The History of The Irish...Worldwide
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.
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Comment by Edward Francis Jr on October 8, 2015 at 6:30pm
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The Penal Laws were designed to force Catholics and others (Ironically Presbyterians) to the Church of England. Hundreds of years of effort could not snuff out what the modern era may do in one or two generations.Ed
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Heritage Partner Comment by That's Just How It Was on October 9, 2015 at 7:43am -
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. ;
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Comment by Claire Fullerton on October 9, 2015 at 9:48am
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So wonderful of you to post your heart-felt comments. I hear you loud and clear.
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Comment by michael haig ryan. on October 11, 2015 at 6:39pm
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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.
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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.
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Comment by Martin John Canavan on October 12, 2015 at 5:49pm
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A grand story Claire,I'm sure Helen would say " different times girl, different times".
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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!
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Comment by Bit Devine on October 14, 2015 at 4:11pm
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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
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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!
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Comment by Suzee McKee Irwin on October 14, 2015 at 4:40pm
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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?
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