It is hard to begin 2019 in Ireland with the normal wishes for a prosperous new year since this year begins with the tragic inauguration of the legalised murder of the unborn. With a grim sense of timing Ireland’s president signed abortion into law only days before the celebration of the birth of the divine Infant. In taking this step Ireland has crossed a dark Rubicon. For the very first time in the Ireland’s history, including the centuries under British rule, the unjustified killing of innocent human beings will have the full sanction of law.
Some day in the future this law will, without a shadow of a doubt, be repealed. The names of those instrumental in introducing this law will, also without a shadow of a doubt, be tokens of opprobrium. But, in the meantime, it would be an additional tragedy if we were to allow ourselves grow accustomed to what will be taking place in Irish maternity hospitals and GP clinics. We must not allow ourselves grow inured to the gravity of this crime, and of course – as if it really needs to be said – we can have absolutely no part in the killing of an unborn child. Already we have seen the admirable firmness with which many Irish GPs are refusing to participate in abortion through referral – and this in the face of the chilling disdain of our political leaders for the rights of conscience. These doctors realise that in the matter of murder there can be no compromise. Willing cooperation (what theologians term “formal” cooperation) in an intrinsic evil being carried out by another makes one an accomplice in that act, and this can never be legitimised. And while not formal cooperation, attending a GP willing to administer abortion might at least make us uncomfortable, and lead us to look into alternatives.
While in one sense the outlook is dark for public morality in Ireland, this cloud has at least one silver lining. It is, as Breda O’Brien has pointed out in a recent Irish Times opinion piece, that the days of accommodating the secular culture are numbered. She observes – very correctly in my opinion – that Irish Catholics “… want an authentic Christianity. They also want a church that is not accommodationist and anxious to please the dominant culture…. The institutional Church is also realising that accommodationism is simply a quicker route to obliteration. Before the referendum there were questions about whether a strong intervention by the Church hierarchy would hinder or help. Now, that worry has been removed, if only because there is nothing left to lose.” All of this is, as she says, “curiously liberating”.
This “curious liberation” is extremely important, both for the Church hierarchy and for the ordinary faithful. It is the liberation from the excessive concern for what people think of us, a liberation from the fear of public opprobrium. It is a liberation that allows the Church to exercise her role as a “sign of contradiction” within the world (see Luke 2:34), and at the same time a liberation to place our trust in Christ, not in the world: “In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!” (John 16:33).
I think we as a Church have a way to go yet; Irish – southern Irish at least – Catholics are still not accustomed to the kind of hostility which in fact is commonplace in many other European countries. I certainly was struck at the names I, as visibly a priest, was called on the streets of Madrid (“cuervo” – crow – is one of the more repeatable ones) when I was there for the World Youth Day in 2016.
David Quinn wrote recently of the increased levels of anti-Catholicism being experienced by Catholics in the work-place and even in their own homes. This is manifestly the case. However our reaction cannot be one of fear, or even worse of self-pity. It has to be one of courage, the kind of courage manifested by many of the saints throughout the Church’s history.
A wonderful example of such courage is visible in St Josemaria Escriva’s personal diary accounts of life in Madrid in the years leading up to the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War in 1936. The years leading up to the conflagration were marked by an incessant and brutal campaign of vilification of the Church, a campaign which achieved its intended goal especially amongst the working classes of Madrid, resulting in a bloody persecution of the Church before and during the years of the Spanish Civil War. St Josemaria was subject to verbal and physical abuse on the streets of Madrid since he wore his clerical garb till finally it would have meant certain death. However his reaction to verbal and often physical abuse was neither to shrink away, nor to respond to his attackers with hatred. Rather he feels sorry for his attackers and prays for them:
September 18, 1931: I have to thank my God for a remarkable change. Until recently, the insults and taunts directed at me, as a priest, since the coming of the Republic (before that, they were very rare), made me furious. I decided that when I heard such vulgarities and obscenities, I would say to the Blessed Virgin a Hail Mary for whoever uttered them. I have done that. It has cost me. But now, when I hear those ignoble words, they only make me feel, as a rule, deeply sorry for those poor, unfortunate people. For when they act in this way, they think they are doing something noble, since others, exploiting their ignorance and passions, have made them believe that, besides being a lazy parasite, the priest is an enemy – an accomplice of the bourgeoisie which is exploiting them. Your Work, O Lord, will open their eyes! (Apuntes, 291)
This to my mind serves as a good template for Irish Catholics in the increasingly hostile environment we now face: let us make excuses for those who abuse us for our religious or moral convictions (and defend them whenever possible), let us pray for them, and at the same time hope that the time will come when their eyes will be opened to the truth.