O'Neill, Bernard, 1921-1986, Jesuit priest

Person

O'Neill, Bernard, 1921-1986, Jesuit priest

• Barney O'Neill

27 February 1921-09 November 1986

Born: 27 February 1921, Arlington Street, Belfast, County Antrim
Entered: 14 September 1943, St Mary's, Emo, County Laois
Ordained: 28 July 1960, Milltown Park, Dublin
Final Vows: 05 November 1981
Died: 09 November 1986, St Mary’s Parish, Emmitsburg, Maryland, USA

Father was a railway guard.

Youngest of three boys with one sister.

Early education at a local primary school and then he went to the Christian Brothers Technical school in Belfast for three years. He then went for a year and a half to St Mary’s Christian Brothers school in Belfast. whilst there he sat a Civil Service exam, being offered three posts and accepting one as a Post Office Clerk and Telegraphist at Belfast GPO. He then transferred to Ballymena GPO, and whilst there studied for matriculation.

by 1974 at Emmitsburgh MD, USA (NEB) working

◆ Fr Francis Finegan : Admissions 1859-1948 - Post office Official before entry

◆ Irish Province News
Irish Province News 62nd Year No 1 1987

Obituary

Fr Bernard O’Neill (1921-1943-1986)

22nd February 1921: born in Belfast. Schooled at St Mary's secondary school (CBS) and for three years at a Belfast technical institution. For three years he was a postal clerk in London.
14th September 1943: entered SJ. 1943-45 Emo, noviciate. 1945-48 Rathfarnham, juniorate (BA course at UCD). 1948-51 Tullabeg, philosophy. 1951-53 Clongowes, regency. 1953-57 Milltown, theology. 1957-60 Belvedere, teaching. 28th July 1960: ordained a priest. 1960-61 Clongowes, prefect of Lower Line. 1961-62 Rathfarnham, tertianship.
1962-73 Gardiner street: 1962-4 at Jesuit Missions office: 1964-72 bursar, adj. dir, SFX Hall, pastoral work.
1973-86 Mount St Mary's seminary, Emmitsburg, Maryland, USA: adj, rector. 9th November 1986: died.

Irish Province News 62nd Year No 3 1987

Obituary

Fr Bernard O’Neill (1921-1943-1986)
(† 9th November 1986)

“True joy is a sure sign of the presence of God” These words of the French philosopher, Léon Bloy, ring so true in the life of Father Barney O'Neill. An Irish-born Jesuit, Barney brought joy into the lives of everyone he met, and during his lifetime he met many people. There was always a smile wherever he went. He was a master story-teller and knew every new joke before anyone else. Above all, he was an excellent priest, an insightful spiritual director and good friend. He knew what priesthood was about.
He was born in Belfast in 1921 and was ordained for the Society of Jesus in 1960 in Dublin, He taught and did parish work in Ireland and England before coming to the United States. In 1973 he came to Mount St Mary's Seminary in Emmitsburg, Maryland, as dean of men and Director of Field Education.
As any priest or seminarian who knew him found, there was never a dull moment when Barney was around. He had a mask, puppet, or joke for every occasion. His humor could touch the heart of anyone, especially if they were hurting. He also had a special gift of being able to size up a situation and offer a solution to it. Bishop Harry Flynn, former rector of the Mount, recalled a time when he was faced with a difficult situation. Fr Barney came into his office and said to him, “In Ireland we have a saying about problems like this. You look it straight in the eye and then you walk around it”.
Fr Barney's life was always deeply rooted in prayer and the Eucharist. He prayed constantly, while walking, running, with the community, even in the car. He never learned to drive, so the seminarians would take him to the air- port or train station so he could get to his destination. As you'd be driving along he'd say, "Can I hit you with some Day time Prayer,' or 'Can I give you a bit of the rosary?'.
Barney had a special affinity to the ‘unimportant, especially the poor, dis advantaged, the homeless. He saw Christ in everyone and everyone was important. If he knew a seminarian was far from home and could get home only for Christmas, he would make sure he would not feel left out. He would take him to a restaurant for a good meal, later would pick up the tab for a movie and on the way home would stick a $20 bill in his pocket and say, 'Go out this week on me.'
As dean of men, the seminarians always felt welcome at his door whenever they had a problem. He did whatever he could and always listened compassionately. Even in his last days on earth, he continued to give of himself and bear witness to Christ.
He was diagnosed as having cancer on 6th October, 1986 and died just a month later, As the cancer spread he was increasingly confined to bed. Wishing to be part of the community, the seminarians carried him on a chair wherever he wanted to go. The Thursday before he died he met with the entire seminary community. As he was brought in we rose to our feet in applause for the priest we loved so much. Though very weak, he soon had us laughing and smiling as he sang his favourite song, “New York, New York”. God was to let us have him only three more days.
He died the way he lived, at peace with himself and with his God. He will be remembered for his kindness, his generosity, his simplicity of life and above all his unfailing humor. He taught us much by the way he lived, but he taught us even more by the way he died.
As the weeks pass, we spend less time talking about Father Barney, yet he is closer than ever. He instilled in us a spirit of joy that will remain forever. We thank God for the many blessings we have received from his faithful servant and we confidently pray that he may now enjoy his heavenly reward.
Kenneth Borowiak

◆ Interfuse
Interfuse No 49 : September 1987
In Memory of Barney O’Neill
Albert Ledoux

The move from Gardiner Street to the United States must have been a difficult one for our late lamented Barney. Yet he managed to retain his sense of humour, as this tribute tells us.

First of all, let me introduce myself as a member of the deacon class at Mount Saint Mary's Seminary, Emmitsburg, Maryland. Barney O'Neill was a personal friend of mine. Here are a few, brief glimpses of his last few months among us.

My association with Barney began in August of 1982. It's traditional at the seminary to hold welcoming parties for the new man. Usually 50 - 55 men are involved: all of first theology as well as the pre-theologians and transfers. It is also customary to entertain the entire house at these parties, which are held in the basement recreation room amid ample quantities of beer, lemonade, crackers, cheese, etc. This was probably where I got my first memory of Barney. Several faculty took their turn entertaining the new men. Barney's version of the entertainment was a stand-up comedy routine, some singing (favourite song: “New York, New York”) interspersed with some of his famous jokes. Some of these jokes tended to be real 'groaners', a fact which only served to make Barney more delightful.

Whether his listeners laughed or groaned at his jokes, Barney was there to entertain them. He didn't mind making himself vulnerable, open to rejection, even on as simplistic a level as telling funny stories at a party. It was this vulnerability that characterized his dealings with the seminarians in general. His unpretentiousness was almost legendary. This was rendered all the more noteworthy when compared to the attitude of certain other faculty who, shall we say, have a much loftier notion of themselves than would reasonably be necessary.

I had the opportunity to work with Barney three times on the assigning of rooms to seminarians. This ordeal takes place twice a year, once in September and once again in January after a number of the deacons return to their dioceses for a semester of parish work. All seminarians concerned are expected to submit a piece of paper with room preferences. The pieces of paper are then drawn at random, and a precedence list is drawn up. I remember spending hours with Barney in his room, pouring over diagrams of the seminary, trying to fit each seminarian into one of his room choices. This was where I came to appreciate the extreme difficulty that Barney experienced in saying “NO” to people. Wherever Barney felt there was a need, he was first to offer help. Certain older seminarians were sure to find an appreciative ear in requesting particular rooms on lower floors or in more remote corners of the building. One of Barney's mottoes was obviously that it was preferable to err on the side of charity than to judge too hastily.

I returned to the seminary a few days early last August in order to help with seminarian orientation for the new men. Since there were only two seminarians in the building at the time, and since Barney needed some sort of transportation to the hospital the next morning, he approached me for the favour. He said it was a matter of “some blood work” that needed to be done. The mention of blood work sounded rather serious, but the next morning he explained that the doctors merely wanted to check the uric acid content of his blood. He had been experiencing a certain difficulty in walking which the doctors were tempted to attribute to gout. I drove him to the hospital, waited for his tests to finish, and drove him back to Mount Saint Mary's. Barney was not one to waste time in the car. He graciously offered to read his divine office aloud so that may time in the car would not be entirely “wasted”.

Well, the tests came back negative, to the stupefaction of the doctors. He was then given some pain medicine and told to ease up on his activities. The doctors suspected by now that the problem had to do with muscular strain.

Yet the problem refused to go away. During the ensuing weeks, when ideally the pain should have subsided, it only got worse. Barney took to hobbling around the corridors and to climbing the stairs with great difficulty. (He lived on the third floor above the ground in a building without elevators). We heard no complaints. If anyone asked, Barney would explain that he was feeling some discomfort. Very few people knew to what extent Barney was feeling pain.

The first clue that the problem was not trivial came in early October when Barney was hospitalized for a week. All manner of tests were run on him. The conclusion was that he had cancer, although for the time being it was not known where the cancer was principally located. Hence treatment could not be started. When it was established that he had lung cancer and that the cancer in his bones was a side-effect therefrom, the condition was too far advanced to merit therapy. This was when Barney decided to return to the seminary to die among those with whom he had lived, worked and prayed.

The Rector announced the news to the seminary community one evening at the weekly Rector's conference. Still, in this day and age, we have become accustomed to people living for years with their cancer. When we heard the news, the doctors had not yet concluded that treatment would be fruitless. That judgement would come the following week. There was a general feeling of dismay among the seminarians, but certainly not one of gloom, for we were all anticipating a successful treatment.

One of the seminarians set up a rotating schedule whereby twenty-one other seminarians took their turns bringing Barney his meals. It was principally through these seminarians that the remaining 140 of us found out details about Barney's condition. A few days after Barney's last diagno affixed a note to Barney's door advising all those without official business to kindly keep their distance. Barney was fading fast.

Three days before Barney died, I asked one of the fellows on the meal list if he would mind terribly if I brought Barney his supper. I had a few things to tell him before it was too late... When I knocked on Barney's door that evening, I found him sitting at an angle in his hospital bed. It took him several minutes to get his bearings, for he had been sleeping. It became apparent that Barney was becoming disorientated since his train of thought would trail off, and he tended to make illogical connections when he spoke.

Still, his spirits were good. He had been receiving visitors constantly for the last few days. He had been on the phone several times with friends and relatives in Britain and Ireland. Apart from the lapses in conversation, he seemed alert. In short, his condition did not seen as serious as I had thought.

When I returned with his supper, thinly sliced roast beef and potatoes with some tea to wash it down, Barney wasn't alone in his room. A seminarian who worked as a male nurse prior to coming here was there in the room with him. This fellow would get Barney up in the morning, bathe him if necessary, see to it that he took his medicine, and the like. I never did get the chance to tell him what I had on my mind, namely that he had been one of the finest Christian models to which I had been exposed at the seminary, and that I was grateful for his being there.

Coincidentally, this was also the night when Barney wished to attend (what turned out to be) his last Rector's conference. He had already attended Mass in our large lecture hall the previous Monday, a Mass which he himself used to say for seminarians whose apostolic duties conflicted with the community Mass on Monday and Tuesday afternoons. Anyway, he was hoisted into a chair and carried down to that Mass by four seminarians.

After the gospel was read, the celebrant asked Barney if he had anything to say. Barney, true to form, then attempted to turn a gloomy situation into a happy one. He noted that in the gospel passage the crippled and the beggars were the ones ultimately invited to the wedding feast. “I want the word to go out!” he exclaimed, “I am a cripple! And I want to know what's been happening to all these party invitation I'm supposed to be getting?!”

He did strike a more serious note at the end of the Mass, however. He was heading to the hospital for his last round of tests, and just wished to express how much it meant for him to be spending these days and weeks among the seminarians, those who had meant a great deal to him during the past several years. Here the customary happy face disappeared for a moment as he choked back a sob.

That Thursday he was back in the lecture hall, having been carried down from the third floor by some seminarians. Another faculty member gave the talk, after which Barney, still seated in his wheelchair, took the microphone. He expressed his sentiments to the community, giving no indication with his manner of speaking that things were as far advanced as they were. A fellow at the piano struck up the chords to "New York, New York". We all joined in on what was universally perceived to be Barney's theme song. Barney was at Benediction that evening. He spent Friday and Saturday receiving visitors and giving other cancer patients courage over the telephone.

Friday morning, I summoned up my courage to ignore the Rector's "No visitors" sign on Barney's door and intruded to ask if he might like some of the Lourdes water that I had in my room. I brought him some after class, cautioning him at the time that the water had been all bottled up for over a year, ever since I collected it myself at Lourdes. I told him that I wouldn't recommend it for internal use. At that, with the customary gleam in his eye, he removed the cap and took a hefty swallow. Upon looking up he explained that he had been into the baths at Lourdes on several occasions, upon none of which the waters had looked as clear as did the heavenly elixír which he now held in his hands.

Ken Borowaik and I stayed with him for a good half hour, during which Barney spoke a near-monologue on his family in Europe, especially his nephew who resides in Italy with his wife and children. I found myself wondering if the kinder thing would be to excuse myself or to just allow him to continue talking. I eventually left the room to allow Barney to rest.

Sunday, as I'm sure you already know, Barney had the opportunity to say his last Mass. This took place during the afternoon. That night, after Benediction, the seminarian ex-nurse of whom I already spoke, went into Barney's room to make him comfortable for the night. That's when it was discovered that he had died. Several days earlier, the Rector had arranged to have an electrical speaker installed in Barney's room that would relay the sound of all our chapel exercises. It is reasonable to suppose that Barney died while listening to solemn Benediction.

At about 10.40 that night, various seminarians ran about the building knocking on doors, spreading the news that Barney had died and asking everyone to assemble in the chapel to recite a rosary for Barney's happy repose.

The next afternoon, Barney's remains were brought back to lie in state in the seminary chapel. His coffin was of oak, in a rich brown shade. The lid was entirely removed to reveal Barney vested in an off-white chasuble with gold trim. For the first time since I met him Barney looked his age. In his last two months of life Barney seemed to have aged fifteen years. After his death, the fact of his being sixty-five years old was greeted with near-universal astonishment. He had always been the picture of vitality. Yet now he looked very old.

The funeral was set for Wednesday morning in the college chapel, about a hundred yards away from the seminary and of more ample proportion than our seminary chapel which can only seat 160 people comfortably. We had two questions: where Barney would be buried and whether or not his family would come from Ireland. The first matter was resolved quickly. The afternoon of the day he died, Barney had told the Rector that he wished to be buried in Mount Saint Mary's cemetery. Later on Monday we were told that his sister, Lily, and her husband would be arriving from Ireland on Tuesday. A niece from Toronto would also attend the funeral.

And so, Barney lay in state for two days in the seminary chapel. Our regular chapel exercises took on a decidedly different air as we meditated upon Barney's life and death and upon the transitory nature of our own lives as well.

The two days prior to Barney's funeral were marked by rather dreary weather. The air turned unseasonably cold; it rained or drizzled constantly. The morning of the funeral, however, the gloom was gone. The temperature was barely above freezing, yet the sky was a clear blue. After the funeral director prepared Barney's coffin for removal, the 165 seminarians led the funeral cortege down the driveway to the college chapel. We were followed by 75 priests, a number of officials from the college, as well as a good representation of local people. Marching two-by-two, the procession covered the entire distance between the seminary and large chapel.

The Most Reverend Harry J. Flynn, former Rector of the seminary, and recently-named auxiliary bishop of Lafayette, Louisiana, was the main celebrant. A choir of twenty-odd seminarians provided the music. Several selections were worked into the Mass that were based on Irish folk tunes or which incorporated passages from the Spiritual Exercises. I myself sang the “Pie Jesu” from the “Faure Requiem”, a beautiful piece of music in my opinion, and one which I wanted to sing for Barney.

Over and over again reference was made to Barney's over-riding kindness and cheerful disposition, his ability to walk into the gloomiest setting, the most contentious of environments, and leave everyone smiling after a few minutes. The bishop tied it all together with Barney's vision of the priesthood, with Barney's own personal way of spreading the love of Christ among those who needed it the most.

After the funeral Mass, most of the participants gathered in the cemetery behind the seminary. The seminary building is located at the precise spot where à 1,500 foot high mountain meets the coastal plain. Our founder, an exiled French priest by the name of John Dubois, built his first church on the mountain side in 1806. Adjacent to the church was the cemetery. The church is gone but the cemetery remains, holding several hundred graves and dating back to the second decade of the 19th century. Barney's remains were placed in the faculty plot, which is composed of the graves of about a dozen former Rectors, spiritual directors, and the like. The faculty plot is located at the base of the cemetery which measures about 100 x 300 yards and stretches back into an oak forest at about a twenty degree incline.

A canopy covered the grave, near which chairs had been set up for Lily, her husband and the niece from Toronto. Bishop Flynn read the final prayers of commendation, after which he bent down to offer his condolences to the family. The mourners then began walking down the hill toward this parking lot. This was when a sole instrumentalist, placed further up the cemetery behind a small mausoleum, began playing Barney's theme song. The Rector had thought that Barney, who had spent so much time making people smile while he was living, would have wanted people to smile while remembering him in death. So the instrumentalist played “New York, New York” very quietly and slowly. And as each of the mourners realized what was being played, a smile spread across their lips. And so, by a fortunate musical association, Barney made everyone smile once again.

Before leaving the cemetery, I offered two roses to Lily, telling her to give them to her mother. (I am also the seminary gardener and can cut flowers with impunity). These happened to be the last two roses in bloom on the seminary property before the arrival of heavy frost. Lily expressed some doubt as to whether she could bring such things through British customs. The niece suggested that the flowers be pressed, however, at which point the ban on live plants would no longer hold. Lily and her husband remained in Emmitsburg until the next morning. They visited Barney's old rooms to retrieve anything that might be of sentimental value. They fastened upon a few photographs and souvenir pebbles that Barney had picked up somewhere or other. This was all they took.

Irish Vice-Province of the Society of Jesus, 1830- (1830-)

IE IJA J/341

Irish Jesuit Archives

IE IJA