The Cardinal's posterous

Brother Bartholomew: an appreciation.

Tue, 13 Dec 2011 07:20:00 -0800

Today I received the sad news that Brother Bartholomew has passed away at the ripe old age of 95. As an ex student of his I feel his loss keenly. He was a giant of a man, both physically (6 foot 5 inches in his stocking feet) and spiritually. As one of the five remaining Christian Brothers left in Ireland, his passing is a poignant and important footnote in our history.
    For my own part I remember him with great fondness. Unfortunately there are those who will seek to re-interpret his career for their own unseemly motives. They will point and judge, and talk solely about the inexplicable and unpredictable bouts of rage, the damaged classroom furniture, and that slight misunderstanding around the events of May 1985.
    In regard to the latter incident, may I say that describing an intense pre-exam cramming session as a “three day siege” was at best somewhat wide of the mark, and at worst morally reprehensible. The partisan and hysterical coverage in the Irish Times was particularly despicable. Granted, the "negotiations", as some have termed them, were long and fraught. But where the education of children is concerned, I think any reasonable person can forgive a little over exuberance on the part of the teacher in question. And that is precisely what Judge Allen did in his lengthy and considered judgement.
    Many have spoken of the incidents of Brother Bartholomew’s so called volatile behaviour. I say these were merely the superficial outward manifestations of a deeply felt ideology. They were transitory and unorthodox, and are best remembered in a quirky light against the broader backdrop of one man’s life dedicated to the improvement of others. Let us forgo the knee-jerk judgements so beloved of liberal elements and remember him in the light of our shared humanity. Indeed, who among us can say we haven’t accidentally dropped a more annoying “open-minded” colleague out of a third floor window.
    When last we met he was as forceful as ever, despite being well into his sixties. I can still see his stern blue eyed gaze, his beak like nose, and his traditional black garb lightly streaked with chalk dust. I remember the sudden inexplicable urge to recount my twelve times tables, and the involuntary raising of my arm to protect my face.
    “Have no fear,” he said to me. “My duster throwing days are well behind me.”
    He then leaned in and whispered in my ear “Although I’m still not beyond a good sharp dig in the ribs.”
    We chuckled, and to illustrate his point he made a feinting motion as if to karate chop me in the midriff. I pretended to dodge the blow. We chuckled some more. Oh yes indeed, how we laughed.
    Then he kneed me in the groin.
    He was a traditionalist, both in technique and temperament. Some of the more namby pamby elements of contemporary society might term his techniques as “outmoded” and “excessively brutal”, but I prefer to think of him as an educational innovator. I firmly believe his misunderstood, and oh so subtly aggressive pedagogy has gone underappreciated for far too long.
    Tighter more constricting à la mode definitions would probably see him unfairly labelled as a low level psychopath. I prefer to think that these stricter definitions are the product of a secularised industrial pharmacological complex intent on spreading its malign influence by whatever means necessary. They ignore the whole man, and seek to delete from history any positive mentions of his encouraging influence on generations of children. I know this to be the case, because there are never any positive mentions of his encouraging influence on generations of children. Again the words “three day siege” spring to mind, and it merely re-affirms for me how far some people will go to blacken a good man’s name by re-writing history for their own nefarious ends.
    Whatever you do today take a moment’s contemplation to appreciate what we’ve all lost. We are all a little poorer for his passing. He leaves behind a rich personal history, an important educational legacy, four remaining Christian Brothers, and an under 12s football team now looking for a new coach. We shall never see his like again. And more’s the pity.
    May he rest in peace.

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A Trip to Lourdes.

Thu, 08 Dec 2011 17:01:00 -0800

The following piece originally appeared on www.thejournal.ie. I think it gives a very important insight into the nature of modern day pilgrimage.

This week we went on the annual parish pilgrimage to Lourdes. As usual a jolly group of thirty or so stalwarts headed away for a week of prayer and thanks.

Monday

Big excitement as we get on the plane. As per tradition we are flying via low budget carrier, Easyair. Easyair is the perfect airline for Catholic pilgrims, mainly because through a combination of bad manners and horrendous customer service, they manage to make you feel guilty about taking the flight in the first place.

Travelling Easyair means we have to hoist Mrs Mulligan and her wheelchair on to the plane ourselves. Chief among the helpers is Mrs Mulligan’s son Danny. A quiet, reserved middle aged gentleman who has devoted his life to his mammy, the church, and the local bridge club. In a moment of weakness, a sweating, and visibly strained Fr Lawlor wonders if the cross Jesus shouldered to Calvary weighed as “much as a 24 stone woman.”

A withering glance from me silences him.

On board the plane Danny asks Mrs Mulligan if she’s okay. “I’m grand so I am,” she says, “I’m not one for complaining.” She then proceeds to complain about the cold, her seat cushion, and the fact that Fr Lawlor is “looking at her funny.” Meanwhile, Danny sits beside her, nodding politely and only interrupting with the occasional “Yes, Mammy. No, Mammy.”

As the plane takes off Fr Ryan bursts into his traditional rendition of “The Wind Beneath my Wings” with Blessed Virgin Mary subtext foregrounded by him waving a statuette of Our Lady.

Tuesday

Am woken at 6am by an excited Fr Lawlor banging on my door. “I don’t want to jump the gun,” he says “but I think there might have been a miracle already.” I try to quell my rising excitement, and I ask him, in as restrained a manner as possible, what has happened.

Then he tells me his Athlete’s Foot has disappeared.

He babbles on: “…have had it for months…tried creams, everything…surely the intervention of Our Lady…”

I nod politely and smile for the rest of his account. It’s when he offers to show me his foot that I make my excuses and retreat back into my room. Outside my door I can hear his muffled voice. “Maybe later so.”

At breakfast Mrs Mulligan complains about the lack of rashers, and shouts at Danny because she is all out of mint Toffos. Danny doesn’t look at her, and just goes to their room where he retrieves the emergency supply of mint Toffos.

Our plan to walk to the grotto is scuppered by torrential rain. So we stay inside and watch Dick Nugent’s old VHS copy of “Dana goes to Knock.”

Wednesday

Down to the grotto. Mrs Mulligan sucking and slurping on mint Toffos while looking at the statue of Our Lady suddenly shrieks “I seen her move!” A sudden rush of about a dozen pilgrims results in a man in crutches being knocked over. “Hold on,” says Mrs Mulligan “I have me readin’ glasses on. They do quare things to me eyes.” She then asks Danny to go back to the hotel to get her proper glasses.

Meanwhile, hardcore Lourdes pilgrim “Pious” Brendan O’ Shea is telling everybody how he was cured of paralysis in Lourdes in 1982. “Pious” has the unnerving effect of being a lay person who manages to make most clergy men feel inferior. “Within five minutes I was doing the Birdie dance,” is his favourite summation of the whole experience, followed by him actually doing the Birdie dance.

Danny arrives back with Mrs Mulligan’s glasses. “Where’s me sunglasses?” she asks him. Danny visbly sags, but dutifully heads back to the hotel.

Meanwhile, Fr Lawlor is asking people if they’d like to see his foot.

Thursday

More rain. Everybody stays in to watch “Dana and Val Doonican do the Camino de Santiago.” It is very eductaional. We learn that suffering is the path to salvation, and Val Doonican can’t put up a tent.

To bed later that night, with the sound of Mrs Mulligan’s voice echoing through the hotel as she shouts for Danny to go and fetch her gout medicine.

Friday

A terrible day. Accounts differ slightly as to the true nature of events. However, most people agree that what they saw will stay with them for the rest of their lives. “You think you’ve seen it all,” says Fr Daly shaking his head, “But then you see a 24 stone woman rolling down a hill.”

It seems that “Pious” Brendan will not be walking for a very long time. “All 24 stone of her,” mutters Fr Daly, and then he breaks down and cries again.

Debate rages as to whether Danny fell, or whether the wheelchair was somehow tipped over in a deliberate act of malice. No matter, the result is still the same. Mrs Mulligan is now in hospital, and an oddly serene Danny has been retained for questioning.

Meanwhile, on the plane home, I am informed by a despondent Fr Lawlor that his Athlete’s Foot has returned.

Truly the Lord giveth, then he taketh away when you least expect it.

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The Queen and I.

Thu, 30 Jun 2011 08:31:00 -0700

This originally appeared on www.thejournal.ie

When her Majesty the Queen of England visited Ireland recently, I was invited to the state dinner in her honour. Naturally I recorded the event for posterity in my diary.

8.15pm

Am sitting at a table with the President, the Queen, Prince Philip, David Cameron, Seamus Heaney and Enda Kenny. I haven’t been at a dinner this interesting since the Bishops and I got together to draft a vague non-committal response to some scandal or other.

8.28pm

Lots of oohing and aahing when the Queen speaks Irish. Very impressed. I notice she has flash cards strewn on the table, including one bearing the words “Cá bfhuil an leithreas” and “Is maith liom cáca milis.”

8.40pm

Everyone clinks glasses. “I like the clinky glass,” her Majesty says. Mary McAleese smiles warmly. The Queen downs her wine in one gulp and deposits the empty glass in her handbag. Everyone looks at each other, but nobody says anything.

8.50pm
Dinner starts. Lots of understandably awkward and stilted conversation, but I eventually manage to distract Enda Kenny with the bread basket, and I turn to talk to Seamus Heaney instead.

9pm

Seamus Heaney is very eager to talk about his poetry and says “Isn’t it great when hope and history rhyme?” Haven’t got the heart to tell him that hope and history don’t actually rhyme. Don’t want to hurt his feelings.

9.15pm

Enda Kenny tugs on my sleeve. I have to turn away from a fascinating conversation about Eminem and how cat rhymes with hat. Enda Kenny starts to talk. I just nod and look at a spot on the wall over his shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye I see the Queen taking his glass.

9.16pm

A perturbed Mary McAleese looks like she wants to say something to the Queen. The Queen notices. She points at Brian Cowen “Cé hé sin?” she asks. While Mary McAleese is looking at Brian Cowen the Queen pockets another glass.

9.30pm

Seamus Heaney is talking to David Cameron. “Isn’t it great at moments like this when hope and history rhyme?” David Cameron nearly spits out his potato, “Hope and history don’t rhyme!” he says. Seamus Heaney looks confused.

9.43pm

In an audacious break with protocol Albert Reynolds approaches the table. He hands the Queen his business card and says something about a year’s supply of dog food for the corgis.

9.50pm

Enda Kenny is telling me about his collection of Airfix kits. Am grateful when a pale and shocked looking Seamus Heaney starts tugging on my sleeve. “Apparently hope and history don’t rhyme,” he says.

10pm

Enda Kenny is telling what he thinks is a “fascinating” anecdote about Olli Rehn and a misunderstanding over who owned what pencil at some meeting. Prince Philip turns to the Queen: “Who’s the ginger fellow? I don’t trust gingers. Especially boring ones.”

Fortunately Enda Kenny doesn’t seem to have heard.

Meanwhile, David Cameron is writing something on a napkin for Seamus Heaney. “See? History. Hope. Doesn’t rhyme. History and mystery on the other hand…”

10.05pm

A large belch is heard from somewhere in the banqueting hall. Some people think it was Brian Cowen, but others are leaning towards the more likely possibility that it was Cecelia Ahern. The Queen takes full advantage of the distraction and pockets David Cameron’s wine glass.

10.15pm

A waiter comes around to refill wine glasses. Except there are no wine glasses left. Nor is there a salt and pepper cellar, and some of the knives and forks are gone. The Queen asks: “What’s the Irish for just give me the bottle?”

10.20pm

Enda Kenny asks David Cameron for the loan of a fiver, and says something about negotiating the interest rate later. Everybody laughs. Enda Kenny looks hurt.

10.22pm

Seamus Heaney is looking at the napkin and muttering, “hope, history,” and scratching his head.

10.23pm

Seamus Heaney starts crying. No one knows what to do. The Queen pats him on the shoulder and says “There, there,” and pockets his soup spoon.

10.40pm

Dinner finished. Everybody gets up to dance. The Queen jives around a now bulging handbag. A broken Seamus Heaney is swaying in a daze and mumbling nursery rhymes. Enda Kenny is intent on showing everybody how to do the Robot, but nobody seems to want to know.

Everyone agrees that, apart from Enda Kenny’s dancing, that it is the best State dinner ever.

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Bits from the Bible, part 9: Derek, the 13th Disciple, and the truth about the Last Supper.

Mon, 25 Apr 2011 13:38:00 -0700

Not many people know this, but Jesus actually had thirteen disciples. Due to space constraints, the story of Derek was left out of the Bible.

Some scholars argue that his story was really left out because Derek was an unsympathetic character. I will leave it up to you to decide as I present to you the fully restored “Last Supper” Bible excerpt.

The Passover

Now on the first day of Unleavened Bread the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Where will you have us prepare for you to eat the Passover?” He said, “Go into the city to a certain man and say to him, ‘The Teacher says, My time is at hand. I will keep the Passover at your house with my disciples.’”

And the disciples were happy. That is until Derek the 13th disciple did say, “But Lord, surely we will need more information than that. A ‘certain man?’ It’s all a bit vague.”

And Jesus did look upon Derek then. Although He did stand a few feet away from him, as Derek did smell a bit, and Jesus did say, “Go forth, find this man, for he has a room prepared.”

And Derek did say, “When I go forth, will it be like the time you asked me to go forth to ask a man for a donkey and a chicken, and my going forth involved walking ten miles to the next town to find there was no man with a donkey or a chicken?”

At this there was much coughing and shuffling from the disciples, and Jesus did say, “Well…”

“It was lucky I found you ten days afterwards,” Derek did say. And at that there was even more shuffling and coughing led by Peter, and the Lord’s elbow did hit Peter in the chest.

After a time Jesus directed two of his disciples to the house, but only after Derek had advised them on the best route.

The Last Supper

When it was evening, Jesus reclined at a table with the thirteen. And as they were eating, he said, “Truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me.” And they were very sorrowful and began to say to him one after another, “Is it I, Lord?”

And Derek did say “Judas. I bet it’s Judas.” On hearing this Jesus did lean forward and put His face into His hands, while Judas did look around wildly and say “Me? What? No! Never!”

“He has shifty eyes,” Derek did say, “it’s always the ones with the shifty eyes.” And he went back to eating grapes in a loud manner, cramming them into his mouth like a child, all the while speaking as he ate.

Now as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and after blessing it broke it and gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take this all of you and eat it; this is my body.” And Derek did shout, “Whaaaat!?” and grapes were spat forth from his mouth and he did proclaim, “No way! I’m not eating that!”

And Peter did speak to him in a firm manner, and Derek was appeased for a moment and went back to eating grapes. Although this time he did add some cheese, thereby filling his mouth with a thick cheesy grapey paste, and some of the disciples had to look away for fear that looking upon him might make them unwell. All the while, John, who was sitting beside him, did make gestures to people pleading with them to change seats with him. But the other disciples seemed not to see John.

And then Jesus took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood-” And Derek did shriek again, and this time spittle, cheese and grapes flew from his lips and alighted upon Matthew and Luke. “Oh no,” he did shout, “no, no, no, no way. I’m not drinking that.”

Jesus did then throw his napkin on the table and sigh, for he had a “whole thing planned” and there was to be cake for later.

And Peter did explain to Derek, VERY slowly about the nature of symbols, and Derek was suspicious. But he did relent and went back to breaking bread and drinking wine, for his mother had thought him never to pass up a free meal. Although he did sniff things before tasting them which annoyed some of the disciples.

Later Derek was sent forth to ask a man with a limp for some figs. And eventually, after much questioning from him as to the nature and value of his errand, he did as he was bade. And as he went forth Jesus told his disciples not to mention the cake when he got back. And they all agreed, including Judas who had his fingers crossed under the table.

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Footprints in the sand (the original version)

Mon, 28 Mar 2011 14:36:00 -0700

One night I had a dream --

I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord, and

Across the sky flashed scenes from my life.

For each scene I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand;

One belonged to me, and the other to the Lord.

When the last scene of my life flashed before us,

I looked back at the footprints in the sand.

I noticed that many times along the path of my life,

There was only one set of footprints.

I also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in my life

This really bothered me, and I questioned the Lord about it.

"Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you,

You would walk with me all the way;

But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life,

There is only one set of footprints.

I don't understand why in times when I

needed you the most, you should leave me.

The Lord replied, "Well, there was that one time

when we were walking along Venice Beach and and I just went for a chilli dog.

And there was the time I stopped to tie my shoelaces and you just kept on walking

and talking about how hard life is, and I thought 'Me, me, me, it's always about me.'

Then there was the time you spent the whole day looking up at the sky and pointing at stuff and shouting and crying. Dude, what's that about?

Look! A hot dog stand. I'm getting a chilli dog. How about you? Just don't get all weepy and ask me to carry you again. That's just embarrasing."

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Lives of the Saints, part 2: The truth about Saint Patrick

Sun, 20 Mar 2011 04:40:00 -0700

The following post originally appeared in www.thejournal.ie on St Patrick's Day.

There are many conflicting tales about the life of Saint Patrick. So to mark this special day I thought it best to clear up any uncertainty once and for all by presenting excerpts from The Book of Patrick. It is the definitive biography written by Patrick’s companion and faithful manservant Bran. The Patrick contained herein may be old, partially blind, and prone to mild bouts of confusion, but I am sure you will agree his ardour for his vocation remains undimmed.

September 23rd, 490AD

We stop by a stream for lunch. Patrick chats to a rock which he has mistaken for me. I say nothing.

As we pack our things to go, I notice a snake in the grass. I steer Patrick away from it.

“Did you hear that?” he says “It sounded like a sn-”

“Look!” I shout, “A pagan!”

“Where? Where?” Patrick asks.

“Oh, it’s gone. We must have startled it.”

As we make our way along the road Patrick says “Not many people know this, but I’m actually Welsh. Write that down.”

October 5th, 490AD

We meet St Kevin on a country road. He shows us his new crozier.

“It’s got a notch for every pagan chieftain I’ve converted,” he says with a smug grin. Patrick smiles, but I know he is secretly seething.

“So, banishing the snakes from Ireland, Patrick. Is it true that was just a metaphor?”

Patrick bristles: “Well, actually-” I try to push him along the road. “We really need to be going,” I tell Kevin.

“I’ve been using my toes to illustrate the beatitudes,” Kevin says “Simple idea. Really sticks in people’s minds. They get it like that,” he snaps his fingers. “Are you still using that tricky shamrock thing for the three persons in the one God concept?”

I push Patrick away before he can say anything. As we walk away Kevin shouts after us “Hey, Patrick. I think I just saw a snake.”
We can hear his laughter on the wind. Patrick is so angry he falls into a ditch.

October 21st, 490AD

A wet windy day. Patrick tells me more of his past as we make our way along the road. “Not many people know this, Bran, but I’m actually Scottish. Are you writing this down?”

“Aye,” I reply.

October 30th, 490AD

We meet with a local pagan chieftain. We ask him if he is sure he wants to convert to Christianity. He points at the village folk. “If the crops fail, this lot get to sacrifice me to the sun. Where do I sign?”

We hear word that St Kevin has arm wrestled a druid and won. Patrick tries to be casual about the news, but later I notice him grumbling to himself while eating some cress.

November 7th, 490AD

Patrick tells me about his childhood growing up in a French village before his capture by marauders. “I was made to herd sheep on the side of a mountain.”

“Someone in my village was exiled for that.”

“I said herd, not hurt. Pay attention.”

November 8th, 490AD

Patrick tells me about his time as a slave minding pigs on the side of a mountain and pining for the fields of England.

November 27th, 490AD

Patrick explains the three persons in the one God idea to a group of pagans. The questions are coming thick and fast. “What are the sleeping arrangements?” “Are there any arguments over cleaning duties?” “What happens when one of them needs to go and, you know..?”

It is a long day.

December 1st, 490AD

Patrick spends the morning detailing strict guidelines regarding the celebration of his posthumous feast day. He says something about a day of abstinence and prayer devoid of food and alcohol. I think he also mentions something about no public celebration of any kind.

That evening he suggests I have the guidelines carved in stone for future generations. I tell him I think it sounds like a great idea, and that I will seek out a stonemason as soon as possible. I am too embarrassed to tell him I have lost the vellum on which I wrote the guidelines down.

December 18th, 490AD

We are sitting on a hill planning our day. “It’s been years since I’ve rid Ireland of all its snakes. I should really do something new,” says Patrick. “Maybe rabbits. Rabbits are a nuisance.”

That night I catch him shouting at a snake, “Begone vile floppy eared fiend!” I say nothing.

December 19th, 490AD

“Did you see that rabbit last night? I certainly showed him,” Patrick winks at me, twirls his crozier, and falls into a bush.

December 31st, 490AD

News reaches us that Kevin has lost three toes due to frostbite. Patrick receives the news with good grace and a pious air, but later I catch him dancing in a field with his crozier while shouting gleefully at a rabbit.

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Bits from the Bible, part 9: Jesus eats some pancakes.

Tue, 08 Mar 2011 06:39:00 -0800

To mark this very special pre-Lenten day I present a special Bits from the Bible concerning the true origin of Pancake Tuesday.

And it came to pass after Jesus was baptized that he did decide to go into the wilderness. And so he turned to his mother Mary and said "I will go into the wilderness, and there I will fast for-"

"You will what?" Mary did say.

"I will fast. And having done so for forty days and forty nights-"

"Hold on, hold on, back up there, Jimbo. Fast? For forty days and forty nights? What is this? This is madness. You can't go out there on an empty stomach."

And so she did sit Jesus down at the kitchen table, and she did make pancakes. And much flour and eggs she did use, for she was the mother of Jesus, and nothing was too much for him.

And after Jesus had eaten his fill she did try to make him take something small, like a loaf of bread and some grapes. But Jesus did point out to her that this would be cheating. And so she threw her arms in the air and did howl, as was the tradition in those days: “A mother tries for her son, and what does she get in return?”

And after much kvetching she did reluctantly let him go from that place. But not before she had given Him unwanted advice “You see a guy with horns you come straight back to your mother, you understand?”, and she asked him to return not a minute later than forty days and forty nights, for his Uncle Ezra’s birthday was on the 8th and “everyone would be there.”

And Jesus being full of the Holy Ghost (and pancakes) was led by the spirit into the wilderness.

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Help the aged.

Tue, 01 Feb 2011 13:57:00 -0800

Last Tuesday myself and the “All singing, all dancing priests troupe" visited the local retirement home. Many of the residents were particularly taken with the re-enactment of the Jets versus the Sharks sequence from West Side Story. Father O’ Shea played Maria, while Father Cronin was exempt due to the amount of finger clicking required, and the fact that his arthritis was playing up.

This was followed by Father Clarke and his magic act. The applause when he turned bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ was rapturous, proving once again that some tricks never grow old. He then produced a set of false teeth from behind the ear of one of the male residents, causing great merriment. Further amusement was caused by an 80 year old gentlemen in the front row who shouted “Doze deet er mime.” After some complex negotiation over the teeth we all sat back and watched Father Kelly juggle various orthopaedic aids.

During Father O’ Rourke’s mime act Father Deegan came over and asked if he could perform Let’s go Crazy by the artist formerly known as Prince. Once again I had to refuse him ever so gently. He assured me he had been practising all week, and then proceeded to do the splits. On seeing this an old lady nearby shrieked, and a distracted Father O’ Rourke forgot he was miming knocking on a locked door, and fell through it and off the stage.

At the interval, the ever pedantic Father Lawlor took me aside and said “The artist formerly known as Prince is currently known as Prince, he used to be known as” and he made a strange squiggling motion in the air. I thanked him for his comments and assured him I would have a word in Father Deegan’s ear. For some reason Father O’ Rourke looked unimpressed with this exchange.

Father Brennan then did his comedy act. His “Ever notice how when you go to give someone communion wafer and they forget whether to say Amen first or stick out their tongue?” piece was as funny as ever. Lots of priests chuckled and shook their heads “…it’s so true, it’s so true…” but some of the residents seemed strangely unmoved by Father Brennan’s hilarious everyman shtick. Meanwhile, Father O’ Rourke was having a heated discussion with Father Lawlor in a corner.

Everyone got up on stage for a final sing song. Not one to be defeated, Father Deegan grabbed the microphone from Father Brennan and shouted “Tonight we’re going to party like it’s 1939!” The response from the audience was hugely enthusiastic, except for one distressed elderly gentleman who started sobbing: “It’s 1939? But where’s my family? Who are you people?”

During Father Brennan’s Motown version of The Bells of the Angelus, Father O’ Rourke grabbed my arm. “Father Lawlor stole some of my act” he hissed. Father Lawlor looked incensed “That’s not true!” he shouted back.

“He did this” said Father O’ Rourke doing the odd squiggly motion in the air Father Lawlor had done earlier. “That’s the symbol for the artist formerly known as Prince” countered Father Lawlor. “It is not” shouted Father O’ Rourke “that’s me miming opening a tin of beans.” “How about this then?” said Father Lawlor, and he mimed a rude gesture that very definitely was not a mime for the artist formerly known as Prince, or indeed a mime for the opening of a tin of beans.

Father O’ Rourke then pushed Father Lawlor who crashed into Father Deegan. Father Deegan shrieked “JESUS!” which was less to do with the fact that he was singing a hymn, and more to do with the fact that he was doing the splits at that very same moment. It was at this point that an adrenalin fuelled Father Brennan made the grave error of shouting to the crowd “Who here wants the Last Rites?” and the stage was promptly rushed by an already delirious crowd of pensioners.

Subsequent events are a bit of a blur. Back home a tearful Father Deegan said “It was like Altamont in ‘69. But with wheelchairs.” I nodded sagely (my default setting) and gave thanks to God that nobody had been really badly hurt. “If you say so” said a disgruntled Father O’ Rourke, and he looked at Father Lawlor and mimed the sign that wasn’t the artist formerly known as Prince, or the opening of a tin of beans.

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Last Christmas.

Tue, 25 Jan 2011 07:46:00 -0800

This piece originally appeared on www.thejournal.ie It was my attempt to show all you nice lay people how I spent Christmas 2010.

11.00: A beautiful Christmas morning. After breakfast everyone piles into the mini bus for mass. Doddery old Father Cronin, smiling, and confused as ever, hobbles onto the bus with a clump of shamrock pinned to his lapel. “Happy Saint Patrick’s day, Margaret” he says to me.

11.01: I send Father Cronin back into the house.

11.05: Young Father Deegan starts talking about the previous Christmas when he used the Heimlich manoeuvre to stop Father Ryan choking on a Brussels sprout. (Father Ryan still has the withered sprout to remind him of “the fleeting nature of existence.”) A nervy Father Deegan gives a typically over-excited account. Lots of eye rolling from the other priests.

11.15: Father Cronin gets back on the bus wearing a furry Saint Patrick’s day hat.

11.16: I send Father Cronin back into the house.

11.17: Father Deegan asks if anyone wants him to demonstrate the Heimlich manoeuvre. More eye rolling. Father O’ Shea looks as if he is about to raise his hand, but a stern look from me stops him in his tracks.

11.30: Father Cronin gets back on the bus clutching a St Brigid’s cross. “Happy Easter, Margaret” he says to me.

11.55: Arrive into the car-park just in time for mass. I ignore Father Maher’s suggestion that I “Go into a skid.”

12.00: Mass. Two words. “Only” and “brilliant.”

12.50: Greet parishioners outside the church. A small child points his gun at me. In an effort to “fit in” I feign being shot and hold my hand over my chest and pretend to fall to the ground. A shriek from Mrs McCarthy: “He’s having a heart attack!” Father Deegan bursts through the crowd shouting “I know CPR!”

12.55: It takes two priests, three parishioners, and Mrs McCarthy beating him with her umbrella to get Father Deegan off me.

13.20: Drive mini bus back to the house. Awkward silence broken only by Father Cronin saying “This is the best bank holiday ever.”

13.50: Presents time. The usual. Bibles, golf clubs, socks, and Father Maher gets a Darth Vader voice changer helmet.

13.55: Father Maher, with his Darth Vader helmet on, asks if he can borrow my black cape. I give him a strict look, but then realise he can’t see me through the helmet.

13.56: I sidle away, leaving Father Maher talking to the wall.

14.30: I serve up dinner. An anxious Father Deegan inspects the Brussels sprouts.

14.31: Father Maher says grace before meals. With his Darth Vader helmet on.

14.45: Everyone eats dinner and thinks about how brilliant baby Jesus is. Every two minutes I say “Isn’t baby Jesus only brilliant?” just to keep everyone on their toes.

14.50: As per tradition, an inebriated Father Keogh talks about how things haven’t been the same since they cancelled the Top of the Pops Christmas special. Father Cronin asks when he’s getting his Kit Kat Easter egg.

15.30: Everyone sits down to watch telly. A lot of anxiety when we realise that both the original Willie Wonka and the Tim Burton version are on at the same time.

Heated discussion ensues. Father Cronin sleeps through it. Father Maher is walking around the room saying “I find your lack of faith disturbing” and laughing. Father Deegan’s eyes dart from priest to priest. Father Lawlor and Father Bergin go “toe to toe” over the relative merits of each version. Father Keogh is sitting in a corner crying about John Peel. I attempt to calm things down. Suddenly Father Cronin sits bolt upright, face red, eyes bulging, clutching his throat. Father Deegan leaps across the room, sending Father Maher flying into a book case in the process. Father Deegan grabs Father Cronin around the midriff and pushes. The potentially fatal object flies across the room.

15.45: The ambulance arrives. Father Cronin has a cracked rib. Father Maher possible concussion. I get a sheepish Father Deegan to fish Father Cronin’s false teeth out from what remains of our television screen.

15.50: As the paramedics lift the stretcher, Father Cronin grabs my arm. “Abby gwissmiss, Mawgwet” he says and smiles. “Indeed” I sigh as I pat him on the shoulder “Happy Christmas.”

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Bits from the Bible, part 8: The Birth of Jesus.

Mon, 27 Dec 2010 16:42:00 -0800

The final instalment from my special Christmas edition of the Bits from the Bible series, as it appeared in the marvellous www.thejournal.ie

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. And all went to be registered, each to his own town, for it was the way of things. Many went to have their names written in ledgers and to have their foreheads stamped with “property of the Roman Empire” with “to be fed to the lions” in small print stamped beneath this.

And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the town of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. Although he went unsteadily as he had been drinking heavily since Mary had told him “the good news.”

And while they were there, the time came for her to give birth. They did stay in a stable, for there was no room for them in the inn. And besides, Joseph had upset the landlord by “asking him outside.” And Mary gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, while Joseph drank and said to the donkey “You are my bestest friend. No, really, you are.”

And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with fear. And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.”

And an excited young shepherd called Simon interrupted saying: “Is it more sheep? Are we getting more sheep?”
“No” the angel did reply “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord.”
“It’s not sheep then?” a shepherd called Timothy did say.

And the angel replied “No it’s not sheep. It’s better than sheep.”

“What could be better than sheep?” Simon did ask “Sheep are brilliant. Everybody knows that.” And all the other shepherds did agree, and there arose a great muttering among them as they discussed their favourite sheep and the angel did cry out “It’s not sheep, okay? It’s not sheep.”

And silence fell among the shepherds. And they did feel ashamed. And the angel did say unto them “It is Christ the Lord. The Lamb of God!” “It is sheep then!” Simon cried. And a great hubbub arose among the shepherds and they shouted for joy, and the angel shook his head and gave them directions “Baby. Swaddling clothes. That way.”

And they went with haste and found Mary, and the baby lying in a manger, and Joseph lying under the donkey. And Simon did ask “Where is the sheep? The angel said there would be a sheep here.” And Timothy did say “Lamb. He said lamb. There is a difference you know.”

And the other shepherds did laugh at Simon. And from that day forth did call him “Simple.” And that is where the phrase “Simple Simon” comes from. Although it is not be confused with “Simplistic Simon” a common phrase referring to a young fisherman in Galilee who was prone to making basic category errors on the subject of cheese pickling.

And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen. And although they were a bit disappointed with the non sheepy nature of their visit, all were agreed that the baby was cute and looked nothing like his father.

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Bits from the Bible, part 7: The Visitation.

Thu, 16 Dec 2010 06:31:00 -0800

Part two of my special Christmas edition of Bits from the Bible tells the moving tale of the visit of Mary to her pregnant cousin Elizabeth.

In those days Mary arose and went with haste into the hill country, to a town in Judah. And she entered the house of Zechariah (without knocking). And greeted Elizabeth (who noticed she hadn't knocked but decided to let it pass just this once.) And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she was overjoyed. That is until Mary spoke some more, and the baby leaped again.

Elizabeth tried to interrupt Mary, "Blessed are you among women, and blessed-" but Mary was herself filled with joy, and she babbled on. And as she babbled, the baby in Elizabeth's womb leaped, and somersaulted, and sometimes it did a little dance.

Elizabeth did attempt to speak again "Blessed is the fruit of your womb!" But Mary did ignore Elizabeth, being happy as she was to babble and yatter. And still the baby leaped in Elizabeth's womb, not unlike a Roman centurion she once saw practicing back flips in an attempt to impress the ladies.

After a little while Elizabeth was becoming exhausted and she had to sit down. "And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me?"

And lo, she was soon sorry she had asked the question, for Mary spoke on, and the baby in Elizabeth's womb danced, and Mary did ask "Who is that who is doing the clapping?" And a weary Elizabeth, who was now on the floor and could not speak, did point to her belly.

And Mary remained with her about three months, during which time she did criticise Elizabeth's place settings and make remarks about her questionable taste in curtains.

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Bits from the Bible, part 6: The Annunciation.

Wed, 15 Dec 2010 16:54:00 -0800

Christmas is almost upon us. To mark the event I will be posting some special Christmas sections in my Bits from the Bible series over the coming days. The following excerpt is The Annunciation which has already appeared in the only brilliant www.thejournal.ie

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. And the virgin’s name was Mary.

Mary was surprised as the angel did climb in her window knocking over some potted plants and a souvenir statuette from Jerusalem. And after finally squeezing in he did pant “Greetings, O favoured one, the Lord is with you!” And Mary did look upon him and was amazed, and she did say “Could you not have used the door?”

The angel did mumble an apology and then he did proclaim “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favour with God.” “It’s only a door” Mary did reply “you knock on it and wait for somebody to answer. How hard can it be?” And the angel tried to smile, but he was flustered now and had forgotten his place in his speech. Then he did pluck his notes from one of his wings and did read “Figs, some olive oil, oranges…” and it was a while before he realised it was actually the Holy Spirit’s shopping list.

From his other wing he did take the proper notes and thence went back to proclaiming “And behold, Mary. You will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus.” “What if I want to call him Frank?” Mary did ask, and the angel was perturbed and lost his place again. “It says Jesus here” the angel did say. “How do you spell that?” Mary did sigh. And the angel told her and she wrote it down.

Mary then motioned the angel to speak on.

“He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David-” “How long more will this take?” Mary did ask, “it’s just that I have to go to market.” And the angel did speak on in a stuttery way “And he will reign…he will rei…hold on I’ve lost my place. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”

And Mary regarded the angel and asked: “How will this be, since I am a virgin?” And the angel did blush and stammer some more “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and-” “Will he be coming through the window?” Mary did ask “it’s just that you’ve set a really bad precedent.” And the angel told her he would look into it.

“The power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be borne will be called holy - the Son of God.” And Mary did nod and say “So what has God planned for my Son?” And the angel looked pale “Well, there’s this whole thing. You don’t really need to know.” And Mary did glare at him. “No, really, you don’t.” And she did look upon the angel with such sternness that his voice did quake, and he seemed to shrink, and he said in a small voice “It’s my first day.”

And Mary said “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word, yadda yadda. You can leave through the window.” And the angel departed from her by clambering back through the window. Although he did get stuck and was heard to cry out “Little help?” And Mary sighed and shook her head and pushed him out. And in that way he took his leave of her.

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Bits from the Bible, part 5: Moses and the burning bush.

Fri, 15 Oct 2010 02:43:00 -0700

I have been neglecting the Old Testament in my Bits from the Bible series. I thought I might redress the balance with a section from Exodus. Here is a famous scene with previously excised detail now restored.

Now Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law, Jethro, the priest of Midian, and he led his flock to the west side of the wilderness and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. And the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush. He looked, and behold, the bush was burning, yet it was not consumed.

Moses did scratch his head at this, and say unto himself "That's odd." And then Moses did turn aside, for even though the flame of fire did not consume the bush it was still hot, and he could not look at it, nor could the sheep look at it, and they did turn away and baa in a general sheepy way. When the Lord saw that he turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!” And Moses did look around and say '"What? Where? Who? What?" And he said, “Here I am.” And yet Moses kept turning in a confused fashion until the Lord started directing him. "No, your'e cold. Cold. Warm. Warmer. That's it, turn a little to the left. Yes! You're hot. Hot!"

And Moses was amazed, and he did try to show his amazement by raising his eyebrows, yet he could not, for they had been singed off. Then the Lord said, “Do not come near" and Moses did say "Yeah, right. Like I'd do that." And the Lord did ignore this (he was willing to let it pass, just this once) and he did say "Take your sandals off your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” And Moses did as the Lord bade, and he did hop around saying "Ooh ooh, ah ah" for the ground it was hot, being as it was so close to the divine flame of fire.

And the Lord said, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God, and besides, his eyes were watering. And God spoke to him and did say "I am who I am, I am my own special creation."

And then the Lord did tell Moses to lead his people out of Egypt to somewhere maybe a little less Egyptiany. And Moses did consider asking him for a map, but he thought he would leave that until later. Finding the Promised Land? How hard could it be? And when the Lord had said all this to Moses he noticed that Moses looked forlorn. And the Lord did say "Why do you look so sad, Moses?" And Moses did look upon the Lord and he did say "I really wish I had some marshmallows."

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Bits from the Bible, part 4: Jesus and the pets.

Sun, 10 Oct 2010 14:46:00 -0700

I am continuing my occasional series of bits from the Bible which have been left out due to space constraints. This is one for you animal lovers.

Now some people had heard of the resurrection of Lazarus, and they came to Jesus upon the road out of Bethany. A woman called Ruth came with her dead pig, and she held it up to Jesus and asked for his help. 'My pig is dead, Lord' she did say. Jesus in his wisdom knew it for a dead pig because it was stinky. 'Is there nothing you can do for him?' Ruth asked. When she had said this Jesus did look upon her with pity, while holding his nose, and he said 'Ow ong az yo big bean ded?' 'Four days, Lord' answered Ruth, and she fell to crying and weeping and rolling around in the dust with her dead pig, while Jesus sighed, for he was tired.

'Oo you unt ee to raze yo big frum deh ded?' Jesus did ask Ruth, and Ruth looked at him with great puzzlement. Then Jesus sighed again and he did lay his hands upon Ruth's pig and it stirred and woke and there was much joy and jubilation, and this time Ruth rolled around in the dust, but her cries were now of laughter and merriment, and her pig, who was now alive and a little less stinky, oinked.

And more people came to Jesus. They came with their rabbits and their dogs and their cats. Some people came with their lizards. Others brought the occasional donkey. One by one Jesus raised them up from the dead, and the people's joy was a thing to behold. And a simple man called Jeremiah came with a dead fish and Jesus asked him what was the matter. 'My fish is dead, Lord' Jeremiah said. 'Why is your fish dead, Jeremiah?' Jesus did ask, and Jeremiah replied 'I took him out of the water and he did die, Lord.' And Jesus looked at Jeremiah for a long time, and some of the disciples did snigger amongst themselves. And then Jesus said 'Did you bring a bucket, Jeremiah?' and Jeremiah did ask 'A bucket of what, Lord?' and Jesus put his face in his hands, and the disciples did laugh even more until Jesus looked at them angrily, because it had been a long day, and it was way past his bedtime. Jesus then told Jeremiah to go away and to return with a bucket of water. And Jeremiah did leave that place, so that he could find a bucket of water.

And still the people came with their goats, their frogs, and their small furry things of various shapes and sizes. One man came with his tortoise, and he wept for his tortoise, and as Jesus was about to lay his hands on this tortoise it poked its head out of its shell. 'Why, he has been sleeping all along!' cried the man, and he did dance for joy and kiss his tortoise. And Jesus looked upon him and was not impressed.

Evening fell, and a weary Jesus and his disciples made preparations to leave that place, but before they did Matthew did spy a man with a bucket running towards then in the distance. 'I think it is Jeremiah, the man with the dead fish' Matthew did say, and at that Jesus looked at his disciples and did say 'Quick! Run!'
And they did.

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The good shopping guide

Thu, 26 Aug 2010 07:12:00 -0700

Shopping. It's a normal every day activity isn't it? Not if you're a member of the clergy it's not. A shopping expedition usually involves the kind of levels of near hysteria one only encounters when someone like Ronan Keating of Boyslife ends up cutting a ribbon at your local Supervalu. There are calls on one's attention and time. Requests for prayers. People stopping you to talk about football matches past, present and future. It's not easy. That's why the Church has long upheld a shopping tradition of employing wingmen for harassed Cardinals and Bishops. Parish priests don't get wingmen because they don't really get that much attention. At best they'll get a 'nice sermon on Sunday, Father' or 'there's an offer on fish fingers on aisle 13.'

I personally employ three wingmen. All of varying ages and levels of experience. Each one has their own special talent. At 80 years of age Father O' Dea is the longest serving. Despite having cataracts, and being deaf in one ear, and hard of hearing in the other, Father O' Dea is a valued member of my team*. A shopping expedition with Father O' Dea usually starts in our local pharmacy. Father O' Dea is a little stuck in his ways, so the first port of call is for him to buy a packet of Anadin. Because Father O' Dea is getting on a little he can get a bit confused, so his second port of call is usually to shout the same question he asks the shop assistant every time he's in the shop. It then takes a little while to explain to him that 'No, they can't be administered rectally.' He always seems a little deflated after that, but the purchase of a lollipop usually cheers him up, and we all have a little giggle when he sticks the wrong end in his mouth and shouts 'Who ate my lollipop?'

My second wingman is Father Ned, or 'Nodding Neddy' as some affectionately call him. Father Ned has a condition which means it looks like he's nodding all the time, even in his sleep. (I know this because we all sneaked into his bedroom one night to have a look). This tendency towards nodding might be described by some high faluting members of the medical profession as a 'condition' of some sort, but we prefer the term 'affliction.' In a sense it's a badge of honour, like Father Carty's one bendy leg, and Father O' Toole's dwarfism. People look upon Father Ned and say 'There's a real Christian. A man who has suffered' and the truth of this is hammered home all the more if Father Ned is looking at them while they're thinking this. It's as if he's read their minds and is saying 'You know what? You're right. Look how holy I am.' Unfortunately it doesn't work so well if they're thinking he looks like what some people call 'a right mentaller.' Father Ned also has a tendency to say 'yes' all the time while nodding. This lends him the air of someone who listens, and some of our older parishioners like that as a quality, mainly because no one ever listens to them anyway.

Lastly there's young Father Quaid. Father Quaid of the little darty eyes and the quick hands, not unlike a hyper-active hamster in demeanour and appearance. It's Father Quaid who polices the vegetable stands whenever I'm trying to find a particularly good head of lettuce. He can spot an elderly parishioner from fifty feet away and act accordingly. He can do sincere hand clasps with the best of then, while the other hand is place persuasively on an arthritic shoulder and the parishioner is genty directed towards the carrots. Father Quaid is a priest of unimpeachable quality and moral virtue. He has the response time and reflexes of Mr Jean Claude Van Damme in his prime, and he does his job with diligence and vigour. While I'm on the subject, I would like to take a moment to refer to the so called 'incident' involving 85 year old Kitty Larkin. As far as I'm concerned it was not a 'headbutt' and the moment Father Quaid entered the police station they took one look at him, decided he was a man of honour and virtue, and told him to go away home and not be annoying them. Case closed.**

A regular shopping trip usually ends with me at the till surrounded by my trusty colleagues. Father Quaid scanning the aisles like a sniper. Father Ned nodding for all he's worth at every passer by, smiling and saying 'yes, yes' over and over. And Father O' Dea, as ever, picking up a packet of fruit Mentos and shouting at the girl on the till: 'Can these be administered rectally?'

Then it's all into the car*** and back to the house for some tea and biscuits. Another shopping trip has ended in success.****

*Whenever I say that I always feel like Hannibal in the A-Team. Which is nice.

**I would also like to point out that sending someone flowers while they are in hospital is a gesture of concern, no more than that.

***If we had a van we'd be like the A-Team, then I'd really feel like Hannibal.

**** After we've driven back to the supermarket car park to find Father O' Dea wandering around clutching a packet of fruit Mentos.

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Father Damien: Leper Priest and action hero

Wed, 18 Aug 2010 18:48:00 -0700

Everyone remembers the story of Father Damien the leper priest. Many of you were probably treated to that marvellous made for TV movie from the eighties by many a kindly teacher with a cheap and cheerful school VCR. Most of you were probably delighted to learn (a) what leprosy is, and (b) that priests could actually wear hats if they wanted to. What many of you don't know is that recently I was asked by a Hollywood producer to write a script for a blockbuster movie which updates the Father Damien story for multiplex audiences. It will be a more adrenalin pounding, action filled spectacular, which will appeal to a mass audience, while refusing to compromise on its religious ideals. I've given you a taster of the script here. Please read, enjoy, and don't forget there will be a 3D version also.

EXT – THE ISLAND OF MOLOKAI – DAY

Evil pirates are firing muskets and throwing sticks of dynamite at poor innocent lepers. The lepers are attempting to run away but are hampered by their leprous limbs and the size of the island which is very small.

In the midst of all the chaos evil pirate captain CACKLING BLACK EYED JACK BLACK BLACKINGTON (BLACKIE for short) is cackling.

BLACKIE

Ah har! Shiver me timbers. Hoist the main sail. Flail me a cabin boy and grease me a parrot. Soon this island will be mine, mine I tell you. Nothing can stop me. Nothing!

Then, through the smoky haze a figure appears. A tall figure dressed in the black robes of a holy man. His taut muscles rippling, the way only taut muscles can, beneath priesty vestments.

This is FATHER DAMIEN: THE LEPER PRIEST (DAMIEN for short).

DAMIEN

Not so fast Cackling Black Eyed Jack Black Blackington. This island is under my protection, along with its disease ravaged inhabitants.

BLACKIE

And who might you be?

DAMIEN steps forward, dragging one leg behind him. BLACKIE notes that he is carrying his left arm in his right hand, and his face is covered in sores. Despite this he still manages to look handsome and holy, mainly because he prays to Jesus, lots.

BLACKIE

(gasping)

The Leper Priest!

DAMIEN nods heroically. His left ear falls off.

BLACKIE

Your legend has spread far and wide.

DAMIEN

Sorry, my left ear just fell off. Could you repeat that?

BLACKIE

I said your legend has spread far and wide. But legends mean nothing when one confronts the master of the seven seas Cackling Jack Eyed Black...Jackling Cack Eyed...

DAMIEN

Cackling Black Eyed Jack Black Blackington, Blackie for short.

BLACKIE

Yes. Indeed. This island is mine for the taking.

DAMIEN puffs out his chest and raises a slightly chiselled, slightly disease ravaged jaw in defiance.

DAMIEN

You'll take this island over what's left of my dead body.

DAMIEN'S right ear falls off.

DAMIEN

What?

BLACKIE

I didn't say anything.

DAMIEN

Rain today. Not so sure about tomorrow.

BLACKIE

(drawing his cutlass)

Enough! Prepare to die.

BLACKIE charges at DAMIEN. DAMIEN charges at BLACKIE, they collide like Mr Smith and Neo in the first Matrix movie - not the other ones, because the other ones are rubbish. They fight.

DAMIEN fights like a man possessed (I said “like a man possessed”, he's a priest, come on). DAMIEN uses his superior strength and hits BLACKIE repeatedly with his left arm, whipping it back and forth like a blur with his good right arm.

Pirates and lepers alike are struck dumb by the titanic struggle. But as it becomes evident that DAMIEN has the upper hand, the lepers hurl themselves, and bits of themselves at the pirates, driving them back to the sea.

DAMIEN'S legs fall off, but he manages to pick them up and use them as weapons. He bludgeons BLACKIE, and soon the pirate collapses in a bloody heap on the ground.

The pirates are driven back to the sea. DAMIEN and the islanders are victorious. Everyone cheers.

SISTER ATTRACTA, the island's only nun, runs onto the beach.

ATTRACTA

Father Damien! You won! The island is safe once more.

DAMIEN

Praise be to God, sister. Praise be.

But wait, what's this? BLACKIE manages to raise himself off the sand. He manages to pick up a particularly large and convenient rock.

ATTRACTA

Father Damien! Look out!

DAMIEN

What is it with everybody and questions about the weather today?

BLACKIE throws the rock, it hits DAMIEN in the head. DAMIEN'S right eye pops out and rolls onto the sand. SISTER ATTRACTA runs up and down the beach screaming, because she's a girl.

BLACKIE stands over the helpless DAMIEN. He raises his cutlass.

BLACKIE

Prepare to meet your maker, priest.

BLACKIE swings his cutlass.

DAMIEN looks out of his one good eye. He sees a chance. He takes it. With a swift movement of his one good hand he grabs his one bad eye off the sand and throws it at BLACKIE just as the cutlass descends. DAMIEN'S eyeball lodges in BLACKIE'S throat like a particularly gelatinous bullet.

BLACKIE scrabbles at his throat. He chokes. He falls to his knees. His eyes meet Damien's eye. (They can't meet the other one. It's lodged in his throat, remember? How cool is that?) There is a flicker in BLACKIE'S eyes, is it repentance, sorrow, or has he just remembered that he forgot to put the cat out? Whatever it is DAMIEN nods in priestly understanding.

BLACKIE dies.

DAMIEN THE LEPER PRIEST, minus his two legs, one arm, and one eye, looks stoically out to sea. SISTER ATTRACTA stands beside him. They watch the pirate ship heading for the horizon.

ATTRACTA

You showed them, Father Damien.

DAMIEN

I did it all for the glory of God, sister. Come on, let's go home.

SISTER ATTRACTA starts to walk back to the village.

DAMIEN stares at her.

SISTER ATTRACTA looks back at him.

ATTRACTA

Oh, right. Yeah.

She walks back. She picks up DAMIEN'S left arm, she grabs him by the right hand and starts to drag him along the beach.

The camera pans up. (Think the final shot in The Shawshank Redemption without the hugging.)

DAMIEN

What about my legs?

ATTRACTA

What am I? An octopus?

FADE.

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A Day in the Life

Sat, 31 Jul 2010 15:08:00 -0700

I know lots of people are interested in the clergy and how we live our lives. Well really, we're just like you. Well, just like you, except without all the obsessions with fornication and the tendency to sin at the drop of the hat. I'm just an ordinary man, with an extraordinary job, and essentially I'm normal. Like you I eat, I sleep, I go to the toilet (once a day - restraint in all things) and like you I have a family, a family of well over a dozen celibate gentlemen all dressed in black.
I want to share with you what an ordinary day for me is like, and perhaps bridge that gaping chasm between us, just a little.

6am: Woken up by alarm clock. Alarm tone is the Hallelujah Chorus. Always a nice way to start the day.
6.05am: Kneel by bed, say prayers. Realise I left pointy hat in bed. Climb back into bed to look for pointy hat (it's a big bed). Find Bobo, my teddy bear, wearing it. Naughty Bobo. Wag finger and laugh at Bobo. Then put on serious face and go back to saying prayers. Apologise to God for laughing.
7am: Finish saying prayers. Down to the kitchen where I breakfast on one slice of Ryvita and a banana.
7.10am: Think about Jesus while eating Ryvita.
7.12am: Think about eating more Ryvita. Think about Jesus again. Realise that in all conscience I cannot eat another Ryvita while thinking about the agonies Our Lord suffered for me on the Cross.
7.13am: Stop thinking about Jesus.
7.14am: Eat another Ryvita.
7.15am: Start thinking about Jesus again.
7.30am: Read the Irish Times. The good centre right non-liberally bits. Draw a Hitler moustache on Fintan O' Toole.
10am: Phone call from national newspaper. Deal with journalist by putting on a squeaky voice and saying 'He's away for the week in Tramore.' Journalist sounds convinced.
10.30am: Journalist from national newspaper rings back. This time I put on a foreign accent: 'Cardinal? He gone. He not here. Ariba ariba andelay.' An understanding silence from the journalist. I congratulate myself on a job well done and I hang up.
11.55am: Sit down to watch all of last week's Oprah. Father Roche has Skyplussed the lot.
11.56am: Turns out that Father Roche hasn't Skyplussed Oprah at all. Turns out he completely forgot to Skyplus Oprah. (Yet he remembered to Skyplus Gossip Girl ???!!!)
12pm: We decide on a game of charades in the common room instead. Father O'Neill does his 'Is it a book? Is it the Bible?' joke (four times).
12.05pm: Father Dooley's turn. A good sport, even though he's 94. 'Is it a film?' Father Dooley nods. 'Is it the Greatest Story Ever Told?' Father O' Neill says and roars laughing. Father Dooley shakes his head. Father Dooley then starts twitching violently and falls on the ground. He foams at the mouth. No one has a clue what it is. 'Is it the Exorcist?' shouts Father O' Brien. 'It is, isn't it? It's the Exorcist.' He starts bouncing up and down with excitement.
12.20pm: The ambulance arrives to take Father Dooley away. As we watch it leave, a glum Father O' Brien says 'I bet it was the Exorcist.'
1pm: Lunch. Everyone has a slice of Ryvita and thinks about Jesus.
1.30pm: I hear confessions, starting with Father Brennan. I give him five Hail Marys and one Our Father. I also make a mental note to always check before shaking hands with him again.
2.00pm: Father Ryan. So that's where all the tissues have gone. Ten Hail Marys.
2.45pm: Father Clancy. Lots of mumbling. Not really sure what he's saying, but I nod and give him a few Our Fathers just in case.
3.00pm: Father Daly. Good solid confession. Nothing to worry about there. Lots of silly stuff from a long time ago. Nothing to worry about.
3.01pm: Ring lawyer to 'shoot the breeze.' Just in passing I casually ask him what the statute of limitations is on fraud cases. He starts cross examining me like a lawyer or something. I hang up.
4pm: Bless two vats worth of Holy water.
4.15pm: Bless vats of Holy water again. Not sure if I did it the first time. Feeling a bit distracted.
5pm: Phone call from the hospital. Everyone crowds around the phone. Was 'touch and go there for a while' but Father Dooley is apparently doing well. Sedated a little, but fine. 'Ask them to ask him if it was the Exorcist' says Father O' Brien.
6pm: Everyone stands stock still in the common room for the Angelus, but am nearly sure Father O' Malley has a twitch. Make a mental note to have words with him about it later.
6.30pm: Tea time. Everyone has a slice of Ryvita and thinks about Jesus. Father Daly sits beside me. I smile, but keep a close eye on my Ryvita.
6.31pm: Ring the local Garda station to 'chew the fat.' Casually ask the desk sergeant what he thinks the statute of limitations might be on fraud cases. Desk sergeant asks me why. 'No reason' I say, 'just casually wondering.' Desk sergeant starts asking me questions like he's interrogating me. I panic. 'Ariba ariba andelay' I shout. I hang up.
7pm: Emmerdale. We all sit around the telly and laugh every time Ashley appears on screen. Ashley is so funny. Someone should tell him he's not a real priest, but then where would the comedy be? We all laugh at Ashley, and then later ask forgiveness from Our Lord for enjoying ourselves.
7.30pm: A phone call from the hospital. Apparently it was Jaws, not the Exorcist. Father O' Brien goes into a big sulk.
8pm: A knock on the door. It's the guards. 2 police cars. Cameras. Journalists. I feel lightheaded. Sudden urge to eat Ryvita.
8.15pm: Father Daly is caught trying to scale the back wall.
8.20pm: Father Daly is taken away by the guards. He keeps shouting about "trying to use all that money for a good cause."
10pm: I find Father Moore in the antique chest in the front room. 'Are they gone yet?' he asks.
11pm: Bed with Bobo. I read a bit from the Bible, say my prayers, drink my cocoa and then it's lights out.
11.15pm: Finally drift off to sleep hoping I don't have that nightmare where I lift up my cassock and find Richard Dawkins under it.

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Gazing upon the gays

Wed, 28 Jul 2010 15:36:00 -0700

Father O' Callaghan and I were sitting down to breakfast one morning. I was having my toast (lightly buttered on one side, a subtly decadent hint of marmalade on the other) when suddenly there was a loud exclamation from him. "Jesus Christ!" he shrieked. "Where?" I shouted back at him.

At this point he had leapt out of his chair and was doing a jig on the floor. He was snarling about something in the newspaper he'd just been reading. "They've found a penguin!" he exclaimed. "Where?" I replied again. He stabbed the paper with his forefinger. He was red-faced and spluttering. "It's not a matter of where" he yelled "it's a matter of what." He fixed me with a look of utter dread. "They've found a gay penguin" he said.

You know those moments when it feels like someone is speaking to you from far away? Like when you're on the pulpit and a very small person with a weedy little voice is saying something that you can't quite hear because they're at the back of the church with their placard and the private security firm you've hired is just about to pounce on them? Well I had one of those moments right there and then. It took me a few minutes to recover to ask him the full details. It seemed some scientists had discovered a gay penguin. Now we knew straight away what this meant. It meant the aggressively liberal violently gay agenda would be hopping on their favourite scientific hobby horse and using it as a stick to beat the church with. "Look at what science has shown us" they'd say. "Gayness is a natural inherited genetic trait" they'd say, and then they'd fold their arms and get all smug.

Well Father O' Callaghan and I knew who would get the last laugh. It would be the Church, naturally. Because whatever science says, and it says a lot of foolish things, everybody knows that gayness is learned behaviour. That's right, learned. The danger of course is in how easy it is to learn such behaviour. Privately funded Church studies have shown that it's not as easy to learn as your twelve times tables, but, frighteningly, it's actually easier to learn than your five times tables. I don't have to "lay it out for you" as to why this is dangerous for society as a whole, but I will guide you to a Church pamphlet entitled The Gay Apocalypse, and what it means for You. The final page recounts the terrible final scenario for mankind as we know it.

A hill overlooking a city in ruins. Filthy black smoke drifts into the sky. There are sporadic fires in the distance. All is silent. We hear panting, and two men climb into view. This is Adam and Steve. Both are filthy and streaked with baby oil and dust. Yet we can tell they're still trying to take care of their appearance. Adam is wearing an ascot and cut off jeans. Steve is wearing a ridiculously tight t-shirt with flecks of silver.

ADAM: It's over, Steve. It's finished. We destroyed the world with our degenerate gay ways. Now we are the only surviving creatures upon the planet.
STEVE: All of those virtuous and noble religious people were right. We turned everyone gay. And because everyone turned gay no one made babies anymore.
ADAM: Although there was that ill advised attempt by science to create children in laboratories.
STEVE: Yes, but science says a lot of foolish things, and makes lots of promises it can't keep.
ADAM: Oh Steve, I would hold you now, but the end of everything has shown me the sin and folly of my disgusting gay lifestyle.

Adam falls to his knees. He pounds the ground with his fists, throws back his head and screams (like a girl) at the heavens. He sobs for a while. Then stands up with his head bowed in penitence.

STEVE: What do we do now?

A penguin waddles over the brow of the hill. It stops beside them. Adam looks at the penguin. Steve looks at the penguin. The penguin looks at Adam and Steve.

PENGUIN: Quack?

Adam and Steve look at each other and smile their lascivious gay smiles.
Disco music plays.
Adam, Steve, and the penguin dance.

As you can see, gayness as learned behaviour can have terrifying consequences, and its influence is almost impossible to fight even when one is faced with the dreadful import of one's own sin. For a while both Father O' Callaghan and I wondered aloud how this poor penguin had been made gay. As he so rightly pointed out to me, perhaps it was in observing Antarctic explorers that our poor flightless friend had been affected. "No doubt it was two misguided souls. Probably polar scientists who had been led by isolation and the cold to find perverted comfort in each others arms. At night they probably divested themselves of their protective clothing, and thus unburdened they probably oiled each others...."

At this point I will confess I stopped listening. Although Father O' Callaghan did go on for some time, and in some detail. In a sense I suppose it is always good to know thine enemy. And after about half an hour of this, and the crying, he eventually stopped and we reflected on what we had learned. "At least there are no gays in the church" he said, his chin wobbling with emotion. And I smiled and said "Yes. There is that comfort."

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'The Joy of Sex?' - I don't think so.

Mon, 19 Jul 2010 16:45:00 -0700

All good Catholics know that sex is there for procreation not 'recreation.' Indeed, there is no greater pleasure in the world than knowing that you've pleased the Lord, by not pleasing yourself, and managing to create a lovely new bouncing baby Catholic without having enjoyed the process in any way. There should be no pleasurable utterances during the dreadful act, and the only mentions made of our Lord should not be of the 'Oh Jesus! Oh Jesus yes!' variety, but more of the 'Oh Jesus, oh Lord in Heaven, I am in torment. Please deliver me from this dreadful agony' type. And if you haven't done it right you can always beat yourselves after the act as punishment. Although not during it, which is a common mistake some people make.

So, for those of you who need to be tutored in the ways of sexual congress, I give you samples from the Churches latest pamphlet Doing it right (although it would be better if you didn't do it at all.)

For starters, we have what is known as the initiation phase when the act of sexual congress as a means of procreation is first suggested.

Mary and John are in their sitting room. It is late evening. John is doing the crossword. Mary is knitting. Suddenly Mary's face darkens. She stands up.

MARY: John?
JOHN: Yes, Mary.
MARY: I think it's time for us to do our Christian duty.
JOHN: You don't mean..?
MARY: (SHUDDERING*) Yes, I do John.
JOHN: But I'm doing the crossword, Mary.

*With fear and self disgust, not anticipation.

Notice here the absolute abhorrence both John and Mary feel when faced with the prospect of the despicable act. This is the proper approach. Although it might be a bit better if John were to jump up and run around the room gibbering and screaming while Mary went to her knees and beat her chest, wept uncontrollably, and begged for forgiveness. But you can't have everything I suppose.

We move to the next phase.

John and Mary are still in their sitting room.

JOHN: Fourteen down, heart throb star of Ocean's 11. (SCRATCHES HIS HEAD) It has me stumped, Mary.
MARY: I wouldn't know, John.
JOHN: Is it Pierce Brosnan?
MARY: I wouldn't know, John.
JOHN: Is it Bruce Willis?
MARY: I wouldn't know, John.

And so on. This phase should continue for at least a full fifteen minutes. It has the benefit of deferring the terrible inevitability of the awful act. But remember, this is only a template. Instead of the discussion of crossword clues one can substitute with discussions about the consistency of bread, the price of things these days, or the latest transfer gossip in the Premiership.

We move on (reluctantly).

At this point John and Mary have made it to the bedroom. It is pitch black. The lights have been turned off. Naturally.

MARY: Are you in, John?
JOHN: I'm not, Mary.
MARY: I meant in the bedroom.
PAUSE.
JOHN: I knew that.

At this point it would be preferable if the participants kept their clothes on. Unfortunately, this can prove difficult when it comes to the 'desired end.' The 'desired end' being the creation of a healthy God loving child and not a lady's bottom. Participants must remove their own clothes, after all, they're not children are they? They must then move to the bed. Doing it anywhere else would only compound the sin.

John and Mary's bed. Utter and complete darkness.

JOHN: Right, I suppose we should start.
MARY: I suppose we should. Are you in, John?
JOHN: Sure haven't I been in the bedroom for...
PAUSE.
JOHN: Oh, you meant...

Sexual congress may now commence. It is VITALLY IMPORTANT that neither of the participants actually enjoys the act. To that end it is always a good idea to use euphemisms when describing the process. Euphemisms give the necessary objective distance required when partaking of the sins of the flesh.

John and Mary's bedroom. It is still pitch black. The bed is creaking - but only slightly.

JOHN: The 3.15 from Westport has left the station, Mary.
MARY: That's good to know, John. Will the 3.15 from Westport be a bit early like it was the last time?
JOHN: No, I think that problem has been fixed, Mary.
MARY: What about the time it didn't arrive at all?
PAUSE.
JOHN: I thought we said we'd never talk about that, Mary.

At some point however, even euphemisms provide little defense against certain sensations. If things prove more difficult then other distraction techniques can be utilised.

John and Mary's bedroom. Pitch black. The bed is creaking more vigorously - but only slightly.

JOHN: It seems the 3.15 from Westport is bang on time, Mary.
MARY: John, I think...
JOHN: Yes, Mary.
MARY: I think I might be...
JOHN: What is it, Mary?
MARY: Geeeeoorggge Clooooneeeeeeey!
JOHN: What was that, Mary?
MARY: (FLUSTERED) Is the answer to fourteen down.

Other topics may also be discussed, but we usually advise couples to talk about crossword puzzles, chess moves, their favourite jigsaws ever, and maybe even about Fintan O' Toole and how silly his articles are.

Once the deed is done the couple may pray together for forgiveness. Or a dispassionate post coital discussion usually helps to dispel feelings of pleasure and replace them with the appropriate amounts of self loathing and disgust.

John and Mary are lying in the post coital darkness.

MARY: ...then there was the time we got the train from Farranfore. It wasn't much of a journey I can tell you.
JOHN: Is that right, Mary?
MARY: We were ages stuck at Limerick junction.
JOHN: Mmm, yes.
MARY: And by the time we got to Dublin I was exhausted.
JOHN: Is that right?
PAUSE.
JOHN: Are we still talking about my penis?

So there you have it. The Catholic Churches guide to good sex. Good as in, 'Haven't we been good Catholics and managed not to enjoy ourselves at the same time' kind of sex. Take note. If it helps, why not try to always have these pointers on a flash card by your bed for easy access? With a torch.

Next week I will be discussing how not to enjoy your own company. I think you know what I mean.

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'I didn't do it, nobody saw me do it' On the subject of Mental Reservation.

Tue, 06 Jul 2010 16:28:00 -0700

Let me get one thing straight before we start. Mental reservation is not lying. Now you might think that because I'm entitled to use mental reservation that I might actually be using mental reservation when saying that. But I'm not. I hope that clears that up.

Moving on. Mental reservation, while not lying but not exactly truth telling either, is a means of expressing truth in a manner that allows you not to use truth, but still allows you to allude to a deeper meaning. For example, I might be asked a perfectly reasonable question. In response to this perfectly reasonable question I might say: 'I like Taytos' when in fact I don't like Taytos at all. In fact I think Taytos are fairly rubbish. If anything I think Hunky Dorys are superior. And indeed, Hula Hoops, despite their rather flippant essence are, in fact, superior to Taytos. I think this gives us a good sense of the rather inferior nature of Taytos, standing as they are, in about the mid-table position upon the crisp/snack quality scale beneath Hula Hoops. In summing up, what I'm really saying in response to such a question is: 'I don't know where he is. The last I saw of him he was in his room packing, probably for his annual trip to Thailand. Father Moore liked Thailand a lot. I have no idea why. And no he wasn't online that much. So in answer to your question, I really like Hunky Dorys.'

So there you have it. Not lying, but telling a general truth in a roundabout way, and in a way which has greater meaning. You feel better, the questioner feels better, and everyone goes away happy. In particular, you go away happy knowing you've adhered to a kind of general airy morality of sorts.

Of course, if all else fails you could always just lie.

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