Demons Among Friends
by Kevyn Pieters
Chapter 3: Crisis
The next few days were busy as Peter and Padraig O'Kelly considered the detailed arrangements for acquiring a minibus: which vehicle would suit the parish best, whether to lease or purchase outright, whether to go for a new or a used one, insurance arrangements, licensing arrangements, training for drivers and helpers, and whether and how they would allow and charge for use by others, such as the school, or youth groups. Ambrose was helpful in advising on the statutory requirements and obtaining guidance notes for voluntary groups in the use of vehicles. As a necessary courtesy, Peter consulted Fr Mac on their final decisions and arrangements. He was surprisingly neutral.
A week or so after Fr Donovan's visit, Peter was able to announce the minibus project at the end of Sunday Mass.
"Before I give the blessing, there is an announcement I need to make. It's good news, one I have been hoping to make for some time. In a couple of weeks or so, we shall be taking delivery of a 14-seater minibus complete with a wheelchair hoist. We will be using this to bring people to Sunday morning Mass who otherwise can't get here. I have a rough idea of who would like to be picked up, but now I need definite information. I'll be asking when I make house calls next week and the week after. But if there is someone who you think might need to be included, please let me know the details. We have to work out how many trips we need to make and routes and times.
"Also, it has been suggested that the journey back should be delayed to allow for time in the village, lunch for example. If you have a view on that, then let me know. There is a notice in the porch for you to complete. If you remember someone after you have left, phone me or leave a message. Padraig O'Kelly has kindly agreed to drive the minibus initially, but we will need to build up a list of drivers and helpers and get them trained and licensed. The parish will bear the cost of this. If you are interested in helping, please put your name and address on the list in the porch, and I'll contact you. This should make a real difference to our community and I'm very excited about it. In the fullness of time, we should be able to use the minibus for other purposes, too.
"Actually, I have a second announcement as well! There is going to be a youth music group to help with the liturgy on some Sundays (not all). The idea is that those who volunteer can borrow an instrument from the church and the parish will organise (and pay for) some tuition. I'm talking about guitars, flutes, clarinets, strings, and so on. We won't be starting this in earnest until the school term restarts in the autumn, but I'd like to know who's interested. We'll need players and singers, organisers and tutors. There will probably be weekly practice and tuition sessions. The Masses will probably be monthly in the early stages. I would like the group to be ready for Christmas. So, please let me know if you'd be interested and what instrument, etc. If you already have an instrument, then that's fine. There's still the tuition on offer. I shall be sending for my guitar from England! I'm excited about this project, too.
"Neither of these initiatives would be possible without serious financial backing. For that we must thank our parish priest, Fr MacAnally, who has been very helpful with money and wise advice."
Peter looked at Kathleen as he said the last part. He hoped that this acknowledgement, something of an exaggeration, would get back to Fr Mac and that the gesture might ease the friction between them.
- - - 888 - - -
At last having the financial resources to move his pastoral work forward and to meet some of the many needs that he saw all around the parish had lifted Peter's spirits enormously. And not having to choose between eating and putting fuel in his car had helped. Paradoxically, he felt the priestly obligation to live simply all the more keenly now; previously he had not had the choice. But at least now he could afford to pay his way and return drinks on his infrequent visits to Fitzgeralds, and to take a bottle of wine, flowers or other gifts when he was invited to meals or parties. He was even thinking of holding a supper party at his house, which the parish now owned once more, courtesy of Fr MacAnally. Brian Quigley had discreetly thanked him for pressing Fr Mac into the purchase and leaving him with a parcel of land. He seemed to think that this was all Peter's behind-the-scenes way of helping him rebuild his fortunes after the 'Wah Dong' disaster, so firmly did he see Peter on the side of the angels. Fr Mac obviously had not disillusioned him. A new telephone answering machine and mobile phone had made it easier for people to contact him or to leave messages. But they also made it more difficult for him to keep Fr Mac out of his hair.
Even Fr Mac could not deny the response of the parish to Peter's initiatives. The awareness of the church doing more for parishioners seemed to have fed into a generally greater engagement with church activities. The most obvious sign was the greater attendance at Sunday and weekday Masses, and not just by the dozen or so people brought in by minibus. A very measurable sign was the significantly greater generosity people showed in their financial contributions. This alone gave Fr Mac pause because it was distinctly counter to the trend in his other churches in the Cilldargan parish. As Peter became better known informally through his visits to peoples homes, individuals became less inhibited about making suggestions or offering supportive feedback. As a result, Peter had introduced a requests-for-visits box, a suggestions box, a Mass intentions box, an Intercessions Book in which anyone could write a matter of concern or a request for prayers and a weekly Mass for these intentions, an open confessions session when he would sit on the sanctuary instead of in the box at the back of church, and more besides. None of these was particularly novel; Peter had been familiar with them in his former parish in Manchester. But, in a village that would be shocked by 'round teabags' as Siobhan Mehigan had once put it, Peter found such initiatives from the laity a pleasant surprise and a great encouragement.
Fr Jim Doolan, of Catholic Youth Care, had been as good as his word. Peter had been invited to a few meetings and events to familarise him with the organisation and to meet some of the youth workers. There was a definite promise of a summer event in Ballykissangel next year. He had even repeated his talk on Responsible Relationships at a CYC event. Actually, it had not been quite the same talk; with some help from a CYC youth worker and some CYC literature and 35mm slides, he had been able to revise and expand it, adding a little humour and placing a little more emphasis on commitment. It had been well received.
One surprise had been the generally thoughtful questions and discussion that had followed. A question that had completely thrown him, however, came from one of the CYC staff: she had asked whether he was speaking from experience and whether he had followed his own advice.
The momentary agony he felt as a torrent of thoughts and memories flooded his head must have shown on his face because the room went suddenly silent. "Yes, and yes," was the answer he gave in an unsteady voice. Fr Jim came to his rescue with a joke and the discussion session continued. After the meeting, Peter saw Fr Jim take the CYC staffer aside for a stern talking to. She came to him later with a graceless apology. But he accepted it and thanked her for her concern, adding, "I hope you're not as brutal with everyone's feelings." Fr Jim had apologised, too. Peter made light of it: "It was a fair question, really. Just that I hadn't expected it."
But the workload was something else. His diary was full with his expanded duties in Ballykissangel and the CYC events that he was now attending. Preparation for the various sermons and talks, organising the rotas for visiting and the minibus, and planning for the youth music group took a lot of his time as well. Fr Mac could not realistically criticise Peter's work, knowing as he did that Peter had strong support in the parish and the encouragement of the diocesan curia. However, he could make life difficult. And he did. It was obvious to Peter what Fr Mac was doing, loading him up with duties in Cilldargan or at the other churches. What Peter found particularly disruptive were the myriad last minute additions and alterations. But he was determined to cope. He was almost able, but not quite, to resist being provoked by Fr Mac's dismissive comments and making light of Peter's efforts. These always left him seething.
Eventually, the inevitable happened. Fr Mac had left a message for Peter to make an urgent deathbed house call as he was out to dinner and 'couldn't' take it himself. When Peter picked up the message, he was at a CYC meeting with the bishop in Wicklow. The bishop was distinctly unimpressed with Fr Mac's having set his dinner at a higher priority than a sick call. But that did not help Peter. He cut short his time at the meeting, but on the way back his car broke down, and in a mobile-phone dead spot, too.
It was midnight by the time he got back to Ballykissangel to find an angry message from Fr Mac saying that the family had been put to the trouble of making a second call and that he had left his dinner to attend himself. He expected to see Peter the following morning immediately after Mass to explain his gross dereliction of duty. That meeting did not go well. For the first time in a long while, Peter completely lost his temper and accused Fr Mac of setting him up by placing unreasonable demands on him. Fr Mac, of course, was all sweetness and calm, apart from cruelly suggesting that just because Peter no longer had his 'bit of skirt' to 'unwind with', he should not take out his frustrations through insolence to his parish priest.
There was a follow-up meeting, this time with all four of the priests of the parish, the first in Peter's experience, at which Fr Mac rehearsed Peter's misplaced (as he saw it) priorities and inexperience, reviewed Peter's neglect (as he saw it) of his principal duty of ministering to the sick, and invited suggestions for lightening Peter's workload so that he could 'focus on essentials'. Peter sat through Fr Mac's dissection of his pastoral efforts, gloomily and without making any comment. His sense of humiliation and despair had reached new depths. He really wondered how much more of this he could or wanted to take.
But help arrived from an unexpected quarter. Fr Collins quietly and reasonably observed that, as befitted a younger man, Peter actually did far more visiting of the sick than any of them. He also asked rhetorically why if Fr Mac had been unable to leave his dinner he had not called him as he was nearer. Before Fr Mac could answer, he suggested that he and Peter put their heads together to see what they could come up with. After all, they knew each other's patches well enough. With his guns thus spiked, Fr Mac could do little but agree. Peter, who had said nothing during the meeting, smiled his thanks to Fr Collins, who gave his arm a friendly squeeze.
Later in the day, back in Ballykissangel, Peter was discussing his purchase of a newer and more reliable car with Padraig O'Kelly. Michael Ryan and Brendan Kearney approached. Michael had taken a phone call from Fr Collins. When the discussion about cars subsided, Michael said that he and Brendan had heard from Fr Collins what had happened. They were appalled and wanted to help. Michael suggested that Peter should delegate some of the administrative burden. Padraig offered to take on the organisation of the minibus, training and certification of new drivers and helpers. Michael offered to take on the organisation of the visiting rotas and, if Peter would commission him as a Eucharistic Minister, he could help Deirdre with Holy Communion also. Brendan knew that Marie Crowley, who had once been the secretary at Quigley Developments and who now worked at the National School, was interested in the youth liturgical music group. He offered to see if she would be interested in taking on the organisation of the music group. Peter took up their offers.
Later, Peter and Brendan took an evening stroll, a regular feature now that Siobhan was expecting to give birth any day and Brendan felt guilty about spending time in Fitzgeralds when she could not. Brendan asked Peter, "Would I be right in guessing that you are having trouble finding time for your prayers?"
"I suppose you would. What made you think of it?"
"Well, Peter. You get ratty!"
"Oh, thanks a lot!" After a friendly silence, he said, "But you're right. There is so much on, and with Fr Mac's chopping and changing, and dumping last-minute jobs on me, I have no structure to the day anymore. My routine is just shot to pieces. It's very draining, but I'm determined not to give in to him."
"And he's determined to break you?"
"It sometimes seems that way."
"Tell you what. Why don't you take some time away? To pray."
"A retreat you mean? I think I'd rather go hill walking."
"Not a retreat as such, at least not an organised one. I was thinking of Mount Melleray Abbey. It's a Cistercian monastery down in Waterford. They take guests. It's a lovely area. And there are hills to walk in if you want. Might be just the thing. It's only a couple of hours' drive from here, nearer three perhaps. A college friend became a monk there, not that he stayed. But I visited there a couple of times and it was remarkably peaceful."
"It would be different. I'll give it some thought."
"I think you'll find that Fr Collins would stand in for you. You've done that for him often enough."
- - - 888 - - -
Scene: Cappoquin, County Waterford
Peter had been at Mount Melleray Abbey for three days. It had not taken him long to decide that Brendan's suggestion was worth trying. He had telephoned the Abbey and, finding that their Guest House had an immediate vacancy, had placed a booking and left his name, 'Peter Clifford'. When Peter had approached Fr Collins about standing in, he had met with a willing response. Stopping only to leave a phone message for Fr Mac, and to put a couple of changes of clothes, his walking jacket and boots and his breviary in his rucksack and some fuel in his car, he had set off. On a whim, he had left his clerical uniform behind: he didn't expect to need it for hill walking.
The Abbey guest master, Brother Columba, had been very welcoming. The accommodation was basic but better than he was used to, and the food was plain but healthy and enjoyable. The quiet prayerfulness of the place had overwhelmed him. He had planned to attend the community Mass at 7:45 before breakfast and Compline at 8:00 p.m. and to spend the time in between walking the hills. But Vespers and Compline on his first day, even sitting in the public part of the church away from the monks, had been such an uplifting experience that he had limited his walks to the Abbey, its farm and immediate surroundings so that he could participate in more of the hours.
Having eaten lunch with some of the other guests, he was sitting under a yew tree on the lawn by the Retreat House reading his Divine Office. This had become something of a chore in recent weeks. But with the change of environment he was recovering the sense of intimacy and wonder. A young monk, dressed in the usual white habit and black scapular, was passing when Peter happened to look up.
"Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon, Brother."
"Have you had lunch?"
"Thank you, yes. My name's Peter, by the way."
"Good. I'm Aiden. Are you finding your time here fruitful?"
"Yes, it's a very pleasant change. So peaceful. "
Seeing Peter's breviary, Aiden asked, "Do you pray the Office at home?"
"Most days, though it's been difficult to find time just recently."
"What do you do for a living? Do you have a family?"
"Actually, I'm a Catholic priest. I don't have ... I have a parish in Wicklow."
"Whoops! Sorry. I should have guessed. I'm a priest, too. Ordained a couple of years ago. "
"Sorry, Father."
"No, 'Brother' is OK. But you don't sound Irish."
"I'm not. I was brought up in Manchester. Salford's my home diocese. I'm on loan, been here three years now."
"Liking it?"
"It's had its ups and downs, but, yes, I love it over here. The people are great - well, most of them!"
"There was a flicker of sadness on your face when I mentioned family?"
"It's complicated."
"What sort of parish is it?"
"It's one of four churches in the Cilldargan parish, sort of south-west of Wicklow town. Very rural. A good mix of ages, lots of agriculture, not much industry though. Quite a few commute north to work. A beautiful place."
"Sounds like the sort of parish I'd like to work in."
The Abbey bell began tolling. As Peter had been reading the Office, Aiden asked, "Are you coming to None?"
"Yes, I think I will."
They continued talking as they walked together towards the Abbey main buildings.
"What's your role in the community here, Brother?"
"Before I was ordained, I did the baking and helped looked after the kitchen garden, and in the tourist season helped man the gift shop. But since my ordination, I have some liturgical tasks as well and I say Mass at a couple of the local churches at weekends, to help the elderly parish priests. I'd like to see more of that work. I don't do the shop now. Where did you do your theological studies?"
"London. You?"
"Here and Maynooth. This is where you go in. I enter through the cloister with the others. I must hurry. We'll talk again. I'll mention you to the Abbot."
- - - 888 - - -
Peter remained in the church after the monks had left the choir, his thoughts floating on the ethereal sounds of the monks chanting, the birdsong, the smell of the grass and wild flowers, and the shafts of coloured sunlight through the stained glass. His reverie was terminated by a voice, Brother Aiden's.
"Peter. I'm sorry to interrupt your prayers. May I introduce Abbot Thomas? Father, this is Fr Peter Clifford."
Peter stood. "Father Abbot, I'm pleased to meet you." They shook hands. Aiden withdrew discretely.
"May we walk outside?" The Abbot led Peter around the corner into the choir, genuflecting to the high altar where the Blessed Sacrament is reserved, and out through the cloister to an adjoining private garden.
"Tell me, Father, is everything to your satisfaction?"
"Yes, Father, very comfortable, very peaceful, just, I think, what I was hoping for."
"Good. What were you hoping for?"
"Difficult to put into words, Father: peace and quiet, an opportunity to pray, escape from a heavy and chaotic workload, new hills to walk."
"Forgive my asking, Father, but are you in some kind of trouble?"
This took Peter aback. "Er … I've had some personal difficulties and I don't get on too well with my parish priest, but I'm in good standing with my bishop if that's what you mean. My difficulties are not of a canonical nature. Why do you ask?"
"Well, Father, it is unusual for a priest to come to us for retreat and not to identify himself as a priest. And, when a priest comes to stay, arrangements for saying Mass are usually something of a priority; you have not asked to say Mass. And you have not worn clerical dress. You are a bit of a mystery, but I don't mean to criticise!" This last comment was made with a gentle smile.
"Father Abbot, I'm sorry if I've worried you. Let me give you my details."
The Abbot interrupted him. "I'll ask Brother Aiden to take those from you and to assist you in any way you wish. I must apologise, but I have to go to Chapter now. Would you like to have supper with me tomorrow after vespers? We can talk some more then. I'd like to learn more about you and to help you if I can."
"Thank you, Father. I'd like that."
Later, as the guests' supper broke up, Brother Aiden was waiting for Peter.
- - - 888 - - -
Supper with Father Abbot had been taxing, Peter thought afterwards, almost an interrogation.
"Peter. May I call you Peter?"
"Of course, Father."
"I'm a little curious as to why you introduce yourself as 'Peter Clifford' rather than 'Father Peter Clifford'? Surely you're not trying to hide that you are a priest, or expressing some disapproval of the title, or rebelling against something? It's not usual, in Ireland anyway."
"I don't like to put up barriers, I suppose. I don't like to demand respect as of right. It's not something I had really thought about. It's just my way. I think I rather like people to be informal with me."
"Tell me about your work."
Peter explained the organization of the parish, the liturgical routine at his own church, his twice weekly visits to the sick and housebound, of whom there were quite a number, his involvement with the village school, his recent initiatives and work with CYC, and his duties in the wider parish.
"That is quite a workload for an assistant priest. Bishop Costello did mention that you were making a lot of changes to the pattern that you inherited. But …"
"The Bishop?"
"I'm sorry. I should have said. I contacted Bishop Costello to verify your identity. We are having to be very careful these days."
Peter shrugged. "That's OK."
"I was going to ask whether you had to take on so much, so quickly. The other day you described your workload as heavy and chaotic. Does it have to be that way?"
"There was such need. I had been in the parish for getting on for three years. I wanted to go up a gear. Expectations were so low."
"Was there nothing that inspired you in those first years?"
"Actually there was. Hearing confessions three times a week. A couple of hours on Saturday was what I was used to in Manchester, and much of that would be waiting around. The majority of people there didn't seem to go to confession any more. Here, quite a lot still go weekly."
"So, what changed?" Abbot Thomas leaned forward a little and looked Peter in the eyes. "You must have had quite a bit of unpressured time in those early years. How did you use it?"
Peter began to speak, then lowered his eyes and kept his silence.
"I can't see why you have to take all this on yourself?"
Peter tried to find the words for a reply.
"Is your high workload meant to drive something out?" In a very gentle and sympathetic voice, the Abbot continued, "Did something happen to change your priorities?"
Peter coloured slightly. He could tell that his tense expression and inability to look the Abbot in the eye were answering for him.
"It's not something that I'm comfortable discussing."
The Abbot nodded gently and gestured with is hands to indicate that he would not press the matter.
"I will say this, Peter. We have to let go our disappointments and failures of the past, and our successes too, so that they can be transfigured for the future. Trust them to God, so that our relationship with Him can follow His lead."
In an anguished voice, Peter replied, "But how can I let go what has become so much part of me? It's who I am."
The Abbot resumed eating, and Peter did the same.
After a few minutes silent eating, the Abbot asked, "You mentioned something about chaos. How does your workload fit around your routine of prayer?"
"It doesn't. That's largely why I'm here. I have no dependable structure to my day or my week any more. Everything is done in a rush. My parish priest doesn't respect my arrangements or even my occasional recreation days. But I'll not be beaten."
"I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that prayer comes from within us. We can't import it from the friendly corner monastery! Isn't your work, your pastoral work, an integral part of your relationship with God, an accessory and complement to your prayer life? Shouldn't it be? Isn't that the example that as priests we seek to give to our communities?"
"Perhaps it should be. Perhaps it did. I don't know." Peter sounded tired and resigned.
"Priesthood is a sacrifice, isn't it, a sacrifice for the Kingdom?" In a more challenging tone, the Abbot went on, "Peter, what is your sacrifice?"
Agitated, he said, "I … I don't know."
The Abbot reached across and took Peter's hand so that Peter looked up at him. "If it's loneliness, if loneliness is your cross, then it should be part of your prayer, too."
Peter gently withdrew his hand and, closing his eyes, hugged himself. This was too much to take in.
Abbot Thomas sat back and watched Peter. He prayed that the Lord would lift this gifted but wounded priest out of his isolation and heal whatever was weighing him down.
The Abbey bell tolled for Compline.
"Peter, will you join us for night prayer? And if you would like to concelebrate Mass with us in the morning, Brother Aiden will have an alb and stole ready for you. Come to the sacristy.
Peter nodded. "Thank you Father."
"And I'm always available for confession after Terce."
Peter nodded.
Looking back on this, Peter fretted about the uncanny insight that the Abbot had shown and the advice he had given him. But he could not accept that he could or should let go of what had happened to him in the last year. In his inner eyes it defined who he had become. Nor could he bear to contemplate the notion that the intense loneliness he felt was an essential and eternal part of his priestly sacrifice. If he could just get on top of his pastoral work, that would bring fulfilment, and peace.
He had intended to stay for ten days, but he left after a week.
- - - 888 - - -
It was September, and Peter noticed the subtle changes in the colour of the landscape as he drove to Cilldargan for his fortnightly diary meeting with Fr Mac. One matter that he was determined to resolve with his parish priest was that of his annual appraisal. He had not had an appraisal before during his assignment in Ireland, and he had learned of them from the ad clerum letters that he now received regularly. The scheme was detailed in the Clergy Handbook, which he also now had. The basic idea was that he and another diocesan priest, acting as an independent appraiser, would review developments in his priestly ministry, evaluate what had gone well and what had not, formulate objectives for the next period and identify any training or other needs. The appraiser would then write a brief report for the parish priest to include in his annual report to his bishop. Peter was very keen to reflect on his recent initiatives in Ballykissangel and their impact and saw the appraisal as a good opportunity for an objective review, something that he thought would be impossible to get from Fr Mac.
The most recent ad clerum had been very clear, the deadline for reports was the end of the month, yet Fr Mac had kept putting him off. Peter had a fall-back plan up his sleeve.
When Peter raised the matter again at the end of their diary meeting, Fr Mac could see that he would have to do something, or Peter would keep on nagging him about it. As far as he was concerned, they were a waste of time, along with the rest of the 'modern personnel management' methods that the diocese was inflicting on hard-pressed parish priests like himself.
"Very well. If you insist on having an appraisal, I'll do it myself."
"No Father. That won't do. The appraiser has to be independent."
"And I'm not?"
Peter hesitated. He knew what he wanted to say, but couldn't find the words to put it courteously.
Seeing Peter's hesitation, Fr Mac could guess what Peter wanted to say. "Well, as I said, if you insist on having an appraisal, then it's with me."
"No, Father. You can't do that."
"No?"
"No. I have to agree to the choice, the Clergy Handbook says so."
"Where did you get that?"
"I asked for a copy. And the bishop's most recent ad clerum reminded us that appraisal reports are due at the end of the month."
"But I didn't send you ... " Fr Mac fell silent and glared at Peter.
Carefully, Peter said, "In case we could not agree on someone suitable in the diocese, I asked my former parish priest, Fr Randall at Holy Name in Manchester. Are you agreeable to that?"
Fr Mac's face reddened and he looked as if he might explode. But he kept silent.
Peter had the feeling that unrestricted and all-out war had just been declared.
- - - 888 - - -
Peter closed the door and sank into his armchair. He had just returned from having supper with the Egans. Except for the opportunity to play with Kieran and put him to bed, it had not been a pleasant evening. Niamh had continually sniped at Ambrose, who had just squirmed and radiated unease and embarrassment. It was as if their marriage were falling apart. Not so long before, the warmth of their home had been a haven for him, a big part of what had kept him going. He was upset that he couldn't seem to influence Niamh despite his efforts to get through to her. She had snapped at him more than once. Ambrose had become more and more solitary and buried himself in his work. On one occasion when Peter had managed to get Ambrose to talk, he had almost burst into tears as he admitted that he still loved Niamh as much as ever but that he couldn't see what to do to win her back.
What really depressed Peter was the thought that his relationship with Assumpta might eventually have disintegrated in the way that the Egans' now seemed to be doing. "Is this what would have become of Assumpta and me?" he wondered.
Preoccupation with the Egans' relationship added to Peter's sleeplessness.
- - - 888 - - -
One of Michael Ryan's patients was fading fast. It was 1 a.m. and his wife had called out the doctor. She explained that he hadn't been to church for years. They had had to marry outside the church because he had divorced his first wife, who had left him soon after their wedding. He was very anxious and wanted a priest. But he didn't want Fr MacAnally, whom he blamed for having declined to help seek an annulment for his first marriage.
Michael decided, "I'll call Fr Clifford."
But Peter didn't answer the phone. Nor did he answer his mobile. Normally, if he was away, there would have been a recorded message on one or the other. For no reason that he could put his finger on, this worried him. He redialed.
A sleepy voice answered, "Garda Siochana."
"Ambrose. Michael Ryan. I'm a little worried about Fr Clifford. Do you know where he is?"
"Er … Michael. Sorry, I am half asleep. No, I don't know. Why the concern?"
"I've been trying to get him for an urgent sick call and he is not answering his phones and there's no recorded message."
"That's odd. Not like him. I'll get dressed and go see. Call you back. Are you on your mobile?"
"Yes. Thanks, Ambrose. Sorry to put you to the trouble. But you know how it is. Apologise for me to Niamh."
"Oh, she's still away with the fairies. Yeah, we've got to look after Peter."
Niamh was actually wide awake but hadn't opened her eyes and had lain still. Peter was someone she was increasingly reluctant to speak to or think about these days.
Ambrose found Peter's house lights on and the door ajar, but he was not at home. Walking up the hill a little further, he could see light in the church windows. Entering the church, the door was wide open, the lights were on and Peter was slumped in a pew by the statue of Our Lady and was fast asleep.
Ambrose shook Peter's shoulder to wake him.
"Peter, Peter. Wake up. There's an urgent sick call. Dr Ryan's been trying to get you. What are you doing?"
"Oh Lord, where am … what time is it? Ambrose!"
He stood up unsteadily, rubbing his face and stretching, shivering a little in the cold.
"Oh dear."
"Peter, what's going on? It's gone one o'clock, what are you doing in the church? And your house door is open?"
"I must have fallen asleep again."
"Again?"
"When I got back to the house, I sat down just for a few minutes to watch the evening news on TV, and when I woke up it was nearly midnight. I dashed up to the church to lock up. When I knelt to pray, I must have dropped off again."
Peter was swaying as he walked around the church extinguishing the votive candles, checking on the sanctuary lamp, and switching off the electric lights. As he finally genuflected, he almost fell over.
"Peter, you are in no state to get behind the wheel of a car. I'll drive you. Michael can bring you back."
Peter locked the church and then his house, by which time Ambrose was waiting in the patrol car.
- - - 888 - - -
Michael pulled up outside Peter's house, applied the handbrake and turned off the engine. He turned to Peter. "Father, I need to see you in the surgery tomorrow morning, any time between ten and eleven."
"It's hardly a matter of life and death," replied Peter.
"It is exactly that. Believe me."
- - - 888 - - -
Michael had called into Fitzgeralds in the hope of catching Brendan Kearney. It was Friday, and, as usual Brendan was taking his supper in the pub.
"Michael. Good to see you." Brendan and Michael shook hands. "What will you have to drink?"
"Just an orange juice please, Brendan," he replied with a grimace. "I'm on call tonight."
"An orange juice for the doctor please, Niamh, when you're ready. And I'll have another of my usual."
"How's Siobhan?"
"Uncomfortable. And bad tempered! But she's well enough. Tell me, Michael, where's Fr Clifford? He usually comes to the school sports on a Friday afternoon. But he didn't turn up today. The kids missed him. Probably fell asleep somewhere."
"I believe he went to Manchester to see his old parish priest."
"Well, I hope he didn't fall asleep on the plane and find himself in Stuttgart or somewhere."
Michael smiled. "He's been doing a lot of that."
"Are you worried?"
"Yes. I can't say more I'm afraid."
"Didn't you tell me once that the diocese asked you to let them know if Fr Peter got bad again?"
"Yes, Fr Hugh Johns. I'd be happier if you'd make the call. I'm Peter's doctor, so this overlaps with my obligations to confidentiality. But I think that I am going to have to do something official, hopefully with his consent but if he is becoming a danger to himself and to others I'll have to do it without."
- - - 888 - - -
"Come in, Michael." They shook hands and Fr Mac closed the door. "Let's go into my study."
"Thank you for seeing me, Frank."
"No problem. Would you like a drink?"
"I'm off duty, so a whiskey would be nice?"
Fr Mac poured two whiskeys and handed one to Michael. "Do sit down." He gestured with his glass towards one of the armchairs. He went back to the drinks tray and picked up the jug of water and put it on the table between the chairs. He sat down with a sigh and raised his glass to Michael.
"Your good health."
"Yours, too."
"Now, Michael. What's this all about?"
"Fr Clifford."
"Ah. Go on."
"I'm worried about him."
"Aren't we all?" mumbled Fr Mac into his glass. Then, putting his glass down, he spoke more seriously. "Do you mean in a professional sense?"
"Yes, Frank, I do."
"Go on."
"Well, exhaustion is the most obvious sign, and his irritability. When I examined him, his blood pressure is far too high for someone of his age and fitness, his heart rate is a little up and fluttery, he always seems to have a cold these days, can't shake it off, and he has digestive problems that he used not to have. He has lost some weight, too. Sometimes his speech sounds a little slurred, as if he had been drinking though I know he hadn't. He has sleep problems too. Most of this could be put down to stress through overwork and lack of relaxation. But there's also the hint of clinical depression. My real worry is that he is slipping into something that will be difficult to break from."
"Does he know you are speaking to me?"
"I told him that I needed his consent and he just shrugged his shoulders. I took that as consent. Though, as he is putting himself at risk, I don't think I need it."
"So, what can I do?"
"He needs to ease up. Do you have to load him quite so heavily, disrupt his routine quite so much? But more than that he needs to heal that …"
Fr Mac jumped in sarcastically, "Oho! You mean heal his 'broken heart'?"
Michael just looked at him wearily but said nothing. Gently shaking his head, he reached for his glass and drank.
Fr Mac knew he should not have said that. He pushed himself out of his chair and walked across to the drinks tray and picked up the whiskey bottle. As he refilled Michael's glass he mumbled, "Sorry. I know you're his friend and I'm glad that you are."
As Fr Mac sat back into his chair, Michael said, "I hope I am friends with both of you, but do you have to speak of him so derisively? There are times when …" Michael hesitated.
"Go on. Say it."
"… I think you treat him abominably. But I acknowledge that fault lies on both sides."
Fr Mac looked a little surprised at the forthrightness of Michael's remark. He shrugged his shoulders and nodded as if to admit the truth of it.
As Fr Mac said nothing, Michael continued, "No, it's not just a 'broken heart' as you put it, though it's my guess that he has not grieved properly either for his mother or for Assumpta Fitzgerald. There's something else eating at him. It's not my province but I just wonder if it might be a spiritual rather than psychological matter." Fr Mac looked up at this. "The conversations that I and his other close friends had with him in the immediate aftermath of Assumpta's death were very spiritual: more 'what does this mean?' than 'how can God do this to me?' He seemed spiritually well balanced despite his being distraught and in shock. He was an immense help to us, far more, I'm sure, than he realizes."
"He is a good priest. I told him so."
Michael went on, "I know his overworking is to keep something out. Perhaps it's just loneliness. At heart, he's not one of life's loners. But there might be something else. On one occasion, he broke down completely and wept inconsolably, almost hysterically, for several minutes. I had to hold him to prevent him getting into breathing difficulties. I couldn't make out what he said, it was too incoherent, but he rambled about his father, his ordination, Bradley, his parents' marriage, his brothers, and Assumpta too. Perhaps he feels guilt that his ordination has hurt too many people. As I say, spiritual matters are not my province."
"Well, there's no point in my trying to talk to him. He won't listen to me."
"I don't think that he has had any time with a priest since he lost his mother and his fiancée. That's not right, surely?"
Fr Mac's distaste at Michael's use of 'fiancée' was obvious. "As I said, he won't talk to me."
"Can you at least ease off on his workload, and give him more consistency? I know that his lack of routine is part of his problem. I've found him collapsed asleep in church more than once when he had gone there to pray."
"I didn't know that."
"The people love him. We cover up for him, to stop you or Kathleen from finding out. Can you help? Will you?"
"Yes, I could ease off a little. But he is doing far too much. The range of activities that he is trying to provide is simply not sustainable with the priests we have. And parishioners from other parts of the parish complain to me about not having some of the resources and services that Ballykissangel has. He's making problems for all of us, not just for himself. But he won't listen to me. He won't."
"But you will ease off?"
Fr Mac sighed and nodded.
"Do you think I had better write to the archbishop about the other matters?"
"That might be best. Get him transferred."
"No," said Michael thoughtfully, "transferring him away might be the last straw for him."
- - - 888 - - -
An exchange of letters between the head of the Dublin archdiocese and Peter's own bishop:
Archdiocese of Dublin
Archbishop's House
Drumcondra
Dublin 9
Right Reverend Thomas James
Bishop of Salford
Salford M3 5LL
United Kingdom
In confidence
Right Reverend and Dear Brother in Christ
With reference to Reverend Fr Peter James Clifford, Diocese of Salford, Province of England and Wales, currently working in the Archdiocese of Dublin.
I thank you for communicating your concerns about Fr Clifford that arose from his recent appraisal with Fr Laurence Randall of your diocese. It was symptomatic of Fr Clifford's difficult relationship with his current parish priest that he both insisted on having an annual appraisal, long after his parish priest should have arranged one, and chose an appraiser beyond the influence of his parish priest. I am grateful for your understanding of this odd situation.
Coincidentally, I am in receipt of an unsolicited and confidential letter from a parishioner of Fr Clifford, also a close friend and his physician. This letter expresses almost identical concerns to yours as well as concerns about his state of physical health. I must act on these but the case is not straightforward. The usual approach would be to transfer the priest to alternative duties. But clearly this will not serve in the case of Fr Clifford.
The letter reminds me that, six months or so ago, when he had been serving in his current parish for less than three years, Fr Clifford suffered a double bereavement within a very short period. The first loss was of his mother, his father having died before his ordination. It is our common experience that the death of parents can be a time of transition in the life and career of a priest. Before he could grieve for his mother he suffered a second and devastating loss, in tragic circumstances, of a close friend, with whom he was chastely in love and for whom he had decided to seek laicisation and whom he hoped to marry. This person, a remarkable lady by all accounts, though not a practising Catholic, gave him the friendship, moral support and theological challenge that should have been afforded by his brother priests. According to the letter, Fr Clifford responded to these losses by throwing himself energetically into his pastoral work with new initiatives for the youth and the elderly and raising the engagement of the community to levels well above the average for rural Ireland. The writer says that Fr Clifford seems driven as much by a wish to defy and outclass his conservative parish priest as by the pastoral needs of his community but most of all by a desperate need to fill every second of the day. In the writer's estimation, Fr Clifford has a deep unhappiness within, has not come to terms with the tragic loss of his friend and is driving himself inexorably towards burnout and a breakdown. He advises caution and suggests that a subtle change of direction over time and access to professional counselling may help.
When I was in Co. Wicklow with the Apostolic Nuncio recently, I took the opportunity to meet Fr Clifford, and I have to say that my impression was consistent with the letter. The Nuncio and I were very struck by his success as an inspirational pastor. It was clear that he is greatly loved and respected both by his parishioners and the townspeople who are either non-catholic or non-practising, and he reciprocates this affection. The Nuncio thought that Fr Clifford might in due time be a candidate for an episcopal appointment.
I am minded to make the following arrangements and would welcome your comments, and confirmation that you are willing for Fr Clifford to remain working in Dublin archdiocese on this basis. There are three parts to my plan.
One of the priests in the archdiocese (Fr Timothy Wheen), with whom Fr Clifford is already on friendly terms, will soon qualify as a counsellor and I will strongly encourage Fr Clifford to see him professionally.
As to the subtle change of direction that his friend and physician recommends, I shall invite Fr Clifford to go to Rome next autumn to study for a doctorate in Canon Law, with the intention of his being appointed on his return as an advocate with the Diocesan Marriage Tribunal in addition to his parish work. I shall emphasise firstly that I hold him in very high regard, value his pastoral instinct and initiative and want to open up career options for him, and secondly that for the period of his studies in Rome he will be on-leave from Ballykissangel but still assigned there, and may, if he wishes, return there at any time.
I intend also to place another assistant priest with Fr Clifford in Ballykissangel. The man I have in mind has been a Cistercian Monk for ten years but is keen to work in a rural parish. He is a very spiritual person and has a great rapport with the youth. He has a similar outlook on life to Fr Clifford though a very different background, and I am hopeful that they will get on well. I will tell Fr Clifford that my plan is that Fr Aiden O'Connell OCist will learn pastoral skills from him, so that he can run the Ballykissangel sub-parish in his absence, and subsequently use his pastoral know-how to take Fr Clifford's approach into a new parish. Assigning two priests to Ballykissangel will no doubt incur the wrath of the parish priest, but I can depend on (and shall insist on) his obedience in this matter.
Please let me have your thoughts.
I look forward to seeing you in Rome later in the year when we are there for our quinquennial visits ad limina apostolorum. In the meantime, I wish you good health and every grace and blessing.
Yours ever in Christ Our Lord
† Gervaise O'Connor
Archbishop of Dublin
- - - 888 - - -
Diocese of Salford
Cathedral House
Salford M3 5LL
Most Reverend Gervaise O'Connor
Archbishop of Dublin
Archbishop's House
Drumcondra
Dublin 9
Republic of Ireland
In confidence
Your Grace,
With reference to Reverend Fr Peter James Clifford of this diocese, currently assigned to the Archdiocese of Dublin.
Thank you for your letter.
I am happy to confirm that I am willing for Fr Clifford to remain working in your archdiocese sine die. I shall write to him to confirm extension of his assignment.
The arrangements you describe for his pastoral care and professional development have my full support. I think that your proposal in the longer term to encourage him into specialist marriage tribunal work alongside parish work is inspired. This field of work is consonant with his pastoral priorities, and his intellectual and interpersonal skills should enable him to be of real help to our people in these difficult situations.
I too look forward to our having an opportunity to meet in Rome and I heartily reciprocate your good wishes.
Yours in Christ Jesus
† Thomas James
Bishop of Salford
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