Week ending 26th July 2011
I wonder what the late Oliver J Flanagan, once considered the most staunch Catholic in Ireland, made of his TD son, Charlie’s call for the Papal Nuncio to be sent back to Rome in the wake of the report about clerical sex abuse in the Diocese of Cloyne. It was a radical suggestion which would have helped focus Vatican minds on the reality and enormity of the hurt caused, not just by the abuse, but by the Roman attitude prior to 2001 at least, which seemed to heve a problem with reporting abuse to civil authorities. Tánaiste Éamon Gilmore’s calling in of the Nuncio was more diplomatic, but was dramatic enough by previous Irish standards.
The Children’s First Guidelines 2011 published and put on a statutory basis by Minister for Children, Frances Fitzgerald TD, and comments by Taoiseach Enda Kenny showed the earnestness of the Government in this regard. As the Roman Catholic Church now knows to its cost, having guidelines is not enough, unless there is strict implementation. I’m sure that the vast majority of the Irish bishops who have put heart and soul into adhering to their own guidelines for more than a decade were dismayed to find that others had such a lax approach to their implementation.
Reports suggest that the seal of confession will not be immune to follow-up legislation which would make it a crime for a priest to withold information given in confidence during confession. If brought in in a gung-ho fashion this is likely to cause unnecessary confrontation, on the one hand making child protection heroes of its State backers, while inevitibly making martyrs out of priests jailed for refusing to break the sacred seal, as they see it, of confession. Journalists took similar stands on information given in confidence during recent Tribunal hearings.
The Government brave enough to make such a stand could probably expect a Fianna Fáil type wipeout at the next election. Despite Ruairi Quinn’s “post-Catholic Ireland” comment more than a decade ago there are still a lot of Catholics out there in the long grass The Labour Party had more post-leaders and post-TD’s than there were post-Catholics in the following ten years. Recent conciliatory comments by Mr Quinn about the contribution of religious orders, while rightly expressing displeasure about those orders which had not contributed adequately to compensation for child abuse, showed a more balanced approach.
I would see the seal of confession issue as somewhat of a red herring which would see big hitters of State and Church embroiled in conflict on matters of principle, while focus on the real issues of child abuse by clergy and others would be lost. The truth is that confession or the sacrament of reconciliation or whatever we choose to call it is largely irrelevent to the vast majority of Roman Catholics in Ireland and elsewhere. It is as if a tidal wave decision by the ‘people of God’about thirty years ago washed away this sacrament, which was in itself a relatively late comer to Christian practice.
People just walked away from it because it had lost its previous meaning. It would be foolish in the extreme to now allow it to become the focus for martyr-making in an unnecessary Church-State confrontation.
The Children’s First Guidelines 2011 published and put on a statutory basis by Minister for Children, Frances Fitzgerald TD, and comments by Taoiseach Enda Kenny showed the earnestness of the Government in this regard. As the Roman Catholic Church now knows to its cost, having guidelines is not enough, unless there is strict implementation. I’m sure that the vast majority of the Irish bishops who have put heart and soul into adhering to their own guidelines for more than a decade were dismayed to find that others had such a lax approach to their implementation.
Reports suggest that the seal of confession will not be immune to follow-up legislation which would make it a crime for a priest to withold information given in confidence during confession. If brought in in a gung-ho fashion this is likely to cause unnecessary confrontation, on the one hand making child protection heroes of its State backers, while inevitibly making martyrs out of priests jailed for refusing to break the sacred seal, as they see it, of confession. Journalists took similar stands on information given in confidence during recent Tribunal hearings.
The Government brave enough to make such a stand could probably expect a Fianna Fáil type wipeout at the next election. Despite Ruairi Quinn’s “post-Catholic Ireland” comment more than a decade ago there are still a lot of Catholics out there in the long grass The Labour Party had more post-leaders and post-TD’s than there were post-Catholics in the following ten years. Recent conciliatory comments by Mr Quinn about the contribution of religious orders, while rightly expressing displeasure about those orders which had not contributed adequately to compensation for child abuse, showed a more balanced approach.
I would see the seal of confession issue as somewhat of a red herring which would see big hitters of State and Church embroiled in conflict on matters of principle, while focus on the real issues of child abuse by clergy and others would be lost. The truth is that confession or the sacrament of reconciliation or whatever we choose to call it is largely irrelevent to the vast majority of Roman Catholics in Ireland and elsewhere. It is as if a tidal wave decision by the ‘people of God’about thirty years ago washed away this sacrament, which was in itself a relatively late comer to Christian practice.
People just walked away from it because it had lost its previous meaning. It would be foolish in the extreme to now allow it to become the focus for martyr-making in an unnecessary Church-State confrontation.
Week ending 19th July 2011
The 12th of July came and went unknown to many of us in recent years, and I hope the same is true of this year Recent events in East Belfast showed that the type of spark that leads to sectarian violence has not yet been quenched. The joint efforts of First Ministers Peter Robinson and Martin McGuinness helped to ease the situation and calm some of the nerves and the fears of those who felt they were about to be burnt out of their homes, if not burnt in them. Hopefully that outbreak will be looked back on at the end of the summer as a blessing in disguise, a warning heeded, with care taken not to allow it happen again.
I was completely unaware of ‘The Twelfth’ this time last year as my mind was concentrated on the sixteenth of July. That was the day I was due to arrive in my new parish of Carna and there was a huge amount of planning, packing and moving yet to be done. I am generally not someone who leaves thing until the last minute, but there are certain jobs that can only be done on the day. The work involved was compounded by the emotion of saying goodbye to so many people who were part of my life for the previous fifteen years and trying to thank them for all of their goodness and kindness.
I do not envy my colleagues who are involved in such preparation, packing and saying their goodbyes this week. What stands out in local newspaper reports of priests from the various dioceses being changed to other parishes is the bond of affection so many people still have with their priests in spite of all the scandals clearly documented in the Ryan, Murphy and other reports. People have seen the service and dedication of the priests in their own parish in both sad and happy times, and show their appreciation.
My priestly colleague in this parish, An tAthair Séamus Ó Dúill in Cill Chiaráin, who worked for a year in Castlebar parish some time ago, recently celebrated fifty years in the priesthood, much of which was spent in Tanzania. I congratulate him and wish him well as he goes into semi-retirement. I am lucky in that he will be available to say weekend Mass in the other side of the parish, but like so many more of the clergy I will be a one man band for the rest of the week in so far as sick calls, funerals, etc. are concerned. It is of some concern that at an age when so many are retiring our workload is increasing. The Lord and the people of the parish will, I am sure, pick up the slack.
The big day in this part of the country, Féile Mhic Dara is on the 16th of July. It is Christmas, Easter, St Patrick’s Day and Mardi Gras all rolled into one. Mass will be celebrated on the small affshore island named after the saint on Saturday next if the weather is favourable. We were unable to travel on my first day last year because of a swell in the sea. If we can’t go again this year I will be in trouble for not having the power to calm the waters, not to speak of walking on them. Either way it will be a weekend of currach and sailboat racing, music, song and dance. I am appealing to MacDara, MacDuach, Ciaráin, Éanna and all the other saints of these shores to arrange some favourable weather.
I was completely unaware of ‘The Twelfth’ this time last year as my mind was concentrated on the sixteenth of July. That was the day I was due to arrive in my new parish of Carna and there was a huge amount of planning, packing and moving yet to be done. I am generally not someone who leaves thing until the last minute, but there are certain jobs that can only be done on the day. The work involved was compounded by the emotion of saying goodbye to so many people who were part of my life for the previous fifteen years and trying to thank them for all of their goodness and kindness.
I do not envy my colleagues who are involved in such preparation, packing and saying their goodbyes this week. What stands out in local newspaper reports of priests from the various dioceses being changed to other parishes is the bond of affection so many people still have with their priests in spite of all the scandals clearly documented in the Ryan, Murphy and other reports. People have seen the service and dedication of the priests in their own parish in both sad and happy times, and show their appreciation.
My priestly colleague in this parish, An tAthair Séamus Ó Dúill in Cill Chiaráin, who worked for a year in Castlebar parish some time ago, recently celebrated fifty years in the priesthood, much of which was spent in Tanzania. I congratulate him and wish him well as he goes into semi-retirement. I am lucky in that he will be available to say weekend Mass in the other side of the parish, but like so many more of the clergy I will be a one man band for the rest of the week in so far as sick calls, funerals, etc. are concerned. It is of some concern that at an age when so many are retiring our workload is increasing. The Lord and the people of the parish will, I am sure, pick up the slack.
The big day in this part of the country, Féile Mhic Dara is on the 16th of July. It is Christmas, Easter, St Patrick’s Day and Mardi Gras all rolled into one. Mass will be celebrated on the small affshore island named after the saint on Saturday next if the weather is favourable. We were unable to travel on my first day last year because of a swell in the sea. If we can’t go again this year I will be in trouble for not having the power to calm the waters, not to speak of walking on them. Either way it will be a weekend of currach and sailboat racing, music, song and dance. I am appealing to MacDara, MacDuach, Ciaráin, Éanna and all the other saints of these shores to arrange some favourable weather.
Week ending 12th July 2011 www.tourmakeady.com
Redish sails in the sunlight. Not quite ‘Red sails in the sunset,’ as the sails are not quite red and sunlight has been a scarce commodity this year. It was still an impressive sight to see between twenty and thirty sailboats of the distinctive Galway variety in the lovely setting of Kilkieran (Cill Chiaráin) Bay at a recent regatta. There were hookers, halfboats and the smaller gleoteógs, lovingly prepared and in some cases restored by the people who have virtually brought this type of boat back from the dead.
When I last served as a priest in Conamara in the seventies and eighties of the last century those boats were an endangered species. The main role of the larger boats of bringing turf to the Aran Islands and the Kinvara and Ballyvaughan areas of Counties Galway and Clare was coming to an end. The availability of bagged coal which could easily be transported on the Naomh Éanna ferry was one reason. Castlebar’s Minister, Micheál Ó Móráin was held in high regard on the islands for making gas available for light, heaters and even fridges, but that too lessened the need for turf.
The few big boats that remained lay like great black white elephants in safe little local harbours. It seemed it was only a matter of time before their rotting skeletons would rise from the silt like the ribs of long dead whales. They were occasionally taken out and dusted off as film props or for a racing exhibition. The nunber of serviceable boats could probably have been counted at that stage on the fingers of one hand. Then came the revival.
Currach racing came first in a revival of a sport that brought thousands to Salthill in the heyday of the Tóstal back in the fifties. Hereos were born, as fondly remembered in West Galway as the heroes of the three in a row football successes in the sixties. These races were revived in the seventies with competitions every summer Sunday in one coastal area or another. The champion of champions were usually sent on an all expenses paid trip to Boston for a currach racing competition in an area in which there was as much Irish spoken as in Conamara.
At a time when Galway hurling was in the ascendancy, the crowds who followed the currach racing used to amaze me. Granted there was often a transistor radio at the ear while the eyes were on the boats in the bay. Sailboat racing was gradually tacked onto every currach racing festival. New boats were constructed, old boats restored. A new generation took to sailing like ducks to water. The eventual arrival of the Celtic Tiger with good salaries and little emigration accelerated the trend, and led to the numbers of sails now seen at various regattas.
TG4 coverage of races enhanced the sport, and a recent programme showed the amount of skill involved as well as the dedication of the crews. I certainly would not like to have my head in the way when a boom is swinging. I remember seeing a hooker sail being cut on the floor of the hall in An Cheathrú Rua. It covered the floor of quite a large dancing area. The sails don’t look quite as large when seen from the shore, but they make for a wonderful sight.. . .
When I last served as a priest in Conamara in the seventies and eighties of the last century those boats were an endangered species. The main role of the larger boats of bringing turf to the Aran Islands and the Kinvara and Ballyvaughan areas of Counties Galway and Clare was coming to an end. The availability of bagged coal which could easily be transported on the Naomh Éanna ferry was one reason. Castlebar’s Minister, Micheál Ó Móráin was held in high regard on the islands for making gas available for light, heaters and even fridges, but that too lessened the need for turf.
The few big boats that remained lay like great black white elephants in safe little local harbours. It seemed it was only a matter of time before their rotting skeletons would rise from the silt like the ribs of long dead whales. They were occasionally taken out and dusted off as film props or for a racing exhibition. The nunber of serviceable boats could probably have been counted at that stage on the fingers of one hand. Then came the revival.
Currach racing came first in a revival of a sport that brought thousands to Salthill in the heyday of the Tóstal back in the fifties. Hereos were born, as fondly remembered in West Galway as the heroes of the three in a row football successes in the sixties. These races were revived in the seventies with competitions every summer Sunday in one coastal area or another. The champion of champions were usually sent on an all expenses paid trip to Boston for a currach racing competition in an area in which there was as much Irish spoken as in Conamara.
At a time when Galway hurling was in the ascendancy, the crowds who followed the currach racing used to amaze me. Granted there was often a transistor radio at the ear while the eyes were on the boats in the bay. Sailboat racing was gradually tacked onto every currach racing festival. New boats were constructed, old boats restored. A new generation took to sailing like ducks to water. The eventual arrival of the Celtic Tiger with good salaries and little emigration accelerated the trend, and led to the numbers of sails now seen at various regattas.
TG4 coverage of races enhanced the sport, and a recent programme showed the amount of skill involved as well as the dedication of the crews. I certainly would not like to have my head in the way when a boom is swinging. I remember seeing a hooker sail being cut on the floor of the hall in An Cheathrú Rua. It covered the floor of quite a large dancing area. The sails don’t look quite as large when seen from the shore, but they make for a wonderful sight.. . .
Week ending 5th July 2011 www.tourmakeady.com
I sometimes wonder is it golfers who are aliens or is it the rest of us? We seem to belong to two distinct species, and it will probably take DNA testing on a worldwide basis to answer that question. I have a suspicion that the golfers are the hunters and the rest of us are the gatherers. The fact that they carry sophisticated club-like instruments and are constantly in pursuit of the inedible and quite often the unattainable is in itself an indictment of a civilisation (sillyvisation) that has come full circle. The wearing of animal skins is probably the next step backwards. Did somebody say something about leather trousers?
Our last Taoiseach, Brian Cowen, was severely burnt on a golfcourse, and I am not talking sunburn here. His reputation was burnt by association with bondholders who themselves should be burning for the last couple of years. There were not many of those on recent bonfires along with all the rubbish that had to wait for Saint John’s Eve to go up in flames. The gatherers gathered around the traditional fires while the hunters slept soundly in their beds and dreamt of how they might escape from the next bunker.
At this stage I need to assert that I am not a Golfist (as in recist, ageist, etc.) I hold no prejudice against golfers. I just do not understand them. In my own job I regularly get e-mails about golf tournaments as if they are as important or more so than saving the world or even the environment. The Secretary who never sleeps sends mail at midnight to advertise or warn us about upcoming tournaments which have no relevance for those of us who are better acquainted with the handle of a shovel than the shaft of a golfclub.
I sometimes boast that the only principle I have left is never to play golf. I have to ask myself am I jealous of those who are in the swing? The answer is NO. If I had not spent my early priestly years on islands I might have been tempted, but by the time I reached the shore it was too late for an old dog to learn new tricks. I used to have a spanner to throw in the works when confirmation or conference dinners were dominated by golf talk. “Have ye the spuds set yet, lads?” I used to ask. Nobody was really listening. The potatoes would be passed to me in an absentminded kind of way in the hope that I would have enough manners not to interrupt again while I had my mouth full.
And yet when Dora or Peppa are not available on the TV I sometimes find myself watching a golf tournament, especially when Rory McIlroy, Gmac(Dowell) or Padraig Harrington are involved. They do enhance the reputation of the island of Ireland. For those of us named ‘Pádraig’ of course, our firstname has become recognisable the world over and there is no need to explain or to spell it as often when filling forms on paper or on the Internet. In that sense I have to admit that golf can have its uses, but take me anywhere except to the golf course.
Our last Taoiseach, Brian Cowen, was severely burnt on a golfcourse, and I am not talking sunburn here. His reputation was burnt by association with bondholders who themselves should be burning for the last couple of years. There were not many of those on recent bonfires along with all the rubbish that had to wait for Saint John’s Eve to go up in flames. The gatherers gathered around the traditional fires while the hunters slept soundly in their beds and dreamt of how they might escape from the next bunker.
At this stage I need to assert that I am not a Golfist (as in recist, ageist, etc.) I hold no prejudice against golfers. I just do not understand them. In my own job I regularly get e-mails about golf tournaments as if they are as important or more so than saving the world or even the environment. The Secretary who never sleeps sends mail at midnight to advertise or warn us about upcoming tournaments which have no relevance for those of us who are better acquainted with the handle of a shovel than the shaft of a golfclub.
I sometimes boast that the only principle I have left is never to play golf. I have to ask myself am I jealous of those who are in the swing? The answer is NO. If I had not spent my early priestly years on islands I might have been tempted, but by the time I reached the shore it was too late for an old dog to learn new tricks. I used to have a spanner to throw in the works when confirmation or conference dinners were dominated by golf talk. “Have ye the spuds set yet, lads?” I used to ask. Nobody was really listening. The potatoes would be passed to me in an absentminded kind of way in the hope that I would have enough manners not to interrupt again while I had my mouth full.
And yet when Dora or Peppa are not available on the TV I sometimes find myself watching a golf tournament, especially when Rory McIlroy, Gmac(Dowell) or Padraig Harrington are involved. They do enhance the reputation of the island of Ireland. For those of us named ‘Pádraig’ of course, our firstname has become recognisable the world over and there is no need to explain or to spell it as often when filling forms on paper or on the Internet. In that sense I have to admit that golf can have its uses, but take me anywhere except to the golf course.
