What has changed? Nothing

Cavanman's Diary

In his memoir, John McGahern recounts a scene from a building site in London in 1954. McGahern was working with a group of Irish exiles, whom he said often had a “hidden bitterness” towards what they perceived to be the priest-ridden, backward Ireland they had left behind – or which, more accurately, had left them behind, forcing them to cross the water.

“Many of the men were sent their Roscommon Heralds or Western Peoples from home every week,” McGahern recalled.

“They read them greedily and often exchanged them at work. During a break from work, a man was reading aloud from one of these newspapers. Another wet summer in Ireland was turning into a disaster and prayers were being offered in all the churches for the rains to cease.

“A young Clare man was in our gang. ‘May it never stop,’ he said without a trace of humour when the reading finished. ‘May they all have to climb trees. May it rise higher than it did for fukken Noah!’”

Last week, I was that young Clare man. I was in Sardinia. At one point, the mercury hit 29 degrees. Reclining outside the hotel, my good lady informed me that it was bucketing down at home. “Hell rub it up them,” I said with a grin, channelling my late grandfather, as I slid into the pool and slapped around happily, like some sort of new species of pale-skinned seal.

We were billeted in the smallish town of Alghero, in the north of the island. It is known as Little Barcelona and has a strong Catalan influence in its architecture and language. Much of that was over my head, if I’m honest.

One of the days, though, wandering around, we came across the church. It was called the Cattedrale dell’ Immacolata Concezione – the Cathedral of St Mary the Immaculate. It is simply magnificent.

Construction work began, I later read, in 1567. It was built in Catalan-Gothic style (again, over my head); the main altar, showing Mary the Immaculate flanked by angels, was designed by a Genoese artist 294 years ago.

The building was cool and shady. An organ played and a couple of dozen people strolled around, talking in whispers. It struck me then that they were all, like us, tourists. There were no locals at worship – not when we there, anyway. If there were, they might have been praying for the opposite of the devotees way back in 1954; a local man told us there was a drought and plums had bloomed twice - if it didn’t rain soon, the next crop would be ruined.

Afterwards, I looked up the Mass times. I had good intentions of attending but, alas, I didn’t get round to it. And then, the following day, I was at the airport and scrolling online, killing time, when I came across the story of a curious incident in another church. In the firing line was Fr Sean Sheehy, the ‘Listowel Lip’, the rebel cleric from the Kingdom.

Fr Sheehy had said some things in his sermon which got him into trouble. And a storm blew up, like a tropical typhoon – sudden and intense.

Now, I have this theory that Ireland has become so liberal, so advanced, that it has actually regressed. We were once a theocracy; we went through such great change that we have become one again.

Far from being progressive, the new religion is every bit as oppressive as the old one was at its worst. It, too, dictates on matters moral and sexual. It employs public shaming as a tactic. It has infiltrated the state to the point where it is difficult to differentiate between the two.

And most of all, thou shalt not dare take it on or disagree with it; the zealots will be mobilised. You will become an object of ridicule and hate. You may lose your job. It is vitriolic, bitter, disturbing. Should you cite free speech, you will be told, yes, speech is free – but to disagree with the orthodoxy is an abomination against all that is holy and you will pay a heavy price.

Anyway, you may disagree but that’s my theory and I believe it – so it was quite delicious for me to watch how this story played out. And sure enough, it unfolded as expected.

Sheehy’s Bishop was cowed by the mob and immediately put him on gardening leave, issuing an apologetic statement. Essentially, Fr Sheehy was cancelled, a weapon usually employed by the loving left.

Of course, the padre had said nothing which was in contravention to the church’s own teachings on abortion, homosexuality and sex outside of marriage but that didn’t matter. From a distance, all we can see is a fired-up crowd, all we can hear is their baying; few ever bother making their way to the clearing to see what is really going on.

High drama ensued, complete with theatrical reactions, including members of the flock flying the nest in disgust. Some 30 mass goers (later downgraded to 10 in one article I read) reportedly walked out in protest – some, according to the Irish Independent, in tears – after the offending comments.

Imagine that. In tears! Because a priest said something in line with the church’s own doctrine – at Mass! Of course, such behaviour is staggering - but grandstanding on this scale is commonplace.

We are living through a strange time. People are, to mangle a phrase, mad all the days.

The only time many of us employ a filter is on an Instagram photo. Measured response is old-fashioned; rather, anguish, outrage, foam-mouthed anger, are the go-to emotions.

Much of it is performative. And contrary to how it’s portrayed, seething at an institution like the Catholic Church is the easy course of action.

Ask yourself, was there anything “brave” – everything must be brave, you know - about walking out of that building? Not particularly. The braver course of action, agree with him or not, was on the part of the priest.

As a “brand”, the Catholic church is weak as water these days. It’s easy to kick someone when they’re down and everyone feels they can give the church a kicking; in fact, they queue up to do so - and video it for Twitter.

This is strange, really, because the influence of the Church – I mean the old church, not the one which has replaced it with what McGahern termed “an opposite violence” - has waned so much and our political leaders are now oh-so-caring that it has ceded most of its power.

Of course, a lot of this is affectation, a sort of fake public piety. In the Catholic Church’s heyday, I suspect a majority did not fully believe all that they professed. Some of it, maybe, but in their heart of hearts, only some of it. The same is the case now. What matters is being seen to believe it; do that and you’re alright, Jack.

In the Indo, a Bosnian, currently living in Killarney, who travelled an hour north to protest outside the church in Listowel, was quoted talking about the saga. It was reported that this person (can I say person?) “is bi-sexual and identifies as non-binary and uses the pronouns they/them. They are a Buddhist…”

Now, here’s the acid test as to whether we are living in a progressive or oppressive society, whether we have moved on from the dark ages or whether men in dresses still control how we think. Read those quotes and tell me, do you have a certain opinion on “them” (as the Indo described the speaker)? Would you be reluctant to express it in public?

Yeah. Me too. Which leads me to conclude that while everything has changed, nothing has changed at all.

Photo credit: listowelparish.com