Andrew O’Connell remembers an inspirational author and lecturer who captivated his audience with his intelligence and spiritual depth
I learned of the death of Michael Paul Gallagher via a message posted on Facebook by the Irish Jesuits. It was strangely appropriate to get the news that way: the Sligo-born priest was a well-known commentator on faith and culture who often spoke about the power of digital technology.
He was a distinguished academic, lecturing in English Literature at UCD and serving as Dean of Theology at the Gregorian University in Rome. Over several decades he addressed thousands at conferences and seminars around Ireland and beyond.
Audiences always looked forward to ‘Michael Paul’s talk’. The title of the presentation never really mattered: the man was the message – gentle but demanding, erudite but entertaining, combining intellectual acuity with spiritual depth.
He had the rare capacity to understand the cultural shifts taking place around us and explain them without furthering any of the divisive agendas of our time. Nor was he paralysed by the great challenges posed by postmodern culture. Instead, he was excited by the possibilities and offered tentative ways forward.
Three of his volumes look down from my bookshelf: Clashing Symbols, arguably his magnum opus, explores religious faith in a postmodern culture; Faith Maps sketches the thinking of ten religious ‘explorers’ from Newman to Ratzinger (it would make an ideal Christmas gift for the serious reader); and Help My Unbelief, a 1983 work in which he indulged his creative writing skills, penning letters of advice to parents, atheists and priests.
I discovered him when I came across a 1974 essay he wrote for The Furrow entitled, ‘Atheism Irish Style’. By his own admission it caused quite a stir. His reflections were based on the experience of working with university students during which he had noticed their disenchantment with the externals of Church life and practice. “What I have found,” he wrote, “is the bottom has fallen out of conventional faith for many of this age group”.
Some who remember the article’s publication tell me it was widely dismissed as being overly pessimistic. How wrong they were. And how right Michael Paul was. Almost a quarter of a century later, in 1997, Mary Kenny would author Goodbye to Catholic Ireland, without a question mark at the end.
Michael Paul’s work placed heavy emphasis on the importance of wonder and imagination in accessing religious experience. He was fond of quoting the words of John Henry Newman: “The heart is commonly reached not through the reason but through the imagination.” The importance Michael Paul afforded to imagination in the transmission of faith is possibly his legacy. This approach to Christian mission shuns the easy answers of evangelical fundamentalism and the naivety of liberal accommodation, calling instead for something more nuanced, more demanding and ultimately more Christ-like.
The news of his death saddened me. Michael Paul was one of the few who could see clearly through the fog of these times. Surely, he is experiencing something full of wonder now – something far beyond any human imagining – as he continues his journey to God in the “truth of everlasting day”.
Empty the drawers
Many readers, I’m sure, have religious articles such as souvenir rosaries and statuettes lying idle around the house. They could be put to good use. Many children are growing up in homes with no religious imagery whatsoever. Perhaps some of the religious items might be better off with them.
I know of one instance where a parish priest is gathering these surplus religious items and distributing them to the teachers in the local national school for use as prizes in classroom quizzes and competitions.
Not a bad idea.
Brooklyn on the big screen Michael Paul often wrote about the power of the arts, including film, to shape culture. In recent years, movie portrayals of priests and religious have been almost exclusively negative. All the more remarkable then is the sympathetic portrayal of Fr Flood in the new movie Brooklyn, based on Colm Tóibín’s novel. Fr Flood is a likeable, avuncular character who takes the homesick heroine, Eilis, under his wing.
Catholic hypocrisy is represented by Miss Kelly, the small town busy-body. During a key scene, she behaves with incredible meanness towards Eilis. The scene spares no irony as she sits alongside a framed linen piece with the embroidered words: “Teach us to love.”