Recently deceased Irish novelist, Edna O’Brien’s funeral took place over the weekend, which brought the Church’s rites and rituals the publicity and attention that only a high-profile funeral can do these days. With that publicity and attention, the Church in Ireland did what it does best and shot itself and everything it stands for in the foot.
The Irish Times reported that items brought up during the funeral “included a Buddha statue offered by her niece, which was said to symbolise how O’Brien was a ‘deeply spiritual woman whose curiosity and open heart led her to many faiths throughout her lifetime’, including Buddhism”.
I have no comment to make here on Ms O’Brien’s faith other than that she seemed to hold to her Catholicism quite dearly, whatever other “faiths” she may have been led to throughout her lifetime.
Rather, drawing this writer’s attention is the timid, shape-shifting Church of 21st Century Ireland that seems to have taken the eastern adage of becoming like water – fluid and flexible, conforming perfectly to whatever container you put it in – not only seriously, but placed it firmly at the centre of its modus operandi. The Church of the present day never met a challenge it couldn’t rationalise bending to, often with mutterings of “accompaniment” and “dialogue”.
It shouldn’t need saying, and certainly not to the clergy or hierarchy, but apparently it does: there should not be a statue of any religious figure other than Christ, his mother or any of the saints found anywhere in a Church, least of all up by the altar. Whether those of us who currently make up the Church are ashamed of it or not, the deposit of faith does not espouse a wishy-washy perennial philosophy that sees all faiths and lifestyles as equal, but the supremacy of the triune God, who walked among us as the God-man, Jesus Christ.
No doubt as I typed that uncompromising sentence, shivers ran down the spines of a not-insignificant number of Catholics who’d rather we kept such intolerant affirmations to ourselves, firmly out of the public square and out of the hearing of those who might think differently and be hurt because of it.
In taking this softly-softly approach, though, the Church here faces a dilemma, for he who commissioned it gave very clear instructions: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you”. In its rush to cater to everybody, and to leave nobody feeling left out, it runs the great risk of leaving out him upon whom the Church is founded, and his teachings unmentioned.
This is not the first time a celebrity funeral pushed the envelope and, finding an inch in the Church’s willingness to give ground, took a mile. Shane MacGowan’s funeral also saw a Buddha statue included among the symbols placed beside the singer’s coffin last December. Indeed, his wife, Victoria Mary Clarke, reportedly joked on that occasion, “Is that the first time they’ve held up a Buddha in a Catholic church?”
Maybe, but it wasn’t to be the last time.
That little detail was overshadowed though by the carnivalesque scenes – that quickly went viral – coming from the aisles and the pews, as people upped and danced to MacGowan’s most famous song, Fairytale of New York, among others, all of which were received to whoops and shouts by the lively mourners in attendance.
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” presiding priest, Fr Pat Gilbert reportedly quipped.
I understand why Fr Gilbert endorsed what he saw, I do, and I understand too why the priest presiding over Ms O’Brien’s funeral seems to have done nothing to prevent Buddha from assuming the best seat in the house. To step into the role of the naysayer, to criticise and condemn that which other people are enjoying and engaging with, is to embrace the cranky caricature Catholics have had tailor-made for them.
To be bold and send Buddha to the back of the church and out the door, to ask people to sit and pray for MacGowan – as would be in keeping with age-old Catholic teaching and tradition that believes, well, that Heaven isn’t the only possibility after this life – and to keep the merry trip down memory lane until later would be to invite accusations of judgmentalism and of being a spoilsport.
The difficulty the Church faces is that it stands for something that a critical mass of people in Ireland, and further afield, have lost faith in, either never having had it satisfactorily explained to them or, having had it explained, decided it has no place in our brave, new world – a God who doesn’t affirm our every endeavour and choice, and who knows better than us what’s good for us.
Whether or not you agree with it, that is what the Church upholds – or is supposed to uphold. In reality, observing the Church in Ireland’s clashes with the secular sphere, you could be forgiven for thinking it had started believing in that “senile benevolence” C.S.Lewis wrote of, whose plan for the universe was simply that it might truly be said at the end of each day, “a good time was had by all”.
Here’s the kicker, though: if the Church’s message is just one among many, equally valid messages, why should anyone waste their time with what it’s peddling when, let’s face it, there are more fun alternatives out there? As St Paul said, “If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all men most to be pitied”.
Every time a buddha statue makes its way serenely to the altar without a whisper of protest, and every time a priest publicly fails to encourage prayer for the soul of one whose funeral he’s celebrating, it communicates only that what the Church has to offer isn’t really all that important. Why should others take the Church seriously if its own adherents fail to? No doubt an unfair simplification, but those are the optics, and the Church has to be aware of them.