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Fáilte, Welcome

to the website for the Catholic Diocese of Cloyne, Ireland

Bishop William Crean

03 April 2026

Easter Message
April 2026
from Bishop William Crean, Cloyne

“From darkness into light”

My friends,

Our spiritual journey through Holy Week leads us to think about Jesus’ last days. His experience in the face of betrayal, deceit, a show trial and torture to the point of execution, manifests the darkness and evil that so many innocent people today are subject to. In those last days Jesus on the other hand washed the feet of the apostles as an example of service and care. In the midst of his agony, he experienced the compassion of the women of Jerusalem and Veronica wiped the sweat and blood from his disfigured face.

The joy of Easter comes from knowing that darkness, evil, hate, even death do not have the last word. That’s our hope, our joy and our peace. Jesus’ sacrifice reveals God’s love for the world and for us today as so many innocents suffer the affliction of war.

Easter 2026

Three additional dates added for Child Safeguarding Training in the Diocese of Cloyne

Monday 13th April 7pm - 8:30pm - Midleton Pastoral Centre

Wednesday 15th April 7pm - 8:30pm - Scoil Naomh Padraig, Mill Rd, Kanturk

Thursday 16th April 7pm - 8:30pm - Macroom Parish Centre

Booking is essential, please contact Rosarie O'Riordan This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Safeguarding

03 March 2026

Carrigtwohill Parish Pilgrimage to Fatima 7th - 14th September 2026

Spiritual Director: Fr. Patrick Winkle

Direct return flights from Cork to Faro, with Bus to and from Fatima included
Full Board - breakfast, lunch and dinner each day
7 nights Hotel Steyler
Limited number of places
€1045 (single supplement extra) - limited single rooms, insurance is also extra
20kg baggage included with Aer Lingus flight.
Guided tours and full spiritual programme

Please make enquires to Fr. Patrick Winkle 021-4882439 or Joe Walsh Tours 021-2427190 or 01-2410800
Or book direct online with Joe Walsh Tours

2026 CARRIGTWOHILL PATRICK WINKLE 07 SEP CORK FARO Fatima Pilgrimage 2026

04 February 2026

Cloyne Diocesan Pilgrimages 2026

The Annual Lourdes Mass - Friday 13th February 2026

Church of the Immaculate Conception, Kanturk, P51 TY36 at 7.30pm
Bishop William Crean will be the Chief Celebrant of the Mass

Cloyne Diocesan Pilgrimage to Knock - Sunday 10th May 2026

Parishes to make their own travel arrangements

Cloyne Diocesan Pilgrimage to Lourdes 29th May – 3rd June 2026

All bookings for the Cloyne Diocesan Pilgrimage to Lourdes should be made through Joe Walsh Tours by telephone 01-2410800, online at Joe Walsh Tours or by post to 89 Harcourt Street, Dublin 2, D02WY88. No booking is definite until a non-refundable deposit payment of €350 per person (plus insurance premium where applicable) has been receipted by Joe Walsh Tours. Early booking advisable.

Pilgrims who would like to travel with the Special Assisted Section should apply to: Cloyne Diocesan Pilgrimage to Lourdes, c/o Parish Secretary, 27/28 Bank Place, Mallow, Co. Cork. Tel: 022-20276. This special assisted/sick section is accommodated at the Accueil Notre Dame. Acceptance for travel with the special section for the sick is subject to approval of the Pilgrimage Medical Board. The closing date for receipt of application is 31 March 2026.

Cloyne Diocesan Pilgrimage to Lourdes 29th May - 3rd June 2026

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Latest Homily

1 Apr 2026 - Joyful Fidelity

Latest Articles

April 2026
- Easter Message 2026 from Bishop William Crean
March 2026
- Child Safeguarding Training
- Fatima Pilgrimage 2026 - Carrigtwohill Parish
February 2026
- Cloyne Diocesan Pilgrimages 2026
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

How to Love?

This Easter reflection was published in The Tablet of 4 April.
The period between Christ’s resurrection and his ascension into heaven was a time of remembrance. The apostles spent it turning over in their minds all that the Lord had said and done Read More

Coram Fratribus

Easter Sunday

Acts 10.34-43: Peter said, we are witnesses!
Colossians 3.1-4: Look for the things that are in heaven.
John 20.1-9: Peter saw and believed.
‘Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!’ With these words Christians traditionally greet each other in Eastertide. The statement Read More

Coram Fratribus

Easter Vigil

The character of death is relentless. Death marks an absolute divide. We’re either alive or dead. There’s no in-between. Anyone who has sat at a death-bed knows what I mean. The dying person may be in a coma; we may Read More

Coram Fratribus

Good Friday

John 18.1-19.42: Jesus carried the cross by himself.
The Passion according to St John gives an elliptic account of how Jesus got from Pilate’s Praetorium to Calvary. ‘Jesus carried the cross by himself’, writes John; and that’s it. Perhaps the Beloved Read More

Coram Fratribus

Pray for Peace On 29 September 1938, Francis Poulenc found an excerpt from a poem by Charles d’Orléans (1394–1465) reprinted in Le Figaro. The text, profoundly topical, moved him. He set it to exquisite music. This song is ringing in my ears as the world is subject to threat and politics seem to have yielded to madness. Truly, we need a peace the world cannot give.
Pray for peace, sweet Virgin Mary,
Queen of heaven and mistress of this world.
Kindly cause to pray
the company of saints and direct your plea
towards your Son, beseeching his highness
to have gracious regard for his people,
which he was pleased to redeem by his blood,
by bringing an end to war, which destroys all things.
Tire not of praying:
pray for peace, pray for peace,
joy’s true treasure.

Coram Fratribus

How to Love? This Easter reflection was published in The Tablet of 4 April.
The period between Christ’s resurrection and his ascension into heaven was a time of remembrance. The apostles spent it turning over in their minds all that the Lord had said and done to draw this into a coherent whole in the light of his Paschal victory.
By means of the liturgy, the Church draws us into this apostolic work of assimilation. It moves me that she, our Mother, lets us re-read in Eastertide words Jesus spoke on the eve of his Passion. The teaching of the thirteenth chapter of St John strikes chords then that differ from those struck when we heard it last on Maundy Thursday.
“Love one another; just as I have loved you, you also must love one another.”
When this “new commandment” was given in the Upper Room, the apostles connected it with the gesture just performed: the washing of their feet, including those of Judas, now gone into the night on an errand of betrayal.
The eleven will have remembered how, during the past three years, Jesus had again and again forgotten himself to attend to the troubles of others. They will have thought of the meeting with the haemorrhaging woman, of the healing of the lame man lowered through the roof, of the raising of the son of the widow of Nain.
They will have recalled the detachment required when Jesus, weary, had gone apart to rest, only to find on arrival that a crowd awaited him: no word of complaint was heard; instead he turned towards the interlopers cordially, all theirs. Truly, he had taught them what charity looks like.
The fact of Jesus’ resurrection raises our reflection into a further dimension. The ethical demands of Christian love remain. They are timeless. By them we shall be judged. Still, “love” in biblical language stands for something more.
“God is love”. Divine love shows itself in kind acts, as when the Lord, sending Adam and Eve forth from Eden, clothes them in garments of skin; when he consoles Hagar in the desert; or sends ravens out to feed his hunger-striking prophet Elijah.
But the love that is God’s Being can terrify, too. It is at work in the Egyptian plagues, in the downfall of Og, in the censuring of David after his calculated adultery with Bathsheba.
We may assume that the opposite of love is hatred. But no. Hatred can contain a passion that does not contradict love but is love’s inverted reflection.
Élie Wiesel said that the opposite of love is indifference, the carelessness that may not itself pursue the destruction of another but does not bother when others do. Love, seen in this perspective, comes to an end in the extinction of compassion, when individuals, communities or even states pursue no other goal than self-preservation.
In biblical terms, the opposite of love is death. God is love in as much as he is the principle of life, desiring things and beings to exist for the sheer delight of it, without expectation of gain. To love as God loves (“just as I have loved you”) is to nurture the existence and thriving of others while having no truck with death, resisting anger and the other passions that cause us to subsist in a kind of living death. For it is quite possible to have a regular pulse and normal digestion and yet to be soul-dead.
“Death with life contended,” sings the Easter sequence. It goes on: “Combat strangely ended!”
It seems weird, at first sight, that the cross, an instrument of execution, should be the emblem of life restored — it seems weird until we recall that that which died on the cross was death itself, while life was proved invincible. “Love is strong as death,” we read in the Song of Songs. That proposition was borne out on Calvary, then proved within the grave of Joseph of Arimathea, where Jesus rose.
We must invite this death-defying love into our lives. John proclaims: “I saw a new heaven and a new earth.” That reality is not for the end of time only; it is to be inaugurated now, in current experience.
But is this possible?
Already in the earliest times of Christianity, critical voices arose saying more or less this: “You Christians claim that Judah’s Lamb has conquered and the power of death has been trampled underfoot. But look around! Wars rage, the innocent suffer, beauty is stifled by ugliness. Friends betray friends; people once united in love hate one another. And you maintain that the kingdom of heaven is in our midst? Of all pretensions, this is surely the stupidest?”
When we consider the world we live in we must admit: the question has not gone away. It calls for an answer.
The Gospel testifies to Christ’s resurrection. He who was once dead is alive, and lives forever. On this conviction of historical, not symbolic, nature our faith is founded. The risen one was fully human, like you and me. The fact that he emerged from death’s clutches shows that death is not life’s end, but a passage from one form of life to another.
Christians of the East, like the Jews, call Easter Pascha — a Hebrew word whose root sense is, precisely, “passage.” It points towards the first Pasch in Egypt, when Israel after long captivity left Pharaoh’s domain. The angel of death passed over the dwellings of the Hebrews, marked with the blood of the Paschal lamb. What was accomplished in mystery then, in order that Israel might live, shows its significance in Jesus’s Pasch. He takes death on himself and explodes it from within.
An inadequate but suggestive image may be drawn from the realm of computers. Think of a virus invading an operating system to render it ineffective. That is what Jesus did to death, with wholly beneficent viral force. Even though death remains for us a physical fact, it is no longer a closed system. We must suffer it, but are not its captives. In Christ, we pass through it. His Pasch is ours.
Jesus calls himself “the living one”: “I was dead and now I am to live for ever and ever, and I hold the keys of seat and the underworld.” He descended into hell. He knows that sad neighbourhood. No cell of the kingdom of death is alien to him.
It is impressive that the evangelists, bearing witness to Jesus’s resurrection, expose the concrete reality of his death. They show us his wounds. Christian faith is realistic. Our religion is no magic. The God we believe in is no wizard.
The living God acts in life as it is. He sets out from what is old, from lived life, and discloses eternally salvific potential within it.
We may find it hard to believe this. It was hard for the apostles, too. Thomas doubted because he had known the meaning of despair. He had put his hope in Jesus. His devotion can be seen in the story of the raising of Lazarus. When Jesus insisted, in the face of threats, on going up to Jerusalem, Thomas cried out: “Let us go up with him, and die with him.” No one has greater love than he who gives his life for his friends.
We can understand what grief the mere thought of Jesus’ wounds must have called forth in Thomas. Jesus’ response to his doubt is no stern correction. It is rather a gentle expression of friendship: “Touch my wounds: you will see that they are not lethal”.
Thomas realises: Jesus takes away the sin of the world, not its wounds. His blood, though, flows into them and makes them clean, even glorious.
The Lord is at work in pain, also in the pain of our wounded world. The births pangs of the new creation continue, pointing towards a goal. We know the way to that goal. It carries the name of a person. Whoever says that he or she belongs to Jesus, “must walk as he walked.” The greatest temptation to which we are exposed is the temptation of hopelessness. It is to be resisted bravely.
Back then, in Jerusalem, after the first Easter, “those who were ill and tormented by unclean spirits” crowded together in the hope of being touched even by the merest shadow of the Gospel. “All of them were healed.” That can happen now, too, through Christ, with him, and in him.
Giovanni di Paolo’s Creation of the World from 1445, now in the Met – an image that points back to the beginning as well as forward to the recapitulation of all things in startling newness.

Coram Fratribus

Easter Sunday Acts 10.34-43: Peter said, we are witnesses!
Colossians 3.1-4: Look for the things that are in heaven.
John 20.1-9: Peter saw and believed.
‘Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!’ With these words Christians traditionally greet each other in Eastertide. The statement of Jesus’s victory over death introduces all encounters. It’s a good custom. It forms consciousness. We really ought at all times to live, work, and relate to others in this way. The resurrection transforms and illumines existence as such. That is something we must recall in all circumstances, are we to convey Christ’s light, joy, and peace to the world.
‘Christ my hope has risen’, we sing in the Easter Sequence. He is indeed our hope and glory. Other kinds of glory come and go, they are ephemeral. But to be a true Christian, a witness to the resurrection, is glorious in time and eternity.
Our chief witness on Easter Sunday is Peter. On the Third Day he must still have been raw with grief and shame after the events of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. While Jesus sweated blood in the garden, Peter kipped. As Jesus was arrested by the mob, he ran. When Peter was recognised as one of Jesus’s companions, he exclaimed, not just once, but three times: ‘I know him not!’
He had let down his best friend, betrayed his own dearest promises. Had he slept at all since he lay weeping bitterly in a dark Jerusalem alley? I doubt it.
Then, early on Sunday, Mary Magdalene, Apostle to the Apostles, turns up breathless saying: ‘He’s not there!’ The first testimony to Christ’s resurrection is not marked by triumphant confidence. It’s anxiously confused. Mary, it will transpire, thought someone had stolen Jesus’s corpse. She ran to ask Peter and John investigate the callous spoiling of a grave. No reassuring presence announces the resurrection at first, but the disquieting absence of a dead body.
Death has been messed with. Death’s order has not been observed.
Who knows what the disciple thought when they set off. Perhaps their thoughts weren’t very orderly. They knew they needed to get to the grave where everything they’d lived for and hoped in seemed to be laid up on stony ground to rot. It would have been strange, though, had they not remembered Jesus’s mysterious words about the Third Day. He had repeated them so insistently.
Could they have been realistic speech, not some sort of poetic parable?
The image of these two men running through Jerusalem in the darkness before dawn, with Mary trailing behind, is a good, true image of what it means to live by faith. The believer does not always bask in the warm, contended certainty of possessing answers to all life’s questions. The believer is someone who, ever anew, lets himself be challenged by the thought, ‘But what if everything Jesus said and taught is in fact real and liveable?’, who determinedly sets about trying it out, forming his life by his faith, and doesn’t just swan around prattling about it.
When Peter and John arrive, they see that everything is the way Mary had said. They see the emptiness. They see the linen cloths on the ground. These must be significant. If someone comes to steal a dead body, they surely don’t undress it first? The cloth that had rested on Jesus’s face lies in a place by itself, neatly rolled up, the way a courteous guest, after staying overnight with friends, will fold his bed linen on departure, as a little gesture of gratitude to his hosts.
The things the disciples observe feed their detective work. By deductive reasoning, they try to work out what has happened. Illumination comes, though, at a different level. ‘Peter’, we have heard, ‘saw and believed’.
‘Belief’ denotes, here, recognition of connectedness. Peter sees beyond his immediate grief, his intimate betrayal. He remembers his own confession at Caesarea: ‘You are the Son of God!’ He remembers the light seen on Tabor, the raising of the widow’s son at Nain, the fish with the gold coin in its mouth that made Jesus say: ‘Give it for you and me’. You and me! The mere thought of those words are balm to a man who has felt irremediably alone. Peter remembers Jesus’s repeated assurance that all the painful things ‘must’ take place, but are not final. ‘When I am risen’, he said, ‘I will go ahead into Galilee’ (Mt 26.32).
Has this ‘when’ occurred?! Has he in truth passed through death?!
That night Peter meets the Risen One. Jesus comes to the disciples and says: ‘Peace!’ He bids them receive the Holy Spirit. He could have appeared to Peter at the empty tomb. But he didn’t. He wanted Peter first to come to faith by considering his own experience in the light of Jesus’s promises. That is how faith becomes substantial in a life, a foundation on which all else can rest — firm rock, not shifting sand. The humiliated Peter is in this way changed into a courageous witness, as attested by today’s first reading from the Acts of the Apostles.
All of us are called into this coming-to-faith-through-renewed-awareness. Easter asks us to reread our whole life, our failures as well as our achievements, in the light of Jesus’s victory over death in order to ascertain, not just on the basis of stuff we’ve read or watched on YouTube, but from experience: ‘He is risen!’
That is how we become credible witnesses, fit to carry his Gospel to the ends of the earth.
Amen. Alleluia!
Woodcut by Ørnulf Ranheimsæter.

Coram Fratribus

Easter Vigil The character of death is relentless. Death marks an absolute divide. We’re either alive or dead. There’s no in-between. Anyone who has sat at a death-bed knows what I mean. The dying person may be in a coma; we may struggle to see whether he or she is breathing; but they are there. Then death comes, and we are left utterly alone, just with a lifeless body, conscious of an explicit, piercing absence.
Since death so clearly marks a limit, people have always regarded it with respect. This holds for all religions. It holds for most materialists as well, even if some tend, now, to present death as a product one might, and should, pre-order. The irreversibility of death is not reduced thereby. In a way it is accentuated.
An encounter with death can provoke rage, especially when children die or someone perishes by violence or accident. We spontaneously think: ‘It shouldn’t be like this!’ Our inner rebellion can take desperate, grotesque, even absurd forms.
An encounter with death can provoke deep longing. What wouldn’t we give to sit, once again, before the fire with someone we love who has died, to talk confidentially, to get a hug, to hear a laugh we may be missing sorely?
Death puts us humans in our place; it humiliates and overwhelms us; but doesn’t entirely convince us. Deep even in the souls of atheists, who insist that souls don’t exist, there’s a suspicion that death is really unreal, a performance that will as the curtain goes down, the light comes on, and we go into the air. There’s just to much life in a human being for it to be switched off as if it were a gadget.
Easter confirms our suspicion. Easter unmasks death as an impostor. Our maddest desire turns out reliable: we may live for ever. In us there is an essential core that cannot die, created to move into an ever more intense kind of life.
The Easter Vigil lets us contemplate this truth in a perspective reaching from creation to the end of time. The central point of that history is the resurrection of Jesus, the Son of God, from the dead.
Christ’s rising is the true Big Bang thanks to which it means something that the world exists. If human death is swallowed up by divine power, then all our experience, all our insight has eternal consequence. Life can’t be limited, then, to monotonous cycles of buy-use-discard, of desire-satisfaction-new desire.
No, in the light of the resurrection our existence unfolds limitlessly. An exultation vibrates in all things. We ascertain that nothing, and no one, is hopeless.
Jesus’s victory over death calls out to us: ‘Get ready to live!’ May we rise to the measure of what is promised and given us.
Amen. Alleluia!
The Harrowing of Hell by the School of Fra Angelico, in the Convent of San Marco, Florence.

Coram Fratribus

Good Friday John 18.1-19.42: Jesus carried the cross by himself.
The Passion according to St John gives an elliptic account of how Jesus got from Pilate’s Praetorium to Calvary. ‘Jesus carried the cross by himself’, writes John; and that’s it. Perhaps the Beloved Disciple just couldn’t bear recalling the details.
The Church’s tradition, as we encounter it in the Stations of the Cross, for example, tells us that Jesus fell three time on the way: three instances of physical collapse under the weight of the cross. ‘The spirit indeed is willing’, Jesus had told the disciples on the Mount of Olives, ‘but the flesh is weak.’ Going up to be crucified, he felt the weakness in his own body.
He carries the cross on our behalf. He will be fastened to it for our sake. In the three falls, we can see ourselves.
The first stands for the first fall of humanity, the tragedy that causes our nature to be afflicted by a kind of system error. ‘I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate’, writes Paul in an honest confession (Rm 7.15). I dare say we have all, at various points, thought similarly. The Bible’s story of the drama in Eden touches depths that exist in all of us. The more I engage with this story, and the more I come to know myself, the more it strikes me just how realistic is the Church’s teaching about original sin. To be human is to live within an inherited trauma defined by a breach of trust. Jesus assumes that trauma. In full view of all, he falls under the weight of it. But he does not stay down.
When Jesus falls for the second time, it is in the name of his people. He had come to fulfil the promises made to Israel. He incarnates the Glory the people had seen on Sinai. But on Good Friday he hears his brethren cry: ‘Away with him, give us Barabbas.’ The priests, anointed to worship the living God, would take his — God’s — life. The chosen people as a whole does not want to know the one who chooses them. One by one, then as a crowd, they avert their gaze. How this afflicts the sacred heart of Jesus can be seen when he weeps over Jerusalem, saying, ‘If only you knew!’ (Lk 19.41f.). Jesus falls the second time for all who are rejected by those they love most. But he stands up and moves on. ‘His faithful love lasts for ever’, David sang (Ps 136.1). The Church sternly tells us that no one may think of the Jewish people ‘as rejected or accursed by God’ (Nostra Aetate 4). Christ carries the people with him, in him, on the cross, still at work to make it reach the fulness of salvation. Jesus’s second fall shows us what steadfast, patient love looks like.
The Lord’s third fall is the most heart-rending. He has already gone far. He is tired. The consolation received along the way from his Mother, from Veronica, from Simon of Cyrene, is behind him. Before him he sees the contour of the cross, an image of how we humans, with the simplest means, devise means to torture one another. With the cross before him, Jesus falls again. This third fall stands for our betrayals, mine and yours, when we, who embrace the fullness of faith are yet faithless. Jesus falls for the third time under the weight I have put upon him. This is a fact that today I must lucidly consider, feeling the pain of my fickleness. But again Jesus rises, at first a little uncertainly, visibly worn, but still. There is hope for me, too! No sin is beyond reconciliation if only I let myself be reconciled.
With her brilliant sense of choreography, the Church makes the mystery hidden in Jesus’s three falls visible in this solemn celebration. In a few moments, after the great intercessions of Good Friday that, like rings in still pond, spread across the whole surface of the world and of history, the cross will be carried in in triumph. The tree of affliction reveals itself the tree of victory. We adore the cross as an expression of God’s invincible love. With an acclamation that has resounded in the Church for centuries, we call out: ‘By the cross, joy has entered the world!’ Light shines in darkness. Even men’s anger can turn to praise (cf. Ps 76.10).
We each make this confession our own when we come to kiss the tree of the cross. The bishop goes first, not on account of privilege associated with his charge, but simply because it is his task to carry whatever it is the Church is carrying. He goes barefoot, without pretensions, aware of his own and our collective frailty. One his way up the aisle he throws himself down on the ground three times. In this way we remember and honour the three falls of Jesus. After each fall, he gets up again, in Jesus’s name and in the name of the Church, in order to proceed, magnetically drawn towards the cross, which no longer represents an end-point but a beginning, the key to renewed existence.
No fall is definitive as long as we raise our eyes towards the cross and call Jesus’s power into our infirmity. He who made water into wine, who raised Lazarus, who gave sight to the man born blind, can heal and transform our wounds, yours and mine, however configured, whether visible or hidden. Our holy, strong, immortal God chose to appear before us weak in order that we, in our weakness, should not fear to approach him.
Illumined by the singular grace of Good Friday, we do not crawl to the cross. We walk upright, as is seeming for women and men aware of having been endowed with great dignity, prodigal children trustfully making their way back to their Father’s house.
Today’s message to each of us is this: Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, loves you with eternal love. Just allow it to work. Amen.
Francesco Bonsignori, Andata al Calvario, now in the Museo di Palazzo Ducale, Mantova.

Photos from Cloyne Diocese's post May the joy of the Risen Christ fill your hearts and home. A Very Happy and Holy Easter to you all. 3 Comments

Glanire Commercial Cleaning Proper job on the display, keeping the standards high for the Bank Holiday crowds is a sound move.

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Iam passing the light of christ

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Posted: 3 days ago

Today is , a Celebration of the Lord’s Passion. ‘Christ gives his life, he is “lifted up�....

Today is #Good #Friday, a Celebration of the Lord’s Passion. ‘Christ gives his life, he is “lifted up” on the Cross, but willingly’. #HolyWeek2026 ✝️ 2 Likes

Posted: 4 days ago

Easter Message
April 2026
from Bishop William Crean, Cloyne.
“From darkness into light”
My friends,
Our spiritual journey through Holy Week leads us to think about Jesus’ last days. His experience in the face of betrayal, deceit, a show trial and torture to Read More 6 Comments

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Posted: 4 days ago

#HolyThursday, Christ redeemed us all and gave perfect glory to God principally through His Paschal mystery: dying He destroyed our death and rising He restored our life. #HolyWeek2026 ✝ 2 Likes

Posted: 5 days ago

Easter Message 2026 from Bishop William Crean

Easter Message April 2026from Bishop William Crean, Cloyne

Child Safeguarding Training

Three additional dates added for Child Safeguarding Training in the Diocese of Cloyne

Fatima Pilgrimage 2026 - Carrigtwohill Parish

Carrigtwohill Parish Pilgrimage to Fatima 7th - 14th September 2026

Cloyne Diocesan Pilgrimages 2026

Cloyne Diocesan Pilgrimages 2026

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Latest Homily

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Easter Message
April 2026
from Bishop William Crean, Cloyne