Moores of Moorehall back around Famine times. The prize-money that varies in reports from £16 – 20,000, a huge amount in today’s terms, was used to ease the burden of about four hundred tenants, an action that has led to the Moores being considered good landlords (virtually a contradiction in terms in the Irish context) down to this day. Coranna has been celebrated in drama, most notably in a play written by Dr. John Langan and performed in Ballyglass, but of course no two writers look at a story in the same way or tell exactly the same story. I do not know if my effort is Coranna’s first venture into the Irish language, even though that was the language spoken in the area at the time, and probably the language whispered or roared into the horse’s ear as it raced for the finishing line in Chester at 66 to 1.
My little book has two children asking their great grandmother to tell them a story, to tell them about Coranna, a story she had heard as a child from her own grandmother, who had actually seen the horse. Her protests that she has told them the story many times previously are to no avail, as so many children like to hear the same story, if it is a good one, again and again. In this case it is an effort to introduce children to a bit of their own local history in an inobtrusive way. Questions raised with reference to the Famine and the failure of the potato crops see things from a modern child’s point of view: “Why didn’t they just go out and buy potatoes in the shop? Why didn’t they go to the chipper? Why did they not eat pasta, or rice? Or go to the Chinese? Send out for a takeaway?
I will not tell you any more as I hope you will be buying it for your grandchildren at Christmas. It is a story told in simple Irish not beyond the vocabulary of a young person in fifth or sixth class. I hope to have a book in English for the grown-ups too, the English version of an Irish novel, “I gCóngar I gCéin” published by Cló Iar-Chonnacht two years ago. It is the story of a young Irish artist who falls in love with a water-taxi driver in Venice who turns out to be a former IRA sniper whose death was faked to take the heat off him twenty years ago. Now in no-man’s land as the ”dead” do not come under the terms of the Anglo Irish agreement, he fears being taken out by former comrades who consider him an embarrassment. “Close Far Away,” an Oireachtas prize winner in Irish should be available next month. I will keep the fans informed.
Not just any old horse but probably the most famous horse that ever came out of Mayo. Coranna was the horse that won the Chester Cup for the Moores of Moorehall back around Famine times. The prize-money that varies in reports from £16 – 20,000, a huge amount in today’s terms, was used to ease the burden of about four hundred tenants, an action that has led to the Moores being considered good landlords (virtually a contradiction in terms in the Irish context) down to this day. Coranna has been celebrated in drama, most notably in a play written by Dr. John Langan and performed in Ballyglass, but of course no two writers look at a story in the same way or tell exactly the same story. I do not know if my effort is Coranna’s first venture into the Irish language, even though that was the language spoken in the area at the time, and probably the language whispered or roared into the horse’s ear as it raced for the finishing line in Chester at 66 to 1.
My little book has two children asking their great grandmother to tell them a story, to tell them about Coranna, a story she had heard as a child from her own grandmother, who had actually seen the horse. Her protests that she has told them the story many times previously are to no avail, as so many children like to hear the same story, if it is a good one, again and again. In this case it is an effort to introduce children to a bit of their own local history in an inobtrusive way. Questions raised with reference to the Famine and the failure of the potato crops see things from a modern child’s point of view: “Why didn’t they just go out and buy potatoes in the shop? Why didn’t they go to the chipper? Why did they not eat pasta, or rice? Or go to the Chinese? Send out for a takeaway?
I will not tell you any more as I hope you will be buying it for your grandchildren at Christmas. It is a story told in simple Irish not beyond the vocabulary of a young person in fifth or sixth class. I hope to have a book in English for the grown-ups too, the English version of an Irish novel, “I gCóngar I gCéin” published by Cló Iar-Chonnacht two years ago. It is the story of a young Irish artist who falls in love with a water-taxi driver in Venice who turns out to be a former IRA sniper whose death was faked to take the heat off him twenty years ago. Now in no-man’s land as the ”dead” do not come under the terms of the Anglo Irish agreement, he fears being taken out by former comrades who consider him an embarrassment. “Close Far Away,” an Oireachtas prize winner in Irish should be available next month. I will keep the fans informed.
Week ending 8th October 2013
Visitors to Carna or Rosmuc during our Indian summer must wonder what election is about to take place in Conamara at present. Quite a few cars carry posters with the name WALSH in the rear window. No, it is not a local, national or European election, but an American one. A first generation son of the area is in the running to become Mayor of Boston. Martin, better known as Marty Walsh has led the Primary with 20% of the vote. The main election is on November 5th, so this son of a Carna father and Rosmuc mother has about a month to persuade the electorate that he is the man for the job. There will be great rejoicing in the land of his parents, and in the small local villages of Caladhfhuinnse and Ros Céide if another child of Irish emigrants makes good in the year of our Gathering. There is still a long way to go in the Boston Mayoral election as the frontrunners, Walsh and another man with an Irish, even a Connemara sounding name, John Connolly got less than forty percent of the primary votes between them. The majority of their votes came from the mainly white areas in which they live. Both will still have to convince black and Hispanic voters which of them is the best man for the job. I gather from Boston websites that Connolly is the slight favourite at the moment, but if the Carna and Rosmuc votes could be counted in the contest, the winner would be Martin Walsh. He retains links with West Galway and is an ambassador for the ambitious project to build an Emigrant Centre on the site of an old school which was later to become Carna parochial hall.
Maybe we are closer to Boston here than to Dublin, as I have yet to see a poster that has anything to do with the Seanad and Court of Appeal Referendums. The results of those votes will be known by the time this article is in print. A turnout of more than twenty percent will surprise me, as I can not recall any constitutional referendum in my time which had so little impact on the population. While the Seanad would appear to be the bigger deal, the Court of Appeal Referendum is probably more necessary in order to break the logjams in the court systems. Some cases are three or four years behind the time already, and delayed justice can be poor justice, if a case has lost its relevance due to the passage of time or the deaths of some of the people involved. We have seen from the tribunals that dragged on for more than a decade that their original purpose was largely forgotten by the time they ended.
The same will probably be true of enquiries or criminal proceedings that have arisen from the collapse of the Banking system five years or more ago. While it is important to get to the root of the problems and to bring those who broke the law to justice, it seems that up to ten years will have elapsed before that work is completed. The tiger will be roaring again and it will all seem to be so much yesterday’s news. The term “Who cares? will be tossed around like confetti at a wedding as a new generation goes for broke just as their predecessors did.
Maybe we are closer to Boston here than to Dublin, as I have yet to see a poster that has anything to do with the Seanad and Court of Appeal Referendums. The results of those votes will be known by the time this article is in print. A turnout of more than twenty percent will surprise me, as I can not recall any constitutional referendum in my time which had so little impact on the population. While the Seanad would appear to be the bigger deal, the Court of Appeal Referendum is probably more necessary in order to break the logjams in the court systems. Some cases are three or four years behind the time already, and delayed justice can be poor justice, if a case has lost its relevance due to the passage of time or the deaths of some of the people involved. We have seen from the tribunals that dragged on for more than a decade that their original purpose was largely forgotten by the time they ended.
The same will probably be true of enquiries or criminal proceedings that have arisen from the collapse of the Banking system five years or more ago. While it is important to get to the root of the problems and to bring those who broke the law to justice, it seems that up to ten years will have elapsed before that work is completed. The tiger will be roaring again and it will all seem to be so much yesterday’s news. The term “Who cares? will be tossed around like confetti at a wedding as a new generation goes for broke just as their predecessors did.
Week ending 1st October 2013
What are Roman Catholic clergy going to do now that Pope Francis has gone all sensible on us? How are going to continue to alienate the people we have been driving away for the past forty years? A Pope that says all the right things is not what we bargained for. I’m inclined to blame the wine myself, or the absence of a good Argentenian steak to soak it up. Not sleeping in your own bed is another thing that could throw a man off the straight and narrow-minded. The Pope has not yet moved into the papal apartment. Is he afraid of ghosts? Pope Benedict is hardly going to come back to haunt him as he is still alive. No. It’s another one of those “gestures” that is trying to prove he is one of them rather than one of us. Next thing he will be putting the donkey and the cow back into the crib for Christmas. He will probably add a goat or two for good measure, now that he is reaching out to the so-called: “sinners.”
Could we not have stuck to this side of the equator when choosing a Pope? OK, the majority of Catholics live down there and we need them to make up the numbers. But when it comes to law and order, faith and morals, we need someone of our own. Where did this soft focus, laid-back, easy come, easy go Catholicism ever get us? We need that hard edge fundamental, unafraid to fight the losing battle, never forget to put money in the basket kind of Catholic, because without the baskets we are up that unmentionable creek without a paddle. We can put up with the criticism, take the flak, love the martyrdom as long as we have a focus, a battle to fight, a cause to cherish, two fingers to wave at the world. The “love your neighbour as yourself” crack doesn’t cut it in the dog eat cat world of the media.
The name “Francis” should have warned us, should have told us here is another one that is “for the birds.” For the birds and the bees even, in so far as he seems to be giving carte blanche in that direction. He is also giving carte blanche to a la carte Catholicism, if that is not putting the carte before the horsemeat. Let us have none of this talk about Jesus being an a la carte Jew, that he questioned the laws of his own religion that had become burdens rather than safeguards, swords rather than shields. That was then and this is now. That was a young person’s religion that lacked the necessary cutting edge. If Jesus was to come back now, he would be much older and wiser, better able to play the long game, to wear down the opposition and to put the diehards back into power.
I had better stop now or you might think that I am serious. I welcome the approach taken by Pope Francis and in particular the interviews he has given on his way back from the Catholic youth celebrations in Brazil and more recently to a Jesuit magazine. The change of emphasis, the change of attitude is what is most welcome. It is not that he has said all that much that is new but he seems to have shown more compassion and understanding than the fairly tough lines taken by more recent Pontiffs. It reminds me of the huge attitude change brought about half a century or so ago by Pope John XXIII when he pointed out that Catholics and Protestants had much more in common than what divides us. Good on you Francis. Faith wrapped in sense and reason is a most welcome development.
Could we not have stuck to this side of the equator when choosing a Pope? OK, the majority of Catholics live down there and we need them to make up the numbers. But when it comes to law and order, faith and morals, we need someone of our own. Where did this soft focus, laid-back, easy come, easy go Catholicism ever get us? We need that hard edge fundamental, unafraid to fight the losing battle, never forget to put money in the basket kind of Catholic, because without the baskets we are up that unmentionable creek without a paddle. We can put up with the criticism, take the flak, love the martyrdom as long as we have a focus, a battle to fight, a cause to cherish, two fingers to wave at the world. The “love your neighbour as yourself” crack doesn’t cut it in the dog eat cat world of the media.
The name “Francis” should have warned us, should have told us here is another one that is “for the birds.” For the birds and the bees even, in so far as he seems to be giving carte blanche in that direction. He is also giving carte blanche to a la carte Catholicism, if that is not putting the carte before the horsemeat. Let us have none of this talk about Jesus being an a la carte Jew, that he questioned the laws of his own religion that had become burdens rather than safeguards, swords rather than shields. That was then and this is now. That was a young person’s religion that lacked the necessary cutting edge. If Jesus was to come back now, he would be much older and wiser, better able to play the long game, to wear down the opposition and to put the diehards back into power.
I had better stop now or you might think that I am serious. I welcome the approach taken by Pope Francis and in particular the interviews he has given on his way back from the Catholic youth celebrations in Brazil and more recently to a Jesuit magazine. The change of emphasis, the change of attitude is what is most welcome. It is not that he has said all that much that is new but he seems to have shown more compassion and understanding than the fairly tough lines taken by more recent Pontiffs. It reminds me of the huge attitude change brought about half a century or so ago by Pope John XXIII when he pointed out that Catholics and Protestants had much more in common than what divides us. Good on you Francis. Faith wrapped in sense and reason is a most welcome development.