How churches can unite all generations
ISAT beside Rosie, a sprightly 81-year-old with painted nails and an outfit that would be the envy of any teenager. ‘We were married here in 1960,’ she said, ‘but my lovely man is now in Heaven.’ For the entire Mass, this joyful woman gave me a running commentary on all the characters that had shaped her community.
Rosie and I were at our local church to celebrate its Diamond Jubilee. Our eldest had been invited to serve the opening Mass of the festivities. It was presided over by Bishop Kevin Doran of the Diocese of Elphin, who is a native of the parish.
Our Lady of Victories was opened by Archbishop John Charles McQuaid in August 1955. Since then, it has stood at the heart of a tight-knit community. For these people, identity, belonging and home are the things that make life worth living.
The parish priest Fr Pádraig Gleeson understands why memory matters. Since his arrival in 2013, he has sustained the old rituals which have made this a deeply spiritual place. His mission is to preserve intact for the next generation the riches we have been lucky enough to enjoy.
Sitting there on Sunday, I realised that this Mass was all about inheritance, memory and enduring things. Rosie roared with laughter when our seven-year- old declined to accompany her home. She has been there from the very beginning and he is a relatively recent recruit. Today, however, both belong to what Edmund Burke called ‘the great eternal society’.
In that beautiful society, the generations link arms and dance down the decades. They are all part of a continuous story sustained by memories of precious moments such as these.
To my right is Helen O’Connor who is celebrating her 97th birthday. Helen was a young woman of 37 when this church was built. Yet here she is, nearly a century old, uniting her big day with that of a place that binds her to her past.
Bishop Doran told of how, as a boy, this parish had shaped his spiritual perspective. He recalled the old priests who had faithfully served the church, three of whom are buried in its soil. As he spoke, you could see he was happy to be home.
As I say in my new book Moral Matters, churches like this root us to reality. In a world that is so detached and disconnected, they unite us to the living, the dead and those yet to come.
In the midst of so much social decay, they provide a space in which real community and communion is still possible.
The elderly sang the old Latin hymns as the youngsters sat smiling. People of all generations and from all walks of life came not only to worship, but to declare their faith in one another. They were there to rejoice in life, in love and in those things which no amount of time can compromise.
It was a celebration of social unity and sacred things, a commemoration of people that survived and flourished because of what they found in this place.
They found joy, consolation and that peace which surpasses all understanding.
One person who can testify to all these things is loyal parishioner Ann Doyle, who is in her 80s. When we first attended Our Lady of Victories, Ann embraced our eldest as if she had known him all his life. Then she grabbed my hand and said: ‘I love to see children in the church. Without them, we have no future.’
Every morning at seven, Ann arrives to open the church and prepare for morning Mass. Despite her years, she still makes the priests’ vestments. She is a ‘good and faithful servant’, a cornerstone of the church and the community. At the end of the Mass, Bishop Doran invited Ann to the altar. To the delight of the congregation, he presented her with the Benemerenti Medal, an honour bestowed by the Pope on those who have served the Church with distinction. Ann wept, the congregation clapped and Rosie cheered.
OUTSIDE t he Church, where else would you encounter people like Ann, Rosie or Helen O’Connor? In no other place could you unite with such beautiful people whose memories tie us to distant times. In no other place could there be such seamless communion between the generations.
We have a deeply wounded Church in Ireland, and yet those like Ann Doyle show why it must be sustained. For we all have a vested interest in seeing the generations unite with each other. We all benefit from the transmission of memory, from the survival of that great eternal society which redeems us from the ‘dust and powder of individuality’.
Old and young stood side by side as my son led the priests from the altar. Another great memory had just been added to a glorious tapestry woven over half a century. And the beauty of it all is that more will be added each week as the community returns to give praise for all things sacred and sincere.
As I got up from my seat, Rosie grabbed me by the arm and said: ‘What age do you think the bishop is?’ When I said that I thought he was in his late 50s or early 60s, she responded: ‘Around your age then?’
‘But I am only 45,’ I protested in dismay. Rosie giggled hysterically, patted me on the back and roared: ‘I’m only 21!’