Scottish Catholic Observer

There is little more comforting for a human being than a sense of belonging. For Catholics, that sense of belonging has always been inextricably bound up with being a member of a parish, sharing our faith with like-minded people, knowing that even if we are quite alone in the world, we have a place in the scheme of things. Simply to be a parishioner means that we are included, that we matter to others. That, of course, depends on our particular parish being a true community…

‘Community,’ now there is a word that is constantly used these days. ‘Our parish’ has become ‘our parish community’ when mentioned by most of our parish priests. And yet, in far too many places, that sense of community has disappeared. Reasons for that are readily available, from a shortage of priests, merging of parishes or similar arrangements, to improved transport giving people freedom to seek out alternative parishes to their own for various reasons. Indeed, it might be said that nomadic Catholics are on the increase. Against that backdrop, the insistence of many of our parish priests that we belong to a ‘parish community’ becomes a pretty hollow sound.

And yet, there are those who stick doggedly to what they call their ‘own parish,’ come what may. They cite the history of their parish, the efforts of their forefathers in founding and building it, the importance of keeping its identity intact. Are they right? I think they are. Family traditions as Catholics, a strong sense of continuity are forged when people adhere to their own parishes. Have you noticed how a parish generates a life of its own when times are troubled? In our own recent troubles, it was noticed that people lingered that bit longer after Mass, spoke more freely to one another, discussed matters of importance to the church. There was a closeness, a sharing, a reminder for many that strength can come from adversity. And that strength can be a formidable force if it comes from a wide selection of small but strong units, rather than a large bureaucratic representation which tends to stifle individual opinion, removes that sense of belonging and silences those who feel that being part of such vastness means that their voices are weakened into inaudibility.

Does the weakening of our parish structure act against a true sense of community and stifle all but the loudest voices? I think it does and I think we need to look again at the real value of our parishes, the need to maintain that structure and the pressing need in some of them to restore real connection between priests and people. All too often, actual contact with the parish priest is minimal. Few priests make their way round parishes on foot from time to time and actual visitations are almost a thing of the past in most places. Contact is frequently limited to a brief word from the priest as he stands on the steps of the church after Mass on Sundays. We are all too familiar with answering machines when we phone the presbytery or with the impersonal communication of e-mails. All too often it would seem that the Faithful are being managed rather than being nurtured. In such an ‘arms-length’ sort of situation, there can be no claim that a parish is a community.

In a real community lies strength, a real sense of identity. Other denominations tentatively talk of restructuring, so that they can confront the many challenges thrown in their path. And all too often, ‘restructuring’ generally means building in yet another layer of bureaucracy that, in turn, serves only to push congregations towards the outside edges of their particular denominations.

Strength can be drawn from being a member of parish that is a true community. It is, in a way, a badge of identity for a Catholic. We need to re-affirm the value of our parishes, learn lessons from their histories, draw on that, strengthen them and stay with them to correct their faults rather than leaving and becoming nomadic Catholics. We also need to rediscover the true identities of our parishes and to restore them, at least in part, to meet the apathy generated by a selfish and superficial world…

That, of course, is sure to be seen as a sweeping statement. But set against it is the feeling that perhaps we are becoming so used to closures, mergings, parishes trying to keep some sort of identity on the basis of one Sunday Mass provided by a neighbouring priest, that it is ‘just the way things are.’ And in becoming used to it, are we too readily accepting it? Consider the reaction when there is notice given of closure of a school, of a merger with a near neighbour. Protest campaigns are mounted and the reasons for closure are swept aside on a tide of reasons why the school should remain open, of its history, its status in the community.

There is a long list of protests which can be made. Is a campaign mounted when a parish faces closure? Of course not, and the reasons are obvious. Implicit in any campaign would be criticism of diocesan administrators who are already hard-pressed by practical considerations, and that would be unfair. But, at the same time, our parishes are the very heartbeat of Catholicism, and at a time like this, that heartbeat must remain strong.

Shining examples

One particular parish comes to mind here. I had reason to visit it just over a year after the sudden loss of the parish priest, and when the people were relying on one Sunday Mass provided from a neighbouring parish. The place was a hive of activity. The people themselves, with no immediate prospect of a priest, were keeping the church and its grounds immaculate, were coming together to say the Rosary once a week in the church, holding forward planning meetings in one room of the unoccupied presbytery, getting ready for their usual summer fund-raising fete. They kept their parish alive despite the fact that they had not been given any official news of a replacement parish priest. Theirs was a success story. Today, they have their own parish priest again.

Another parish I have recently had news of had managed to keep going though the long illness of their parish priest and for more than a year after his death. They have one Mass on a Sunday, supplied from a neighbouring parish but the cohesion of the parish seems to be unravelling now, guilds and societies giving up in sheer weariness.

‘Shortages of priests’… the reason for it all and an expression that has become, by its constant repetition, part of our Catholic vocabulary, is something which has been suffered and yet overcome in times gone by. For instance, in 1668, little more than a century after the Reformation, Scottish Catholics had fewer than twenty priests to serve the needs of the whole country, and those priests were forbidden by law to say Mass or to tend to their people. In those days of Scotland being divided into one Highland and one Lowland Vicariate, there were two Gaelic-speaking Franciscans, the remainder of the priests being mainly Jesuits. Vocations were inhibited by the fact that the seminaries available for study and training were the Scots colleges in Rome and in France, and only the sons of people such as landed families could afford to travel abroad simply for an education or to train for the priesthood. Then, and in the years that followed, strength was somehow drawn from adversity and the Faith survived…

Along the way, help was given, as it was in later years, by Ireland, whose priests feature prominently in Scotland’s subsequent Catholic history. Later, French émigré priests came here, escaping from the French Revolution. Another example of strength drawn from adversity, perhaps, but also lessons to be learned from the pages of history… among them about the universality not only of the Church, but of the priesthood, about the way in which young men were prepared for that priesthood.

Missionary zeal

Recently, Fr Jeremy Bath and parishioners from three parishes in Livingston took a step back into the pages of history by walking to Glasgow… the Bishop Geddes Walk. In that, they were commemorating a remarkable man who, together with Bishop George Hay, led Scottish Catholics through one of the most turbulent periods endured by the Church. The fact that he thought nothing of walking from Edinburgh to Glasgow to minister to his flock is an indication of the missionary zeal that imbued him.

There could be no better time than now, in the Year of Faith to try to recapture some of the missionary zeal shown in a difficult past, to see past unceasing attacks on Christianity itself, to resist the comparative comfort of accepting the status quo and to repair and preserve the framework of the faith built by our forefathers.

For instance, where parishes are without priests, they could be advised, helped to keep their identities, their actual parish structure supported until a parish priest is restored to them… This could be done by diocesan administrators who are also clergy.

We are fortunate that, as in the past, some priests have come from abroad to help us. There are more who are willing to do so and simply await the invitation.

To study the training of boys for the priesthood shows how the triumph of preservation of the faith overcame the disaster of persecution in Penal times. Priests emerged who were selfless, disciplined, strong in spiritual leadership. They were trained to be self-reliant but never selfish. Expected to be both pious and learned, they were reminded that

“Without piety, learning is but a sword in a madman’s hand.”

From the 16th into the 19th century, these men preserved the faith in Scotland. In the 19th century came a huge upsurge in the formation of parishes. In the central belt of Scotland, they ‘followed the work.’ such as the building of railways, mining of coal. And that formation, including the building and plenishing of fine churches, the setting up of schools, took place against the backgrounds of poor wages, bad housing, punishing working conditions. The people were led by parish priests, many of whom are still remembered as inspirational leaders. They gave the people a true sense of belonging.

Working together

Today, in addition to a shortage of priests, we have a problem in a significant number of places, with the direct connection needed between our parish priests and the people. There are no terms and conditions attached to the position of a spiritual leader. It is not a job—as we all know, it’s a vocation, a calling. Accessibility is essential. Modern technology creates distance between priest and people, as does a proliferation of committees. If a simple concern of a parishioner has to be set down in writing, read out at a meeting, discussed, and the eventual finding made in writing to the parishioner, barriers are set up between priest and people.

Healthy, thriving parishes are those where the parish priest attends to matters spiritual, but is also readily accessible to the people, and where communities ‘lighten the load’ for him by energising the actual life of the parish. They echo the past.

And if we think back to some of the parish priests we have known and loved, perhaps something can be learned from that which will carry us safely into the future.