Daily prayers in Ordinary Time with USPG: (50) 17 July 2023

Saint Michael’s Church in Sneem, Co Kerry, is formally dedicated to the Most Holy Trinity and Saint Michael (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

We are in Ordinary Time in the Church Calendar, and this week began with the Sixth Sunday after Trinity (16 July 2023).

Before this day begins, I am taking some time this morning for prayer, reading and reflection.

Over these weeks after Trinity Sunday, I have been reflecting each morning in these ways:

1, Looking at relevant images or stained glass window in a church, chapel or cathedral I know;

2, the Gospel reading of the day in the Church of England lectionary;

3, a prayer from the USPG prayer diary.

Saint Michael’s Church stands above the east bank of the River Sneem (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

The Church of the Holy Trinity and Saint Michael, Sneem, Co Kerry:

Sneem is on the Ring of Kerry, on the banks of the River Sneem, on the road between Kenmare and Waterville. The Roman Catholic parish church is generally known as Saint Michael’s Church, but its formal dedication is to the Most Holy Trinity and Saint Michael. The church stands on the east bank of the river, with spectacular views of the River Sneem as it falls below the below the bridge and opens out on its way into Kenmare Bay.

The first known Roman Catholic church in Sneem was built on the site in the early 19th century. There has been a church in Kilcrohane or Sneem since at least the 14th century, and the first Roman Catholic parish church and the Church of Ireland parish church, the Church of the Transfiguration, may have been built at the same time, ca 1810.

This early church was small, with a mud floor and no pews, and was unable to meet the needs of the village.

Edwin Richard Wyndham-Quin (1812-1871), 3rd Earl of Dunraven, had become a Roman Catholic in 1855. He lived at Adare Manor, and was renting a holiday home near Sneem on Garnish Island, from the Bland family. He became appalled by the condition of the small church in Sneem, and in 1855 he resolved to build a fitting place for divine worship at his own expense.

He commissioned a leading London architect, Philip Charles Hardwick (1822-1892), who was then working on rebuilding Adare Manor, to build a new church in Sneem. Hardwick’s other works included the Bank of England, Saint John’s Cathedral, Limerick, the Redemptorist church at Mount Saint Alphonsus in Limerick, and the parish churches in Adare, Co Limerick.

The design for the new church in Sneem was cruciform, and in the Italian style, with the length from the chancel to nave 100 ft, and the breadth across the transepts 74 feet. The cost of the project was estimated at £3,000 in the Dublin Builder on 15 September 1863. But it had soared 33 per cent by 4 August 1865, when the Dublin Builder reported that Lord Dunraven had spent the ‘princely sum of £4,000.’

The demolition of the old church began in 1861, and Denis William Murphy (1799-1863), from Bantry, Co Cork, was the building contractor. But Murphy died suddenly before the foundation stone was laid. His eldest son William Martin Murphy (1845-1919), then a mere 19-year-old, took over the business and completed the building.

William Martin Murphy laid the foundations for a fortune that he would build on by building railways and tram-tracks in England, Scotland and Argentina. He established the Irish Independent, was manager of the Dublin United Tramways Company, and played a controversial and antagonistic role in the workers’ strike and lockout in Dublin of 1913. He became the most hated man in Ireland before the outbreak of World War I.

The Bishop of Kerry, David Moriarty, blessed the foundation stone of the church in Sneem on 3 September 1863. He wrote in his diary that day: ‘Blessed the first stone on the new church in Sneem in honorem Sanctissimae Trinitatis et Sancti Michaelis Archangeli. Lord Dunraven, who donated the money for the church, was present. Dominus conservet eum et beatus faciat illium in terra! Father Michael Walsh, the most venerable of Irish priests PP, and Father Davis CC. A joyous day, bonfire and illuminations at night: I preached in English, and Archdeacon O’Sullivan in Irish. Lord Dunraven gave a very appropriate speech.’

The Parish Priest of Sneem, Father Michael Walsh, was the subject of ‘Father O’Flynn,’ a celebrated ballad by the poet and songwriter, Arthur Perceval Graves (1846-1931). Graves was a son of Charles Graves (1812-1899), who had a summer residence home nearby at Parknasilla and who became Bishop of Limerick (1866-1899).

Local people packed the village for the ceremony that began at 1 pm. The bishop and several clergy assembled on the Fair Green. The bishop led a procession to the site, and there they met the Earl of Dunraven. After the bishop preached, he blessed the foundation stone. Archdeacon O’Sullivan from Kenmare then stood on the foundation stone and spoke in Irish.

Lord Dunraven said he had travelled all over Ireland before deciding that Sneem was the place to build his holiday retreat. He recalled first going to Mass in the old church, and that while he was having his house built with every comfort, the House of God was ‘left desolate and in ruin.’ He praised the Bland family for leasing the site for the church, more land to plant the grounds, and refusing to take rent for the land. The original lease was for 91 years from Saint Michael’s Day, 29 September 1864, at a rent of one shilling a year.

The contractors completed their work in less than two years. Bishop Moriarty returned to Sneem to open the new church on 27 July 1865 and to confirm 271 children.

In his diary on that date he wrote: ‘Blessed the church of Sneem sub invocatione SS Trinitatis et S Michaelis Archangeli. Doctor Butler celebrated High Mass. I preached. Lord Dunraven, the founder, was present, with Mr Maunsell and Mr S de Vere, Father Michael Walsh PP, Father Thomas Davis CC. Great festivities that evening in the village; confirmed 271. Well prepared.’

Dr George Butler (1815-1866) was the Bishop of Limerick (1864-1866); Maunsell was Dunraven’s brother-in-law, William Monsell (1812-1894) MP for Limerick (1847-1874) and later Lord Emly (1874); and Sir Stephen Edward de Vere (1812-1904) of Curraghchase, who was MP for Co Limerick (1854-1859), had become a Roman Catholic in 1847 and was a brother of the poet Aubrey de Vere (1814-1902), who is buried in Saint Mary’s churchyard in Askeaton.

Father Walsh entertained the guests to dinner in his presbytery. To cope with the numbers, he borrowed cutlery and crockery from his friend Dean Charles Graves of Parknasilla, then Dean of the Chapel Royal, Dublin, and of Saint Brendan’s Cathedral, Clonfert, and about to become Church of Ireland Bishop of Limerick in 1865. Dean Graves was a guest too at the celebrations that night. Whenever Father Walsh entertained his own bishop, it is said, he would borrow the quality tableware from the Graves household, but never let the bishop know he was dining off ‘Protestant plates.’

Press reports said Lord Dunraven and the other dignitaries left at 11 pm. But the parishioners continued the festivities until the next morning. One account said that during the whole night there was not the least sign of disorder, and not a single man was to be seen with the signs of liquor on him.

Father Walsh died a year after the new church was completed and after a 37-year ministry in Sneem.

Saint Michael’s Church is a listed building. It is a cruciform-plan double-height Italianate style church, and it is oriented on a west-east axis rather that the traditional east-west liturgical axis. There is a three-bay double-height chancel at the west end, a three-bay double-height nave, single-bay double-height transepts, and a single-bay, three-stage tower that was renovated 1892.

The rubble stone walls have their original buttered mortar joints, and sandstone quoins with cement replacements at the lower levels. There are round-headed lancet windows with sandstone surrounds, including paired lancets in the nave. The round-headed doorways have sandstone surrounds and limestone steps.

Inside, the church has an open-truss roof, round arches in the transepts on circular columns, stained-glass windows and a marble font.

Major work was carried out on the roof in the early 1950s, and the church was reordered following the liturgical changes introduced by Vatican II, including the removal of the altar rails in the 1970s. Further restoration work was carried out in the 1980s.

The parish priest, Father Pat Murphy, launched an appeal in 2009 to raise €1 million for major renovation works.

The roof was insulated and re-slated, underfloor insulation and modern heating were installed, the floor was renewed – uncovering a Victorian mosaic – and the joints in the external walls were repointed. The lighting and sound systems were upgraded, wheelchair and vehicular access were provided, and the former ‘Nuns’ Chapel’ or ‘small church’ as it was known, was transformed into the sacristy. A new spacious entrance now faces the village. These recent renovations cost €1.2 million in total.

The present parish priest of Sneem is Father Liam O’Brien.

The round-headed main door has sandstone surrounds and limestone steps (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Matthew 10: 34 to 11: 1 (NRSVA):

[Jesus said:] 34 ‘Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.
35 For I have come to set a man against his father,
and a daughter against her mother,
and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law;
36 and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.
37 Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; 38 and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. 39 Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.

40 ‘Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. 41 Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; 42 and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple – truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.’

1 Now when Jesus had finished instructing his twelve disciples, he went on from there to teach and proclaim his message in their cities.

Inside Saint Michael’s Church, Sneem, facing the liturgical east (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Today’s Prayer:

The theme this week in ‘Pray With the World Church,’ the Prayer Diary of the Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel), is ‘Abundant life – A human right.’ This theme was introduced yesterday.

The Prayer in the USPG Prayer Diary today (17 July 2023) invites us to pray in these words:

Loving God we pray for the Filipino Church – for all their important work alongside Indigenous communities. May they be empowered to strive towards dignity and freedom for all.

Saint Michael’s Church, Sneem, has an open-truss roof and round arches in the transepts on circular columns (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Collect:

Merciful God,
you have prepared for those who love you
such good things as pass our understanding:
pour into our hearts such love toward you
that we, loving you in all things and above all things,
may obtain your promises,
which exceed all that we can desire;
through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.

Post Communion:

God of our pilgrimage,
you have led us to the living water:
refresh and sustain us
as we go forward on our journey,
in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord.

A stained-glass window in Saint Michael’s Church, Sneem, depicts the life of Saint Brendan the Navigator (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Yesterday’s reflection

Continued tomorrow

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition copyright © 1989, 1995, National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. http://nrsvbibles.org

Saint Michael and two whales depicted in the Saint Brendan window in Sneem (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

It was the summer before the ‘Summer of Love’. But did I learn much Irish in Kerry?

Memories flow into the mind like the tide and are washed out like the sand … on the beach in Rethymnon earlier this week (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2016)

Patrick Comerford

How are memories triggered? How do our memories from childhood and our teen years wash in and out of our minds like the tide and the sand on a beach?

My walks on the beach near Rethymnon over the past three weeks brought back memories of long walks and long summer afternoons on the long sandy beach in Ballinskelligs, Co Kerry, fifty years ago in July and August 1966.

Irish was a compulsory subject in all schools in Ireland in those days. You had to pass the Irish language paper, or else you failed all your exams, and risked either having to repeat the “Inter Cert” or the Leaving Certificate exams – or, if your parents could afford it, being sent to school in England.

It was a year that I was growing uncomfortable with Irish politics. Nelson’s Pillar had been blown up a few months earlier, and presaged the political climate that was developing around the fiftieth anniversary of the 1916 Rising.

My parents were worried that three of us were becoming a risk because we did not have enough Irish and could become extra liabilities. We were packed off to spend four week in July and August in Colaiste Mhichil in Ballinskelligs, on a remote western tip of Co Kerry, off the Ring of Kerry (N70), and off the R566 and R567 between Cahersiveen and Waterville.

We were told we risked being sent home if we were caught speaking English, although this might have been a problem for the three of us – I think my parents were on holidays in England or Spain at the time.

I had been innovative earlier that summer and found a paper round with a local newsagent, and so I headed off with a secret stash of cash that I knew would give me extra spending capacity. I was putting into practice an early lesson in economics.

It was also an early lesson in geography: it took more time that day to get there than it takes me to get to many parts of the world today. The lengthy train journey to Faranfore was followed by a tortuous bus journey in the rain along the Ring Kerry. When I arrived I found I could not understand the local people. They thought my poor attempts to pronounce Irish were risible, and when I realised the threat of being sent home carried no punch and reverted to my own first language they thought I was English. I did not understand them either, and did not know the difference when they were speaking English or Irish.

I can still name seven or eight of the teenage boys of my own age group who squeezed into the Sugrue farmhouse in Dungeagan for those few weeks. I was the only one who lived in Dublin at that time, most of them came from Cork. Two (Dick and Tom) were my first cousins; two more (Mattie and Jerry) were from the village my mother grew up in; and for a few years after I kept in touch with two brothers (Terry and Brian) from Cork, and with Donal from Nenagh who also stayed in the house during those four weeks.

In the mornings, we had classes in Irish in a wooden-built schoolroom that was partitioned into two classrooms. Much of the work was on grammar and vocabulary. Of course, every essay could truthfully open, without fear of being clichéd, with those two well-spun sentences: Lá brea samhraidh a bhí ann. Bhí an ghrian ag taitneamh go hard sa spear. I imagine the teachers thought they were introducing some lighter moments to those boring mornings when they tried to introduce us to poetry and songs.

In the afternoons, there were walks to a long sandy beach or out above the bay, and the blessings of hindsight have turned each and every day into one filled with summer sunshine. I never learned to swim that summer, but there were impromptu football matches, and lengthy discussions that boys of that age revelled in – on politics, sport, literature and the pop culture of the time.

There was a smaller, stony, rocky beach nearer Dungeagan, where we were not supposed to venture, but it was a popular venue for smoking and for secret meetings between boy and girl.

As teenage boys in groups on the longer sandy beach, we thought we were talking about sex, although we knew nothing about it. We were probably not even being risqué, and although this was the summer before the ‘Summer of Love’ (1967), it was the summer after the ‘Bishop and the Nightie’ storm created by the Late, Late Show.

It was the summer the Beatles were topping the charts with ‘Yellow Submarine’ and ‘Eleanor Rigby,’ and with ‘Paperback Writer,’ it was the year Simon and Garfunkell were listening to the ‘Sound of Silence’ and would soon invite us to ‘Scarborough Fair.’ It seems now that on the walks back from the beach every afternoon we sang ‘Sunny Afternoon’ by the Kinks. I remember dressing most days in black roll-neck sweaters and blue jeans, and I imagined myself on marches against the bomb and the Vietnam War.

Culturally, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and the Kinks were far more important than the Irish songs our teachers tried to impart at the ceili dances in the evenings. Those dances had names that were strange and inexplicable – the Walls of Limerick, the Siege of Ennis … -- but we boys put up with them because they provided opportunities for close encounters with girls of our own age. The boy from west Cork who could play Wooden Heart on his tin whistle never got to do a star turn at a ceili … I wonder whether he grow up to do Elvis impersonations?

There were rambling stories from the seanachai, Seán Mhártain Uí Shúilleabháin, sometimes in the morning classes, and sometimes too at the ceili dances in the evening. Most of his stories were very long and I doubt whether any of us understood them, no matter how long we listened, or how many times they were repeated.

By that age I was already a precocious reader. I remember reading The Diary of Anne Frank on the sand dunes while others were swimming. If we were not supposed to speak in English, then I suppose we were not to read in English either. But I also remember reading Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited, George Orwell’s Animal Farm, Dylan Thomas’s Under Milk Wood and travel books by Wilfred Thesiger.

By then I was also reading newspapers every day. The Irish Times was not available in places like this at that time, but with my accumulated paper-round earnings I could afford The Irish Press every day. My uncle and foster-father worked there on the News Desk, and The Irish Press was on the cusp of a revolution in Irish journalism, attracting new writers and creative journalists.

It was the summer when a U-2 plane disappeared over Cuba. The Vietnam War was at its height, the Civil Rights movement and its marches were spreading across the US, John Lennon had to apologise for remarks about Jesus and popularity, the Cultural Revolution was launched in China with Red Guards waving Mao’s Little Red Book, and Mao swam across the Yangtze River.

There were times too when we did nothing more than just hang around. There were three shops in the village, but we seemed to prefer John Jo’s shop, sitting on biscuit boxes, sipping coke, wondering about the goings-on in the back bar, and being entertained by his fascination with Jean Shrimpton, the ‘Face of the ’60s.’ If I never learned to swim that year, I never learned to smoke either.

We got away from it all one day with a bus trip and a ferry crossing to Knightstown on Valentia Island. I had no interest in Gaelic football, but I remember some of the group becoming excited as they realised they had seen the Kerry footballer Mick O’Connell. Curiously, we then sang what were then called ‘rugby songs’ in the back seats of the bus all the way back to Ballinskelligs.

I was slowly developing an interest in rugby, aided by the infectious interest in rugby by two brothers from Limerick. But I had been brought up on a diet of English boys’ comics and football magazines.

My cousins persuaded the nuns in a nearby holiday convent that their mother knew some of them, or went to school with one of them. The accuracy of the story mattered little. The convent had one of the few televisions in Ballinskelligs, and the nuns let us in one Saturday afternoon, and they fed us with biscuits and orange juice as we watched the World Cup Final in Wembley.

It was Saturday 30 July 1966 and England beat Germany 4-2 after extra time. It is still England’s only World Cup trophy, and I still remember Geoff Hurst’s hat-trick – the first one ever in a World Cup Final – and that controversial third goal.

I was the only boy in the group cheering for England. I am perplexed then, and still am to this day, when Irish fans can cheer any side but England. But it was 1966, and the fiftieth anniversary of 1916. The songs in the charts in Ireland that summer included ‘The Sea Around Us’ by the Ludlows (‘Thank God we’re surrounded by water’) and ‘Black and Tan Gun’ by the Johnny Flynn Showband (‘It was down in the town of old Bantry ...’). Dermot O’Brien was soon to have a hit with ‘The Merry Ploughboy’ (‘We’re off to Dublin in the Green’).

I thought I had found my first girlfriend. But she did not think so. I imagined I was heartbroken, but that feeling was dissipated when my foster parents decided to take me back to my grandmother’s farm near Cappoquin, Co Waterford, for a few days. I was back among the people I loved and who loved me before I went back to school that September.

When we were asked later ‘Did you learn much Irish in the Gaeltacht?’ we all thought it was witty to reply: ‘No, but I learned a lot of French … kissing.’ But did those four weeks in Ballinskelligs improve my Irish?

I must have learned something. At the end of the four weeks, I came away with the fáinne airgid or silver ring awarded to speakers with a basic working knowledge of the Irish language. I received a pass mark on a pass paper in the ‘Inter Cert’ a year later and did the same at the ‘Leaving Cert’ in 1969.

After the ‘Leaving Cert’ I returned to Ballinskelligs once, and stayed a night in a tent pitched in a field beside the Sugrue family’s farmhouse. I have been back to Kerry many times since, as recently as two months ago [28 May 2016], but I have not been back to Ballinskellings … yet.

Next Saturday [30 July 2016] is the fiftieth anniversary of that World Cup final between England and Germany. Memories like this seem to be embedded in everyone’s mind. But did my stay in Ballinskelligs leave me with an interest in Irish?

I never use the language, partly because of the impression that the Irish language was already being hijacked in 1966 for political purposes by people who used it as a cultural brand in a way that I knew excluded me. I can still understand the news in Irish on television, but have greater difficulty when it comes to the news on the radio. Like sand on the beach, my memories of the Irish language have been washed away by the tides of time.

I still know just enough Irish to grind my teeth every time I hear Gerry Adams trying to speak it. Part of my cultural heritage was robbed from me at a time when I did not know how to offer any resistance.

My memories of the Irish language have been washed away by the tides of time (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2016)

Finding our treasure in heaven so we can go and follow Jesus

Kerry Crescent in Calne, Wiltshire, recalls a FitzMaurice family title and a story told by Charles Gore (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

The Church of Ireland Theological Institute,

Wednesday 14 October 2015,

5 p.m., The Community Eucharist,

Readings, Collect and Post-Communion of the 19th Sunday after Trinity:

Job 23: 1-9, 16-17; Psalm 22: 1-15; Hebrews 4: 12-16; Mark 10: 17-31.

May I speak to you in name of + the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

Bishop Charles Gore was the son of Irish-born parents. His statue stands at the west entrance of Saint Philip’s Cathedral, Birmingham (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Calne is a small town in the middle of the of the Wiltshire countryside where the street names include Shelburne Road and Kerry Crescent.

I was wondering about the Irish connections with this West Country town when I heard a story about Charles Gore (1853-1932), one of the great, almost formidable, theologians at the turn of the 19th century and 20th centuries. He was the editor of Lux Mundi (1881), an influential collection of essays; the founder of the Community of the Resurrection (1892); and the first Bishop of Birmingham (1905).

Gore was also from a well-known Irish family; his brother was born in Dublin Castle and his father was born in the Vice-Regal Lodge, now Arás and Uachtarain.

But formidable theologians are also allowed to play pranks on the unsuspecting. And it is told that when he was a canon of Westminster Abbey Charles Gore loved to play a particular prank on friends and acquaintances.

He would enjoy showing visitors to the abbey the tomb in Saint Andrew’s Chapel of one of his collateral ancestors, the 3rd Earl of Kerry, with an inscription that ends with the words, highlighted in black letters and in double quotation marks: “hang all the law and the prophets.”

On closer inspection, he would point out, these words are preceded by the words declaring he was “ever studious to fulfil those two great commandments on which he had been taught by his divine Master ...” “…hang all the law and the prophets.”

Francis Thomas FitzMaurice (1740-1818) was a rich young man. He was born in Dublin in 1740, and was a child of only seven when his father died and he inherited the family title as the 3rd Earl of Kerry and vast estates, including 20,000 acres in Lixnaw, Co Kerry.

He was grief-stricken when his wife, Anastasia Daly from Galway, died in 1799. A widowed and a sad man, he sold all that he had, including innumerable houses and fields, and gave to the poor. He spent the rest of his days in London, and when he died in 1818 he was buried with his wife in Saint Andrew’s Chapel, Westminster Abbey. His family’s connections with Lixnaw, dating back to the 13th century, came to an end.

He was has left without house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields. His titles and any remaining estates were inherited by a cousin, the Home Secretary, Henry Petty-FitzMaurice (1780-1863), 3rd Lord Lansdowne, the son of the Dublin-born British Prime Minister who gives his name to places in Dublin such as Lansdowne Road and Shelburne Road.

This grief-stricken rich young man had not sought high political office, praise or acclamation. But he found something else, for that monument in Westminster Abbey says: “Piety to God, and benevolence to man were the principles which occupied his thoughts and directed his life. Actuated by a lively sense of religion, he enjoyed that serenity of mind and cheerfulness of temper by which Christianity is so peculiarly distinguished.”

The FitzMaurice arms, recalling the Kerry and Lansdowne families, decorate the Lansdowne Strand Hotel in Calne, Wiltshire (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

The rich young man who comes to Christ at the beginning of our Gospel reading this evening may lack nothing, has perhaps inherited a vast amount in his youth, but now he wants to inherit eternal life.

He wants eternal life, he says, but he fails to realise he has met the living God face-to-face, and he turns away.

This rich young man keeps all the commandments that are about loving my neighbour. When a similar episode occurs involving a scribe or a lawyer, the commandments are summarised in the two great commandments, about loving God and loving our neighbour referred to on Lord Kerry’s tomb in Westminster Abbey (Matthew 22: 34-40; Mark 12: 28-34; Luke 10: 25-28).

However, when this young lawyer tests Christ, we get a very different set of references to the commandments. And when the real challenge is put to him, he may as well have answered: “Hang all the law and the prophets.”

Christ has set out on the journey, on the way to Jerusalem, and Saint Mark’s Gospel is a challenge to follow him on that way, the way to the Cross, the way of discipleship.

As the journey begins, this rich young man runs up to Christ and bows down before him – kneels before him, almost like an act of adoration – and asks what he must do. But the rich young man is not willing to follow Christ on that way.

This is a sad story of a “failed vocation,” the only example we have of a potential disciple who comes on his own initiative and not at the call of Christ.

Did you seek your vocation or were you called? Truth to tell, it was probably a mixture of both for you.

But if you rush to Jesus, knell down before him and ask what you should do, do not be shocked or dismayed by the demands he can make on you.

This rich young man would follow Jesus. This man would knell down before Jesus. This man, when he hears a select listing of commandments from Jesus, thinks he is doing it all. Perhaps, like James and John in next Sunday’s Gospel reading (Mark 10: 35-45), he even thinks at the back of his mind: “I’m such a good catch, Jesus should be happy to have me as one of his disciples. After all look, at how generous I am: I don’t murder, I don’t commit adultery, I don’t steal, I don’t bear false witness, I don’t defraud, I honour my parents” (verse 19-20).

But it is an interesting selection from the Ten Commandments. Did you notice, in this Gospel reading, which ones are missing?

This list is the list traditionally placed on the second tablet, the six commandments about our relationships with one another, the ones that depend on loving our neighbour.

But what about the ones on the first tablet, the four that concern loving God? The ones about the Sabbath Day, the Lord’s name, idols, and recognising God and no other gods?

He gets it right about those commandments that depend on – that hang on – the second great commandment, loving our neighbour. But he gets it wrong when it comes to those commandments that depend on – that hang on – the first great commandment, loving God.

He almost gets the point, he almost hits the mark. But missing the mark is missing the mark completely, is missing the mark full stop.

The image of a camel getting through the eye of a needle is absurd and funny for us today. Some commentators have tried to explain it by claiming the ‘Eye of the Needle’ was a gate in Jerusalem that opened after the main gate closed at night. A camel could only pass through this smaller gate if it had its bagged removed and stooped down on its knees.

Actually, the small gate in Jerusalem called the ‘Eye of a Needle’ is in the Russian Church in the Old City, and was built as late as the 16th century.

Yet still, this interpretation links shedding our load, getting rid of our old baggage, and meekly kneeling upon our knees, even acknowledging Christ as Lord, with entrance into the heavenly city, the kingdom of God.

This rich young man kneels before the Lord, but he cannot get rid of his old baggage so that he can work out his relationship with God. Christ is a “Good Teacher” for him (verse 17), but is just not good enough for him. No matter how he turns, where he turns, he does not realise he has come face-to-face with the living God, and he does not love him enough to follow him.

This is a story about priorities, and the young man who comes to Christ in this reading has chosen the priory of wealth, position and privilege, is not willing to pay what Dietrich Bonhoeffer later calls “the Cost of Discipleship.”

There is nothing wrong with power, privilege and position if we use them to serve our values. But we get it wrong when we put our values in second place to power, privilege and position. Christ gets to the heart of the matter, knowing immediately that the young man does not know the difference.

The young man’s claim is not proud. He shows an almost disarming keenness and even an endearing naivety (verse 20). He is shocked by “the Cost of Discipleship” and he turns away, shocked; he turns away from Christ. There is a choice to be made, and he chooses to turn away, and turning away is the very opposite to conversion (verse 22).

He finds, as it says in our epistle reading, that God’s word is like a two-edged sword, cutting through to the heart of the matter, laying bare the real intentions of our hearts (Hebrews 4: 12-13; see Revelation 1: 16). And in his choice to turn away he misses an opportunity of realising what it is to come face-to-face with the living God.

We get it wrong when we judge our successes against the images others project onto us rather than seeking to be shaped in the potential we have because we are made in the image and likeness of God.

Where do you turn to find the Living God? The opening chapter of the Letter to the Hebrews, which we heard here last Wednesday (Hebrews 1: 1-4; 2: 5-12), says Christ “is the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being, and he sustains all things by his powerful word …”

The King of Kings and Great High Priest ... an icon from Mount Athos on the wall of my study (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Saint Paul puts it more succinctly when he says Christ is “the image of God” (II Corinthians 4: 4; Colossians 1: 15); the Greek word he uses is εἰκών (eikón, icon).

I have a small collection of icons on the wall above my desk in my study upstairs. They represent different phases and aspects of my ministry. One is an icon from Mount Athos of Christ, the King of Kings and the Great High Priest, who I hope sets my pattern – who should set the pattern for each and every one of us – in ordained ministry.

We are told in the epistle reading: “Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens … let us … approach the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4: 14-16).

Christ comes into the world as the King of Kings and as the Great High Priest. But he comes not as the sort of king that we would expect a king to be, nor as a great high priest full of pomp and self-importance, not as a rich young man.

When you have been ordained as priests for a few years, when you have served your first curacy and come to move to your first or second parish as rector, you will be in danger of slipping into habits that you do not realise have been formed slowly and invisibly.

You will be the centre of attention. Nominators who want to attract you to their parish will tell you how wonderful and how talented you are; people will praise your sermons and how well you perform at Christmas and Easter, at baptisms, weddings and funerals.

You may delight in being at the centre of attention; your photographs will appear in the Church of Ireland Gazette beside bishops and in the local newspaper beside mayors and celebrities. You may be interviewed on television and write books that received critical acclaim.

And all in a very good cause, no doubt.

But once we are on a career path, we are in danger of forgetting that priesthood is not a professional option, we are in danger of forgetting the first reasons why we started to explore the idea of ordained ministry, why we first set out on the way of discipleship with Christ.

It was in humbling himself as a servant that Christ truly became the role model for all in ordained ministry.

This story of the rich man carries three warnings:

1, As Christ points out, we should be aware of the gap between aspirations and reality as we work out our vocations. In a very penetrating and discerning way, like a sharp, two-edged sword, Christ’s words show the man that he is not really as “Gospel hungry” as his initial words and actions seem to show.

2, It is a warning against the hindrance of riches, which come in a variety of tempting ways, and not just the temptation of money.

3, It is a warning that our vocations can get side-lined and can be betrayed by other priorities, not just the trappings of wealth, but also of power, promotion, priestly privilege, and even the feeling that I am so good that everyone should want me.

Model yourself on Christ, and Christ then will not be hidden from you. When you go forward, he will be there, when you go backward, you will perceive him; you will find him on your left side and on your right (see Job 23: 8-9).

And so may all we think, say and do be to the praise, honour and glory of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

Collect:

O God,
without you we are not able to please you;
Mercifully grant that your Holy Spirit
may in all things direct and rule our hearts;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Post Communion Prayer:

Holy and blessed God,
you feed us with the body and blood of your Son
and fill us with your Holy Spirit.
May we honour you,
not only with our lips but in lives dedicated
to the service of Jesus Christ our Lord.

Mark 10: 17-31

17 Καὶ ἐκπορευομένου αὐτοῦ εἰς ὁδὸν προσδραμὼν εἷς καὶ γονυπετήσας αὐτὸν ἐπηρώτα αὐτόν, Διδάσκαλε ἀγαθέ, τί ποιήσω ἵνα ζωὴν αἰώνιον κληρονομήσω; 18 ὁ δὲ Ἰησοῦς εἶπεν αὐτῷ, Τί με λέγεις ἀγαθόν; οὐδεὶς ἀγαθὸς εἰ μὴ εἷς ὁ θεός. 19 τὰς ἐντολὰς οἶδας: Μὴ φονεύσῃς, Μὴ μοιχεύσῃς, Μὴ κλέψῃς, Μὴ ψευδομαρτυρήσῃς, Μὴ ἀποστερήσῃς, Τίμα τὸνπατέρα σου καὶ τὴν μητέρα. 20 ὁ δὲ ἔφη αὐτῷ, Διδάσκαλε, ταῦτα πάντα ἐφυλαξάμην ἐκ νεότητός μου. 21 ὁ δὲ Ἰησοῦς ἐμβλέψας αὐτῷ ἠγάπησεν αὐτὸν καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῷ, Εν σε ὑστερεῖ: ὕπαγε ὅσα ἔχεις πώλησον καὶ δὸς [τοῖς] πτωχοῖς, καὶ ἕξεις θησαυρὸν ἐν οὐρανῷ, καὶ δεῦρο ἀκολούθει μοι. 22 ὁ δὲ στυγνάσας ἐπὶ τῷ λόγῳ ἀπῆλθεν λυπούμενος, ἦν γὰρ ἔχων κτήματα πολλά.

23 Καὶ περιβλεψάμενος ὁ Ἰησοῦς λέγει τοῖς μαθηταῖς αὐτοῦ, Πῶς δυσκόλως οἱ τὰ χρήματα ἔχοντες εἰς τὴν βασιλείαν τοῦ θεοῦ εἰσελεύσονται. 24 οἱ δὲ μαθηταὶ ἐθαμβοῦντο ἐπὶ τοῖς λόγοις αὐτοῦ. ὁ δὲ Ἰησοῦς πάλιν ἀποκριθεὶς λέγει αὐτοῖς, Τέκνα, πῶς δύσκολόν ἐστιν εἰς τὴν βασιλείαν τοῦ θεοῦ εἰσελθεῖν: 25 εὐκοπώτερόν ἐστιν κάμηλον διὰ [τῆς] τρυμαλιᾶς [τῆς] ῥαφίδος διελθεῖν ἢ πλούσιον εἰς τὴν βασιλείαν τοῦ θεοῦ εἰσελθεῖν. 26 οἱ δὲ περισσῶς ἐξεπλήσσοντο λέγοντες πρὸς ἑαυτούς, Καὶ τίς δύναται σωθῆναι; 27 ἐμβλέψας αὐτοῖς ὁ Ἰησοῦς λέγει, Παρὰ ἀνθρώποις ἀδύνατον ἀλλ' οὐ παρὰ θεῷ, πάντα γὰρ δυνατὰ παρὰ τῷ θεῷ.

28 Ἤρξατο λέγειν ὁ Πέτρος αὐτῷ, Ἰδοὺ ἡμεῖς ἀφήκαμεν πάντα καὶ ἠκολουθήκαμέν σοι. 29 ἔφη ὁ Ἰησοῦς, Ἀμὴν λέγω ὑμῖν, οὐδείς ἐστιν ὃς ἀφῆκεν οἰκίαν ἢ ἀδελφοὺς ἢ ἀδελφὰς ἢ μητέρα ἢ πατέρα ἢ τέκνα ἢ ἀγροὺς ἕνεκεν ἐμοῦ καὶ ἕνεκεν τοῦ εὐαγγελίου, 30 ἐὰν μὴ λάβῃ ἑκατονταπλασίονα νῦν ἐν τῷ καιρῷ τούτῳ οἰκίας καὶ ἀδελφοὺς καὶ ἀδελφὰς καὶ μητέρας καὶ τέκνα καὶ ἀγροὺς μετὰ διωγμῶν, καὶ ἐν τῷ αἰῶνι τῷ ἐρχομένῳ ζωὴν αἰώνιον. 31 πολλοὶ δὲ ἔσονται πρῶτοι ἔσχατοι καὶ [οἱ] ἔσχατοι πρῶτοι.

Mark 10: 17-31 (NRSV):

17 As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, ‘Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ 18 Jesus said to him, ‘Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. 19 You know the commandments: “You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honour your father and mother”.’ 20 He said to him, ‘Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.’ 21 Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, ‘You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’ 22 When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

23 Then Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, ‘How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!’ 24 And the disciples were perplexed at these words. But Jesus said to them again, ‘Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! 25 It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.’ 26 They were greatly astounded and said to one another, ‘Then who can be saved?’ 27 Jesus looked at them and said, ‘For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.’

28 Peter began to say to him, ‘Look, we have left everything and followed you.’ 29 Jesus said, ‘Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, 30 who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age – houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields, with persecutions – and in the age to come eternal life. 31 But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.’

(Revd Canon Professor) Patrick Comerford is Lecturer in Anglicanism, Liturgy and Church History, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute. This sermon was preached at the Community Eucharist on 14 October 2015.

How could I forget the beauty of Killarney and its lakes?

The Lakes of Killarney can be credited with the beginnings of tourism in Ireland (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

Patrick Comerford

Shortly before Christmas, I spent a weekend in Killarney. A special offer in one of Killarney’s many hotels allowed me to spend three days researching and photographing some of the church buildings by the Gothic Revival architect, AWN Pugin, and his son, Edward, including Saint Mary’s Cathedral, the former Presentation Monastery, the Convent of Mercy and the Franciscan Friary.

It was thirty years since I had visited Killarney, and almost 40 years since I had stayed there. I had forgotten how beautiful it is. But how could I?

After all, Killarney is the very beginning of tourism in Ireland, thanks to the Browne family and visits by poets such as Tennyson and Wordsworth, writers such as Sir Walter Scott and Jane Austen, and a royal visit by Queen Victoria.

Much of what is now the Killarney National Park was owned by the Browne family and the Earls of Kenmare from the 17th century on. Successive generations in the members are to thank for the preservation and conservation of the national park and the development of the town.

The beginning of tourism

Thomas Browne (1726-1795), 4th Viscount Kenmare, was the first person to dream of making Killarney a tourist attraction and set this process in motion in 1754. He built walkways around Innisfallen Island and a house for visitors to dine in, encouraged boats to ply the waters for local tours, improved the infrastructure of the town and the local roads, providing greater accessibility, and in 1790 he built a coaching inn, now the Muckross Hotel.

By the beginning of the 19th century, Killarney was attracting visitors from royalty to writers, including Alfred Lord Tennyson and William Wordsworth, who were lured by the romance of Killarney’s scenery, and writers like Sir Walter Scott and Jane Austen, who eulogised Killarney and its lakes after their visits. Even the architect Pugin took a full day to himself on the Lakes of Killarney in 1845, drinking in the whole setting and dreaming about his vision for a new cathedral nearby.

Ladies’ View provides panoramic views across the Upper Lake and its islands (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

Dignitaries from around Europe soon followed, and a royal visit by Queen Victoria in 1861 was a crowning moment for Killarney. She stayed in Killarney for four days, and during that visit her royal party was entertained by the Earl of Kenmare and the Herbert family at Muckross House. Her entourage visited many of Killarney’s landmarks, with trips to Dinis Island, Torc Waterfall and a deer hunt in the grounds of Muckross Park.

To this day, many locations in Killarney retain their place-names from that visit, including Queen’s Road, leading up to Torc Waterfall, and Ladies’ View, a sight overlooking the lakes that was enjoyed by her ladies-in-waiting.

A warm parish welcome

Saint Mary’s Church stands on a church site that gives Killarney its name (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

On Sunday morning, I received a warm welcome from the Revd Sue Watterson and the parishioners of Saint Mary’s Church, Main Street, the Church of Ireland parish church in Killarney. The church, which was designed by Joseph Welland in the 1860s, stands on the site of the original Church of the Sloes, Cill Airne, which gives Killarney its name, and a church has stood on this site since the ninth century.

Holman Hunt’s ‘The Light of the World’ inspired a Victorian window in Saint Mary’s Church (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

The interior decoration is of the late Victorian period, with Victorian tiles, an organ dating from the 1870s, and stained glass windows that are very special, including one that reproduces The Light of the World, William Holman Hurt’s famous painting in Saint Paul’s Cathedral, London, and the chapel of Keble College, Oxford.

In the porch, a list of the Rectors of Killarney includes the Revd Arthur Hyde (1808), the great-grandfather of Douglas Hyde, the first President of Ireland. Across the street from Saint Mary’s Church, behind the Town Hall, is Saint Mary’s Well, a holy well whose waters were reputed to cure ills and ailments.

Saint Mary’s Well … now under lock and key but once a popular destination for pilgrims (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

A mythical diocese

Saint Mary’s Cathedral … Pugin’s design was inspired by Salisbury Cathedral (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

Although the Church of Ireland in Kerry is organised in the Diocese of Ardfert and Aghadoe, and local lore says Erca was appointed the first Bishop of Kerry by Saint Patrick, it appears that there never was a Diocese of Aghadoe, and there is no evidence that there was ever a cathedral in Aghadoe, near Killarney. The ruined church at Aghadoe, with its magnificent Irish-Romanesque doorway, probably dates from the late sixth century, and the Annals of Inisfallen record the death of Aedh Maol Patrick, Abbot of Aghadoe, in the year 939.

The diocese was organised in the 12th century, and it was known in the medieval Church by a variety of names, including West Munster. Although it eventually became the Diocese of of Ardfert and Aghadoe, the only cathedral appears to have been in Ardfert, and while Aghadoe had abbots it never had a resident bishop, and the stone church was blown down in a tempest in 1282.

Medieval bishops of the diocese included Bishop John (1217-1224), who acted at the same time as a suffragan to the Archbishop of Canterbury; and Bishop John Pigge (1461-1475), who became Archbishop of Beirut but ended his days as the Rector of Saint Christopher’s, Threadneedle Street, London.

At times, the diocese had two or three rival bishops: John Attilburgh (1405-1411) was appointed by the antipope Alexander V, while Nicholas FitzMaurice (1408-1450) was appointed by another antipope, John XXIII. Both John Stack (1458-1488) and John Pigge (1461-1475) were both appointed by a perhaps forgetful Pope Pius II, while a third claimant, Philip Stack (1473-1495), was appointed by both Pope Sixtus IV in 1473 and Pope Innocent VIII in 1488.

The spire of Pugin’s cathedral reflected in a window of the former Presentation Monastery, also designed by Pugin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

At the Reformation, Bishop James Fitzmaurice, a Cistercian who had been a papal nominee, was also recognised by the Crown. In 1661, the Church of Ireland Diocese of Ardfert and Aghadoe was united to Limerick. Later bishops included Nathaniel Wilson (1692-1695), who died in Dublin in 1695 of apoplexy, supposedly caused by a fall from his horse.

In 1952, the Roman Catholic Church changed the name of the diocese from Ardfert and Aghadoe to Kerry. Saint Mary’s Roman Catholic Cathedral, built between 1842 and 1855, is one of the most beautiful Gothic revival cathedrals in Europe. It was said to be Pugin’s favourite Irish church, and is one of his finest buildings in Ireland, despite recent alterations that have stirred controversy among architectural and church historians.

Driving around the lakes

The jarveys and their jaunting cars could be described as the trademark of Killarney (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

The jarveys and their jaunting cars – unusual side cars that could be described as the trademark of Killarney – have a halting stop close to Saint Mary’s Church. Many tourists are led to believe that a visit to Killarney is not complete without a trip on a jaunting car, exploring Killarney National Park or climbing up to Kate Kearney’s Cottage with only the clip clop of the horse’s hooves and the tall stories of a jarvey to break the silence.

However, two of us took a tour of the lakes in our own winter silence, driving out to Muckross, past Torc Waterfall to Ladies’ View and Moll’s Gap, into the Black Valley, through the Gap of Dunloe, and stopping for refreshment at Kate Kearney’s Cottage.

The Gap of Dunloe is long, rugged, ravine cutting deeply through Ireland’s highest mountains (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

Muckross House and gardens are at the heart of Killarney, with broad lawns sweeping down to the Middle Lake. The 19th century house, built by the Herbert family, and the demesne, extending to over 10,000 hectares, was given as a gift to the Irish nation in 1932. The estate takes its name – which means the “Rock of Music” – from Muckross Abbey, founded in 1440 by the Mac Carthy Mór family. Three celebrated Kerry poets are buried within the ruined walls of the abbey: Aogán O’Rahilly, Eoghan Rua O’Sullivan and Geoffrey O’Donoghue.

Torc Waterfall, south of Muckross House, is a 70 ft sheer drop of falling, foaming water that is part of the Owengarriff River, rising in the “Devil’s Punchbowl” at the top of Mangerton Mountain and feeds into the Middle Lake..

However, the winter weather did not entice us to walk up beside the waterfall. Instead we headed out the Kenmare road to Ladies’ View, with its panoramic vistas across the Upper Lake and its island and towards the MacGillycuddy’s Reeks and the Purple Mountain. These views charmed Queen Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting in 1861, and this is still a major stopping point for tourists who are presented with the Lakes of Killarney in their fullness and classical beauty.

A rainbow after a winter shower in the Black Valley (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

As we descended into the Black Valley in the winter rain, we were rewarded with the sight of a beautiful rainbow. We then climbed up to the southern entrance to the Gap of Dunloe, a rugged, 9 km long ravine that cuts deeply through Ireland’s highest mountains. A local guidebook prosaically describes this as “a place of massive boulders in grotesque array, over which foaming mountain torrents dash down with reckless valley.”

The legendary Kate Kearney sold strong drink (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

At the northern entrance to the ravine, we stopped briefly for refreshments at Kate Kearney’s Cottage, which is popular with walkers and cyclists, trekkers and climbers. Kate, who gave her name to the hostelry, supplied illegally distilled whiskey; it was so strong, it was said, it had to be tamed by seven measures of water before drinking.

Lady Morgan feted the original Kate in song, warning against the glance of her eye “modestly beaming” and how easy it was to be deceived by the “mischief she’s dreaming.” We are told it was impossible to “tell how fatal’s the spell that lurks in the eyes of Kate Kearney.”

From Kate Kearney’s Cottage it was a 15 km drive back, past mysterious Aghadoe, into Killarney.

Churches and laneways

The Convent of Mercy … a hidden Pugin gem in Killarney (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

Back in Killarney, we searched out some more Pugin buildings, including the former Presentation Monastery, the Convent of Mercy and the Franciscan Friary.

The Franciscan Friary and church were designed by Pugin’s son, Edward Welby Pugin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

We spent some time too exploring Killarney’s lanes, one of the finest features of the town. The Bridewell Lane, Green Lane, Pond Lane and Back Lane form a well-maintained and colourful complex off New Street, a hundred metres on the cathedral side of the Post Office. This is now the most fully lived-in traditional lane complex in Killarney.

Some of the lanes off High Street are still cobbled and Barry’s Lane has an archway framing the cathedral. Timmy Buckley, the tailor made famous in The Tailor and Ansty, learned his craft in Brewery Lane. Bower Lane formerly included the Methodist manse, where a future Lord Chief Justice of Australia, William Bourn Higgins, spent his early childhood. Another unexpected delight was discovering the Fern Garden on Mission Road, near the cathedral, celebrating the contribution of Killarney missionaries across the world.

Killarney’s laneways form a well-maintained and colourful complex (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

On the way back to Dublin, we stopped off to visit the picturesque village of Adare, where Pugin also worked on the medieval parish churches and on the redecoration of Adare Manor. But that’s another charming story for another day.

Patrick Comerford is Director of Spiritual Formation, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, and a canon of Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin. This essay was first published in the January 2011 editions of the Church Review (Dublin and Glendalough) and the Diocesan Magazine (Cashel and Ossory)