Love in the age of anti-Catholicism

It was a summer’s day in Mayo, and the heavens were weeping, when I first heard the story of John’s conversion. He had been raised in a family who lived without faith, a family with a father who drank too much. John grew up hating his father, but like him, developed a thirst for that…

Wandering down a shopping aisle in Belfast this week, the signs of the times were on display: pumpkins and skulls of Halloween on the right and left, and, straight ahead, the frosted glitter of Christmas baubles, with everything but the crib! Halloween, which marks the eve of All Saints, is upon us, but too often…

Remaining silent in the face of fury

Standing on a street corner after Sunday Mass the other day, I was assailed by fury. I had joined a silent pro-life protest, organised by the Canadian parish I was visiting, and was carrying a placard that read: “Abortion kills children.” A young woman,  who had stopped at the traffic lights, rolled down her window,…

The cries of heresy after Pope’s comments

“Has the Pope ever read the Bible?” This was a serious question from a serious person on social media this week. It follows yet another controversy about remarks made by Pope Francis, this time during a visit to Indonesia, when he spoke about faith to an inter-religious meeting of young people in Singapore. To critics,…

A suffering Church

A few years ago, I was introduced to an American priest in Dublin. When I heard he was from Pennsylvania, the words were swiftly out of my mouth:  “Oh boy, you guys have some real problems there right now”. I was referring to a massive sex abuse scandal. But when I saw the pained look on…

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Scorning the past in a dark present

Turning to the past with dread, I forced myself to watch Stolen, a new RTÉ documentary billed as the inside story of the Mother and Baby homes. It was not only the wounded past I dreaded to look at, but a documentary which I (rightly) guessed would approach this tragic subject, with its own provocative…

A Dubliner, who liked a jar, was courting a Belfast woman in the eighties and was delighted when she invited him and his friends to Clonard. It was Sunday, and having enjoyed themselves the night before, they rushed to get ready – only to find that Clonard was not a local pub, but a monastery.…