Week ending September 24th 2013
My life as a priest has become considerably more difficult recently as my colleague in Cill Chiaráin, the other half of Carna parish, An tAthair Seamus Ó Dúill, has had to retire from priestly duties for health reasons. A priest of the Salvatorean order, Fr Séamus served for a time in Castlebar six or seven years ago before his appointment to Cill Chiaráin. A Dubliner who went to study in England at the age of twelve, Seamus never lost his love for Ireland or the Irish language, and despite years on foreign missions, he took great pleasure in serving in a Gaeltacht area. He was in semi-retirement since completing fifty years as a priest two years ago but returned for weekend Masses or to give me a day off or holiday break from time to time. I was looking forward to the Dub/Mayo All Ireland banter with him, but as I write this I don’t know which of us would be the winner. I wish him well and hope his health greatly improves when he gets time to take things easier.
For the first time since the 1830’s this parish will have only one priest. Even twenty years ago there were three. This is of course not unusual in Ireland or in much of the Roman Catholic world at present, but it is still a traumatic moment in a parish when it happens. Thankfully members of the community help out much more in parish ministries and on pastoral councils, but there is still only one male ageing priest to say Mass and perform other sacramental duties. The workload can be alleviated by having someone employed in a parish office to prepare a newsletter, deal with bills, Banks and Auditors, Registers of births, marriages and deaths, etc. This is more difficult in parishes with a small population than in bigger ones, but to have someone part-time rather than full-time is probably the answer.
These are matters the Pastoral Council, set up earlier this year with the help of Castlebar based Father Pat Farragher, considered at a recent meeting. We were also considering colours for the painting of the inside of Carna church before next year’s confirmation. Suffice it to say that my suggestion to paint it red and green did not meet with universal approval in this West Galway stronghold. Another matter I will have to deal with on a personal basis is the provision of priestly cover for sick calls whenever I leave the parish for more than a few hours at a time. I have probably mentioned in earlier columns that I have been called out more often at night in the three years I am here than in my previous forty years as a priest. This is due to the excellent Nursing Home in Carna, but it means fairly constant duty.
Hearing of strike threats by Junior Hospital doctors because of their exceedingly long hours I wondered if in fact many in my own job are on non-stop duty even longer at any one time. We do not have the same workload or the same responsibilities, but are forty years or more older than the medical staff and past the normal retirement age. People with vocations, people who feel called to a certain task tend to be martyrs for their causes, to work away beyond the call of duty, but they need to mind themselves too. We hear a lot of pious words from time to time about the care of priests. We need more structures in place to make those real.
For the first time since the 1830’s this parish will have only one priest. Even twenty years ago there were three. This is of course not unusual in Ireland or in much of the Roman Catholic world at present, but it is still a traumatic moment in a parish when it happens. Thankfully members of the community help out much more in parish ministries and on pastoral councils, but there is still only one male ageing priest to say Mass and perform other sacramental duties. The workload can be alleviated by having someone employed in a parish office to prepare a newsletter, deal with bills, Banks and Auditors, Registers of births, marriages and deaths, etc. This is more difficult in parishes with a small population than in bigger ones, but to have someone part-time rather than full-time is probably the answer.
These are matters the Pastoral Council, set up earlier this year with the help of Castlebar based Father Pat Farragher, considered at a recent meeting. We were also considering colours for the painting of the inside of Carna church before next year’s confirmation. Suffice it to say that my suggestion to paint it red and green did not meet with universal approval in this West Galway stronghold. Another matter I will have to deal with on a personal basis is the provision of priestly cover for sick calls whenever I leave the parish for more than a few hours at a time. I have probably mentioned in earlier columns that I have been called out more often at night in the three years I am here than in my previous forty years as a priest. This is due to the excellent Nursing Home in Carna, but it means fairly constant duty.
Hearing of strike threats by Junior Hospital doctors because of their exceedingly long hours I wondered if in fact many in my own job are on non-stop duty even longer at any one time. We do not have the same workload or the same responsibilities, but are forty years or more older than the medical staff and past the normal retirement age. People with vocations, people who feel called to a certain task tend to be martyrs for their causes, to work away beyond the call of duty, but they need to mind themselves too. We hear a lot of pious words from time to time about the care of priests. We need more structures in place to make those real.
All Ireland 2013
Was it a dream or a nightmare? It was 2075. I was approaching my hundred and thirtieth birthday and Mayo were going for their sixty-second All Ireland title in a row. The sixty-two lean years since 1951 had been replaced by as many wins. Everyone was fed up with it except Mayo teams and followers, of course. The lack of real competition had led to other counties drifting away from Gaelic football. Kerry had taken to playing cricket on Banna Strand. Cork were into hockey. Jimmy McGuinness had brought the Celtic franchise back to Donegal. Royal Meath had become Real Meath. Shankill Rangers, managed by Gerry Kelly, were a power in East Belfast. Limerick were serial winners of the Heineken Cup. Dublin Ireland had taken to American Football, for which they were really suited and booted, and relocated to Dublin, Texas. The reformed Senate had just abolished Dáil Éireann and were sitting in Croke Park in order to give a say to as many citizens as possible. The only problem was that was that the only thing the citizens had to say was said in unision by more than eighty thousand loud voices: “May-oo, May-oooh...”
Bishops and priests had been approached to put the All Ireland curse back on Mayo for even one year in order to give a chance to other counties. All entreaties had been rebuffed by the polite answer that a rereading of the Biblical ten commandments would be in order. Nobody really knew what that meant, but a terse statement from the Roman Curia spelt it out: “The only curse involved in sport is being beaten by a better team.” Editorials in all the Pale newspapers castigated the Vatican for interfering in the affairs of the Irish people. “The sooner that Croagh Patrick, Knock Shrine, Ballintubber Abbey and Attymas Rosary Centre are closed down, the sooner the County of Mayo will stop producing Presidents, Taoisigh, Archbishops, football managers and football players who box above their weight, and allow the rest of the country to just get on with their nice secular lives.” What’s new?
After all of that I was pleased to wake up and discover that I was back in the real world. Mayo minor and senior footballers are still in the All Ireland finals against Tyrone and Dublin, before the end of the month. My dream was right about one thing and that was about the so-called curse which became a handy explanation, a handy excuse for losing. There is nothing wrong with losing to a better team, but curses are not to blame. Win, lose or draw in the All Ireland finals, Mayo people at home and abroad have been on a high for the summer, and for that we are eternally grateful to the teams and their managements. Mayo have been admired in recent times for the ability to take defeat on the chin and bounce back. We would all love them to defeat the powerful rivals that stand between them and their dreams. The best of luck, but whatever happens the supporters will be with you and will be be back. “May-oo, May-ooh.”
Bishops and priests had been approached to put the All Ireland curse back on Mayo for even one year in order to give a chance to other counties. All entreaties had been rebuffed by the polite answer that a rereading of the Biblical ten commandments would be in order. Nobody really knew what that meant, but a terse statement from the Roman Curia spelt it out: “The only curse involved in sport is being beaten by a better team.” Editorials in all the Pale newspapers castigated the Vatican for interfering in the affairs of the Irish people. “The sooner that Croagh Patrick, Knock Shrine, Ballintubber Abbey and Attymas Rosary Centre are closed down, the sooner the County of Mayo will stop producing Presidents, Taoisigh, Archbishops, football managers and football players who box above their weight, and allow the rest of the country to just get on with their nice secular lives.” What’s new?
After all of that I was pleased to wake up and discover that I was back in the real world. Mayo minor and senior footballers are still in the All Ireland finals against Tyrone and Dublin, before the end of the month. My dream was right about one thing and that was about the so-called curse which became a handy explanation, a handy excuse for losing. There is nothing wrong with losing to a better team, but curses are not to blame. Win, lose or draw in the All Ireland finals, Mayo people at home and abroad have been on a high for the summer, and for that we are eternally grateful to the teams and their managements. Mayo have been admired in recent times for the ability to take defeat on the chin and bounce back. We would all love them to defeat the powerful rivals that stand between them and their dreams. The best of luck, but whatever happens the supporters will be with you and will be be back. “May-oo, May-ooh.”
Week ending September 17th 2013
The life and work of Nobel prizewinning poet Seamus Heaney were celebrated recently at the time of his unexpected death. He will be remembered not just in Ireland but everywhere poetry is read. I remember him coming into Maynooth College almost fifty years ago around the time his first book of poetry was published. At the age of nineteen I was amazed not just that a poet could be so young but that his words were about concepts I could readily understand, earth and bog. Until then poets to me tended to be old fogies, and for the most part English fogies writing about obscure subjects. There were the exceptions such as Wordsworth whose descriptions of daffodils I can still quote or Coleridge whose Ancient Mariner was given a hard time by an albatross.
I was to fall in literary love with Monaghan poet Patrick Kavanagh at Seamus Heaney’s recommendation that evening in Maynooth. His description of the rounded drumlin hills of Monaghan reminded me of the rolling hills around Belcarra, while his poem “The Great Hunger” summed up many of the realities of rural life in Ireland at the time. Irish language poets such as Mairtín Ó Direáin from Inis Mór in the Aran Islands were writing about an even harsher life than we knew on the mainland, but many years on the limestone crags of Aran taught me how down to earth his poetry was and is. Good poetry lives on long after the death of its wordsmith, and Seamus Heaney’s seemingly simple language about life, death, love, political conflict and hopefully its resolution will live for centuries.
As Seamus Heaney entered the heavenly gates I imagined him being called to a halt by a Kerry accent: “Hold on there, Heaney. Are you not going to talk to the neighbours?” The same accent had accosted me at the Oireachtas in Westport about five years ago with the question in Irish: ”Are you the man who stole half my prize?” I had shared a €5,000 Oireachtas literary prize with Maidhc Dainín Ó Sé from the West Kerry Gaeltacht and he was slagging me about it. He died at the age of seventy-one the same week as Seamus Heaney. His headlines were made on Raidió na Gaeltachta and TG4. Most famous nowadays probably as the father of Rose of Tralee presenter, Dáithí Ó Sé, Maidhc Dainín was an excellent writer in Irish as well as an accordionist and storyteller. I first met him at an Oireachtas Festival in An Cheathrú Rua (Carraroe) thirty years ago, where my first novel was published, and his first book, “A Thig, Na Tit Orm” was being promoted. At the time both books were welcomed for their readability, in comparison with much Irish literary output for many years previously
One of Maidhc Dainín’s great stories was about the time the David Lean film “Ryan’s Daughter” was being made in West Kerry. He himself had recently moved back from the United States and was having a few drinks in Dingle. Every pint he ordered was placed in front of him and no money taken. He asked the bar staff who was paying for the drinks only to be told again and again: “Ryan’s Daughter.” Having heard nothing about the film as he had been away, he said: “I don’t know who this Ryan’s daughter is, but I would like to meet her and thank her personally.”
I was to fall in literary love with Monaghan poet Patrick Kavanagh at Seamus Heaney’s recommendation that evening in Maynooth. His description of the rounded drumlin hills of Monaghan reminded me of the rolling hills around Belcarra, while his poem “The Great Hunger” summed up many of the realities of rural life in Ireland at the time. Irish language poets such as Mairtín Ó Direáin from Inis Mór in the Aran Islands were writing about an even harsher life than we knew on the mainland, but many years on the limestone crags of Aran taught me how down to earth his poetry was and is. Good poetry lives on long after the death of its wordsmith, and Seamus Heaney’s seemingly simple language about life, death, love, political conflict and hopefully its resolution will live for centuries.
As Seamus Heaney entered the heavenly gates I imagined him being called to a halt by a Kerry accent: “Hold on there, Heaney. Are you not going to talk to the neighbours?” The same accent had accosted me at the Oireachtas in Westport about five years ago with the question in Irish: ”Are you the man who stole half my prize?” I had shared a €5,000 Oireachtas literary prize with Maidhc Dainín Ó Sé from the West Kerry Gaeltacht and he was slagging me about it. He died at the age of seventy-one the same week as Seamus Heaney. His headlines were made on Raidió na Gaeltachta and TG4. Most famous nowadays probably as the father of Rose of Tralee presenter, Dáithí Ó Sé, Maidhc Dainín was an excellent writer in Irish as well as an accordionist and storyteller. I first met him at an Oireachtas Festival in An Cheathrú Rua (Carraroe) thirty years ago, where my first novel was published, and his first book, “A Thig, Na Tit Orm” was being promoted. At the time both books were welcomed for their readability, in comparison with much Irish literary output for many years previously
One of Maidhc Dainín’s great stories was about the time the David Lean film “Ryan’s Daughter” was being made in West Kerry. He himself had recently moved back from the United States and was having a few drinks in Dingle. Every pint he ordered was placed in front of him and no money taken. He asked the bar staff who was paying for the drinks only to be told again and again: “Ryan’s Daughter.” Having heard nothing about the film as he had been away, he said: “I don’t know who this Ryan’s daughter is, but I would like to meet her and thank her personally.”
Week ending September 10th 2013
Once again winter preparations have taken me not so much to the highways and the byways but to the briars and the hedgerows. I am on the blackberry trail again, my hands dripping purple/red from the ripe juices, the pot boiling, the jam-jars scalded, the fridge getting stocked with a jar a month for the year, like some animal preparing for hibernation. Healthy fruit grows freely all over the country at a time of cutbacks and hardship. It is literally there for the taking. Gathering the blackberries can be an unpleasant enough task as fingers and hands get torn by the thorns, but it becomes easier as the berries ripen and more become available. The result is worth it, the taste to live for. Mayo in a couple of All Ireland finals and a fridge stocked with blackberry jelly. What more could we want?
Most of the fans have my recipe already, carefully filed away along with the dog licence and the codes for the Cayman Island Banks. For those who don’t, I will give a short summary: Soak the blackberries with a good sprinkle of salt to shift any visiting organisms or impurities. Add a small glass of boiling water and put them on to boil for about ten minutes, mashing them with a potato masher all of the time. Pass the liquid through a sieve to remove the seeds. Add an equal amount of sugar to the liquid before boiling for half an hour to forty minutes. Pour into hot jars and leave to cool and become jellied. I usually try and prepare four or five pots at a time as there is much the same amount of work involved in making one as in five or seven jars.
This is my late mother’s recipe and she went in for blackberry jelly rather than jam because the seeds would get stuck in her false teeth. She died at this time of the year and I like to honour her memory by sharing her recipe. Back in the day when I had more time on my hands while living and working on the Aran Island of Inis Meáin, I gathered blackberries to make wine as well. It was one of my boasts at the time that I could make water into wine, except that I needed more time and ingredients than the master. I am not aware that he ever actually got around to making jelly. I had nearly enough gooseberries this year to make a couple of pots of jam. I managed to stretch them by adding rhubarb to the mix and that for me was a new and worthwhile experience.
The good weather for much of the summer gave most people a lift and led to good harvests of fruit and other crops. Drying turf and hay especially came much easier than for many years. As the darker evenings close in people are making their plans for the winter, not just sitting by a fire and enjoying the soaps or the Champion’s League on the television. I see this mostly in the proliferation of notices for the parish newsletter. Everything from Zumba dancing to sean-nós singing classes are being organised. How to fit everything in a page or two becomes a pleasant problem for a few weeks. In trying to shorten notices to make room for all, I am often reminded of Fr. J.G. McGarry from Claremorris, later Parish Priest of Ballyhaunis, and Professor in Maynooth for many years before that. When trying to get us to shorten sermons and get to the point, he used to advise us that there is no need to start with Adam and Eve every time. . .
Most of the fans have my recipe already, carefully filed away along with the dog licence and the codes for the Cayman Island Banks. For those who don’t, I will give a short summary: Soak the blackberries with a good sprinkle of salt to shift any visiting organisms or impurities. Add a small glass of boiling water and put them on to boil for about ten minutes, mashing them with a potato masher all of the time. Pass the liquid through a sieve to remove the seeds. Add an equal amount of sugar to the liquid before boiling for half an hour to forty minutes. Pour into hot jars and leave to cool and become jellied. I usually try and prepare four or five pots at a time as there is much the same amount of work involved in making one as in five or seven jars.
This is my late mother’s recipe and she went in for blackberry jelly rather than jam because the seeds would get stuck in her false teeth. She died at this time of the year and I like to honour her memory by sharing her recipe. Back in the day when I had more time on my hands while living and working on the Aran Island of Inis Meáin, I gathered blackberries to make wine as well. It was one of my boasts at the time that I could make water into wine, except that I needed more time and ingredients than the master. I am not aware that he ever actually got around to making jelly. I had nearly enough gooseberries this year to make a couple of pots of jam. I managed to stretch them by adding rhubarb to the mix and that for me was a new and worthwhile experience.
The good weather for much of the summer gave most people a lift and led to good harvests of fruit and other crops. Drying turf and hay especially came much easier than for many years. As the darker evenings close in people are making their plans for the winter, not just sitting by a fire and enjoying the soaps or the Champion’s League on the television. I see this mostly in the proliferation of notices for the parish newsletter. Everything from Zumba dancing to sean-nós singing classes are being organised. How to fit everything in a page or two becomes a pleasant problem for a few weeks. In trying to shorten notices to make room for all, I am often reminded of Fr. J.G. McGarry from Claremorris, later Parish Priest of Ballyhaunis, and Professor in Maynooth for many years before that. When trying to get us to shorten sermons and get to the point, he used to advise us that there is no need to start with Adam and Eve every time. . .
Week ending September 3th 2013
Ongoing conflicts in Syria and Egypt are a source of great concern to many people as television news footage show the consequences for the innocent. As I write there are reports of a chemical attack by Government forces in Syria which has killed many children. This has yet to be verified but the amateur footage available looks too authentic to be some kind of a trick. Bomb blasts in Iraq and Afghanistan remind us that conflicts in those countries too are ongoing, despite the withdrawal of foreign troops. There are a couple of small signs of hope in that region, regime change in Iran and the prospect of United States led talks between Israel and Palestine overseen by Secretary of State John Kerry.
Back here in Ireland the marching season in the North has brought its own share of conflict, though thankfully nothing like the troubles of twenty or so years ago. This time of the year brings reminders of the Omagh bombing on the fifteenth of August, a sacred day for many people, but the bomb made no discrimination between Catholic and Protestant. There are still issues to be resolved in that regard, but for the most part Ireland is seen as a country in which a peace process is working relatively well. There are of course setbacks from time to time, but that is what process is all about, two steps forward and one step back in many cases, but the answer is not to allow the steps back to obscure the steps forward. It took this part of Ireland the best part of a hundred years to get over the Civil War. That too was a process, and although it still raises an occasional niggle, it has come to fruition.
Trying to see the bigger picture always helps. When we look at the World wars of the past century and the number of countries and peoples involved, we see that we now have a relatively peaceful world. The European Community in whatever guise, from the Common Market through the EEC, etc, has played a big part in creating stability in this continent. We may moan and groan about its inefficiencies and the slowness of its decision making processes, but it sure beats shooting, bombing and gassing people.Traces of horsemeat in beef-burgers is a much smaller problem than sending millions of people out to be gunned down in no man’s land. The fact that nations and countries that fought each other for hundreds of years can now sit down together to solve problems holds out hope for areas of conflict.
Names of towns and cities that keep cropping up in reports from Syria, Egypt and Israel have a particular resonance for people with a Christian or Jewish background, because of their Biblical connections. Damascus, for instance will forever be associated with Saint Paul, both a proud Jew and a proud Christian. The religious melting pot that is the Middle East is capable of a “live and let live” policy if extremists are not allowed to dictate agendas. Koran and Biblical Testaments, New and Old preach the love of God and neighbour. Politicians have to find the formulas to make that possible. There is a Nobel Prize in it for you, John Kerry, if you can get the ball rolling.
Back here in Ireland the marching season in the North has brought its own share of conflict, though thankfully nothing like the troubles of twenty or so years ago. This time of the year brings reminders of the Omagh bombing on the fifteenth of August, a sacred day for many people, but the bomb made no discrimination between Catholic and Protestant. There are still issues to be resolved in that regard, but for the most part Ireland is seen as a country in which a peace process is working relatively well. There are of course setbacks from time to time, but that is what process is all about, two steps forward and one step back in many cases, but the answer is not to allow the steps back to obscure the steps forward. It took this part of Ireland the best part of a hundred years to get over the Civil War. That too was a process, and although it still raises an occasional niggle, it has come to fruition.
Trying to see the bigger picture always helps. When we look at the World wars of the past century and the number of countries and peoples involved, we see that we now have a relatively peaceful world. The European Community in whatever guise, from the Common Market through the EEC, etc, has played a big part in creating stability in this continent. We may moan and groan about its inefficiencies and the slowness of its decision making processes, but it sure beats shooting, bombing and gassing people.Traces of horsemeat in beef-burgers is a much smaller problem than sending millions of people out to be gunned down in no man’s land. The fact that nations and countries that fought each other for hundreds of years can now sit down together to solve problems holds out hope for areas of conflict.
Names of towns and cities that keep cropping up in reports from Syria, Egypt and Israel have a particular resonance for people with a Christian or Jewish background, because of their Biblical connections. Damascus, for instance will forever be associated with Saint Paul, both a proud Jew and a proud Christian. The religious melting pot that is the Middle East is capable of a “live and let live” policy if extremists are not allowed to dictate agendas. Koran and Biblical Testaments, New and Old preach the love of God and neighbour. Politicians have to find the formulas to make that possible. There is a Nobel Prize in it for you, John Kerry, if you can get the ball rolling.
