BROKEN

BROKEN

On Sunday evening, I clicked on NETFLIX but didn’t know where it would take me. I am not able to hack much violence and so much of what is on offer now seems to force violence on us. I looked for a bit of comedy but nothing caught my eye and then I saw the word and title: “Broken” with a picture of a priest. I wondered and clicked.

Sean Bean reveals the one doubt he had about BBC One's Broken ...
Fr Michael Kerrigan (Sean Bean) in “BROKEN”

It led me to episode 1 of series 1 of a drama set around a priest, Fr Michael Kerrigan, living and ministering in a poor parish in Northern England. I decide to give it a go.

Six episodes and a few mugs of coffee later, I turned off the television, brought the dog out and went to bed. There is only the one season, so I watched it all in one night. I’ve often heard people say that about a book – “I just couldn’t close it” or “I had to finish it.” I felt the same.

The priest, at the centre of the drama is played by Sean Bean and his character is written by Jimmy McGovern. As is often the case I found myself looking for bits around the drama and came across this interview with McGovern

Jimmy McGovern speaking about why he wrote “Broken”

In the interview he says that he loves to write. He said that an empty page is an invitation to him. He says that he could not have written this sooner, certainly not when his parents were alive as he addresses issues that he’d not want them to have to hear. I’m not sure if some of what is portrayed in the drama reflects what he means here.

Interestingly he says that he has no faith, that he wishes he had but that he felt there was need to write about a good priest. Something very real being said here and that reality is well captured.

There are many dark moments in the drama, not always easily watched but it is very believable. The priest, certainly gives all he has to his community but he has his own struggles. Quite often the very consecration of the Mass is a challenge to him and he explains why. I think the fact that McGovern could even begin to understand this, let alone, portray it, speaks a lot about his own understanding of the celebration of Mass and the priest’s role therein. Equally, Bean’s dramatisation of this struggle is enough to make me think about how easily I could take the consecration for granted.

Much of the exchange that takes place is in the setting of confession and I saw somewhere that when McGovern approached Bean to play the part of Fr Michael, Bean was reluctant saying that hearing confession was “passive” but McGovern insisted it wasn’t. I am paraphrasing now but he told him that when a priest hears confessions, the penitent goes away lighter and the priest carrying more weight. That in not passivity, McGovern, told him. It is clear McGovern’s upbringing and his Catholic roots have embedded themselves in who he is and what he writes.

Anyway, I just thought I’d share this. I cannot say I felt totally comfortable watching all this drama revealed but I went to bed, somewhat renewed that a drama can portray what a priest tries to be and the difference he can make. I went to bed, feeling I could do more but grateful for what I do.

BROKEN on Netflix? I think so!

Fr Pat Burke, R.I.P.

Fr Pat Burke, R.I.P.

Fr Pat Burke 1979-2018 R.I.P.

Today’s Gospel passage points towards the Golden Rule of treating others as you’d like them to treat you.  The evening finds me again on Lough Derg – as a sort of day-boy – helping out for a day or two but not on pilgrimage.  I WILL do it at some stage, just not sure when!

I had Mass this evening and spoke to them, in part, about Fr Pat Burke – a priest of Tuam Archdiocese, who died unexpectedly, and – arguably – many years ahead of his time, yesterday.  May he rest in peace.  Pat was curate in Westport parish and was due to take up a new appointment in July.  His death has come as a shock to all who knew him.  He’d mentioned the day before that he was not feeling very well but nobody expected his death.  It is a huge loss to his family, his parish, diocese and to all who knew him.

I cannot believe how sad I feel about this.  A few months ago, I put a few words on this blog about vocations.  It took the form of a letter to myself.  The next day I had a message from Pat, telling me he enjoyed it and that it spoke to him “you could have written it to me” he said.  I replied, thanking him and telling him that we’d “keep motoring” in priesthood.  We had spoken many times about meeting up at some stage, having lunch and a bit of a chat.  That’s not going to happen now. I feel great regret about that.  It was so doable.  Less than an hour would have seen us in one place or the other.  It never happened.

My admiration for Pat was in watching him at Knock Shrine where he was curate and Master of Ceremonies at many of the events in the Basilica.  He always seemed so unassuming but his role was central.  He never sought limelight but helped others find their place in its rays.  He was a good man.

Later I met him when I was involved with the priests of Tuam Archdiocese in their annual Diocesan Priests’ Retreat.  Pat was the only person younger than myself there and his presence was so supportive.  He wrote me a very kind note afterwards, thanking me for the retreat but I told him that he had supported me, by his presence, in a way far more supportive than I could have been of him.  I meant it.  There was something very reassuring and calming in his presence.  He made a difference.

At days end, Pat treated people with kindness – the way we’d like to be treated and his place in this evening’s Mass on Lough Derg, is to encourage us to do likewise.  There is also something about not putting things off for another day.  That day has a way of overtaking us.

The Water’s Edge, Lough Derg – June 26th 2018.

AT THE WATER’S EDGE

Pat,

Earlier today I read about your work on the islands off Mayo and how much you enjoyed it.  As I came across on the boat this evening, the stone’s throw of a journey, I wondered about you heading off to celebrate Mass and the sacraments on Innishturk and Clare Island or your visits to Caher Island. You made a difference there.  I’m sure you are missed tonight.  Your feet, between boat and shore, brought something very special and sacred.  You were priest among the people and the people enveloped you as one chosen, one called to be with them and for them.  It was good work Pat.

I stood at the water’s edge here on Lough Derg this evening. shoes on and phone in hand – feeling less than worthy as I watched barefooted men and women of all ages, walk around and behind me, focusing on their prayers and being pilgrims.  Phones turned off, no photos just searching for something of Heaven and finding it – I hope and pray.  I watched the waters but looked beyond them to people gathering in Westport, to walk past you – not barefooted but brokenhearted, bless themselves and offer a prayer and wonder “why?”  I heard them whisper to your parents and your brothers how wonderful you were and how shocked they are.  “Sorry for your trouble”, they’d have said, one after another.  I see them walking towards Charlie McDonnell and the other priests there, shaking their heads in disbelief.  There are no words.  Your loss to them is immeasurable.  Certainly you didn’t know the fullness of all you meant to people.  I wonder where you are in all of this?  I can’t help but believe you believed in the Resurrection you preached to so many and that you are now fully caught up in it.

Then water splashes onto the slabs at my feet.  Water of the lake meeting the solidness of stone.  Changing its shade, moistening its hardened surface.  Travelling to meet the land.  How often you poured the waters of baptism on an infant’s head and watched it trickle back into the font from which it came. Parents smiled and so did you for it was God’s work.  Your last Sunday was John The Baptist’s Day.  Waters made holy by the one baptized and the one baptizing.

I sensed you stepping ashore Pat as the waters of Lough Derg met the stone beneath the pilgrims’ feet.  I walked away from the water’s edge, believing you had found solid ground too and put your own mark on it as the stones were coloured by the lake’s edge this evening.

I told them about you Pat, at Mass.  People sympathised with me afterwards on the loss of “your friend” and I felt oddly hypocritical since we didn’t know each other that well and I felt cheated too because I’d like to have known you better.  I was proud of you as a priest, grateful for your text on a Monday in April and for your phonecalls every now and again.  Yes, we should have met.

Pray for us Pat.  We need someone to take your place.  Be “vocation” now.  Call people to walk where you walked and to cross the waters to the islands where you encountered something of a church we all want – a church of belonging and a church of shared vision.

Rest in peace Pat.  You’ve crossed that point where the waters meet the land.

Vincent

 

 

A decent man …

A decent man …

Save us, Lord, while we are awake; protect us while we sleep; that we may keep watch with Christ and rest with him in peace.
 
Now, Master, you let your servant go in peace.
You have fulfilled your promise.
My own eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the sight of all peoples.
A light to bring the Gentiles from darkness;
the glory of your people Israel.
 
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
world without end.
 
Amen.
 
Save us, Lord, while we are awake; protect us while we sleep; that we may keep watch with Christ and rest with him in peace.

In 1992, my second year in Collooney parish, there was a change of priests.  Tommy Johnston was appointed Parish Priest in Mullinabreena bringing to an end one of the most enjoyable years I had in ministry - enjoyable in the sense that Tommy and I worked very much as a team, going places together, sharing ideas and trying to put them into action.  We had good fun along the way.

Tommy's transfer brought me into contact with Joe Spelman who was appointed Parish Priest of Collooney.  I'd known Joe for years but in a different setting,  He was a Professor in Maynooth, a very intelligent man and we moved in different circles.  My mother used to have an expression that spoke about a person's good qualities, she'd say "He'd never close his eye on you". I came to see that as a huge compliment, speaking to a person's character and, in particular, the truth that the person would always notice and acknowledge you. Joe fell into that revered category. I remember him walking "Joe's Square" in Maynooth and no matter who he was with, he always gave that smiling nod as you walked past in the opposite direction.  Words, though sometimes used, were not necessary.  Joe was saying "hello" in his own way and letting the other know that was the right thing to do.

In Collooney, our relationship was somewhat different.  The "Professor" had become a priest in a parish, as had the student five years earlier.  Now we were on the same pitch, wearing the same colours and walking in the same direction.  Joe was very aware that it was his first taste of Parish life.  He had retired from Maynooth's staff earlier in the year and came to Collooney, not to retire but to engage with a new phase of life.  No more than myself, he was finding his feet in ministry and was not afraid to acknowledge that.  "If it's not broken", he told me, "don't fix it".  What he was saying centred on his belief that whatever was working well in the parish, whatever Tommy and I had set in place and was seen to be working would continue.  He wasn't there to stamp authority or do it "his way" but to journey with people in the hope we were on the right road.

Bishop Flynn appointed Joe as Vicar General of the Diocese and with that came the title "Monsignor".  Joe took the role seriously and was a very good Vicar General of Achonry.  He took the title less seriously and never attached to himself any of the trappings or shades of the office. There was something strangely comforting about this. There was nothing surprising about it.

We had three years together and, when I moved to the Marriage Tribunal in 1995, I was sorry to be leaving Joe.  I enjoyed his ways so much.  He had a droll voice and an equally droll sense of humour but, and for me equally important, a sharp mind and the ability to dispense (without you knowing you were in the dispensary!) solid advice.  One of my favourites was around a letter I had written about something that hurt and bothered me.  I showed the letter to Joe.  He read it carefully, handed in back to me and said; "Vincent, that's an excellent letter. What you say is true and you've every right to say it but if you take my advice you won't send it."  Then he added "I've never regretted a letter I didn't send but I've regretted a few I did".  It took a few minutes for it to sink in but the letter became pieces and the pieces were left in Joe's dustbin.  The pieces led to peace!  

I remember him writing to me the first Christmas I was in Galway.  He told me bits and pieces about the parish, what was happening and how people were keeping. Before signing the letter he concluded with the words "I miss you".  I was taken by those words because he could have pushed it out a little from himself and said "you're missed" or "the people miss you" or "it's not the same without you" but no, he made it personal "I miss you".  I hope he never regretted writing those lines!!  I never regretted reading them and they continue to console me in times of self questioning.  His lines remind me that I have made a difference in people's lives.

Joe died on Thursday morning, June 23rd after a few years journey with the uninvited guest of "Parkinson's Disease"  It took away much of the man's character, slowed his movement and perhaps most sadly of all, dented that great intellect with which he had been so clearly gifted.  I visited him a few times in Dublin though not often enough. The more recent visits were difficult because there was no recognition and I found it difficult to see him like that. I had no sense of him knowing me or remembering anything of the road we travelled and shared.  Hopefully I remembered for both of us.

At his Funeral Mass yesterday (June 25th) in Collooney, Bishop Brendan went back beyond Joe and opened his words to us with memories of Joe's mother who had been a teacher in Coolavin N.S. (Monasteraden). After her death in 1982 a past pupil wrote a tribute to her in a local paper.  For thirty years she'd taught the junior classes and the writer said when they left home to go to school for the first time Mrs Spelman held out a hand that was "warm and welcoming". She, the writer recalled, taught the children "all we were able to learn" and she "etched" in their hearts a lasting love for God as she prepeared them for the Sacraments.  I loved the line "all we were able to learn" - today they'd call that "differentiation" where the child's abilities are centre stage and teaching takes place in accordance with how much a child is able for.  Mrs Spelman seems to have been ahead of her time.  As Bishop Brendan introduced us to her, there was a sense of a woman who knew what she was about and who made a lasting impression. He concluded "I think her son carved a good niche too in the hearts of many people…" 

So he did.  He moved with people at their pace, prayed with people as they could pray and stayed for as long as he was needed. He was a good priest, a role model and thankfully a friend.

Back to that Christmas Card of 1995 and hoping he won't mind me stealing his words:

(Joe) "I miss you".

R.I.P.

(Click here for Full Text of Bishop Brendan's Homily)

_____________________________________

I included Horses and Plough as the Featured Image for this post.  I did so because I've been thinking again of Kavanagh's great poem, "To the man after the harrow" which, I'm told, he wrote for a neighbour who was being ordained a priest.  I love the idea that Kavanagh used his gift to create a gift for a neighbour's son. I am not 100% sure about this though I met a group of priests at a retreat one time and some of them knew the man the poem was written for.  I'd hate to think the ordination was not the reason for the poem but whatever the reason, the words are great. I think, had it been written for Joe, Kavanagh would be happy  that his advice was heeded.

_____________________________________

harrow

To The Man After The Harrow

 

Now leave the check-reins slack,
The seed is flying far today -
The seed like stars against the black
Eternity of April clay.

This seed is potent as the seed
Of knowledge in the Hebrew Book,
So drive your horses in the creed
Of God the Father as a stook.

Forget the men on Brady's Hill.
Forget what Brady's boy may say.
For destiny will not fulfil
Unless you let the harrow play.

Forget the worm's opinion too
Of hooves and pointed harrow-pins,
For you are driving your horses through
The mist where Genesis begins.

Where is the good word?

Where is the good word?

Earlier today, whilst travelling to Castlebar for a wedding rehearsal I turned on the radio.  It was mid interview and a man (whose name I didn’t get) was talking about his grandmother who had given birth to a baby outside wedlock.  She had been sent to a home where she had her baby and stayed for two years to pay back, through work, the help she had received.  It was, of course, a sad story, made sadder by the fact that it had not been revealed by the grandmother during her lifetime.  My heart goes out to all involved.

He said she was sent to the home by a priest who was “helping her” and then with a sarcastic chuckle, he repeated the line “helping her” as if this could not have been further from the priest’s mind, intention or desire.  I wondered if maybe he was, in fact, trying to help her.  Is there room for doubt?  Is there, even a slim chance, that the man thought he was doing the right thing  by her in the circumstances?

In fairness, the presenter tried to broaden the canvas a little and said the problem was wider than the Catholic Church.  She said surely it was the woman’s family or families of women like her, who found themselves in this situation, that often turned their backs on them. He was determined in his response – the fault lay with the Catholic Church who controlled everything in society.  When she said the problem was also linked with other religions, there was no turning on his part.  The Catholic Church was to blame for it all.  She didn’t pursue her line of questioning and other contributors to the panel were quick to row in their support for the blame resting solely with the Catholic Church and its control.

I was saddened to think we have come to this place where we are blamed for everything.  My thoughts went again to the priest and the summary dismissal of any chance that he had in fact tried to help in what may have been the only way open to him.

All the while I drove to be with a couple preparing for their wedding day. I knew that from there I would go to the funeral of a relation and a priest and join others in prayer and support.  Yesterday I stood with another couple as they exchanged vows. Last week, with another.  A few days before that I sat with a young woman in her home, left empty by her father’s death and felt her pain as she sought to come to an acceptance that he was gone from her, and gone forever.  I spoke with a young man who was saddened by life’s journey and wanted no more from me than an open ear. I recalled visits to hospitals and homes to spend some time with people coping with illness.  I remembered the recent celebration of First Holy Communion in the parish and the joy I felt in seeing the happiness on children’s faces as they reached a milestone in life.

I thought of daily Mass in the parish and the, sometimes small but always devoted, attendance of those able to join with me around the Altar and thought of Sundays with a larger congregation, choir, people involved in various ministries and people passing by who might just join us because they happened to pass at that moment when we gather to worship on the Sunday in every week.

Twenty-seven years ago, this very day, I was ordained a priest in my home parish.  My parents were there, my family and many friends from home, from the seminary – people supporting me in the moment, wishing me well and telling me they’d pray for me.  I asked them to – I needed them to – and they said they would.  I’ve never doubted but they kept their word.  My parents are now gone from me but I still feel their support and presence.  Did they think I was becoming a priest so that I could control people, make life difficult for them or ever subject them to situations that they’d regret for the rest of their lives or into a new generation?  Did they think I’d treat any girl who came to my door, with a story of uncertainty, to a cruel fate that her grandchild would recount on radio forty years later?  Is that why I became a priest?

The answer to all these questions is, I believe, no!  I can say in honesty that I have never set out to hurt anyone in my life as a priest.  That doesn’t mean I haven’t done so.  I can nonetheless say I never intentionally sought to make life difficult for anyone.  I have, as far as I know, always tried to be helpful.  I cannot recall a time when I chose to ignore a genuine cry or whisper for help.

Do I think I am different from other priests? Of course we are all individuals and have our own ways but I don’t believe I am that different.  I think most priests operate out of a desire to help rather than hinder, encourage rather than discourage, praise rather than condemn, share the load rather than burden – in short, try to do their best.

At this evening’s Mass I praised, in all sincerity, the three children who were serving at the Altar. I told them, in front of the congregation, that I was proud of them.  Then I put the question – the wondering – if in thirty or forty years time they’re sitting in company and people are giving out about the church, about priests about our mistakes, will they just sit there, order another drink, sit quietly by or will they say, “That’s not my experience”? Will one of them say ” I remember a priest saying at Mass that he was proud of me”?

I’d love to think they would but sometimes the silence of people in the now of our confusion makes me sad.  Surely there are very many people out there who have had good experiences of the work of their local priests?  Surely there are very many who have felt the nourishment of their Faith and the strength of sacraments celebrated?  Where is their voice?  Where are their words?

Where is “the good word”?

Golden Jubilee Celebration

On Friday September 27th, the parish of Keash/Culfadda celebrated with its recently retired Parish Priest, Fr Jim Finan, the occasion of his Golden Jubilee of Ordination.  The Church of St Kevin, Keash was filled to overflowing for the celebration.  Bishop Brendan Kelly was the Principal Celebrant at a con celebrated Mass. Fr Jim was joined on the Altar by a number of priests from the diocese and by his brother, Fr Joe.  The local Church of Ireland Rector was also in attendance.  It was a wonderful celebration of Jim’s priesthood and the affection in which he is held was clearly visible.  Jim recently retired as Parish Priest having spent twenty-three years in the parish.

Fr Jim was one of my teachers when I was in St Nathy’s.  He was always, and remains, a very likeable man.  I was glad to see him so honoured this evening.  He recently moved to Collooney Parish and I know, from my own time there, that he will be made feel welcome and at home.  Ad Multos Annos.

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