Ecumenical Diary II: God Bless the Pope. That's the thing about living in post-Catholic Ireland these days: you can criticise the Catholic Church, and everyone shakes their head sagely, and says good point. Criticise the Church of Ireland, and it is tantamount to re-enacting the West Cork pogrom, with people murmuring: tut, tut, tut, how sectarian and intolerant. Today, An Irishman's Diary on its gallant steed comes to the rescue of the beleaguered papes; by the end of this column we shall no doubt be weltering in Protestant gore, and bellowing "Deep in the panting heart of Rome" from our unregenerately Petrine ramparts.
Because right isn't all on the one side in this matter of Catholics popping into the local Prod and taking Communion. Most people (rightly or wrongly) seem to think our newly minted cardinal was wrong to call on the C of I not to give communion to members of the RC community because of the vast difference between the reformed interpretation of consecration and Rome's. That's one point, to which the proper C of I response should have been on strict theological lines, such as: Shove it, Primate.
Robust route
But my old friend Walton Empey didn't take the traditionally robust Protestant route, one which would have been undertood and applauded by the dead defenders of Protestantism: Cranmer, Wycliffe, Latimer, et cetera. Instead, he took the Californian route. He introduced his feelings into the equation. He said that he was "saddened" by what the cardinal had said.
Ah. So when the C of I runs into a controversy, it starts behaving like the soupier kids of feminists who can't take the heat of the rhetorical fire they have helped start, so they start a sensitivity competition instead. They talk about about how much they have been hurt, and offended, and saddened, at whatever antifeminist remarks have been uttered. (Sob.) We know this ridiculous confection well enough: it is a re-construction of the fragile female of Victorian times, swooning when somebody mentions "petticoat", and requiring smelling salts, followed by two weeks taking the waters in Cheltenham. It's a bad enough model for anyone: but for the muscular prelates of the C of I. . .
Mrs Bishop: "Good morning, Bish. You seem in low form today."
Mr Bishop: "In low form, Mrs Bish? I am more than in low form. I am saddened. Do you hear me? Saddened. Yes, Mrs Bish, the only word is saddened."
Mrs Bishop: "Saddened, Bish? Saddened?"
The only word
The Bishop nods his head sadly. "Saddened," he agrees. He reflects for a moment. "Yes, Mrs Bish, I'm afraid, that's the only word that will do. Saddened. Saddened at the attitude of the RC cardinal. Saddened at the controversy over the Communion issue. Saddened that what should be a joyous occasion for my brother and sisters of the Catholic faith should instead be an occasion of acrimony."
Mrs Bishop: "What are you talking about? All your brothers and sisters are Prods, same as yourself."
Bishop (sighing): "I was speaking metaphorically, Mrs Bish. They are my brothers and sisters in Christ. Even the cardinal is my brother. But he makes me sad. So sad."
Mrs Bishop: "Have you tried punching him on his nose, Bish?"
The Bishop shakes his head sadly: "Too sad, for that, Mrs Bishop, too sad for that."
Mrs Bishop: "Poor wuzzums."
Are we incapable of having good, old-fashioned disagreements any more, in which positions are held without a floor show of vulnerable feelings? Is the splendidly uncontrite spirit of Bishop Gregg, who once described the Catholic Church in Ireland as "a schismatic and intrusive mission from Rome", completely dead? Is the vigorous pugnacity of John Charles gone from the Catholic Church altogether? Can churchmen not come out of their corners hurling haymakers at one another? Or does it all come down to a touchyfeely competition over who feels the most pain?
Pape Cardinal: "I'm hurting, man. I'm hurting real bad. I'm hurting like enough to die. You my brother man, but you cause me pain. Real pain."
"Share my pain"
Prod Bishop: "What do you know about pain, man? You want to know about hurt, try sharing my pain. Share my pain, Card, share my pain."
Pape Cardinal: "I will on my arse share your pain. Jesus Christ, Bish, I got enough hurt inside me to fill the Pro-cathedral."
Prod Bishop: "Not as much as me, Card, not as much as me. And anyway, I'm sadder than you."
Pape Cardinal: "Nobody's sadder than me. I'm hurt and I'm saddened. You tell me one more time that you're sadder than me, and you'll get a boot up the episcopal bum."
In other words, it's time to get the f-word out of all debate in Irish life. No more feelings, no more hurt, no more tears, more being offended. Come out fighting. State your case, and if need be, take no prisoners. Cardinal Connell is actually to be congratulated for forthrightly stating an unpopular point of view. Don't be sad, Prods. Just wallop him back.