I haven’t a sectarian bone in my body, he insisted

DESPITE his reputation as a feared IRA leader, Martin McGuinness was also a deeply religious individual.

‘He was a man of prayer,’ according to Archbishop Eamon Martin, who yesterday recalled how his fellow Derry man would often offer him ‘good wishes and encouragement’ in his new role as the Primate of All Ireland. He added: ‘I have no doubt that Martin’s faith and relationship with God guided him along this journey.’

I had a long conversation about religion with Martin McGuinness when I first met him at his office in Stormont back in 2007, just weeks after he took up his post as Deputy First Minister.

He was in a buoyant, even playful, mood when we were introduced. From my first impression, it was difficult to conceive that this laid-back, jovial grandfather played an instrumental role in the IRA’s bloody campaign to purge the British presence from Northern Ireland.

His demeanour rapidly changed when we got down to the task of discussing his violent past, but he then became much less guarded, more animated and almost at ease when – out of the blue – I asked if he believed in the existence of God.

‘I do. I am a practising Catholic,’ he said, nodding his head enthusiastically.

I was expecting him to continue our conversation by expressing some clichéd staunch Catholic rhetoric, but he took me aback with his next unexpected musings: ‘I also believe that if I had been born on the Shankill Road, I’d probably have been a practising Protestant. Or if I had have been born in India, I would have been a practising supporter of Buddhism. Or if I was born in the southern states of America, I might have been a Mormon. I actually have a very broad-minded view of religion.’

ITOLD him it sounded like he thought all religions should be considered equal. I was astonished with what he said next. ‘I haven’t got a sectarian bone in my body,’ he insisted.

‘I believe that people have rights – they have the right to believe in whatever they want to believe in, and the last thing any of us should be is critical of anybody else.’

He then went on to talk touchingly about his father, citing him as having instilled respect in him for other religious beliefs.

‘My father was a very, very religious person,’ he said. ‘God rest him, he died in 1973. But, all of his life, he was a daily Massgoer – but he was one of the most broad-minded people I ever met in my life. His closest friend was a fellow worker – he was a Protestant – and the two of them were like brothers. We were brought up to respect everybody’s religion – and to respect those who don’t believe in anything.

‘I have to say that I respect all of them. There are times I sit in Protestant churches for different events that I am invited to, and I feel as comfortable in a Protestant church – Church of Ireland, or Methodist – as I would in a Catholic church.’

I interviewed McGuinness on a number of occasions and during our in-depth interviews, he never expressed any repentance for his own violent deeds, but instead would give the official line about having to ‘accept my responsibilities’, stating that there were ‘many things that the IRA done which were terribly wrong’. He added: ‘There was nothing romantic about what happened.’

I once pushed him hard and asked him if he felt guilty at all. Did he sometimes find it hard to sleep? Did he have to wrestle with his soul?

He immediately responded with a stern: ‘No.’

When we met in 2011 during the presidential election campaign, McGuinness told me that death was a subject he had mulled over a lot all during his formative years as an active IRA member.

‘To be quite honest, in those times I thought I would’ve been dead by the time I was 25,’ he told me. ‘Many of my friends have lost their lives because of the conflict. There have been a number of occasions I came very close to losing my life.’

LISTENING back last night to one of my taped interviews with him, a shiver ran down my spine when I came to my next question: do you believe in heaven and hell?

He thought long and hard before giving me an answer.

‘That is a difficult question. I don’t have the answer,’ he told me. ‘I don’t believe there’s a heaven and I don’t believe there’s a hell. I don’t know what’s out there. I would like to think that there is some place where people go where they will be happy.’

What he said next certainly gave a very interesting insight into the man.

‘But I would hate to think,’ he said, ‘that there are people out there who would be condemned to an eternity of suffering and torture and abuse.

‘I don’t think that the God that I believe in believes in that type of punishment for eternity.’

I’m no psychologist, but perhaps – even on a subconscious level – Martin McGuinness was saying that he hoped his unspeakable sins wouldn’t prevent him from entering through the pearly white gates – if, when his time came, there actually was a heaven.

M Jason O’Toole is a senior editor with Hot Press magazine.