Rite and Reason: In these grim days for the Catholic Church in Ireland the life and murder of one young man remind us of all the good priests out there. Shane Halpin writes from South Africa
Two weeks ago on November 16th, while watching the Irish rugby match on television, Father Declan Collins was brutally murdered, south of Johannesburg, at his parish house in Ennerdale.
Declan, who was born in Baltray near Drogheda in 1952, was a member of the Salesian order. He was no ordinary priest. He was a fearsome fighter for the rights of the poor and oppressed in South Africa, while his faith was deepened by the reality of the lives lived on the edge of society.
In Cape Town in 1991 Declan opened the first hostel for older street youth in the city, all of whom were too old for the children's shelters and too young for the adult shelters - the twilight kids. He worked tirelessly, fought battles with police, formed street people forums with non-governmental agencies and helped to form a church response to the challenge of street children in South Africa.
He was a hero not just to the youth, many of whom had no parents, no money and no hope, but also to the many involved in poverty alleviation.
On more than one occasion, often in the middle of the night, he would be down at the central police station dealing with some youth who had been picked up for being out on the street.
Pollsmoor was no place for a child. He once told me that one child he rescued from there could hardly walk after being brutally gang-raped. On that subject Declan was a realist. In a country where a woman or child is raped every 26 seconds he always said it was better to be safe than sorry.
Although, he would fully admit that condoms were not the only answer to HIV/AIDS, he believed they provided, with counselling, some hope of curtailing the spread of the virus.
Declan's reputation as a champion of the youth was a thorn in the side of the authorities, particularly in the years before the first democratic election in 1994. On many occasions his lay partners in the Capetown NGO sector looked on in awe as he publicly confronted the chief of police on his policy towards the homeless.
In 1996 he and a group of others formed a working group to investigate employment opportunities for the homeless. Soon afterwards this group produced a publication based on the Big Issue "hand up, not a handout" concept. Today the magazine is sold in three cities throughout South Africa and has provided employment for over 7,000 homeless people.
Swaziland is a small country about a three-hour drive east of Johannesburg and borders the HIV/AIDS ravaged province of KwaZulu Natal. Here, Declan continued his work of compassion there and with that sense of humour only he could muster in those grim circumstances.
Despite his avant-garde approach to his vocation he became more connected to his spiritual life while in rural Africa. He would joke about being like St Patrick as he chucked out snakes from his living room! His spiritual uplift was the African sunset.
His last period in South Africa saw him move to Johannesburg's ganglands area where he took up residence in a so-called "coloured" township about 20 miles south of the city. Here, he did what many of us in Ireland would consider normal parish work, the difference being the level of poverty, racial tension and the enormous social problems.
DECLAN continued until his death to be a champion of the underdog. His understanding of the people's pain and his ability to put himself in their position endeared him to them. At all times he encouraged lay people, the young and old, Catholic and non-Catholic, black, brown, Indian and white to help him help others.
From the multi-million-pound homes in the suburbs to the shacks in the townships Declan was loved for the mad Irishman that he was.
He, like so many of the young men and women of the Catholic Church I met at his funeral service in Johannesburg, should make us proud. He never tried to be any better than any one else, cleric or non-cleric.
His acceptance of himself, with all his faults, all his battles with his priesthood, was what endeared people to him, and they loved him for it. At his funeral the people of Cape Town, Swaziland and Ennerdale, wept tears of love for our Irish priest.
My only consolation at this painful time in our own church's history is a hope that Declan did not die in vain. "A priest of the people and a priest for the people" may well be the message to be sent loud and clear to the Irish church. But those last words to me, however, in his loud Irish brogue, "Keep the faith, man," may well be what I required.
Shane Halpin is managing director of the Big Issue in South Africa