Ireland and My Grandmother's Faith
My father’s mother was named Helen Ford. She was long and lithe, narrow and fluid, and gifted with a full head of wavy hair that turned, in her later years, to a color that by-passed gray completely to shine an enviable white. Her family hailed from Tuam, County Galway, and as I write, I’m glancing up at the photograph on my wall, of her Irish family homestead. There, at least in my mind’s eye, three women stand before the white-washed, humble home, with arms entwined and blue eyes smiling. I’ve positioned the picture above my desk just so because it reminds me from whence I come.
I have no memory of Helen Ford, for she died the very year I was born. But there’s another photograph I have that means the world to me because this seraphic woman is holding me in her arms. Even then, you could see our similarities. There’s the same shape to our heads, the same light-colored eyes, and I’m told to this day of our striking resemblance.
I heard it told repeatedly, in my coming of age, that my grandmother was a devout Catholic, so devout, it seems, that when my father married my mother in a Presbyterian church in Memphis, she couldn’t bring herself to darken the threshold. It was as if a psychic force-field existed that precluded her entrance, so during her only son’s wedding, Helen sat demurely outside on a garden bench, with her legs daintily crossed, and her green marble rosary in her hands, much to my mother’s infinite chagrin.
My father’s view on Catholicism was something he never shared, but surely he knew his way around the subject, as his Irish father was also Catholic. But my father was a nonconformist by nature. He found God in the great outdoors, where His mysteries were whispered in talismans and signs. And although he wasn’t a denominational observer, my father was the most pious man I’ve ever known.
Pictured above, Helen Ford.
All this explains why my three brothers and I were raised in my mother’s Presbyterian faith. Kind of. I say kind of because in as much as these things should influence, after I grew up, I realized my mother’s religion didn’t actually take. Yet my pied piper of a father had somehow managed to instill in me a sense of God’s awe and wonder. I feel His presence more often than not, and I’m wise enough to know whom I serve, I just don’t have a gift-wrapped box that pleases everybody.
But my life-long friend, Tama, does -- she’s a Catholic, in no uncertain terms. I’ve always admired her clench-fisted devotion; I’ve seen it guide her unwaveringly through unspeakable times. This is how I came to visit at least a dozen Catholic churches during my last trip to Ireland: I had the good sense to bring Tama with me.
The right to light a candle
You have to know Tama. She’s of Irish blood on both sides, with an eternally young, impish look about her that’s always reminded me of a young Vivian Leigh. She is wickedly funny, maddeningly unpredictable, and I’d follow her anywhere.
“Stop,” Tama cried. “There’s another one!” I put my foot on the brake and backed up in the middle of a country road just outside Kinvara. We scratched up a gravel driveway, got out of the car, and I followed Tama inside a gray-stone, cavernous church.
The church seemed older than the land itself. It had vaulted ceilings, stain-glass windows, it reeked of incense, and echoed with every step on its granite floor. I’ve already stated I don’t have a religious box, but I do have a grand respect for the civility of ritual and ceremony. I took a seat in a back pew as Tama made her way to the front of the church, where a wrought-iron stand housed endless tiers of red votive candles.
Striking a match, then another and another, I knew what Tama was thinking. I know her family, I know her history, and it didn’t take much for me to intuit for whom the bell tolled. I was suddenly overwhelmed, watching this reverential gesture. It seemed so beautiful to me, so appropriate, so very perfect.
I thought of my brother in heaven, and rose unsteadily to my feet. For a moment, I stood questioning if I had the right to light a candle, then I thought of the woman I’ve referred to my whole life as Gaga Helen. I saw her standing before the candles, a white kerchief on her bowed head, performing an act that resonated in her bone marrow. I saw her pause for a reflective moment, then turn and walk to the pews, where she kneeled, bowed her head, and folded her hands.
It was in that moment that I suddenly knew I had the right to light a candle for Haines. When I was finished, I turned and spied Tama, in an alcove beneath a stained-glass window. She held something flimsy, plastic covered, and book-size before her. She scrutinized it with such focus it caused me to intrude upon what was clearly a private moment.
“What is that?” I whispered to Tama.
“Shhh. It’s a prayer to St. Therese.”
I stood for a moment, wanting in on the experience, and asked her to read it aloud. Tama moved closer and lowered her voice to recite the “Miraculous Invocation to St. Therese,” and I wept all the way through it.
It may have been that I was standing not far from Helen Ford’s ancestral home, or it may have been that something in this ancient text spoke to me of a faith so strong it kept my grandmother from her only son’s wedding. Whatever it was, it brought a sigh to my heart and a deep-seated sense of relief. But perhaps it is Ireland itself that will do this to a person: It took Ireland and Tama, and an ancient church on a country road to understand the sanctity of my grandmother’s faith.
Admin
Fran Reddy
Loved this story Claire!
I too had 'spiritual moments' while in Ireland.. I believe I understand exactly what you felt :)
Oct 8, 2015
Claire Fullerton
So glad to hear this from you, Fran! Perhaps we'll hear about one of your moments when you get ready to share!
Oct 8, 2015
Admin
Fran Reddy
I will be preparing something soon ; )
Oct 8, 2015
Claire Fullerton
Yay! I'll be watching!
Oct 8, 2015
Heritage Partner
That's Just How It Was
Clare Fullerton, I know exactly what you are talking about ; with regard to your Grandmothers Faith. I too ; felt something akin to what she must have felt at her son's wedding.
You see my son was marrying a woman who was a Bahi; and my late husband I I knew nothing about this Faith. I prayed ; cried ; and spent many hours speaking to my local Priest ; hoping to find some comfort for the fact that my eldest son would not be getting married in a Catholic Church ................
I was not sure that I could attend the wedding ceremony , which was held in the same Hotel as the wedding reception.
Eventually after much though and discussion with the Bahi Group and my Local Priest ; husband ; I did go to the wedding .Twenty two years later ; i am glad I did . I got to know and became friends with lots of the BAho group, I am still with some of them even thought I have moved 200 miles away .
When my son was headhunted to be the Project Manger on the Luas Line ; [the tram line that runs through Dublin now] A couple of their friends and their parents almost adopted me and my two young sons [my husband was deceased by then ] they invited us everywhere ; took time to visit us and in general terms ; were the salt of the earth at a very bleak period in my life.
My Grand- daughter who I cherish and love with all my heart ; and had sleep overs' with me while they were still living in England; came to the Catholic Church with me on Sundays to Mass ; helped me arrange the flowers for the Alter; for weddings / funerals - has grown up to be a loving, caring , thoughtful young lady ; who is now studying Medicine in Dublin,. We are still very close ,and her being a Bahi has not been an issue . Love ; thought and care is what I look for now in people. I do however retain my own Catholic Faith .
But Yes ; when I read your Grandmothers story ; I could identify with her pain and felt that ; stomach churning time all 22 years ago . As my Grand mother woudl say 'we live and learn '
Oct 8, 2015
Heritage Partner
That's Just How It Was
Oh I forgot to say ; that you do look very like eh picture ; a very pretty lady ,
Oct 8, 2015
Claire Fullerton
Well thank you! I think I definitely have Helen's eyes, although hers were blue and mine are a serious green. I loved your comment, especially the line where you said "love, thought and care is what I look for now." When I read that line, I knew you and I have similar goose feathers ( get it? Because we're both Wild Geese?) Thank you so much for your beautiful comment! I enjoyed reading it, so.
Oct 8, 2015
Heritage Partner
That's Just How It Was
We are Irish - that's the bit that none Irish people do not get ; I get it all the time.
Oct 8, 2015
Claire Fullerton
Ed, I'm so glad to hear you say this. I suspected my Gaga Helen wasn't the only Catholic who thought better of going into a Protestant church! And while I've got you, Ed, my mother's maiden name was Francis. Her father was Dr. Joseph Haines Francis, which I always thought was an exceptionally lovely name. Thank you so much for commenting! I've learned something here.
Oct 8, 2015
Heritage Partner
That's Just How It Was
In school - we were barred from even visiting a Protestant Church ;we woudl do so under pain of mortal sin [!!!] . We were told not to speak to our Protestant neighbors. !!! There were Protestant School and Catholic Schools In Bray Co Wicklow. ; I am sure it was the same all over Ireland in the 1950s.
Yes I woudl agree with you Edward Francis - the Faith is very much slipping in Ireland - when I go home now and go to Mass ; the Church is not even a quarter full. Sad as it seems - I do believe that all of the highlighted abuse in Schools / Churches / Orphanages/ by Religious elite tutors / and their ilk , played into the souls of the people of Ireland...
Not forgetting that that The Catholic Church was a sop to the Masses' in those bygone era's .-- The new Pope - ironically Pope Francis ; is setting the world wide stage by being a more down to earth character; not excluding anyone; embracing all religions and all sexual diversity . [we are all humans after all]
" come on to me, those that are weary, sick' and I will make you whole " ..." When you only seen one set of Footprints in the sand ; it was then I was carrying you my child "
This is the Language of the God that I truly believe in ......................... when people mock the Catholic Church ;; I find it upsetting that it is the human that is hiding behind the cloth of the God I believe in , that is doing all the terrible things that they have bee accused of .............. It is not the God I believe in, and he woudl not condone any of this ; but woudl offer the a way back to the path that woudl lead them back to Him .
Yet, religion is now being used in the Middle East to perpetrate all of this atrocities; Does no-one ever learn anything by past mistakes. ;
Oct 9, 2015
Claire Fullerton
So wonderful of you to post your heart-felt comments. I hear you loud and clear.
Oct 9, 2015
michael haig ryan.
to me all religions are the same just man made and sometimes we are led astray by them there are something like 10,000 religions in the world and they all believe they are right of course they make big money and a lot of corruption thrown in i believe you can find your own faith its a private thing and i think Jesus would agree he was a poor man who gave what he could to the poor he would shudder at the riches of the church's today just loolk at the wealth in the vatican then think of the plight of refugees etc.when i went to school in ireland so many years ago the christian brothers had me believe only catholics went to heaven Jesus died for all of us regardless of religion that heaven would be our eternal home, the greatest thing we can all do here on earth is to love, be charitable, never judge others or condemn just give them a hand up you will feel a better person when you give rather than take life is short make the most of it true happiness will come one day, God Bless.
Oct 11, 2015
Claire Fullerton
Thank you for this, Michael Haig Ryan. You've packed much thought into your sentence, and I appreciate it so. Thus far, I've read your comment three times, which should give you an idea of its impact.
Oct 11, 2015
Martin John Canavan
Oct 12, 2015
Claire Fullerton
I believe you're right, Martin John Canavan. After my aunt Katherine Murphy read this piece (and told me Helen's picture didn't do her justice, ) she said pretty much the same thing! Thank you for sharing your thought. I can even hear an Irish accent singing your words!
Oct 12, 2015
Bit Devine
My Grandfather's family was Presbyterian and my Gran's was Catholic... He converted to Catholicism and they were married in the Church. The children were raised Catholic and all that entails including parochial school... However, He would drop her and the children off at Mass and then go down the road to his service. He said he never quite felt comfortable in the incense and ritual of the Mass... Yet it was a Funeral Mass he had when he passed... for my Gran's comfort, I am sure.
I was raised in the Catholic Church, myself.. but am not a fan of organised religion.. or as I say "For-profit" faith
I am working on a blog post which will explain Celtic CAtholic.. as it was taught to me by my Gran
Oct 14, 2015
Claire Fullerton
oh, I'll be so interested in your blog post! And to read "as it was taught to you by your grandmother" sweetens my anticipation. Now I hope you write this blog post soon, since my mind is on the subject. It seems many in "our flock" will feel the same. Don't let me detain you, Bit; write away!
Oct 14, 2015
Suzee McKee Irwin
Claire, I have two very great friends from Tuam. The only thing is, they are both in heaven and I am here. They died too young but both had strong faith. They were "take no prisoners" Catholics. They immigrated to America probably in the sixties. Wouldn't it be funny if the families knew one another? Their names were Jimmy and Pauline Concagh. She was an O'Brien.
Tuam must be quite a breeding ground for super loyal people. From whom, may I ask,did you I inherit your charming writing style?
Oct 14, 2015
Suzee McKee Irwin
Claire, I have two very great friends from Tuam. The only thing is, they are both in heaven and I am here. They died too young but both had strong faith. They were "take no prisoners" Catholics. They immigrated to America probably in the sixties. Wouldn't it be funny if the families knew one another? Their names were Jimmy and Pauline Concagh. She was an O'Brien.
Tuam must be quite a breeding ground for super loyal people. From whom, may I ask,did you I inherit your charming writing style?
Oct 14, 2015
Claire Fullerton
You are fantastic! And upon considering my writing style, I can only say that it comes as naturally to me as the beat of my heart. It is no exaggeration to say that when I write, I'm just talking! But I will say I'm pretty clear that the desire to communicate via the written word is a by-product of my Irishness. I can't say HOW I know this, but yet I do! Feels as if it came to me from someone ahead of me. What I have done is taken the ball and kept running!
Oct 14, 2015
John Anthony Brennan
A wonderful, heartfelt story told perfectly. We Irish are truly blessed with the ability to express our thoughts, feelings and deep emotions by fashioning them into what I consider 'works of art.' Much has been taken from us down the centuries but our ability to conjure up the words we need, our spirit, if you like, is indomitable and can never be usurped.
"But my father was a nonconformist by nature. He found God in the great outdoors, where His mysteries were whispered in talismans and signs. And although he wasn’t a denominational observer, my father was the most pious man I’ve ever known."
That simple line from your story sums up, at least for me, the real. "Irish religion" meaning the blend of our olden belief system with the more modern Christianity. We embraced both and melded them beautifully. The land, the rocks and the flora have absorbed the essence of all that ever was and exhales all that will ever be. It's in us, in our very bones.
Well done. I'm positive that Helen Ford smiles when she reads this.
Oct 20, 2015
Claire Fullerton
Thank you, Mr. Brennan. I've always thought that at the core of our Irishness is the simple fact that our eyes are wide open. A person has to get up pretty early in the morning to get the jump on us, and the best of it is we all know it. I love your written words, John; always an event to hear from you.
Oct 20, 2015