I heard sad news earlier this evening. Ger Regan died. May he rest in peace. Ger is a few years younger than myself and I’ve known him for more than thirty years. In recent weeks he had been unwell but I hadn’t foreseen his death. I spoke with him last Friday evening, before going on holidays, and we talked about “catching up” when I’d get back. I can’t fully take in the reality that will not now happen.
I read that Gospel passage on Sunday about not knowing the day or hour. I believed it as I read it but it doesn’t always sink in. When you say goodbye to someone that you think you’ll see again and that turns out not to be the case, it’s a soul searching moment.
Earlier today I took a photo of the Year of Mercy Door in St Agnes’ Cathedral. At that stage I’d known that Ger had taken a turn for the worse but in taking the photo I was very much thinking of him. He was hugely influential in the designing of the Door of Mercy in our own cathedral in Ballaghderreen and took great pride in it and the little prayer space that he helped set up at the back of the Cathedral. He had taken a huge interest in banners and trying to focus people’s attention on the year that’s in it.
The Door of Mercy, St Agnes’ Cathedral, Rockville Centre, NY
The door is wide open, draped in colours of welcome and allows access to a Holy Place. As I took the photo, I thought of Ger and hoped that the Eternal Door would be opened to him. I prayed that it would and, as the news settles in my heart now, I have a feeling that he is indeed home and safe. No more worries or wondering, the Lord will set his mind and heart to rest and enfold him in His lasting peace.
I will be thinking of his mother, family and friends in the coming days and will visit his grave in Kilcolman as soon as I can.
Never take a goodbye for granted …
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POPE FRANCIS’ PRAYER FOR THE YEAR OF MERCY
Lord Jesus Christ,
you have taught us to be merciful like the heavenly Father,
and have told us that whoever sees you sees Him.
Show us your face and we will be saved.
Your loving gaze freed Zacchaeus and Matthew from being enslaved by money;
the adulteress and Magdalene from seeking happiness only in created things;
made Peter weep after his betrayal,
and assured Paradise to the repentant thief.
Let us hear, as if addressed to each one of us, the words that you spoke to the Samaritan woman:
“If you knew the gift of God!”
You are the visible face of the invisible Father,
of the God who manifests his power above all by forgiveness and mercy:
let the Church be your visible face in the world, its Lord risen and glorified.
You willed that your ministers would also be clothed in weakness
in order that they may feel compassion for those in ignorance and error:
let everyone who approaches them feel sought after, loved, and forgiven by God.
Send your Spirit and consecrate every one of us with its anointing,
so that the Jubilee of Mercy may be a year of grace from the Lord,
and your Church, with renewed enthusiasm, may bring good news to the poor,
proclaim liberty to captives and the oppressed,
and restore sight to the blind.
We ask this through the intercession of Mary, Mother of Mercy,
you who live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit for ever and ever.
I was sad to hear of the death of Bishop Eddie Daly, R.I.P. He’s one of those people that always seems to have been there in my lifetime. How many times we’ve seen the image of him, hunched with white waving handkerchief in hand, seeking to lead people to safety in the midst of a blood-stained Derry Sunday on January 30th 1972. I was nine years old then but remember that image and moment. Pure horror and a man seeking to make a difference in the midst of it all.
Some ten years later I recall trying to annoy one of my Derry classmates who (rightly) saw Eddie as hero. I asked would he like to see my impersonation of him and when he said yes, I took a hankie from my pocket and waved it in the air. He was not impressed! It’s a powerful moment, cherished in the memory of all who saw it and, for many, a shared memory that is all too real. My “impersonation” was at a very superficial level and served little by way of justice and depth, to the respect I had and have for Bishop Daly.
Scaffolding in place around works at St Agnes’ Cathedral, Rockville Centre
I was reminded today of Seamus Heaney’s poem “Scaffolding” and it strikes me that Bishop Daly and many others like him have sought to protect and maintain a sense of place and church in our midst. For years, as priest and bishop, he lived where he loved, served his own people and knew their ways. He was inspirational. He became “scaffolding” allowing people maintain and indeed overcome the “walls” of Derry that they might become places of meeting rather than division, peace instead of conflict and hope instead of despair. Maurice Harron’s famous sculpture on the outskirts of the city shows two men reaching out to one another from the walls of their tradition. The hands almost touch and I believe that Eddie Daly in the scaffolding he provided allowed for that touch to finally become real.
I had a call the other day from Newstalk 106-108 FM to see if I would say a few words around my experience in Maynooth. The researcher told me they wanted to get some views from people who had been in the college. The interview was to be live on Saturday morning but I explained that I would not be at home at that stage so they asked if I’d pre-record a piece. I agreed and hoped it would be okay.
I received a link to a PODCAST of the interview. Listening back to it, I think it reflects how I felt and feel about Maynooth. Were there a regret for me, it might lie in my not acknowledging therein the hurt experienced by some, as mentioned in recent days. In no way, would I want to take away from anyone’s hurt or experience but, in fairness to Sarah Carey, she wanted my own views around my experience of being in Maynooth, albeit thirty years ago now. Those memories are and thankfully, in the main, happy memories of decent people and a place that sought to do its best. I’ve no doubt there were days I’d have been fed up, at a bit of a low but overall I have never regretted my decision to go to Maynooth.
Thought I might share the link here. I hope the words were helpful
The last few days the place I remember and call Maynooth has become a hashtag #maynooth or #maynoothscandal. Someone just asked me how I feel about this. The answer is sad, very sad – because the truth is my abiding memories of Maynooth centre around happy days when I looked forward to becoming a priest, of good friends, enthusiasm around church, dreams for the future and a belief that I was in the right place and doing the right thing with my life.
When I started in Maynooth there were seventy-five in my class, most of them my own age with a few, some years older, having worked in other places before making the decision to explore God’s Call. I’d imagine there were 300-400 students in the college at the time, people from all over Ireland. I believed we were there because it’s where we felt we were meant to be. At that time, as far as I recall, there were seminaries in Thurles, Carlow, Waterford, Kilkenny, Wexford as well as All Hallows in Dublin and Clonliffe College which was the seminary specific to students for the Archdiocese of Dublin. There was too, the Irish College in Rome. With the exception of Maynooth and the Irish College in Rome, all are now closed. I’ve no doubt many of the buildings are still there, perhaps other roles were found for them but I’m certain that memories specific to each place remain for those who walked their corridors, sat in their lecture halls and sought to find and deepen the faith “within” in their chapels.
Through the years I have visited Maynooth. In the earlier years of being a priest I’d have visited the students as we had people from the diocese studying there. As time passed, I found that happening less and less. I have however attended meetings there to do with bits of work I do here in the diocese, so I haven’t lost contact with the place entirely. I know there are people that left Maynooth who never re-visited but I think it more the case that most past pupils of the college, whether they were ordained or not, would allow it hold a special place in the heart and feel comfortable enough to wander around its corridors and grounds. The Classpiece pictures (lines of them) along the corridors, remind us of faces from the past, some known to us and many not, and give witness to the reality of vocation and response. I often think about those pictures, my own included, and have come to the conviction that we remain the “man” in that photo. By that I mean, whatever has happened in life, successes and failures, good days and bad, we are still the one who sat in front of a camera and allowed the shutter to close on the face of one preparing for ordination. Whatever hopes and dreams we had at that moment, whatever goodness was in us at that moment, whatever belief in priesthood was in us at that moment, remains the truth of that moment. It is a truth we have to re-visit and, at times, reclaim.
What do I remember of the journey in Maynooth? I remember struggles with prayer and with study, I remember confusion around feelings and somewhere too, of course, wondering about celibacy. I knew that priesthood meant I would not have a wife but at eighteen years of age a wife wasn’t the first thing on my mind!! Even at twenty-four, I’m sure I might not have given too much thought to that. There were nonetheless those “stirrings” in us that seemed at odds with being “holy”, “men apart” and yes, they gave rise to questions and quite likely doubts. I recall someone telling us once during a talk, a retreat maybe, that our feelings around sexuality were normal. As men (women too I’m sure) it was natural to wonder about this side of life and to have to make choices. He said “your hormones don’t even know you’re Catholics, never mind celibates”. I’m sure we laughed but he was making a good point. Hormones are hormones and feelings are feelings, irrespective of creed or calling. It’s what we do with and about them that ultimately shapes us. Somewhere and somehow in vocation and priesthood, with the Grace and help of God, the support and understanding of people and inner will, we have to try to align the hormones with the calling, and bring them to a place where they know “we are catholic and striving to be celibate”.
I don’t recall a “gay culture” in Maynooth when I was there. Neither do I recall “a heterosexual culture”. I felt as people we were rounded, balanced and doing the best we could. I think what I recall was a sincere effort to respond to the call to be a priest. People left along the way. It was the rule of thumb that about half the first year class would leave before ordination and, give or take that was the story with our class too. Why would people leave? Some, I am sure because they came to the realisation that priesthood was not their calling. This may or may not have had to do with celibacy. Others quite likely came to the point where they knew they could not live life without sharing it specifically with another. The idea of parenthood, handing on life through a loving relationship held more value for them and understandably so. It’s certain some might have realised their orientation was homosexual and that seeking and responding to the love of another was something they could not live without. There were, in fairness, many reasons to leave and many too, to stay. It would also have been the case that people might have been asked to leave for various reasons. That surely had to be the role of the Seminary formation team, that it journeyed with the students and observed the lifestyle and the choices being made and if these were considered incompatible with priesthood, then the recommendation would have been made that another life choice might be more in keeping. I suspect similar would happen in any field of training, from the Teacher Training College to nursing, medicine, military, Gardaí and so forth.
The time in Seminary is a time of discernment. What does that mean? It’s something to do with looking at life, seeing where the road is leading and arriving at a decision that the road ahead looks as if it’s leading to the destination you seek. Equally it might lead us to a moment where we need to stop, gather our thoughts, and admit this is not the road for me. It’s a good road and an important road but if I continue on it I will arrive at a destination, yes, but not the one I need. What I am searching for, where I am being led, is not to be found on this road. It’s no harm I’ve travelled this road and chances are I will remember much from the journey but it’s time to look to another path. That’s discernment. It’s about reflection and choice.
So what about the Maynooth of these days? As I said, I’ve lost contact a bit with students. We don’t have any student for our diocese at this time. My interaction then with present day Maynooth in terms of students and indeed staff is practically non-existent. I was involved a number of years ago in giving a retreat to the students and I wondered what that would be like. I recall meeting a small number of them in advance of the retreat to have a chat about it and when I asked what I should do, one of the students said “Don’t apologise for being here”. I am sure we laughed at that too but his point was also valid. What he was saying to me was don’t come in thinking you are not worthy to be here or that you haven’t something to say. Come to us as you are. I very much appreciated that comment and have tried to apply it to other situations in life since then. I went to Maynooth for that retreat expecting to find people at a low ebb (it was at the height of other scandals in our church), where morale would be low and people at a loss. That was not my experience. I met lovely people there. Many of them spoke with me on a one to one basis during times of reconciliation or between talks. I was amazed by their enthusiasm. The hundreds had shrunk to numbers less than a hundred but I found again a sense of purpose among these men. They seemed at ease with themselves and I came away thinking they never knew the Maynooth of hundreds or seminaries scattered across Ireland. This is the only seminary life they’ve experienced and they are making their own of it. I’d like to think I gave something to the students over those few days but I know for certain they gave a lot to me, not least hope.
It is the choice of a bishop to send seminarians to any college he feels would be good to and for them. The Irish College in Rome is an equal partner in the seminary formation of the Irish Church. Indeed when we were in Maynooth, Bishop Flynn (R.I.P.) let it be known that should any of us like to go to Rome to study we were welcome to do so. Furthermore he encouraged this and some of my fellow students chose or maybe were asked to attend the Irish College. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this decision. I’m sure from a practical point of view, the bishops were trying to support both colleges through sending students there. For that reason, I would not like to see Rome and Maynooth being pitched against each other now. It’s my belief they both seek to assist those who feel God’s call to priesthood and it’s for the good of both that a student body is maintained in each. Furthermore, it is my belief that any diocese lucky enough to have a number of students could well benefit from sending some of those students to each or, as was the case in the past, encouraging that they spend time between both.
I am very sorry for anyone who has been hurt in Maynooth. I truly am and I feel much of what is happening these days is sincerely born of personal hurt and a belief that the seminary could and should be better. It is my hope that this hurt will be healed. Whatever needs to be said or done should not be left unsaid or undone. I believe there are very sincere people, staff and students, clerical and lay, men and women still walking the corridors of St Patrick’s College.
Though there is sincerity in the recent comments about Maynooth, I don’t like some of the approaches taken as the story unfolds. It seems certain that some linked with this story have made questionable decisions around social media. At least the allegations made suggest as much. What lies behind those alleged decisions and possible needs of those involved is the journey of discernment. It has to be personal though and to seek to embarrass people through innuendo and invasion seems at odds with a Christian approach to seeking a lasting peace for all involved. My hope is that Maynooth will be to and for all involved a certain companion who will walk the road, listen and offer guidance. Equally may it listen to the voice of students and those believing there is room for change.
At day’s end, I believe Maynooth will continue to shape and be shaped by those who call it “home” during their time there. I would be deeply saddened were it to remain a hashtag when it has offered, offers and has the potential to offer much, much more.
Reek Sunday, they call it – the last Sunday in July when tens of thousands of people climb Croagh Patrick. It’s a tradition deeply rooted in the Irish Soul but not one I’ve ever been part of. If you know me and know the Reek, chances are you can connect the dots!! If you don’t, well that’s another story!
The “Reek” is quite a climb. I’ve been there ………….
Once! I climbed it back in the early 90s with a few people from Collooney parish. I’ve been sort of there twice since then. I’ll have another go, in time but setting no deadline. Why mention it today? The answer is found in yesterday.
We had our Annual Cemetery Mass in Naomh Mobhí Cemetery. It was incredible to see so many people there. I thought to take a photograph at some stage of the congregation but that didn’t happen. I did manage to get a photograph of their cars though!
I had a few words on the Parish Bulletin this week about Cemetery Masses and why they are so important to people:
By Sunday we will have celebrated Mass in four of the Cemeteries in the parish (St Celsus’ Cemetery, Kilkelly, St Patrick’s, St Celsus’ Culmore and Naomh Mobhí). During the week we will celebrate Mass at Urlaur Abbey with a special remembrance there for all who are buried in its hallowed grounds and later in the year we will celebrate Mass in St Brigid’s Cemetery, Urlaur. All these Masses are very well attended and important to all who come along to say a prayer and remember the dead.
It raises the question, “WHY?” Why are these so important? Why do we place such emphasis on remembering the dead? It is not because of death but because of life. We don’t remember people because they died, we remember (and love) them because they lived.
Love is the reason we celebrate these Masses. Love for those who have gone before us and a deep belief in God’s love for us all, a love that goes beyond the grave. The love made real when Jesus called Lazurus from the grave and invited his friends to “unbind him” and “let him go free”. We too pray for the happy release of all who have died, confident that our love for them and our prayers for them continue to matter deeply.
The morning was lovely but we had a brief fall of rain during the Mass. It happened just at the time I was going to share a few words by way of homily. I hadn’t intended it to be long but just to be sure, God sent a little rainfall to hurry me up! This is where the “Reek” came into play. There were at least two people at the Cemetery Mass who had earlier that same morning climbed the Reek. I never cease to be amazed by the dedication of people. We buried a man in the parish last year who, from his childhood days, never missed a “Reek Sunday”. He told me one time he used cycle there (75KM), climb the mountain and cycle home again.
On Saturday I was driving into Westport for a Wedding Reception and Croagh Patrick was ahead of me, unmoved and ever present, tall and strong but its summit was not visible. There was a mist down on the summit that made it impossible to make make out the towering point of the mountain. I knew it was there but it could not be seen. My inability to see it, the mist’s covering of it, could not take away the truth that the summit was still there.
That’s the point I wanted to take to our Cemetery Mass yesterday. Grief, like that mist, envelops our view. Our loved ones, once clearly visible to us may no longer be within our range of vision but the reality of their presence and the depth of our love for them remains as certain as the Croagh Patrick summit.
Saturday’s mist gave way on Sunday morning to Pilgrims’ steps and the summit was reached. I believe we can work through grief, not always quickly or easily but step by step, bit by bit the climb can be made and the summit reached.
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