Welcome, Fáilte - Diocese of Cloyne

Light a Candle at St Colman's from 1 Dec 2024

Light a candle at St Colman's

Welcome

Fáilte, Welcome

to the website for the Catholic Diocese of Cloyne, Ireland

Bishop William Crean

04 December 2025

Eucharistic Adoration Cloyne Diocese

Eucharistic Holy Hour with Fr. John Keane - Diocesan Director of Eucharistic Adoration

Sunday 14th December from 5pm - 6pm, in the Holy Family Church, Youghal, Co. Cork

All are warmly welcome

Fr. John Keane - Diocesan Director of Eucharistic Adoration

24 November 2025

Homily for the Feast of St. Colman of Cloyne

24th November 2025

Today we gather to celebrate the feast of St. Colman of Cloyne, one of the remarkable saints who helped weave the fabric of our Christian heritage here in Ireland. His life, marked by conversion, courage, and pastoral zeal, offers us an inspiring example as we strive to live out our faith in 2025 and beyond.

We are also celebrating this year - The Jubilee Year of Hope.

The logo shows four stylized figures, representing all of humanity, coming from the four corners of the earth. They embrace each other to indicate the solidarity and fraternity which should unite all peoples.

The figure at the front is holding onto the cross. It is not only the sign of the faith which this lead figure embraces, but also of hope, which can never be abandoned, because we are always in need of hope, especially in our moments of greatest need.

There are the rough waves under the figures, symbolising the fact that life’s pilgrimage does not always go smoothly in calm waters. Often the circumstances of daily life and events in the wider world require a greater call to hope. As a Diocese and as a church we are in a time of great change and enormous challenges. The waters are not smooth but choppy.

Photo taken in St. Colman’s Cathedral, Cobh

Bishop William Crean meets Pope Leo on recent pilgrimage to Rome

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Bishop Crean meets Pope Leo

Pastoral letter from Bishop William Crean

on pastoral planning for the future

My dear people,

To live is to change, is a pearl of wisdom from St. John Henry Newman, a convert to the Catholic faith in the 19th Century. To live in the 21st Century is an experience of constant change, social, cultural and technological. Viewing “Reeling in the Years,” the television series depicting life in former times is a dramatic reminder of the extent of the change we have experienced.

The Church whose life and presence within our communities and parish has had to adjust to and
manage the change taking place in society. One particular pattern has been evident for some years
now is the decline both in profession of Christian faith and its practice through the attendance at Holy Mass,
which, for the believer, is an obligation in faith. The consequence of this generational shift from family and
parish community attendance has seen a similar decline in responding to the call to Priesthood and Religious life. Despite this pattern in the Diocese of Cloyne, in all the parishes there are faithful practicing prayer congregations who witness to and support one another in faith.

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30 Nov 2025 - ‘Intentional Living’

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December 2025
- Eucharistic Adoration - Fr. John Keane 14th December 2025
November 2025
- Homily by V. Rev. Canon Michael Leamy, PP, VF
October 2025
- Bishop Crean meets Pope Leo
September 2025
- "Behold I'm doing a new thing" says the Lord (Isaiah 43)
February 2025
- Recent picture of St. Colman's Cathedral, Cobh. Co. Cork
October 2024
- Light a Candle at St. Colman's Cathedral

Coram Fratribus

2 Sunday of Advent A

Homily given to conclude an Advent recollection at the Venerable English College.
Isaiah 11.1-10: The fear of the Lord is his breath.
Romans 15.4-9: Everything written teaches us about hope.
Matthew 3-12: Brood of vipers!
If there were courses in pastoral theology in Read More

Coram Fratribus

Vocation

Homily given as part of an Advent Recollection at the Venerable English College.
Isaiah 30.19-26: When the Lord has given you the bread of suffering and the water of distress, he who is your teacher will hide no longer, and you Read More

Coram Fratribus

Communion

Homily given as part of an Advent recollection at the Dominican church in Kraków following the launch of the Polish version of my book Chastity.
Jesus reached the shores of the Sea of Galilee, and he went up into the hills. He Read More

Coram Fratribus

Veritas

Homily given as part of an Advent recollection at the Dominican church in Kraków following the launch of the Polish version of my book Chastity.
Filled with joy by the Holy Spirit, Jesus said: ‘I bless you, Father, Lord of heaven and Read More

Coram Fratribus

Desert Fathers 49

You can find this episode in video format here – a dedicated page – and pick it up in audio wherever you listen to podcasts. On YouTube, the full range of episodes can be found here.
The reason we have written Read More

Coram Fratribus

2 Sunday of Advent A Homily given to conclude an Advent recollection at the Venerable English College.
Isaiah 11.1-10: The fear of the Lord is his breath.
Romans 15.4-9: Everything written teaches us about hope.
Matthew 3-12: Brood of vipers!
If there were courses in pastoral theology in the Baptist’s day, he seems not to have paid attention; or perhaps the manuals were different back them. His words are harsh, his warnings dire, his appearance fierce. Yet people flock to him. Why?
It’s curious: in history we find that times of decadence (and that of Herodian rule played out against the backdrop of Roman occupation must qualify as such) can produce a new search for probity. Historical analogies are suspect, for history does not ever, thank God, exactly repeat itself; yet we might, by way of illustration, think of the founding of Moral Rearmament, staking out a course based on ‘absolute honesty, absolute purity, absolute unselfishness, and absolute love’ in 1938, when much of the world was flirting with Hitlerism while the German capital, like that of many other nations, was wallowing in the kind of excess Christopher Isherwood described in his 1939 novel Goodbye to Berlin.
The Forerunner was of character quite unlike that of Dr Frank Buchanan, the preacher of the Four Absolutes; but he would have approved them. There is no compromise in John’s proclamation. It is ‘Yes, yes’ or ‘No, no’. The human heart needs such orientation when much of the world is content with ‘Maybe’ or, ‘Who cares?’ or even, ‘To hell with it all!’.
Do we not see a similar kind of rising alertness in our own day?
Such times are times of opportunity and risk. When lots of people at the same time seek firm direction, demagogues are in their element. Masses are easily seduced by rhetoric, by the satisfaction of moving, at marching pace, in the same direction as a cheering, unhesitating crowd. Even our noblest aspirations are easily perverted — that is, attracted off course.
Three aspects of John inspire confidence. First, he is an ascetic uninterested in advancement, wealth, or status for himself — he, the locust-eater! Secondly, he is a man of few words. He does not seduce people with discourses or attach them to himself. He reminds them of their responsibility for personal choices. It’s no good to say, ‘Oh, I voted like this or acted like that because all around me were doing the same’. No, each person, according to vocation and state, must produce ‘appropriate fruit’ and shun subterfuge. Thirdly, John’s message springs from tradition. In him the law and prophets culminate (cf. Lk 16.16). John does not put forward any private ideology; he is a contemporary herald of an ancient standard asking the people to consider afresh where it comes from and where it is going, what constitutes its identity, specificity, and mission. He reminds it that it will be held to account: ‘any tree which fails to produce good fruit will be cut down’.
As Christians in Advent, crying out with the voice of the Church, ‘Come, Lord, do not delay!’, we know ourselves bound by the Baptist’s preaching. It summons us to self-scrutiny. The Pharisees and Sadducees, a caste of clerics and theologians entrusted with the faithful exposition of God’s Word, are castigated: ‘Brood of vipers!’ Those of us ordained to sacred ministry must ask ourselves honestly: Am I, in every sense of the word, faithful?
John’s torchlight does not merely shine on the clergy, though. When tax collectors ask him, ‘What shall we do?’, he tells them: ‘Collect no more than is appointed’. When soldiers ask the same, he says: ‘Rob no one by violence or false accusation’. As for the multitude, hoi polloi, he exhorts everyone present: ‘He who has two coats, let him share with him who has none; he who has food, let him do likewise’ (cf. Luke 3.10-14).
There is plenty of matter, here, for all of us to pursue an examination of conscience.
Advent is a season of sweet consolation. It rings with the lovely cadences of: ‘Comfort, comfort ye!’ We brew, bake, and decorate; we write cards and buy gifts for those we love, and for some from whom we are estranged. It is good that we should.
Let us just beware of reducing Christian hope to pleasant sentiment. John, greatest among men, reminds us that the only comfort worth having, the only one that will last, is comfort based on justice — and to coherent justice the Biblical believer is obliged.
Isaiah in our first reading says the same. The wolf lying down with the lamb, the little boy leading the lion, the unlikely friendship of cow and bear: these aren’t features out of a Disney movie conjured up from fantasy; they ensue from the spreading abroad of the spirit of counsel and power, of judgement not by appearance but made with integrity.
The advent of divine consolation would provoke in us the advent of the fear of the Lord — a ‘fear’ that in Biblical language does not spell anxiety but reverence and a keen sense of our obligation, as beloved creatures, to our Creator. May such fear be our breath poured forth in songs of praise and just deeds, renewing in Christ’s name the face of the earth.
Mario Socrate as an uncompromising, somewhat wild John the Baptist in Pasolini’s immortal The Gospel According to St Matthew.

Coram Fratribus

Vocation Homily given as part of an Advent Recollection at the Venerable English College.
Isaiah 30.19-26: When the Lord has given you the bread of suffering and the water of distress, he who is your teacher will hide no longer, and you will see your teacher with your own eyes. Whether you turn to right or left, your ears will hear these words behind you, ‘This is the way, follow it.’
Matthew 9.35-10.8: The harvest is rich but the labourers are few
The readings given us today explore the theme of vocation from different angles. We tend, now, to think of a vocation as an obstacle course laid by a mischievous providence to befuddle runners. We offer vocational guidance, discernment, and accompaniment. There are people who spend years working out their vocation, so that discernment to all intents and purposes becomes a vocation in its own right.
This points to a fallacy. It makes no sense to speak of ‘my’ vocation as if it were an acquisition, birthright, or part of a genetic code. A vocation is God’s.
He who, at first, brought something out of nothing by decreeing, ‘Let there be’ — ‘and there was’; he alone can call a person to new becoming in view of a work to be done.
Sometimes he calls directly by name: ‘Come, follow me!’ Sometimes he calls through intermediaries, as when Elisha is summoned through Elijah. Sometimes he uses the liturgy, as when Antony hears a word of Scripture in church and is convinced, ‘That’s for me’. And sometimes he simply uses circumstances, confronting a person with a need requiring a response that, to the morally and spiritually alert, is irresistible.
That is the scenario we meet in today’s Gospel: ‘The harvest is rich, the labourers are few.’ Are you one desiring to pick up tools and go into the field? Have you the required skills, health, and staying power? Then this may be the vocation around which you must, if you decide to follow it, freely configure the rest of your existence.
For a Yes like Isaiah’s, ‘Here I am, send me!’, to God’s call by way of a question, ‘Whom shall I send?’, must be dependable. It’s no good saying Yes today, No tomorrow. Even as Christ, the Son of God, ‘was not Yes and No; but in him it is always Yes’, as Paul splendidly wrote to the Corinthians, so our life’s task is to nurture readiness for wholehearted, constant consent.
The call is God’s; the Yes must be ours.
A call, I have said, is in view of a task. This is so even for contemplative recluses. Grace cannot be privatised; each member is called to move for the benefit of the whole body. The twelve are sent out to ‘cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, cast out devils’ quite gratuitously: ‘You received without charge, give without charge.’
To learn to live in this way, unclingingly, surrendering all claims to entitlement, is the principal vocational challenge: the application of our Yes in principle to concrete situations and relationships. Patience is called for; and at the heart of ‘patience’, a Latin noun, lurks the root of passio.
To that, too, we must say Yes courageously.
Our Lord who came to set us free did so by way of oblation. His followers will at times, like him, be given the bread of suffering to eat, the water of distress to drink. At such times we learn what it means for us to call him; and that his mercy is sure. ‘Whether you turn to right or left, your ears will hear these words behind you, ‘This is the way, follow it.’
God does not abandon those whom he calls; he is faithful; when they call, he answers. Let’s never forget that. Let’s learn to live trustfully, cheerfully by that remembrance.
Sisters making their final profession in St Patrick’s cathedral on 6 August this year, saying yes – to Life!

Coram Fratribus

Communion Homily given as part of an Advent recollection at the Dominican church in Kraków following the launch of the Polish version of my book Chastity.
Jesus reached the shores of the Sea of Galilee, and he went up into the hills. He sat there, and large crowds came to him bringing the lame, the crippled, the blind, the dumb and many others; these they put down at his feet, and he cured them. The crowds were astonished to see the dumb speaking, the cripples whole again, the lame walking and the blind with their sight, and they praised the God of Israel. But Jesus called his disciples to him and said, ‘I feel sorry for all these people; they have been with me for three days now and have nothing to eat. I do not want to send them off hungry, they might collapse on the way. Matthew 15 29-37.
There is an aspect of Christ’s life we tend to erase, abetted by exegetical and artistic tradition: the fact that he, as the Gospels present him, is almost always surrounded by a motley, unruly, demanding crowd of people.
Those who seek to get to know Jesus nowadays, to commune with him in prayer, are often anxious to ensure they have peace, solitude, and a predictable life. We easily think that prayer can only be found in some rural monastery or retreat house. It is good, by all means, to go to such places now and then to rest.
Christ himself bade his disciples rest — but he did immediately add: ‘for a while’ (Mk 6.31). The implication is clear: they’re afterwards to come back to the fray, for there, too, God can be found, worshipped, and beautifully served.
Today’s Gospel shows us Jesus assailed by ‘the lame, the crippled, the blind, the dumb, and many others’, that is to say, by people like us. The disciples are inclined to shoo them away: ‘Let them go and get themselves supper!’
Jesus, meanwhile, is concerned to console and feed them, moved by compassion for their need. This concern brings about the multiplication of loaves and fishes, a miracle foreshadowing the Eucharist. It shows how a little, once it is blessed and given in love, can go a long way.
The saint we commemorate, St Francis Xavier, was a man driven by Christlike compassion, wholly surrendered to his mission. In a letter to his friend Ignatius he speaks of how, on a mission to India, children ‘would not let [him] say [his] Office or eat or sleep’, wanting his attention, demanding to be instructed and fed. Like his divine Master, Francis gave himself over to the people who needed him in this way. Thus he became a shining example, not only of Christian virtue, but of Christian prayer.
During Advent we pray, again and again, ‘Come, Lord, do not delay!’ Our eyes are raised heavenward. Let us make sure we also look closely round about. For the Lord comes to us not just in sublime, spiritual realities; he comes no less in the ragged, the poor, the lonely. On the day of judgement, he will tell us (we have it on his authority): ‘Whatever you did not do to one of the least of these, you did it not to me.’
It is wholesome to nurture our spiritual lives in private; it is good, at times, to be quiet and at ease. Let us never forget, though, that the Lord whom we await says of himself, ‘My Father is always at work, and I too am working’.
The unruffled communion of the Blessed Trinity is not disturbed by constant engagement in the work of redemption and the fulfilment of history. On the contrary: these works are the natural expression and effluence of divine communion in charity.
‘The consolations of God’, wrote St Francis Xavier from Travancore in 1545, ‘are so great that they make all troubles sweet.’ That sweetness is what we seek. By living as Christ lived, we shall find it.
Amen.

Coram Fratribus

Veritas Homily given as part of an Advent recollection at the Dominican church in Kraków following the launch of the Polish version of my book Chastity.
Filled with joy by the Holy Spirit, Jesus said: ‘I bless you, Father, Lord of heaven and of earth, for hiding these things from the learned and the clever and revealing them to mere children. Yes, Father, for that is what it pleased you to do. Everything has been entrusted to me by my Father; and no one knows who the Son is except the Father, and who the Father is except the Son and those to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. Luke 10:21-24.
So are divine realities really inaccessible to the learned and the clever? If so, it’s bad news for a community of Dominicans. Before we despair on their behalf, however, let us consider the context of the Gospel words. Jesus exclaims them as he welcomes back the seventy proto-disciples sent abroad to spread his peace and to proclaim the proximity of God’s kingdom. The seventy are amazed at what they have accomplished.
Returning with joy, they say, ‘Lord, even the demons are subject to us in your name!’ Jesus assures them that he has seen Satan fall like lightning from heaven. That is what causes him to rejoice ‘in the Holy Spirit’ and to speak the words we have heard.
There is a connection, then, between the sort of ‘intelligence’ Jesus condemns and demonic presumption. The demons are intelligent but soulless creatures. They can be cunning. They excel at manipulation. But they are uninterested in truth. Their purpose is confusion.
The Gospel cuts through their stratagems by proposing, not just a theory of the universe, but new life as man’s integrity is restored by grace. Grace-filled man rises above deceit when he discovers that the ultimate reality making sense of things is not some speculative, abstract formula but love, divine love incarnate in Christ Jesus and sharable by women and men who freely let his peaceful power work through them.
Jesus does not celebrate stupidity. The power of reason is an integral aspect of his image in us. We are obliged to develop it as well as we can. St Peter, one of those to whom Jesus speaks in this scene, urges us, in his first epistle, to be always ready to make a defence to those who call us to account for the hope that is in us (1 Pet 3.15). For that, we need all our resources of learning. What we must remember, quite simply, is that arguments are not enough. Argument left to its own devices is only too prone to stray off course, abandoning the lead of truth-inspired reason for self-generated chaos.
Our Dominican friends, thank God, are kept on the straight, narrow path by their Order’s glorious motto: ‘Veritas’! Human intelligence deployed in search for truth, illumined by love, is a wonderful faculty apt to enable growth in wisdom and virtue, apt to bring light into darkness.
Let us resolve to use our intelligence responsibly and well, according to our calling or state of life. Not everyone has to give lectures or write books. Being intelligent is primarily about maintaining a concern for the meaning of things, about resisting demonic disorder, about courageously unmasking senselessness.
If you think of H.C. Andersen’s well-known tale of the emperor’s new clothes, an important use of intelligence right now is ability to state that the emperor is naked when, in fact, he is. To do that, we must indeed become like children — not by becoming childish, but by retaining, or redeveloping, an ability to see reality clearly, in truth.
Amen.

Coram Fratribus

Desert Fathers 49 You can find this episode in video format here – a dedicated page – and pick it up in audio wherever you listen to podcasts. On YouTube, the full range of episodes can be found here.
The reason we have written this rule is that, by observing it in monasteries, we can show that we have some degree of virtue and the beginnings of monastic life. But for anyone hastening on to the perfection of monastic life, there are the teachings of the holy Fathers, the observance of which will lead him to the very heights of perfection. What page, what passage of the inspired books of the Old and New Testaments is not the truest of guides for human life? What book of the holy Catholic Fathers does not resoundingly summon us along the true way to reach the Creator? […] Are you hastening towards your heavenly home? Then with Christ’s help, keep this little rule that we have written for beginners. After that, you can set out for the loftier summits of the teachings and virtues we mentioned above, and under God’s protection you will reach them. Amen.
Throughout this series I have referred to the teaching of St Benedict. The time has come to speak of him specifically. Benedictine monasticism has shaped the West. Not for nothing did Pope St John Paul II in 1980 proclaim St Benedict a patron of Europe. When we think of Benedict’s legacy we may think first of imposing buildings, venerable institutions, Gregorian chant, and thick, learned, leather-bound tomes. St Benedict seems to represents the settled solidity our world today has largely lost. So we may assume that his mindset was different from that of the Desert Fathers whose humble cells were provisional, who set up no schools, who prayed in private, and were more concerned with giving books away than with gathering them in libraries.
Of course, there are distinctions. Benedict was a Roman through and through. He excelled in organisation and expressed himself in lapidary prose. His was a world of forests and broad fertile plains dotted with villas. A desert of sand he could only have imagined. Benedict was by character discreet. His governance was exquisitely balanced. It is hard to fancy him giving the sort of counsel Antony gave when, to teach a man detachment, he sent him out among birds of prey and wild dogs covered in bacon. Let us not, though, make too much of these external features. Inwardly Benedict stood in grateful continuity with those monks who had lived and fought in Egypt. If you have studied the lives and sayings of the Desert Fathers in depth, then turn to the Regula and Life of Benedict, you will pick up countless resonances. Should your ear not yet be sufficiently attuned, turn to the index pages of a critical edition of the Rule and you will see the frequency and range of its author’s references.
Let us not forget that monastic life became highly organised in Egypt as well. Already in Antony’s day, colonies were set up so that Athanasius, travelling inland from his see of Alexandria, could note: ‘there were in the mountains monastic dwellings like tents filled with heavenly choirs, singing Psalms, rejoicing in the hope of things to come, working to give alms, having love for each other and being in harmony with one another. To see it was truly to see a land like no other.’
What Antony’s spiritual descendants built was a new civilisation. Athanasius saw it and was glad. St Pachomius, born a generation later, took the task of establishing monasticism further. He brought monks together in fixed, intentional communities. At the command of an angel, Pachomius composed a monastic rule destined to have great influence. St Basil read it and used it in his ordinances. St Jerome translated it into Latin. In these ways it came to nourish St Benedict as well.
By the time Pachomius died in 348, his community had well over a hundred members. It would be wrong, therefore, to entertain the idea, a caricature, that Egyptian monasticism stayed somehow primitively pure, charismatic, and personal while in Europe it was shackled by institutions. To the south as well as to the north of the Mediterranean Basin, wise women and men worked hard to pass on and perpetuate the fire that the likes of Antony, Macarius, and Moses had lighted in many human hearts. Any charism, to last, must eventually find objective expression in a framework of sharable stability. There is no inevitable contradiction between rule and life. The challenge is to maintain the rule infused with life, and to regulate vitality.
The passage cited above is from the last chapter of Benedict’s Rule. Summing up his teaching, it provides a list of Further Reading. Benedict’s project continues that of the earlier Fathers. He distils their insights. What he modestly calls a little rule for beginners is in fact pure essence. Any monk or nun who has read it and sought to put it into practice will testify to this. Even more so will abbots or abbesses who, over time, have taught the rule to their communities, discovering what depths exist under surfaces of seeming simplicity. Benedict, too, incites us to set our sight high, to aim for ‘perfection’ in the sense I developed in the first few episodes. The wisdom of the Desert Fathers is not confined to the past, or to books. It is alive, a generator of good zeal, in countless monasteries now. Their continued flourishing is crucial to the ecosystem of the Church’s life. We may hope that generous, courageous women and men , thirsty for fullness of life, will answer the monastic call still.
St Benedict being clothed in the monastic habit. Fresco from the church of Subiaco.

Today December 8th is the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception. We ask the Blessed Mother to intercede for us.
“O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.”
Photo of stained glass window from Church of the Read More 9 Comments

Our mother.mary pray for me and for my family AmenBlessed Mother pray for Us, in Jesus name Amen 🙏 🙌 🙏Amen 🙏

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Photos from Cloyne Diocese's post Today is the Feast Day of St Nicholas, December 6th.❤ St Nicholas dedicated his life to serving God and as a young man was made Bishop of Myra (Modern Day Turkey). Bishop Nicholas became known throughout the land for his Read More 12 Likes

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Eucharistic Adoration Cloyne Diocese
Eucharistic Holy Hour with Fr. John Keane - Diocesan Director of Eucharistic Adoration
Sunday 14th December from 5pm - 6pm, in the Holy Family Church, Youghal, Co. Cork
All are warmly welcome 11 Comments

God bless you Father JohnNice yo see you fr. JOHN AND LOOKING WELL AFTER TOUGH BATTLE AND GOD BLESS YOU MaryLooking forward

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Photos from Charleville Parish's post 5 Likes

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Eucharistic Adoration - Fr. John Keane 14th December 2025

Eucharistic Adoration Cloyne Diocese

Eucharistic Holy Hour with Fr. John Keane - Diocesan Director of Eucharistic Adoration

Sunday 14th December from 5pm - 6pm, in the Holy Family Church, Youghal, Co. Cork

Homily by V. Rev. Canon Michael Leamy, PP, VF

Homily for the Feast of St. Colman of Cloyne

24th November 2025

Bishop Crean meets Pope Leo

Bishop William Crean meets Pope Leo on recent pilgrimage to Rome

"Behold I'm doing a new thing" says the Lord (Isaiah 43)

Pastoral letter from Bishop William Crean

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