Dear Friends and Benefactors,
Poor James
Joyce! He wrote the first chapters of his Ulysses at the
Martello Tower, a short walk from our priory, and left us an
appalling description of old Dublin, as seen through the thoughts
and experiences of the protagonists, from their waking to their
sleeping on a spring day in Dublin in 1904. The cold eyes of a great
writer without faith only saw a city of gloom and ultimately of
despair, an ominous town whose dislocated inhabitants roam in dirty
streets, almost deprived of life or, worse, in living pain. In his
materialistic fashion, Joyce failed to look at the Irish spirit,
omitting its very essence: the staunch and joyful attachment to the
True Faith which made the heroic Irish soul.
There is no better time to walk through Dublin than the
Easter season, and so I decided to take a Sunday afternoon stroll
with our visiting friend Father Régis
Babinet. We
wanted to see if James Joyce's imagery would now be accurate, if –by
a strange alchemy of time and circumstances– the modern city would
now have turned into the fraudulent likeness depicted exactly one
century ago.
Dublin is a pedestrian town, a nightmare for a car
driver. It welcomes the inquisitive saunterer, who is invited by
the chaotic layout of the streets to meander here and there. One
turn of street may suddenly reveal an architectural gem, be it a
splendid brown-rose brick mansion or a massive Gothic church, a true
fortress of stone and coloured glass, or maybe an immense park
worthy of the Wizard of Oz, or enchanting squares framed by Georgian
houses, with doors painted in robin's egg blues, rabid reds,
impossible greens, and shiny blacks...
The old city is a symphony of colours and movement,
hugging its way to the ocean, the river Liffey, which reverberates
in the afternoon sun. Haste has not yet seeped into the Irish
consciousness –crazy car drivers excepted– and Dubliners have not
speeded up to the pace of a modern city. And so we found everywhere
a mass of people happily walking with no particular goal. Many, many
young families with children (no abortion in Ireland!), older
couples walking their dogs, somewhat extravagant but cheerful youth,
and boisterous groups of friends enjoying the good company, all of
us moving at the Sunday cadence of an extraordinary city which still
looks very much like a village.
We did not see in Dublin the grey countenance of a
Calvinist Geneva, nor the Londinian indifference or the
out-of-my-way faces of busy Manhattans. Instead, the frank, happy
smiles of what can be called the social remnant of the Catholic soul
of Ireland. Despite the avatars of a quickly changing society,
Dublin still shines with the distinct glow of its Catholic heritage.
"God bless you, Fathers!," "Hello, Fathers, lovely day
indeed!," and even the drunkards approached the two prominent black
cassocks, asking how was the Pope doing lately... From Grafton
Street, now a mall closed to the traffic, a human sea flowed into
Trinity College or St. Stephen's Green, amidst noisy coffee houses
and street flower shops, exploding with fragrant roses, tulips of
every possible colour, lilies, heather, purple asters, and all the
Easter flowers with which nature shares the joy of Mary, the
Mystical Rose, at the Resurrection of Our Saviour. No rock music
blasting here, as in so many other large cities; instead, minuscule
singers with astonishing voices, chanting old ballads in exceptional
falsettos and politely asking for our small change (which, of
course, they got), and not-so-sober harmonica and accordion players
camping strategically near the doors of the public buildings. And
everywhere the sound of the crowd, laughing and chattering.
Father and I entered in one of the centre churches, and
at least fifty people had stopped by to make a short visit to the
Blessed Sacrament, still kept in the centre of the main altar. There
were holy water fonts at the uprights of the outside door, right in
the street, and some of those passing by made the Sign of the Cross.
In the street!
Have you ever seen that? It would be inconceivable elsewhere.
I am of course conscious of the fact that perhaps this
may be an idyllic description of what we saw, and probably a very
naïf one, and that not everything in Dublin is roses and singing.
But I am still a foreigner after all... Therefore please refrain
from writing –as some seem to love doing– to teach me a lesson in
Irish history or to inform me of how bad things are nowadays, in
case I had not notice. I am only saying that Ireland still keeps its
Catholic lustre, its profound Christian joy despite persecutions and
all sorts of trials as a nation, and that this is an extraordinary
thing indeed. The Protestant face of Joyce's Ireland probably never
existed and it certainly does not exist nowadays. Poor James Joyce!
He was a liar who knew how to write...
This is a reason for admiration, a cause to inspire
gratitude towards those great Irish priests, educators, and fighters
of a recent past who built your national character, and especially
it is a motive for hope. In this ugly and selfish world of the
culture of death, the smiling babies, their young parents, the happy
afternoon Irish faces (not the evening ones!), the singing street
beggars and even the crazy fellows of Grafton Street asking me about
the Pope's health reveal that there is still a Catholic social
heritage in the Island of the Saints, and that it is very much
alive. And this, my friends, is a wonderful thing.
It is wonderful because a whole world is to be rebuilt:
a Christian civilization, and barrels of grace, sermons, and prayers
will do little good if they are poured over sad and depressed modern
souls. Let us understand that the service of God is the source of
true happiness, individual as well as social, happiness in the
families and in the nations.
In the Catholic Faith, Sacraments, and faithful
hierarchy we find the pure springs of that joy which is a foretaste
of the everlasting one in Heaven.
May Mary Most Holy, in the joy of Easter, be more than
ever Causa nostrae laetitiae!
Your priests in happy Dublin pray for you and love you.
Please help our apostolic projects with your generosity and prayers.
Gratefully yours in Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,
Father Ramón
Anglés
