Will the Year of Prayer for Vocations solve Ireland’s priesthood crisis? Don’t hold your breath, says Father Michael Collins.
I rather felt my age the other day. Not because I had just celebrated my birthday, but because I had to have a document signed by a policeman. I was quite surprised to learn how young he was, not long into his 20s, and fully fledged.
It struck me that, unless on a trip to Rome, I rarely come across young priests nowadays. When I graduated from Holy Cross College, the seminary for Dublin, in 1985, about a dozen priests were ordained each year. Today the seminary is closed, the buildings sold and the present Archbishop of Dublin is resigned to the fact that he will not ordain a priest for the diocese prior to his retirement in seven or eight year’s time. While the search for vocations to the priesthood continues, the results are disheartening.
On 30 April, Good Shepherd Sunday, the Irish bishops launched a Year of Prayer for Vocations to the Diocesan Priesthood. The year-long awareness campaign was launched by Archbishop Rino Fisichella, Pro-Prefect for the Dicastery for Evangelisation, at St Patrick’s Seminary, Maynooth. The national seminary, built in 1795, housed 500 seminarians in its heyday. Today, there are just 20 diocesan seminarians in formation for the entire island of Ireland. The regional seminaries closed decades ago. The glory days are far behind us.
Christianity arrived in Ireland in the 5th century and grew quickly to dominate the country. Following the Reformation in the 16th century, Christianity was split into Catholicism, comprising the vast majority of the population, and Protestantism. The divide was as much political as it was sectarian.
There are a variety of reasons for the collapse in vocations to the priesthood in Ireland. In the late 1990s, scandals about the sexual abuse of children came into the public domain. Television broadcast documentaries about the depth and spread of the abuse of children by clerics. The documentaries showed that many religious-run institutions, such as schools, orphanages and reformatories, were centres of sexual abuse and physical torture.
The government immediately intervened, commissioning a series of state inquiries which, when published, shocked the nation. Pope Benedict XVI wrote a letter in 2010 addressing the issue, and in July the following year, the Irish Taoiseach, or prime minister, delivered a devastating attack in parliament on the reaction of the Irish bishops and the Holy See to the abuse of children by clergy and religious. The speech, widely applauded across the country, signalled the end of decades-long mutual accommodation between Church and state. The government, however, did not escape criticism and responded in 2014 by setting up a state-funded agency, Tusla, to protect children and families.
The reports the Taoiseach referred to showed that hundreds of priests and brothers and sisters had abused thousands of children for decades and that the ecclesiastical authorities, mostly bishops, had been clearly aware of the abuse. Victims of child abuse found eloquent advocates in people such as Colm O’Gorman, who was abused by a priest, and Marie Collins, whose dignified witness shamed the bishops in to action. Each set up charities to support victims of abuse, both within religious institutions and society at large.
One of the results of the revelations of clerical sexual abuse was the mistrust of the clergy in general. While most people understood that not all could be “tarred with the one brush”, the role of priests plummeted in public perception. The pedestal which many had lived on crumbled beneath their feet. Priests themselves became wary of working with young people and many withdrew from school chaplaincies or any work with young people.
While dioceses and religious orders were being investigated by civil authorities, another phenomenon was being exposed in the media. Since the 19th century, various orders of religious sisters had run orphanages and laundries where expectant mothers, almost invariably unmarried, were housed in spartan conditions. Most were forced to part with their children for whom adoption was arranged, often abroad. These women were referred to contemptuously as “fallen”. Invariably, the men who had got the women pregnant walked free of responsibility.
Against this backdrop, what are we to make of the Irish bishops’ recent launch of a Year for Vocations to the Diocesan Priesthood, which began on 30 April? Will any young men be inspired to join a priesthood which has had such a traumatic past?
In a certain sense, the present parish system is a victim of its own success. Irish Catholics experienced severe persecution at the hands of English overlords between the 17th to 19th centuries. Following Catholic Emancipation in 1829, a series of robust clerics emerged, intent on restoring the prestige of the Church. The most notable was Paul Cardinal Cullen, who had spent many years as rector of the Pontifical Irish College in Rome before his return to Ireland as Archbishop of Armagh in 1849. Cullen was more Roman than Irish, having lived in Italy from the age of 17. He was transferred to Dublin in 1852 where over the next three decades he founded parishes, schools, a seminary, hospitals, hospices and oversaw the emergence of a Catholic middle-class. Ireland had so many vocations to the priesthood that it was able to export large numbers to other English-speaking countries.
But change arrived in the 1970s. Ireland was exposed to ideas from abroad. Contraception contributed to the reduction in the size of Irish families. Education improved and at the turn of the 21st century, Ireland’s prosperity had greatly increased. The call to priesthood seemed less attractive than in years gone by.
So, what does the future hold in store for the Church in Ireland, having undergone various vicissitudes, mostly self-inflicted? In the 2011 government census, 83 per cent of Ireland’s population of 5 million identified as Catholic. The census of this year revealed that the figure had dropped to 69 per cent.
A fraction of that number attends church regularly although a significant proportion are baptised, receive First Holy Communion and are confirmed. Many Catholics are happy to come to church a few times a year. For decades, parishes ran schools and received government grants. The Church is gradually divesting itself of some schools to allow for the increasing diversity within Irish society.
That diversity is found in the heart of Irish Catholics too. In recent years, abortion has been legalised and same-sex marriages recognised through referenda. Whatever their personal beliefs, a large number of Irish Catholics do not wish to impose their Church’s teaching on their fellow citizens. Yet paradoxically, a large percentage appear to be happy for the Church to remain in public life.
The number of couples which marry in civil ceremonies is rapidly increasing, as is the number humanist funerals. Baptisms are replaced by “naming ceremonies”, First Holy Communions are replaced by “stepping-stones ceremonies” and Confirmations are replaced by “coming of age” events, all accompanied by parties and presents.
Yet a significant number of Catholics require the dwindling number of ageing clergy to be available for the Sacraments, in particular for marriage and funeral Masses. Bishops merge parishes and many clergy are still trying to assist in parishes in their 80s, regardless of their mental or physical capabilities.
The diaconate, restored by the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s, had a slow start in Ireland, not taking off until 2012. Today there are about 100 deacons contributing to the sacramental life of parishes. This is still the beginning, and both deacons and priests are searching to understand how to best work together. There is interest in expanding women’s ministry, a subject for which Pope Francis has established two pontifical commissions.
Parish members are also playing their part, preparing people for baptisms, conducting parish liturgies and assisting with funerals. It is becoming increasingly common for a member of the parish pastoral team to lead to prayers of committal at the graveside and crematorium. Pastoral councils are taking responsibility for the parish, especially in places where there is no longer a resident priest. The large influx of migrants into Ireland has also brought new life to some parishes. While Ireland exported priests for generations, now it welcomes clergy, notably from Africa. Most are pursuing studies and can only help part-time in parishes. They bring a fresh approach to Catholicism in the parishes they serve.
Cardinal Cullen romanised the Catholic Church in Ireland as it emerged from three centuries of persecution. Nuns in starched wimples and knee-length veils suddenly appeared, imported from the continent. Sandalled friars with knotted cords around their waists, priests in silk sashes, monsignori with purple pom-poms on their birettas and burgundy velvet-caped canons must have made a colourful sight in the drab days of black-and-white Victorian Ireland. It was a time of celebration and pride. Catholics had suffered but stood firm. They deserved a reward. But one-and-a-half century’s later, Cullen’s structure is neither possible or appropriate. Irish parishes have joined Pope Francis’ synodal way, which has opened dialogue on a number of contemporary issues. But as that synodal path is so vague, people do not know what to expect.
Parishioners are generally pragmatic and adapt to change more easily than the clergy. The dearth of clergy has opened up many opportunities for people in their parish communities and more will undoubtedly come. How the Irish bishops’ initiative works remains to be seen. As St John Henry Newman wrote in 1845: “To live is to change, and to be perfect is to have changed often.”
Father Michael Collins is a priest and author; he lives in Dublin.
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