We are never alone

Newman's Church, Dublin

During a visit to the capital today, I grabbed a few moments to visit the lovely church on Clarendon Street (run by the Discalced Carmelites). I could not help noticing the beauty of this place, as is the case with most of Dublin's city-centre churches (among which I would include the Dominicans in Dominick Street, the Jesuits in Gardiner St, the Franciscans on Merchants Quay, the Capuchins in Church St, the Augustinians on Thomas Street, Newman's Church on St Stephen's Green (where I was baptised) and many more besides. Long may they remain open and accessible not only for the celebration of Mass each day but for at least a few hours each day when workers, residents, visitors and others can say a prayer, light a candle or just sit and absorb the atmosphere of the place. 

A thought occurred to me as I was dashing for the transport home – there are many things in our world and our little corner of it that we cannot change but we can change our own thinking and behaviour and, together, with others, make a difference. While we have the light of day let’s walk in the light and give thanks for the opportunities to take ‘time out’ in the presence of the One who is our Lord and Saviour (John 12:35).

The call I did not expect

St Andrew's Church, Westland Row, Dublin

On this day, Saturday 23 August 1980, I made the following entry in my diary:

It was a sunny, warm day. By mid-afternoon I left the meeting feeling very fed up and incapable of continuing on with this way of life. On my way home, by bicycle, I stopped in Westland Row to pray in Saint Andrew's RC Church. I simply went in, genuflected and knelt down and started to pray as I looked towards the tabernacle. I did not stay very long.

The entry is significant because for 7 years prior to that date I had lived as a self-proclaimed atheist.  I had stopped religious practice in the Autumn of 1973. This was a rather unusual step in so far as most people of my age-group maintained some degree of outward religious practice even if not that frequent. 

There is, perhaps, a germ of personal hope in recounting this personal story because it seems to me that the widely adopted option of disowning belief (or simply declaring ‘I am not religious’) which seems to more or less the norm nowadays among millennials or Gen Z persons may not be sustainable in the very long-run. What I am trying to say here, in plain English is that:

Hitting rock bottom and meeting the risen Christ in the Eucharist

The venerable, Matt Talbot (1856-1925) came to be known as a holy man after his death in 1925.  (My late mother told me that she remembered, as a child, when her father read out a piece from the daily newspaper that a man had been found dead in a laneway in Dublin with chains on his body).

Matt transitioned from severe alcoholism at a very young age to living a holy life entirely devoted to prayer, daily Mass, long hours before the Blessed Sacrament, frequent confession and work. He admitted that from the time of his early teens to his late twenties, each day revolved around thoughts of how to obtain alcohol.

One account of his turning point at the rock bottom of his life at the age of 28 is as follows (The Eucharistic Devotion of Venerable Matt Talbot):

As Matt lay there, he had hit rock bottom. As he turned to God, he begged for the grace to overcome his addiction. As the faithful began to arrive for the early morning Mass, they were disgusted to see a drunk lying on the church doorsteps. What they did not realize was the miracle of grace taking place.

Adoration at the heart of the city

My home city, Dublin, has been blessed with the presence of the Congregation of the BlessedSacrament since 1970. A modest chapel opened that year on D'Olier Street before moving, in 1995, to Bachelor's Walk, where it remains today.

Many hundreds of people pass through its doors each day - some to pause for a prayer before the exposed Blessed Sacrament, others to attend one of the daily Masses or celebrate the sacrament of reconciliation or, perhaps, seek spiritual help as I did from 1981 for a time. People come from every walk of life, representing a wide range of ages, backgrounds and circumstances. The visible signs of homelessness, addiction and mental health struggles that mark the streets of the city are not absent from this oasis of peace. Equally noticeable is the growing number of visitors from other continents, many of whom appear younger than those typically found in many parish congregations.