A Chairde,
Another Easter without Mass: What happened to Catholic Ireland?
May the blood of the Irish martyrs serve to inspire the Church, so that the Irish clergy may once more fulfill their vocation to lead souls to God instead of away from Him, and may the underground Church continue to grow in size and fervor.
Fri Apr 2, 2021 - 6:00 am EST
DUBLIN, Ireland, April 2, 2021 (LifeSiteNews) –– For the second year running, the Irish government has brought about something which would have made the previous persecutors of Irish Catholics so very proud: The prohibition of public worship during Holy Week and Easter.
Yet the blame cannot fall solely at the feet of political legislators, as this occurrence is something which is due also to the Catholic hierarchy in Ireland. And so, as churches will be empty once again for the most sacred time of the Church’s year, the question must be asked — what happened to Catholic Ireland?
COVID and the Church in Ireland
Ireland has a special place in Catholic history as the land of saints and scholars, the land to which St. Patrick famously came and from whence missionaries and monks left to convert the world. In parishes across the world, very often the stalwarts of daily Mass are Irish themselves, or of Irish families. The culture has for generations been steeped in the faith. Life revolved around the practice of Catholicism in a way that must have angered the increasingly secularist world.
But for the past number of decades, this happy situation has no longer been reality. Catholicism in Ireland has become watered down to little more than a folk religion, where people attend Mass infrequently at best, the faith is rarely taught, and scandal after scandal is used to undermine any remnant of authority and respect which the Church used to command.
Certainly, any church one passes will almost always be Catholic, but even this is not set to last. For many years, there has existed a faux Catholicism — an image of a Catholic country, but, in reality, one which is propped up merely on remnants of the past, and with little that is actually flourishing.
The arrival of COVID-related restrictions provided the long-awaited impetus for this projection to collapse and crumble.
The government and the Irish bishops worked in tandem to close Catholic churches across the country, so that from March 13, 2020, public worship had ceased, and for the first time since the days of Catholic persecution, which began under Henry VIII, Catholics were once again prevented by the authorities form worshipping God.
This time, there was no St. Patrick, none of the numerous priests and bishops who happily endured prison, torments, and death rather than bow to similar encroachments upon the rights of the Church as enforced by Henry VIII and Elizabeth I.
One by one, bishop after bishop suspended public Mass, attempting to reassure their flock that they were not abandoning their duty since Mass would still be said in private, but that the people would be barred. Clergy interpreted the government advice, which banned indoor gatherings of more than 100 people, as the excuse to demonstrate their subservience to the state, in a manner which would have made ashamed their brother clergy from previous centuries who were martyred for the faith.
As Archbishop Michael Neary of Tuam said: “I regret the disruption and inconvenience that this will cause to children, parents and priests, but I take this decision in the interests of public health and in the common good.”
So also spoke Bishop Brendan Leahy of Limerick, who called the closure of churches “necessary” to “protect the elderly and those with underlying health conditions.” Sadly, Bishop Leahy did not follow the example of Hugh Lacy, bishop of Limerick, in 1578, who was driven out of his see and imprisoned twice for refusing to abandon his flock to persecution.
Days later, a Catholic priest from Archbishop Neary’s diocese allowed a Muslim imam to deliver the Islamic call to prayer in the parish church. Catholic parishioners were kept out, by order of the hierarchy.
Then, in August, the clergy abandoned the spiritual health of Irish Catholics once more, as Ireland’s national Marian shrine of Knock was closed for the feast of the Assumption, due to fears that people would flock there as in previous years. On a day that usually saw hourly Masses starting at 6am, for the 20,000 plus pilgrims, the shrine was closed, not on the order of the state, nor even in an act of Catholic persecution by officials, but by the clergy, whose duty it is to lead souls to heaven.
Ireland, a nation once so devoted to the Mother of God, thus saw its priests turn their back upon Mary — something which Oliver Cromwell himself would have welcomed.
Ireland saw its churches closed once more in October, as the government raised the alert level for the virus and ordered worship to take place online. In the spring, the bishops had demonstrated that they were willing to close the churches, and thus set the way for the state to do so a few months later.
Weeks after, images of Catholic persecution returned once more, as a new law was passed (in direct violation of the Constitution), threatening imprisonment for priests who dared to say a public Mass. A €2,500 fine or 6 months in jail were the potential punishments for a member of the clergy exercising his vocation.
It seems that at this point, the four archbishops in the country did begin to realize the dangerous precedent which was being set, and issued a half-hearted statement in an attempt to demonstrate action. They called for constructive engagement with the government in order to have access to the sacraments, but continued to “fully support the guidance of the public health authorities.”
Renewed attack on the Church
The country that once was so predominantly Catholic now appears utterly foreign to those of previous generations. While some faithful few made recent public demonstrations of piety, the state has ramped up its persecution of Catholics. In recent weeks, the attack against the Church and Catholics has rapidly gained pace, while both politicians and clergy (on the whole) avoid calling the situation as it is — namely, a persecution.
Three men were arrested while praying and broadcasting Mass outside Waterford Cathedral. Police have been gathering information of people who are merely praying outside churches, and even set up check points around Fr. P.J. Hughes’s parish in order to prevent people from going to Mass.
The brave priest welcomed what he described as “anti-Catholic and anti-Church” behavior: “In a way, I felt privileged to be persecuted by the guards because the story today in the gospel is about the Passion of Jesus Christ, how Jesus was crucified, mocked, scourged. I wasn’t scourged or mocked but I was probably insulted and persecuted by the guards.”
On that same day, Palm Sunday, the government responded to questions about the current legal status about saying Mass, insisting that priests were committing an offense if they left home to celebrate a public Mass.
Pockets of resistance
Yet the faith is by no means completely dead. Priests, mindful of their primary duty to souls, have continued to offer the sacraments to their flock.
Fr. Hughes said Mass, without turning away those parishioners who came, and was promptly threatened with prosecution by the police. In scenes directly from the 1600s, Hughes had been “reported.” Yet in scenes very different from the days of persecution, he was without the support of his bishop.
There are certainly determined groups of faithful souls up and down the country, both lay and clerical, who are imitating their martyred predecessors in the faith, and going underground.
They are, no doubt, drawing on the example of Catholics such as Sir John Burke, Fr. Patrick O’Derry, and Donough and John Olvin, all of whom were hung, drawn and quartered for their faith in the early 1600s.
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