As the eyes of the world lay on Gemelli Hospital in Rome, where Pope Francis was seriously ill last week, two significant Irish religious figures slipped quietly away to their eternal reward.
Bishop emeritus Willie Walsh of Killaloe died in his own home, while Sr Máire Hickey, Abbess Emeritus of Kylemore, died in the loving care of Mother Karol, the new abbess, and the Benedictine Community.
Initially, I was prejudiced against Willie Walsh. I deemed him one of those priests who could not resist a microphone and was liable to say anything once one was placed before him. A priest friend of mine suggested that I might try waiting until I met him before passing judgment.
When I did eventually meet him, the simple goodness of the man changed my view of him forever. In biblical terms, he was a Nathaniel, a person without guile. That does not mean that he was always right, much less that I agreed with all his public stances. However, far from courting attention, because of his innate courtesy, he tried to facilitate journalists when he could. More often than not, it got him into trouble.
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He was an exceptional listener, despite his deafness. He was a person of deep compassion, which spurred his pilgrimage of apology for clerical sexual abuse of children and his care for Travellers. Just before he was installed as bishop of Killaloe, I asked him what his priorities would be. I was astonished and a bit put out when he said it would be his “little band of brothers” – that is, his priests. As a layperson, I thought this smacked of clericalism and said so. Clericalism – undue deference either demanded by or awarded to clergy by laypeople – is a real problem, but Willie Walsh was the least clericalist of people.
He simply saw that if a bishop did not care for his priests, probably no one else except their families would. The Irish Catholic has been running a series written by priests, Relentless Ministry, which chronicles the fatigue and burnout suffered by ageing and overworked priests. The priests also describe the unique fulfilment and satisfaction they receive from their role, but younger men are not being attracted to the life. It is not unconnected to the horrified reactions many parents would have if a child declared an interest in a religious vocation.
Sr Máire Hickey was a wise, wry and kind individual who had a PhD in classics and taught at Oxford
Sr Máire Hickey’s ancient order, the Benedictines, founded in the sixth century by St Benedict and his sister, St Scholastica, has also experienced vocational decline. Nonetheless, Sr Máire and her community prioritised building a new monastery to welcome spiritual seekers when other orders are closing or amalgamating communities. After being delayed by Covid-19, it finally opened last August. Opening the monastery fulfils a century-old dream in a striking act of faith and courage. Since the 17th century, there was a Benedictine foundation consisting mostly of Irish nuns at Ypres in Belgium.
The convent was bombed to smithereens in 1914, and the community eventually settled in 1920 in beautiful, tranquil Kylemore in Connemara, so iconic that it even features on the Irish passport. The nuns in Kylemore farmed and ran a school. When Sr Máire arrived there in 2007, the writing was on the wall for the school, which closed in 2010. Today, Kylemore Abbey is central to Irish tourism and is the largest private employer in Connemara. It showcases the best of Irish goods and crafts, and even Connemara ponies. It has a strong environmental and conservationist focus.
However, Sr Máire was acutely aware that the vital spiritual role of the Benedictine Community was in danger of becoming sidelined by the economic success story it had created.
An extraordinary woman born in 1938, this wise, wry and kind individual had a PhD in classics and taught at Oxford before she entered a German Benedictine Monastery. She was modestly famous in Germany, where she was Abbess of Burg, Dinklage, for well over 20 years. In 1997, a photo flew around the world of her religious community in their floor-length traditional habits staging a sit-down protest. They were preventing the German government from deporting a Ukrainian family to whom the monastery had given sanctuary. It was a time of tumult in Germany and churches had been victims of arson for pro-asylum-seeker stances. It did not deter Sr Máire.
The same courage and perseverance was evident in Kylemore, where she, ably assisted by her community, forged links first with Notre Dame in Indiana, which opened a third-level education centre there, and then with funders for the new monastery.
Sr Máire’s vision for the next century is rooted in Laudato Si, Pope Francis’s encyclical on the environment. Where better than Kylemore to demonstrate the connection between spirituality and sustainability?
“Ní bheidh a leithéidí arís ann,” is the traditional tribute to exceptional people who have died. Both Sr Máire and Willie Walsh, I suspect, would be better honoured by the lesser-known Benedictine motto associated with Monte Cassino – succisa virescit. It can be translated as “cut back, it grows back green”. Seeing others embrace religious vocations of selfless service would be the best possible tribute.
