Golden Jubilee Mass
St. Joseph's Chapel
Maynooth
Celebrant: Bishop Wm Crean
Class of 1976
8 June 2026
My friends,
Fr. Cyril Haran of the Elphin Diocese was born 1931, Ordained 1956, Silver Jubilarian 1981. He died on June 25th, 2014. R.I.P.
At the reunion that year he proposed the toast to the Bishops. They were attired in full regalia I recall – it was my 1st reunion 5 years on.
For some reasons I can’t recall there was a certain air of tension as Cyril got up to speak.
In the course of his address, he recalled the Maynooth of the early 1950’s as a place that was akin to a ‘tin of sardines’ – if you didn’t fit the tin, you didn’t get the oil!
He went on to summarise the nature of their education as equipping them to recognise the heresies like Arianism in Armagh, Manichaeism in Mallow and Docetism in Dingle.
However, when they emerged on mission, they were faced with the Beatles and Beckenbauer.
The rest I can’t recall but I imagine on reflection it probably contained the insight offered by David Power, the Irish Oblate Sacramental theologian we had in the Gregorian, about the nature of the priestly challenge amongst others as being a ‘cultural shock absorber’. And so it has been for decades now, and it continues.
My first parish appointment was as curate in Glenbeigh on the Ring of Kerry. My P.P. was an extraordinary priest by the name of Michael O’Connor, a retired R.A.F. Chaplain. Sadly, he died of cancer at just 58 – his brother was Fergal O’Connor O.P. – amongst other things lecturer in English in U.C.D. After the funeral vigil at which I said some words, he suggested to me that if I wished to be a good preacher I should read poetry, “For the poet is the ‘High Priest’ of language.” So I did, occasionally.
Providentially, in this context I bought a book of poetry recently and low and behold a poem that caught my eye, ironically the collection is entitled “Strictly No Poetry.”
The State of the Church – by Aidan Mathews
A bird’s building I don’t know what
On the old overspill loudspeaker
At the west door with the new wheelchair ramp.
Inside in the left confessional
The parish hygiene committee has stored
The mobile font and a Nilfisk vacuum cleaner.
Pews that were sold will probably surface
In an LGBT pub soon. And those marble
Altar rails with the trailing stone grapes
Will trellis a heated swimming pool
Where the kids at the deep end dive to the green
Tiling to pee, to peer up at legs
In a swaying Sistine Chapel above them.
Already women are out buying Chilean
Wine for the family table; already
Inmates of John of God Hospital
Are baking scones for their tranquillized wives
In the Occupational Therapy ovens.
Pray silence so. They will be reading lessons,
Telling stories, giving thanks together,
Sharing food and pouring plonk as if
Jesus the Jew were really present there.
Not one of them’s been to Mass for ages.
Not one of them has the least idea
What the true church of the state is today.
Look at weddings and funerals, for God’s sake:
Sitting down when they should stand up,
Standing up when they should kneel,
As if it were up to the weeks of February
And March to heal the face of the frozen earth.
And so it is.
My friends,
We stand in a long line of men like Cyril Haran. Teacher, fisherman, curate and coach, gifted and generous, inspirational and incisive. Whatever was required he turned his hand to it. He was often heard to say, “Lad’s winning isn’t everything … it’s the only thing.”
We all have our own story to relate. Whatever about the quality of our shock absorbers, there is no denying the mileage on the clock!
And we reflect rightly on how it all began for us. ‘Come and see,’ the Master said through one or many voices and we did, both in our idealism and innocence. The S.M.A.’s joined us from Dromantine - weren’t they well ahead of the posse.
Talking of innocence – I recall a gathering before the Summer Holidays with Joe Delaney, the Junior Dean, during which he was asked was it ok to play tennis with the girls – Joe sombrely said yes, once you know whether you are playing tennis with Mary or because of Mary!
The innocence is well passed, and we are more tentative now in our declarations as to the state of things. Blessed are the meek has a new resonance.
Among our number we’ve had the proverbial charming variety – I’m not sure the Enneagram could cope with the diversity. What we have shared is a passion for the ministry even when we weren’t sure if the model of the church out of which we operated. The passage of year and the vicissitudes of the journey refined us, refined the integrity of our presence to the people we’ve been called to serve.
As a presbyterate we’ve been entrusted with a difficult legacy of hurt and abuse. The temptation to paranoia has been a constant demon to be wrestled with. The challenge the Lord and Master constantly called us to face is to compassion, truth and courage. True humility is difficult. Thankfully many have not been found wanting – that’s blessing in abundance.
As of now, we’re called to cast out the net yet again. It’s important that we remain serene in our acceptance of what has been accomplished – surrendering gracefully our responsibilities of leadership and administration.
It was at our first Easter Vigil that I read from Is.55 about the ways of God not being ours … The word that goes out doesn’t return till its task is accomplished, the purpose for which it was sent.
It is through this divine lens we view our lives as an embodiment of God’s purpose. In offering this thought I’m borrowing from the reflection attributed to Oscar Romero which opens ….
“It helps now and then to step back and take the long view… We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work…
This is what we are about.
We plant seeds that one day will grow
We water seeds already planted
knowing that they hold future promise
we may never see the results …
We are prophets of a future not our own”
For what has been we give thanks
We go forward in faith with our gaze fixed
on the horizon of hope for what
lies ahead
Amen
