“He is your curate. You are responsible for him, even if he is reluctant to submit to your guidance! But more than that, your commitment to serve, to make known the love of God, extends to your brother priests as well. Just imagine when you are called to judgement and the Lord accuses you of neglecting Him, and of failing to comfort Him in His need. What do you suppose you could say when you ask when did you do that, and He mentions Peter Clifford?”

“Yes, Yes.” Fr Mac had sighed. There had been a passion in Bucky’s voice that he had rarely heard before.

Fr Mac had phoned Bishop Costello for advice and he also had been adamant. “Don’t force him into decisions he is not ready to make; don’t push him over the edge. Help him respond faithfully to the call that without doubt he is feeling. And remember it could well be the Holy Spirit that is calling and not just more earthly concerns. The decisions he makes in the next few days are of eternal significance … for him and for all of us. He may never be happy whichever path he chooses: laicisation is a long and demeaning process, and we at diocesan level have no influence these days. I’m sure you are right that he hasn’t broken his obligation to chastity and that he did not actively subvert the marriage, but whatever has happened and whatever happens in the future, we are duty bound to support him: if you cannot or will not, then I must.”

Bishop Costello had also talked him through what currently the processes would be and what suggestions to make if Peter did in the end choose to leave the priesthood. Both he and the bishop had recognised the perversity of the situation that if Peter were to behave badly and cause scandal, then it would be more likely that he would be released quickly from his canonical obligations.

One of the many things that so irritated him about Peter Clifford was the way that most people, priests and bishops included, warmed to him and thought the best of him.

He had not wanted an English priest in the first place, but he had been given no choice in the matter, and the man was not just English but young, inexperienced and a city boy. He had not thought that he would last even as long as his predecessor. But to his chagrin, Fr Clifford had settled in well and the people had taken to him. He would have expected such a newcomer to keep a low profile and accept direction from his parish priest. Ha! From the outset, Fr Clifford had adopted a high profile and been more willing to use his own discretion than even to ask for let alone accept direction. His relaxed attitude, extending to wearing casual clothes or removing his collar in public and encouraging all to call him by his Christian name, seemed subversive. Popularity was not the same as respect, and in Fr Mac’s view, for a priest, respect was something to be demanded, not to be earned.

How could a parish priest hope to mould a junior priest if the man paid less attention to his superior than to his friends, some of them manifestly unsuitable? Fr Clifford had sought his pastoral advice on a few occasions, usually on matters where the Church’s standard line seemed ill matched to the circumstances; he had trotted out the standard response nonetheless, but had felt uncomfortable handing back the responsibility. And how he hated being put on the spot and made to feel uncomfortable!

The three weeks that he had spent covering for Fr Clifford’s absence on retreat had been an unwelcome revelation; he had had to work hard to keep up with the people’s expectations. It became obvious to him that Peter was doing excellent work in building up the parish community and having a very good influence on the wider village. Clearly they preferred Peter to him and were anxious for his return; deep down, it worried him that a stranger could come in and do that. He shouldn’t be having insecurities like that at his age! But he had to admit that, without any doubt at all, Fr Clifford was a very good priest. Perhaps he ought to tell him that. He could also see that many in the parish would resent any semblance of unsympathetic or harsh treatment of Fr Clifford.

As he parked his car opposite St Joseph’s, his feelings were a mix of anger, frustration, human sympathy and professional responsibility, not to speak of the echoes of unresolved and long-forgotten dilemmas in his own life. He really did not know what he was going to say. He knew that Fr Clifford was in love with Assumpta Fitzgerald. But was she the root cause or just one of the symptoms of his crisis?

Actually, he respected Assumpta. She was an intelligent and good looking girl with a good heart, as she showed from time to time by her instinct to help out without making a fuss, Kathleen Hendley’s house fire being just the most recent example he could think of. And she had done a wonderful job in making the bar a welcoming place to eat and drink and spend time, compared with its decrepit state and poor reputation when she had inherited it. Under her management, drunkenness had become rare. He could shrug off her antipathy to him and to the Church as simplistic and shallow, though he had to admit that it was at least partly fuelled by the marital disharmony of her parents that he had made worse by his intransigent attitude. And he couldn’t avoid seeing that in age, temperament and intelligence, she and Fr Clifford were a good match. In different circumstances, had she been a practising Catholic and unmarried and he not a priest, he might even have been tempted to play the matchmaker. However, her possible role in undermining Peter's vocation and her ill-considered and short-lived marriage to Leo McGarvey had lowered her in his estimation. And he did have a nagging concern that Fr Clifford had wrecked that marriage and he feared the scandal that would arise if this became known, not least because he would have to deal with it and he might then come in for criticism – it was not just Kathleen Hendley that knew of his past affair with Aileen.

St Joseph's, Ballykissangel

Peter was not at home, so Fr Mac walked up to the church and looked in. He saw Peter kneeling in prayer before the statue of Our Lady of Lourdes. Unlike the previous occasion when they had discussed his future in St Joseph’s, he did not announce his presence. As he approached Peter, he could see that, far from the angry and frustrated facial expression that he had seen on that previous occasion, Peter’s face and posture were serene. In the light of the votive candles at the foot of the statue, his face seemed to glow.

Peter seemed unaware of his presence, so he genuflected and took a seat in a pew a few rows behind Peter. Seated as he now was near the pew end, as he looked towards Peter the large crucifix above the altar and the tabernacle were in his field of view. He sat there patiently waiting for Peter to finish his prayers. One thing that he could be sure of was that if Peter’s vocation to the priesthood was wavering, it was not through neglect of prayer. Fr Mac looked up at the figure on the crucifix and prayed for guidance.

Peter stood up, genuflected to the tabernacle, turned, and was surprised to see Fr Mac sitting there.

“Father Mac, you gave me a fright.”

“High praise! You all right?” Fr Mac stood and Peter walked over to him.

“Sure.”

“Sit down.”

“OK.”

Peter sat down and Fr Mac sat next to him.

“You look tired.”

“I'm OK.”

“Oh, congratulations, on beating the rap. I understand you had the best lawyer that no money could buy. You might thank Ambrose some time.” Fr Mac had thought it would be helpful to start the conversation on something uncontentious.

“Ambrose?”

“Ambrose Egan knows as well as everybody else in this town that Brendan Kearney has been buying beer and stout every week in Hendley's. It's a classic legal manoeuvre. It's called the six-pack defence, I believe. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“No?”

“Remember the first time we met? I told you something about your predecessor.”

“He only came for the suit.”

“No one could ever say that about you. That's not a fashion statement, Father. You're a good priest. People tell me and they can't all be wrong. You're not my kind of priest, but then there aren't many of my kind left. What are you going to do?”

Fr Mac’s sympathetic tone and unprecedented compliment took Peter again by surprise. “I'm not sure what you mean, Father.” Peter really was not sure what he had meant: did he mean after hours drinking, or Ambrose, or Assumpta?

Fr Mac made as if to get up to leave. “Have it your way.” His frustration with Peter was getting the better of him.

“No, please. What?”

“I have eyes, Father. I have instincts. I know a crisis when I see one.”

Peter nodded in acknowledgement that this was something he did need to talk through, but couldn’t think of how best to start.

“Can we get some air?”

They left the church to walk outside on the north side of the church, by the small cemetery, giving him a few seconds to think.

“Well?”

Peter took a deep breath. “I want to leave the priesthood and marry Assumpta Fitzgerald.”

Fr Mac, fearing the worst, looked at him coldly. “And why is that?” He tried to keep any sarcasm out of his tone.

“Because I love her and she loves me.”

“Is this the conclusion you reached when you went on retreat?”

“No, not at all. I have known that I love her for two years and more, and I knew that she had some friendly feelings for me. I had even hinted that there might be some sort of future for us as a couple, though I had done nothing about it. Before I went away I told her that the priesthood was my future, definitely. She was upset, I was not sure why, and it was one of the hardest conversations I have ever had. When I was away, I put all my reservations aside and, as you said it would, the retreat revitalised my vocation. I came back raring to go. But as soon as I saw the village again, I suspected I had made a mistake. All my doubts about the Church’s moral teachings and the inappropriateness of its structures returned. When I found out that she had married Leo McGarvey and then when I saw her again and spoke to her briefly, I knew for certain that I had made the most dreadful mistake. But they were married and marriage is indissoluble, so I had no option but to soldier on in my private misery.”

“The marriage didn’t last five minutes. Did you have anything to do with that?”

“Indirectly, yes.”

Fr Mac did not respond immediately. It was beginning to look as though his worst suspicions were true after all. He gave Peter a fierce look as he grated angrily, “You had better explain that!”

Peter could read the unspoken accusation in Fr Mac’s eyes, but resisted the temptation to become defensive. “Yesterday, after the court hearing, we walked by the lake before catching the bus back to the village. I finally told her I love her. She hadn’t known! I had thought the dogs on the street knew.”

Fr Mac said quietly to himself, contemptuously, “Oh they did. They did.”

“She said that she never would have married Leo had she known. She said that she had married him in the hope that eventually he would drive me out of her head. She married Leo because she loved me but thought that she could never have me, that I would always be a priest! She said that within a day she had known it was a mistake, and when we spoke briefly on her return she had been certain of it.”

“Did they consummate the marriage?”

“Father, I tried hard not to think about things like that! I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But … I would guess that they did.”

Fr Mac was beginning to calm down. “Did you have any contact with her during the marriage?”

“Very little, just pleasantries across the bar, not that I went there often. I did my best to avoid the place except when hunger demanded it. Oh, she did come into the church one evening, but I sent her away.”

“Have you remained chaste?”

“Yes, Father.”

“No physical contact at all?” he asked in a slightly incredulous tone.

“Well I held her hand once, I held her close, stroked her hair, kissed her on the forehead. I did kiss her on the neck once, at the Egans’, but she put an abrupt stop to that.”

“Good for her. Well, I have to say, I admire your restraint.”

“What’s to be done, Father?”

Fr Mac, now feeling a little guilty, gestured to Peter to sit down on the bench. They sat together.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“Ninety percent.”

“And the ten percent?”

“I’m still praying.”

“Yes, I could see that. You had a serenity about you.”

“How have you left things with Mrs McGarvey?” He deliberately used her married name.

“We love each other. We pray.”

“Well. I spoke to Bishop Costello about you and he is most concerned that you make your decisions in the full knowledge of what will happen. What do you know about laicisation?”

“Not much. Return to the lay state. Release from my promise of obedience and my obligations under canon law.”

“Hmm. There’s a lot more. The first thing is that it is your own bishop who will have to deal with your application. So, you must see him as soon as possible. When you are absolutely certain that this is what you want, you must write to Bishop Costello stating that it is your intention to seek laicisation and that you wish to be released from your parish duties here and to be returned to your home diocese. Give me the letter so that I can forward it with my report.”

“Will you support me?”

“For what it’s worth, yes. But surely you’re not going to start taking notice of me at this late stage are you?” This was said humorously but with an edge to it.

Fr Mac continued, “Bishop Costello wants you to realise that he, and your own bishop too, have very little influence on laicisation decisions these days. In the 60s and 70s, it was different. Recommendations by the diocesan bishop would almost invariably be rubber stamped by Rome. But for the last fifteen years or so, under Pope John Paul, it has been very different: the decision really is made in Rome. The diocese just forwards the application. And this you must appreciate: decisions always take a long time; sometimes decisions are just left pending, and never made final. Few applications are granted. Apparently, current practice is never to approve laicisation before age 40 in case there is a change of mind.

“And while an application is pending, you remain subject to your bishop. It will be up to him whether to withdraw your faculties or to allow you to continue working as a priest pending a decision. Financial and material support are at his discretion. The practice in Ireland is to withdraw faculties immediately and to place the applicant on administrative leave. If you want to live outside the diocese, here in Ireland for example, you will need your bishop’s consent. You remain subject to canon law, so any marriage is invalid as far as the Church is concerned. If you contract a marriage, you are excommunicated.

“This is dire, it is cruel, but it’s the church’s legal protection of the priesthood. Can you live with this? Can Assumpta? Can you live as brother and sister for ten or twenty years, until laicisation is granted, if it ever is? Such a wait might mean that you could not have children together. And if you can’t live in that way, can you face being outside the sacramental life of the Church? Won’t you feel a hypocrite, having taught one thing and then done another? If your relationship breaks down under these pressures, what will you do then?” Fr Mac paused before continuing. “Might it not be easier to remain a priest?”

Peter stood up angrily. “And have an affair, d’you mean? No. No! It’s her soul I’m in love with, not her body. I want to share her life. I want her to share mine. I want to raise a family with her. I want to share our joys, our sadnesses, our thoughts, our fun, our friends, … everything.”

Fr Mac gestured for him to resume his seat. “I’m sure you do. No, no. I meant a long term platonic relationship. It’s more common than you might think, at least among more mature priests. As I said, the bishop insists that I tell you how it will be so that your decision is an informed one.

“It gets worse. Laicisation, if it is granted, comes with conditions. In fact you are reduced below the lay state. You cannot be a catechist, a Eucharistic minister, even a reader. No liturgical or pastoral involvement is permitted. You may not teach religion. You may not be employed in a Catholic school. Even in National Schools in Ireland if there is a priest on the governing body you will find it difficult to gain appointment. The same is probably true in England or even in the USA. You will not be permitted to live or worship where you worked or have been known as a priest. In all probability, your bishop will require you to observe these conditions with immediate effect.”

Peter was silent. He found it difficult to take it all in, the relentlessness of it. Fr Mac had been speaking with a passion and an urgency that was unfamiliar. He had been getting almost emotional. He turned away, stretched and looked at the sky.

Fr Mac reached over and grabbed his arm. “Father … Peter, my dear son, do you realise what you are taking on? Does Assumpta? Can you bear all this?” He was recalling all too strongly that, twenty years before, he had decided that he could not bear it. Part of him was beginning to hope that Peter would have the courage that he had lacked.

Peter just shook his head and sighed. Had he just heard what he thought he had heard?

“It would be difficult enough for a couple who are in agreement in matters of faith. Can she, will she accept these consequences of your Catholic faith and obedience?”

“I don’t know. But we agreed that we would do what we had to do. She loves me and I love her. If the burden the Church puts on me is too great, I think that in good conscience I would have to disregard it.”

“Yes, that happens. If you can find a sympathetic parish priest he may be willing to allow access to the sacraments on the basis of the internal forum and not enforce the restrictions to the letter. But your faith is deeply embedded. Such a compromise would create friction in the relationship. I’ve seen it happen. And there will always be a traditionalist busybody who is more Roman than the Pope waiting to denounce you. There’s no easy way, I’m afraid. No easy way.”

“I know. Thank you for taking the trouble to advise me. I know we have had our differences but I am grateful for your concern.”

Fr Mac looked at his watch. “I must be heading back. I have an appointment.”  They stood up and began to walk back around the church. “There’s something else you need to consider.”

“Yes, Father?”

“A priest deciding to leave can have a devastating effect on brother priests and on close family and friends. I have seen priests’ confidence completely undermined when a close friend, particularly one they trained with or look up to, leaves the ministry. Make sure that they hear the news from you, and be careful how you tell them.”

“I’d not thought about that. Thanks for pointing it out.”

"And then there's the matter of an annulment. Assumpta will have to get specialist advice from the Diocesan Marriage Tribunal, but if what you said is true and can be supported by evidence, it may be possible. But these things take time, but nothing compared with laicisation."

Peter nodded as they walked together, grateful for Fr Mac’s sympathetic attitude now that he was satisfied that there had been no improper behaviour, and grateful too for the wise advice. These were practicalities that Peter had not even thought about yet.

“So, what is it to be? If you go, I’ll not try to stop you and I’ll do what I can to help. If you stay, I’ll try to be more supportive. But you can't take forever to decide.”

“You’ve given me a lot to think and pray about, and talk through with Assumpta. But I think that I will want to leave.”

They walked on, round to the iron railings. Fr Mac sighed, “So, another one bites the dust.”

Peter took that as criticism, for giving up. “None of this is simple, Father.”

“No. I won't make you?”

Peter did not understand where this was leading. “You want me to stay?”

Fr Mac thought that Peter was dithering again. He frowned as he thought to himself Why does what I think matter to him? Is he so lacking in confidence that he still has to fish for compliments? With impatience creeping into his voice he said, “I've boosted your ego enough for one day, Father. The question is, what do you want? And if it's the priesthood, how long till your next, how shall I put it, moment of truth?” He realised this had sounded provocative, but saw no harm in that.

Peter was puzzled by the change in Fr Mac’s tone; he wondered if this was a reference to Jenny Clarke. Earnestly, he said “This is different.”

“Oh, this is the real thing. That's nice.” The sarcastic tone had been deliberate. The Bishop had told Fr Mac not to push Peter over the edge. Well he was going to push him.

“What I'm saying is, Father, and you know this, I wouldn't expect to meet someone like Assumpta again.”

Fr Mac stopped walking and turned to face Peter. “You haven't been outside Ballykissangel that much, Father, have you?”

“So?”

Here came the push. “The country is full of Assumpta Fitzgeralds.”

He walked away, leaving Peter standing, with a look of utter disbelief on his face. He was astonished at Fr Mac’s insult to Assumpta. But in that moment, he knew for certain there was only one Assumpta Fitzgerald for him, and he wanted her in his life.

Fr Mac sat in his car and watched. He sighed as he thought once more of Aileen and their Nainsi. He half hoped that Peter would find the courage that he had lacked. At last, he saw Peter set off down the hill with a determined stride. “One less vocation in captivity”, he thought to himself as he started the engine and commenced the drive back to Cilldargan.

--- 888 ---

Later in day, after his conversation with Assumpta by the river, Peter telephoned Fr Mac to confirm his decision.

“Thank you for letting me know. I can’t say I’m pleased to lose you, but I do hope that the future goes well for you both.

“Thank you, Father. What do you want me to do?”

“Can you carry on for a few days until Bishop Costello has been in contact with the Archbishop and with your bishop and we have made arrangements for a replacement?”

“OK.”

“Please don’t disclose that you are even thinking of leaving just yet. And do remember you are a priest: behave yourself in private as well as in public. It is of the greatest importance how the parish finds out – best from you in the pulpit.”

“Yes, I understand that.”

“You might begin to give some thought to who you will need to tell and by what means. When that sort of news breaks, it tends to spread like wildfire.”

“Yes, I’ll do that. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“Good bye, Father.”

“Good bye. Thanks.”

Peter sat down to make out a list of those he had to tell, bearing in mind Fr Mac’s advice earlier. There was Fr Randall, his former parish priest at Holy Name, Fr Russell, his friend from Allen Hall and Holy Name, Tim Wheen, Fr Mac's nephew who had stayed with him the previous Christmas, Fr Collins and Fr O’Malley, the other priests in the parish, his close friends in Ballykissangel, his uncle and brothers in England, and the parish as a whole. While the thoughts were fresh in his mind, he sketched out some letters and things he needed to say in his final address to his congregation.

Epilogue

None of these notes and letters was ever finished, or read by their intended recipients. But Peter, when he found them some weeks later, couldn’t just throw them away. He had no mementos, no photographs, no love letters to remind him, not even a grave he could visit to pray by and put flowers on. If it were not for the ache deep inside him and the sadness around the village, his brief happiness might almost have been just a daydream. These notes and half-written letters would have to be his memorial of Assumpta and their brief happiness. He sealed them in an envelope and concealed it between the inner and outer back covers of his breviary so that they would be in his hands whenever he prayed.

KP 4 Feb 2008