Born: 09 May 1925, Llandaff Hall, Merrion Road, Ballsbridge, Dublin City, County Dublin
Entered: 07 September 1942, St Mary's, Emo, County Laois
Ordained: 31 July 1956, Milltown Park, Dublin
Final Vows: 02 February 1960, St Stanislaus College, Tullabeg, County Offaly
Died: 30 December 2003, Cherryfield Lodge, Dublin

Part of the Milltown Park, Dublin community at the time of death

Older Step brother of John D Barrett - LEFT 1960 and Matthew M Barrett - LEFT 1967

Father was a Commissioner of Police and on retiring was supported by private means.

Two step brothers and a step-sister.

Early education at Ampleforth College for three years and then Clongowes Wood College SJ for two years.

by 1962 at St Ignatius, Tottenham London (ANG) studying
by 1963 at Mount Street, London (ANG) studying
by 1964 at Church of the Assumption, Warwick (ANG) studying
by 1973 at Warwick University (ANG) teaching
by 1993 at Campion Hall, Oxford (BRI) teaching

◆ Royal Irish Academy : Dictionary of Irish Biography, Cambridge University Press online :
Barrett, (Denis) Cyril
by Patrick Maume

Barrett, (Denis) Cyril (1925–2003), Jesuit priest, art critic and historian, and philosopher, was born Denis Barrett in Dublin on 9 May 1925 (Cyril was his name in religion). He was the son of Denis Barrett, the last assistant commissioner of the Dublin Metropolitan Police. His mother died of cancer when he was aged three, and his father subsequently remarried; the two marriages produced four sons and a daughter. Young Denis grew up at the family home in Booterstown, south Co. Dublin; his relationship with his stepmother Evelyn was close and affectionate. The family background was well‐to‐do catholic with some landed gentry elements which might have been described as ‘castle catholic’ but which offered scope for self‐expression, often eccentric; like several of his ancestors, Barrett was noted for charm, eccentricity, and intellectual brilliance.

He was educated at Killashee school in Naas, at Ampleforth College, Yorkshire, and at Clongowes. He joined the Jesuits in 1942, underwent a Thomist training in philosophy at the Jesuit college in Tullabeg, and studied theology at Milltown Park in Dublin. The Jesuits recognised and encouraged his academic vocation, and his career took advantage of the wide latitude allowed to an imaginative Jesuit in pursuance of his vocation. He studied Latin and history at University College Dublin (the latter discipline, as taught by John Marcus O’Sullivan (qv), had a strong philosophical component, and Barrett recalled being introduced to political philosophy by studying Rousseau as being thrown in at the deep end) and graduated with a first class BA in 1947. After a year studying anthropology and the role of myth at the Warburg Institute, Barrett began a peripatetic teaching career, including three years at Clongowes, three years teaching psychology at Tullabeg, and a period at Chantilly (France). He also studied theology at Milltown Park. Barrett was ordained priest in 1956 and took his final Jesuit vows in 1960. He undertook advanced research in philosophy at the University of London, receiving a Ph.D. in 1962 for a dissertation on symbolism in the arts.

In 1965 Barrett was one of two founding members of the philosophy department at the University of Warwick, where he was successively lecturer (1965–7), senior lecturer (1967–72) and reader (1972–92). Shortly after his appointment to Warwick he established his reputation, first by editing a well‐received selection of papers by innovators in the philosophy of art and criticism, Collected papers on aesthetics (1965), then by persuading the notoriously reluctant Wittgenstein estate to allow him to publish a collection of notes by three students of Wittgenstein of the philosopher’s remarks on aesthetics, psychology and religion. Lectures and conversations on aesthetics, psychology and religious belief (1966) offered new perspectives on Wittgenstein’s aesthetic and religious interests, whose extent had barely been realised, and became the basis for an extensive critical literature.

Barrett maintained his involvement with Wittgenstein throughout his career, summing up his views in Wittgenstein on ethics and religious belief (1991). He maintained that the gap between Wittgenstein’s early and late views had been exaggerated; the importance Wittgenstein attached to value remained constant and the Tractatus logico‐philosophus, widely seen as an exercise in positivism, was in inspiration a document of moral inquiry. He did not call himself a Wittgensteinian (he was sceptical of the concept of philosophical discipleship) but was influenced by Wittgenstein in his eclectic preference for addressing disparate problems rather than seeking to build an overarching system, and in his interest in the nature of perception.

The mature Barrett held the Wittgensteinian view that religion could not be stated in propositional terms (i.e. as a set of beliefs) but can only be experienced as a way of life, though Barrett also maintained that this did not entail relativism between such ways; real belief was required. This view would have been seen as heterodox by large numbers of Christians throughout the history of Christianity (including some of Barrett’s contemporaries) but was part of a wider reaction within twentieth‐century catholic theology against what were seen as excessively mechanical and rationalistic forms of neo‐Thomism and of a desire to rediscover the approach of the early church fathers based on the view that reason might illuminate faith from within but could not create it where it did not exist.

Barrett disliked clerical politics and what he saw as the intellectual narrowness and social conservatism of the church hierarchy. He was hostile to the neo‐orthodoxy of Pope John Paul II; his comment in a public venue on the day of the pope’s attempted assassination by Mehmet Ali Agca (13 May 1981), that the greatest fault of ‘that bloody Turk’ had been not shooting straight (Times, 15 Jan. 2004), was occasionally cited by more conservative catholics as symbolic of the perceived deterioration of the Jesuits after the second Vatican council. Barrett’s friends recall, however, that despite his pleasure in flouting what he regarded as petty‐fogging rules and the constraints of his calling, he maintained a deep personal faith in God and was a valued and compassionate confessor and adviser; beneath his questing was an underlying simplicity.

He was a champion of various schools of modern art, particularly Op Art (in 1970 he published one of the first significant books on this form of abstract art, which uses optical illusions to focus the viewer’s attention on the process of perception). He was a regular visitor to eastern Europe where he combined religious activity with encouragement of those artists who were resisting official pressure to conform to Soviet realism; his trips were financed by eastern bloc royalties from his own publications (which could not be transferred into western currencies) and the profits from smuggling out disassembled artworks as ‘agricultural implements’. He also helped to mount several art exhibitions to popularise favoured trends, and established extensive (and hard‐bargained) relationships with London dealers. He played a significant role in building up Warwick University’s art collection, and at various times donated forty works from his own collection (including items by Bridget Riley, Micheal (Michael) Farrell (qv), and Yoko Ono) to the university. Barrett’s fascination with kitsch led him to produce a paper, ‘Are bad works of art “works of art”?’ (Royal Institute of Philosophy Lectures, vi (1973), 182–93), inspired by some of the religious art he encountered at Kenilworth Priory, Warwick. (Barrett’s answer was a qualified Yes.)

He did much to popularise modern art in Ireland through his frequent contributions to the Jesuit quarterly review Studies (he was assistant editor for a year in the early 1950s, and throughout his subsequent career wrote and reviewed for the journal on a wide range of topics) and other journals such as The Furrow and Irish Arts Yearbook. He produced a widely respected catalogue of nineteenth‐century Irish art (Irish art in the 19th century (1971)), and with Jeanne Sheehy (qv) contributed two chapters on the visual arts and Irish society to A new history of Ireland. VI. Ireland under the union, II. 1870–1921 (Oxford 1996) and an account of twentieth‐century art to A new history of Ireland. VII. 1921–84 (Oxford 2004). He also published monographs on the artists Micheal (Michael) Farrell and Carmel Mooney.

Although his flair for teaching and disputation was celebrated on campus, Barrett, like many old‐style academics, lacked administrative aptitude and in his later years at Warwick he was irritated by the increasing bureaucratisation and quantification of higher education. In 1992 he retired from Warwick to Campion Hall, the Jesuit college at Oxford, where he organised an exhibition of its art holdings, used the Latin‐language procedure in applying for a Bodleian reader’s ticket, and was a frequent visitor to the rival Dominican hall, Blackfriars. At Campion Hall he continued to work as a tutor, though he maintained that leisure (expansively defined as ‘life lived to its fullest’) was the proper end of human life and the proper state of mankind; he devoted as much time to it as possible.

He was a world traveller (wont to describe some of the ricketier charter planes he encountered as ‘Holy Ghost Airlines’), a gourmet cook who loved to entertain guests, a convivial drinker, and fond of betting on horseraces; he regularly attended the Merriman summer school in Co. Clare with his friend the broadcaster Seán Mac Réamoinn (1921–2007). He was a voluble critic of the provisional IRA. At the time of his death he was working on an analysis of the morality of war (he was always critical of the view that a just cause justified any means), a philosophical autobiography My struggles with philosophy, and a revision of the Spiritual exercises of St Ignatius Loyola. He also wrote poetry inspired by his reactions to the cancer which was killing him. Cyril Barrett died in Dublin on 30 December 2003.

Ir. Times, 10 Jan. 2004; Times (London), 15 Jan. 2004; Independent (London), 25 Feb. 2004; https://warwick.ac.uk/services/art/teachinglearningandresearch/onlineexhibitions/cyrilbarrett/

◆ Interfuse

Interfuse No 123 : Special Issue February 2005

Obituary

Fr Cyril D Barrett (1925-2003)

May 9th 1925: Born in Dublin
Early education at Kiliashee, Naas, Co.Kildare, Ampleforth College, Yorks. and Clongowes
Sept. 7th 1942: Entered the Society at Emo
Sept. 8th 1944: First Vows at Emo
1944 - 1947: Studied Arts at UCD
1947 - 1950: Tullabeg - Studied Philosophy
1950 - 1953: Clongowes - Prefect and Teacher
1953 - 1957: Milltown Park - Studied Theology
July 31st 1956: Ordained at Milltown Park
1957 - 1958: Tertianship at Rathfarnham
1958 - 1959: Leeson Street - Minister, Asst. Editor Studies
1959 - 1960: Tullabeg - Prof. Psychology; Subminister
Feb. 2nd 1960: Final Vows
1960 - 1961: Tullabeg -Prof. Psychology; Minister
1961 - 1964: London - Postgraduate Studies (History of Philosophy), London University (PhD)
1964 - 1965: Chantilly, France - Lecturer in Philosophy
1965 - 1966: Warwick University - Lecturer in Philosophy
1966 - 2003: Milltown Park
1966 - 1967: Dean of Philosophy; Prof. Philosophy at MI
1967 - 1972: Senior Lecturer in Philosophy - Warwick U.; Reader / Visiting Lecturer - Milltown Institute
1972 - 1992: University of Warwick - Reader in Philosophy
1992 - 2002: Oxford - Tutor in Philosophy
2002 - 2003: Milltown Park - writer
Dec. 30th 2003: Died at Cherryfield Lodge, Dublin.

Fr. Barrett was diagnosed as suffering from cancer in Autumn 2003. Despite a brief remission his health deteriorated steadily. He was admitted to Cherryfield Lodge on Christmas Day. There he died on the morning of Dec. 30th 2003.

Obituary from Times of London, January 15, 2004:

Dinner with Father Cyril Barrett - and you would dine well with this accomplished cook, even if in somewhat chaotic surroundings – was an intellectual feast composed of unpredictable ingredients. A man of huge charm, voracious curiosity and lively humour, he made an open house of his great learning. It was a place that offered inspiration and discovery to those who stepped across its threshold, at the University of Warwick where he taught philosophy for nearly three decades, in Dublin and London, or on his adventurous travels on a Jesuitical shoestring. (Holy Ghost Airlines, he would joke about the dodgier charter flights to dodgy destinations.) As an experimental new university in the mid-Sixties, Warwick attracted, and was attracted by, his interdisciplinary and questing cast of mind. Barrett was as authoritative on Op Art as he was on Wittgenstein's aesthetics.

Inducted almost straight from school into the Society of Jesus but, wisely, given free rein to pursue his strong academic vocation, Cyril Barrett found his reference points as writer, critic and lecturer in philosophy, aesthetics and a lifelong engagement with religious meaning; but he branched outward in multiple directions. He could discourse as intriguingly on hot racing tips, the samizdat blue films circulating in Cold War Central Europe (about which he was alarmingly well informed), kitsch or even knitting, as he talked about medieval aesthetics, Kierkegaard or Picasso. The most unclerical of priests, his faith was deep yet never unquestioning, just as the intellect that made him a renowned philosopher and art critic was tempered by the intensity of his inner spiritual dialogue.

Denis Cyril Barrett was born in 1925 in Dublin, to the sort of horse-and-hounds family that throws up, as it did with his great-uncle Cyril Corbally, such eccentric luminaries as champion croquet players. But this was independence-era Dublin, with its charged politics. His father Denis, the last Assistant Commissioner of the pre-1922 Dublin Metropolitan Police and the first of the Garda Siochana that replaced it, was to resign out of disgust with de Valera's brand of nationalism and the virulence of the IRA – a disgust always shared by his son. His mother died when he was three, and he was brought up by his adored stepmother Evelyn.

His early trajectory was conventional, from Ampleforth to a first in History and Latin at University College, Dublin, and thence to licenciates both in philosophy and in theology before ordination. How little these disciplines were to confine him was demonstrated by his doctorate, on symbolism in the arts, and a subsequent year studying anthropology and the role of myth at University College, London and the Warburg Institute, His large body of books and essays was to be almost equally devoted to modern art --- where his influence was enormous and Europe wide -- and to philosophical studies.

As a philosopher, Barrett became celebrated for publishing, in 1966, a selection of student notes of Wittgenstein's lectures and conversations on aesthetics, psychology and religious belief -- a small corpus out of which has developed a massive secondary literature and which has profoundly influenced aesthetics and theology. All his formidable persuasive skills were put to the test in gaining the consent of the notoriously possessive executors; Wittgenstein declared that "only aesthetic and conceptual questions” really gripped him, but without the Barrett enterprise, few would have known for many years of his grapplings with the former, or indeed with religion.

A quarter of a century later he gave his own considered account of Wittgenstein on ethics and religious belief, arguing that his views on value developed but did not change. Wittgenstein, he maintained, held that seeking to inculcate moral principles, and teaching religion in propositional form, is contrary to the true nature of ethics and religious belief - a position he endorsed. But he resisted the influential misinterpretation according to which Wittgenstein held religious belief to be nothing more than a way of life according to a picture. Belief is involved. The “picture” of Judgment Day is more than a mere picture or exemplar; it is a picture to live by, and there are better and worse such pictures; Wittgenstein “was no more a relativist than any reasonable person can avoid being”.

While never a Wittgensteinian, and indeed hostile to the notion of philosophical discipleship, he certainly learnt from him, and in aesthetics this influence came out in at least two ways. First, in his preference for tackling particular problems and clarifying ideas, over constructing elaborate theories, and secondly in his engagement with the interconnections between aesthetics and psychology, expressed most notably in his pioneering work popularising and explaining Op Art, both in books and by organising exhibitions. As an art critic he was wide-ranging and formidable -- his catalogue of 19th-century Irish Victorian Art is a classic of its kind - but also creative. He was a driving force in establishing Warwick University's art collection, and in cultivating understanding of modern art in Ireland. “Are bad works of art ‘works of art’?”, he asked in an influential essay; his suitably nuanced answer was that they may well be.

Jesuits, avowedly and by direction, are deeply involved in the world's affairs - and the greatest of them are mavericks. To someone of Barrett's catholic interests, impatience of convention and detestation of intellectual narrowness, Catholicism can be a hard master. Like many Jesuits down the centuries, Barrett made no attempt to disguise his chafing at the Vatican's hierarchical politics and social conservatism - going so far as to declare on the day of the attempted assassination of the Pope, in a bellow that filled a London restaurant, that “the only thing wrong with that bloody Turk was that he couldn't shoot straight”. The religious affairs correspondent of The Sunday Times, seated at a nearby table, turned beetroot.

Yet Barrett could readily assume his priestly guise and, in that capacity, was a compassionate and subtle counsellor and eminently practical moralist, ultimately convinced of the intelligence as well as the goodness of the Holy Spirit and able to instil that belief in others.

Academic politics bored Barrett at least as much as the priestly variety, and the world of league tables, research assessments and other bureaucratic rigidities even more. He left Warwick in 1992 for Campion Hall, Oxford, with some relief, striding into the Bodleian and demanding (successfully) to use the Latin language procedure for registering for a reader's ticket,

He continued writing to the very end of his life, back in Dublin, and was working in the last weeks on books and articles ranging from the morality of war to the limits of science, as well as writing poetry and rewriting the Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatius. Barrett would, however, have described this as the pursuit of leisure, which for him was “not a trivial pursuit”, and nothing to do with idleness, but, rather, “life lived to its fullest”.

Work was necessary for survival, he wrote, but “It is not an end in itself. Leisure is. It is the end, the goal, of human life, the proper state of man” -- which is why the quality of leisure matters. There are echoes here of Aristotle, even of St Augustine's idea of entering the holy Sabbath of God. But Cyril Barrett's genius was to draw the classical forward into the present; to cite one of his aphorisms, “philosophy may be perennial, but it is not static”.

◆ The Clongownian, 2004

Obituary

Father Cyril Barrett SJ

Father Cyril Barrett, SJ, who died on December 30th, 2003 aged 78, was a philosopher and art critic of international renown. He had his first direct encounter with philosophy as a student at University College Dublin, through Prof Marcus O'Sullivan's treatment of Rousseau. Philosophy, he would later remark, was a matter of learning to swim by diving in at the deep end but, he cautioned, the deep end of Rousseau's political philosophy was not to be recommended.

He wrote in “Studies” on subjects ranging from Picasso to Kierkegaard. His first book on Wittgenstein, dealing with aesthetics, psychology and religious belief, was published in 1966. Twenty five years later, he published Wittgenstein on Ethics and Religious Beliefs, a mature exposition of the questions that engaged him as a philosopher.

He played a major role in fostering an appreciation of modern art in Ireland. He was a member of the committee of ROSC that provided a showcase for the work of leading international artists. A regular contributor to “Art Monthly”, his publications include a study of op art and monographs on : Michael Farrell and Carmel Mooney. He contributed a section on art in the 20th century to the most recent volume of “A New History of Ireland” (2003).

Denis Cyril Barrett was born on May 9th, 1925, in Dublin, the son of Denis Barrett and his wife Lily (née Kearney). His father was assistant commissioner of the Dublin Metropolitan Police and the family lived in Booterstown. His mother died when he was three and his father later remarried. His early education took place at Killashee, Naas, Co Kildare, Ampleforth College, Yorkshire, and Clongowes Wood College. In 1942 he entered the Society of Jesus and was ordained in 1956, taking his final vows in 1960.

He studied arts at UCD and in 1947 secured a first class honours in Latin and History. Having studied philosophy at Tullabeg, Co Offaly, he taught for three years at Clongowes. He spent the next three years studying theology at Milltown Park, Dublin. Following a year as assistant editor of “Studies”, he taught psychology at Tullabeg. He completed a PhD at London University in 1964 and afterwards caught philosophy at Chantilly, France, and at the University of Warwick, where he remained until 1992. Retirement from Warwick brought him to Campion Hall, Oxford, as a tutor for 10 years. Throughout this time he was a visiting lecturer at Milltown Park.

At the time of his death he was in the process of writing a philosophical memoir with the working title “My Struggles With Philosophy”. In it he addressed the question of understanding other philosophers whose views are alien, not only to one's own thought but also to the precepts of common sense.

A man of many parts, he was a world traveler, a gourmet cook who liked to entertain and he had the knack of picking a winner on the racing page or at an occasional race meeting. He also enjoyed attending the Merriman Summer School with his friend, Seán Mac Réamoinn. But, as his colleague, Father Bill Mathews, said at his funeral Mass, “At the centre of it all, I believe there was in him a very simple faith in God and in the goodness of God”.

Predeceased by his brother Matthew, he is survived by his stepmother Evelyn, brothers John and Father Francis, and sister Eve.

Courtesy of The Irish Times

Born: 30 April 1943, Glen-Bevan, Coolraine, Limerick City, County Limerick
Entered: 07 September 1961, St Mary's, Emo, County Laois
Ordained: 21 June 1974, Gonzaga College SJ, Dublin
Final Vows: 15 May 1981, Coláiste Iognáid, Galway
Died: 10 October 2014, Cherryfield Lodge, Dublin

Part of the Coláiste Iognáid, Galway community at the time of death.

Father was a doctor and died in 1952. Mother was Philomena

One older sister.

Early education for eight years as Crescent College SJ, he then went to Clongowes Wood College SJ for three years.

by 1970 at University of Warwick, Coventry (ANG) studying
by 1975 at Rome, Italy (DIR) studying
by 1997 at Cambridge MA, USA (NEN) Sabbatical

◆ Jesuits in Ireland : https://www.jesuit.ie/news/loss-leader-john-humphreys/

Loss of a leader: John Humphreys
Last Friday, 10 October, the Irish Jesuits lost one of their great servants. John Humphreys, aged 71, had been unconscious for two days, and increasingly sick with a brain tumour for five months. John was a Limerick man, a passionate fan of Munster rugby. His father, 25 years older than his mother, had died in 1953, leaving 10-year-old John as man of the house. He learned to manage the burdens of responsibility in a calm and kindly style, and as a result was landed with them all his life, as captain of Clongowes, beadle of scholastics during his years of study, Socius (companion and close advisor) to three Provincials, and Rector of several houses. When he was taken sick he was in his ninth year as rector of St Ignatius, Galway, charged with the thankless task of raising two million for school buildings.
John’s administrative gifts would not explain the grieving crowds who packed Gardiner Street church for his funeral. John was loved, and will be terribly missed. His style was upbeat, encouraging and giving. He was a humble man, a quiet listener, ready to learn from his mistakes. A Jesuit friend remembers him as good company at table, not saying much, but smiling at the craic and adding to it.
The source of this warmth became particularly clear in his last months of life. When he learned that his cancer was probably terminal, he lived with it, and his increasing sickness, with good humour nourished by his prayer. He asked a friend to seek out the text of a prayer which touched him, and described his spiritual state:
I asked God for strength, that I might achieve. I was made weak that I might learn humbly to obey.
I asked for health that I might do greater things. I was given infirmity that I might do better things.
I asked for riches that I might be happy. I was given poverty that I might be wise.
I asked for power that I might have the praise of men. I was given weakness that I might feel the need of God.
I asked for all things that I might enjoy life. I was given life that I might enjoy all things. I got nothing that I asked for, but everything I hoped for.
Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.
I am, among all men, most richly blessed.

◆ Interfuse

Interfuse No 158 : Winter 2014

Obituary

Fr John Humphreys (1943-2014)

30 April 1943: Born in Limerick,
Early education at Sacred Heart College, Limerick and Clongowes Wood College
7 September 1961: Entered the Society at Emo
8 September 1963: First Vows at Emo
1963 - 1967: Rathfarnham - Studied Science at UCD
1967 - 1969: Milltown Park - Studied Philosophy
1969 - 1970: Warwick University - Studied Philosophy
1970 - 1971: Clongowes - Lower Line Prefect: Regency
1971 - 1974: Milltown Park - Studied Theology
21st June 1974: Ordained at Gonzaga Chapel, Dublin
1974 - 1976: Gregorian, Rome --Studied Theology (Residence: S. Roberto Bellarmino)
1976 - 1981: Galway – Teacher
1978 - 1979: Tertianship in Tullabeg; Vice-Rector; Teacher
1979 - 1981: Rector; Teacher; Province Consultor (1978)
15 May 1981: Final Vows at Galway
1981 - 1987: Milltown Park - Rector; Delegate for Formation; Province Consultor
1987 - 1996: Loyola - Socius; Vice-Superior; Province Consultor
1991 - 1996: Socius; Province Consultor. Chair of Board Crescent College Comprehensive
1996 - 1997: Sabbatical – Weston Jesuits, New England
1997 - 1999: Clongowes - Chaplain; Pastoral Care Corordinator; Chair, Vocations Vocations Promotion Team
1998: Acting Socius
1999 - 2002: Loyola - Superior; Socius; Prov. Consultor; Provincial Team; Chair Vocations Vocations Promotion Team
2002 - 2005: Dominic Collins - Province Consultor; Prov. Assistant for Strategic Planning; Delegate for Child Protection; Revisor of Province Funds
2005 - 2014: Galway - Rector; Revisor of Province Funds; Province Consultor; Child Protection Delegate; Spirituality Delegate; Chair Coláiste lognáid Board
2008 - 2014: Galway - Rector; Director of Spirituality Centre; Revisor of Province Funds

Fr. John Humphreys was admitted to Cherryfield Lodge on 19th May 2014. He settled in well though his condition deteriorated over time. He died peacefully in Cherryfield on 10th October 2014.

“Past all grasp God-throned behind death with a sovereignty that heeds, but hides, that bodes but abides”. Hopkins stretching words about the mystery of death and God.

I remember my mother told me one time whenever John's father, Louis, would tell a funny story – long before be got to the punch line he would get into helpless fits of laughter and tears were running down his face, so that everyone around started laughing with him and you mightn't get the punch line at all, but it didn't matter. And the same was true of John. The abiding truth of John was that you just felt better in his company - his humanity and palpable goodness made those with him feel good about themselves. An extraordinary gift!

When Sir Thomas More heard about the sudden death of Bishop John Fisher at the hands of Henry VIII because he had refused to bow to his bullying: More said: Ah, Fisher, a lovely man. An amazing number of people would say just the same of John Humphreys: a lovely man.

Karl Rahner, the German 20th century Jesuit theologian, was asked in an interview how could a modern man become or remain a Jesuit. And part of his answer was: my reason is not because the Society of Jesus still has a significant influence within the Church or in the broader world. Rather, it is because I still see around me living in many of my companions a readiness for disinterested service carried out in silence, a readiness for prayer, for abandonment to the incomprehensibility of God, for the calm acceptance of death in whatever form it may come, for the total dedication to the following of Christ crucified.

It could be a pen-picture of John's life-of many others too as Rahner says – but John is the focus today : disinterested service – John was the Provincial's (three of them in fact – Philip Harnett, Laurence Murphy & Gerry O'Hanlon) Socius, or right hand man or consigliere for many years - I used to refer to him as 1A - the servant of us all in the Irish province of the Jesuits – enormously competent; painstaking, generous, good-humoured, compassionate, including his hidden & committed labour in the not-easy area of child-protection. Readiness for prayer: John's faith in Christ Risen was the constant and the anchor in his life, and his abandonment and calm acceptance were astonishing when he suddenly became ill in April and was soon diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumour, which claimed his life within 6 months - John's dealing with this was for us Jesuits an embodiment of the P & F in the Spiritual Exercises where Ignatius writes that we were all made to praise, reverence and serve God our Lord, and everything else in creation was made to help us do this - and so we should neither prefer a long life to a short life, sickness to health - John lived this freedom or detachment as it's sometimes called. Mary Rickard, our Province Health Supremo who with John's doctor-niece Sally masterminded John's care, said of his time in Cherryfield, where he was so lovingly cared for, that he was no trouble - So easy to look after – and he just slipped away last Friday afternoon - no trouble - he died as he lived.

However, unlike yourself or myself, John wasn't perfect in every way. My mother again was a source of information on his earlier years - reminding me that she asked John once when he was about eight, how do you say what time is it in French - John replied grumpily claratelle - my mother (a French teacher) tried to correct him, but John wouldn't budge - his father had told him it was claratelle. And claratelle it was. As stubborn as a mule. Loyal to the end. Then shortly afterwards he got his appendix out and he completely changed, she said, and became the delightful John we all knew! John and I use to play Mass too when we were about 10 - though he claimed that I was always the priest and he was the server. Well, that all certainly changed in later life! But he could be fussy and get a bit ratty too - on holiday he once rebuked me for not getting to the washing up. I replied any time I go to it you have it half-done already - it was so strange seeing him completely passive in our most recent holiday last July in Alison & his late-cousin Seamus’ Glandore house.

As you well know, John had a great sense of humour - his great friend Tom told me that John's own father had named a horse Bundle of Fun after John when John was only an infant! he was always ready for a party and dance - Louis told me he burned up many a dance-floor at weddings, had a spontaneous awareness of beauty and beauty responded; he was a charmer ! Always happy for a sing-song -- now he was no Pavarotti and would never have got into OLCS, but he was totally involved, with his head and feet going steadily to rhythm right to the end in the Cherryfield masses. We'd often speak in authentic Limerick accents when together - and he'd get great mileage if I told him I was listening to two men talking at the traffic lights in Limerick one time : and one said the doctor told me to take it easy; Geez, replied the other fella, you'll find that very hard you've done feck all for the last 40 years !

He loved Galway - spending two sustained spells there in the Jes both in the 70s and for the last eight years in many roles-where he has been loved and hugely appreciated, and where he will be, like in so many other places, greatly missed.

John was matured and purified by his life's experience: his father died when he was about 10, his mother (my godmother) was very unwell in her latter years, his lovely sister Reena, and only sibling, died 18 years ago after a long illness and her husband Paddy, 10 years ago – their legacy is the delightful family of his nieces and nephew, Sally, Louis and Judith, whom he dearly loved. And now John, just over the Biblical three score and ten. He had his difficult moments too: having an academic stumble in Warwick University in his earlier years, where he went full of Lonergan philosophy to the uncomprehending English - there he found that so many conversations ended with: Oh, how very interesting – but after all, who's to say?! And all his time of shepherding Jesuit scholastics in Milltown Park was no bed of roses.

I think that this purification made him such an attractive person to so many people - there was nothing threatening or intimidating about John - he was a great listener -- and when he had positions of responsibility he was just so human, so humble, so understanding, so compassionate.

The readings: Wisdom 4: 7-15; 2 Tim 4; 6-8; Mt 5: 1-12 - speak for themselves, perhaps most eloquently Paul's own farewell.

Fr Pedro Arrupe, the then General of the Jesuits, meeting with the provincials of the Philippines some years ago, was trying to clarify the main characteristic to be sought in Jesuits who are making final vows (sjs take final vows a few years after ordination) and thrashing it around for a while someone eventually said 'disponibilité' ie availability, freedom from possessiveness, or a sustained freedom from selfishness and self-concem. Arrupe nodded vigorously and said, that's it. John was available. The late Fr Michael Sweetman was a boy in Clongowes when Fr John Sullivan was there and Sweetman wrote about him: ‘he had wiped out selfishness so completely that you could not fail to see what, or rather Who, was in him.

There was nothing else there: he was all goodness, all Christ.' I think that's not a bad description of John. There wasn't a bone of selfishness left in him. I think Ignatius would have been pretty pleased.
And when you come to think of it isn't that what the Christian life is all about too !

So, while John's death is profoundly sad for us all, it's not tragic, though leaving us all bereft -- he did live over the three score and ten: the psalmist says our span is 70 and 80 for those who are strong - though we thought John was strong! We have all been enormously enriched by him. He was sublimely ready to go. He was just serenely waiting for the call in the last few months. So while we grieve as we must, we grieve not as vague agnostics, but like John himself as followers of Christ Risen, recognising as Paul Claudel wrote that Christ has come not to explain suffering, but to share it and to fill it with his presence.

There is, of course, no way in which anyone's life, not to mention that of a person of John's calibre and influence, can be remotely captured adequately in a homily or a panegyric - it can just be hinted at. But we are surely called to give profound thanks for John, for his life, his companionship and his service. And his swift departure is a call to all of us to get our own lives more into perspective, to shed some of our illusions and foolish obsessions and preoccupations – we are so easily seduced by the ephemeral and unimportant. John's death can teach us how to walk more lightly through life – to live in a less cluttered way - to attend to what is essential & important – to live more nobly and more generously – in the words of St Paul, to live a life more worthy of our vocation. And more in the spirit of inner freedom & serenity that John embodied. Helmut Thielicke, the German Lutheran theologian wrote: “Because of the Resurrection everything is now different: we do not know what is to come, but we do know who is to come. And if the last hour belongs to us, we do not need to fear the next minute”. And in conclusion St John of the Cross pithily: 'In the evening of our lives we will be judged on love'. It's an exam in which I think John will do rather well.

Peter Sexton

Born: 26 May 1932, Dublin City, County Dublin
Entered: 07 September 1950, St Mary's, Emo, County Laois
Ordained: 31 July 1964, Milltown Park, Dublin
Final Vows: 02 February 1968, Coláiste Iognáid, Galway
Died: 02 January 1997, Dublin

Part of the Coláiste Iognáid, Galway community at the time of death.

by 1971 at Loyola Chicago, USA (CHG) studying
by 1985 at University of Warwick, England (ANG) studying

◆ Interfuse
Interfuse No 92 : August 1996

Obituary

An t-Ath Seán B. Ó Conchúir (1932-1997)

26th May 1932: Born in Dublin
Early education; St. Mary's, Athlone and St. Ignatius, Galway
7th Sept. 1950: Entered the Society at Emo
8th Sept. 1952: First Vows at Emo
1952 - 1955: Rathfarnham, Arts at UCD
1955 - 1958: Tullabeg, Studying Philosophy
1958 - 1959: Belvedere: Regency
1959 - 1961: St. Ignatius, Galway, Regency
1961 - 1965: Milltown Park, Studying Theology
31st July 1964: Ordained Priest at Milltown Park
1965 - 1966: Rathfarnham, Tertianship
1966 - 1968: St. Ignatius, Galway: Teacher and MA studies
1968 - 1970: St. Ignatius, Galway: Prefect of Studies
1970 - 1973: Chicago: Doctoral studies in Education
1973 - 1977: Crescent Residence: Director, Research Project at Shannon
1977 - 1978: Crescent Residence : Lecturer in Education at New University of Ulster
1978 - 1980: Galway: University of Ulster work and Pre school project in Irish, Connemara
1980 - 1984: Resident in Connemara: Irish Project work
1984 - 1986: Warwick University Studies
1986 - 1991: Galway: Studies in Lifestart, Gaeltacht Project
1991 - 1997: Carraroe: Director of Lifestart Project and Researcher

There’s a photo in the house of Seán’s sister Mairin, deceased, in Cork, showing four army officers. They are Seán’s grandfather, father and two brothers of his father. One of them, Uncle Patrick, was a member of Michael Collins’ ‘Twelve Apostles’. The four of them played their part in the War of Independence. Sean’s mother (Mary Harper before marriage) was a member of Cumann na mBan (Fellowship of Women) and while still a child was involved in the Easter Rebellion. Sean’s pedigree, therefore, was not so different from that of the Basque, Ignatius of Loyola; a pedigree that begot loyalty, magnanimity, a large and generous heart ready for great deeds and exploits. The Son of God chose someone of that caliber – Thomas the Zealot, and perhaps also two others – James and John, the Sons of Thunder. Would you not think that Jesus has a special feel for someone who is ready to risk their life for a cause? He himself was facing into such a future: ‘I give my life for my sheep.’

That is what I say of Seán O Conchuir of the Society of Jesus; he never slackened, when younger and also in his thirty-two years of priesthood. Always he was searching for what was ‘greater’ and ‘more perfect’ until his strength, health and his very life were spent ‘for the sheep’, and especially for the sheep in the flock of his Lord and Master. In all that work, his soldier-like qualities were patience, gentleness, love, humility and humor, a humor that he could turn on himself with a delightful explosive laugh.

Seán was committed to education (was it not so with Christ?) on every level –primary, secondary and university. He educated himself through diligent study: an MA in the sixties, a doctorate in the eighties. Curriculum development, use of statistics, evaluation of teaching programmes and progression, and of the work of students or trainee teachers; psychology and child-development—he gained a mastery and reputation in all these disciplines.

His achievement, whether in founding ‘Home Education’ and the ‘Life-start Foundation’ -- his most outstanding and effective projects--is all the more remarkable when one considers that he was struck down with rheumatic fever as a child, and was a weak boy who was wheeled along the Prom at Salthill, swathed in blankets. Thus he remained until his early teens, so he could not participate in football or rowing in Colaiste Iognaid. But he began to swim and this improved his health, as did life-saving, which was being taught by Jimmy Cranny and Des Kenny. At the end of secondary school he was strong enough to join the FCA and wear a soldier’s uniform in 1949, the year when the Republic was again proclaimed. In autumn of the following year he and Padraic Mac Donnchadha joined the Jesuit Order in Emo, Portarlington.

Seán was born in Dublin: his father, Ceannphor (Commandant) Sean Ó Conchúir, was ADC to President Sean de hIde.

The family spent a while in Athlone and the father then transferred to the Cead Cath (First Battalion), which was fully Irish, in Galway. Little Seán was sent to Scoil Fhursa, managed by Bean a’Bhreathnaigh. Scoil Fhursa and later Colaiste Iognaid planted in him a love and appreciation for Irish music, dancing and song, which lasted until the end of his life. If you heard him rendering ‘An Bhinsin Luachra’ or ‘Jimmy Mo Mhile Stor’ you would understand that love and appreciation.

The experience that Seán gained of the arts of music and acting through the Feis Cheoil, and later through the Colaiste Iognaid choir, was only an extension of his family’s gifts. There is a dynamism in the family always to celebrate life, especially through close association with nature and the practice of the arts – do you remember Seán performing a solo ballet in Tullabeg? You can see this love of life in the lives and families of his three sisters too – Mairin (the bright light of God be on her), Dairine and Grainne. A permanent feature of the home life of the O’Connors were the Sing Songs. Everyone had their own song or recitation. Any Jesuit who participated in these evenings in the O’Connor home in Galway between 1966 and 1972 will look back on them with appreciation and gratitude, and will especially remember the party-piece which Sean composed and rendered with a strong Claddagh accent. Seán’s creativity blossomed: he produced plays, composed prose pieces, and wrote poetry. One of his philosophy companions in Tullabeg baptized him as ‘The Bard’.

Frequently you would notice that Seán was absorbed in deep thought. He had a great gift of focusing entirely on a person (he was an excellent listener, full of respect for the speaker whether man, woman or child), or on an object or on scenery. To the end of his life every aspect of nature gave him joy, gladness and pleasure. Wild flowers by the roadside or the bare tops of the Beanna Beola or Snowdon would give wings to his heart. Seán steadily cultivated the spirit of the Contemplatio of the Exercises of Ignatius, especially in his final years in Connemara from 1980 onward. ‘To recognize God in all things… working on my behalf’. When I study his beautiful photos of Connemara and its flora, my heart shakes with wonder: he is a man spell-bound by the beauty of creation, a silent beauty which speaks to him of the eternal and mysterious beauty of God. And in his commitment to his calling as a wise man, a teacher and a priest, whose task was to break open and divide this bread of beauty, he spoke of it in images which would take the eye out of your head. He conveyed it to the children of ‘Home Education’ in the form of jigsaws, and in the form of poems for the grown-ups.

Lord, we live out of death;
therefore I say to the animals: ‘You who were tame and gentle
In the meadows yesterday,
You nourish what is beautiful and pure
In me today.’

And I say to the fish:
‘You who were free in the water a short while ago,
You now feed the freedom and agility of my body’.

And I say to the harvest:
'The music you played to the sun in autumn
I sense now as a poem
In the cold winter of life’.

And I say to Christ:
‘The pinnacle of goodness died in your body
But now you clothe the heavens
With white flowers’.

‘And you, Host of Christ on my lips
You are the wine of blood and the seed of flesh,
You are the honey of Easter, you are the sap of youthfulness
You are the flowering branch within me
Which does not wither.’

The beauty of that poem is awesome: it leaves me rooted to the spot. God reveals his secrets to children. I believe that in all his high learning and deep study Seán kept safe within himself the heart and pure mind of a child. It was this that gave him wonderful insight into the essential stages of a child’s development. This is why the programme ‘Home Education’ satisfies the need of children from Connemara to Ballymun, from Wexford to Derry, from Barcelona to Belfast’s Shankill.

Michael Hurley gave heartfelt witness to the reputation Seán had achieved within the various strata of the Six Counties: ‘He made it easier for us to encounter one another and forge bonds of friendship’. His close friends Dolores McGuinness and Aine Downey in Derry put it incisively: ‘There was never anyone like Sean who could move among people without causing them nervousness or fear. He was full of respect for everyone, and he listened to them with total attention.’

In his final days, on his bed of sickness and weakness, I was frequently at his side. The only syllable he could articulate was his heavy breathing, regular and low. But throughout that time he made a living prayer of his hands which were stretched out before him on the bed-clothes: thumbs joined and fingers clasped, as if he had the Body of Christ within his fingers, and Seán steadily gazing on it with the eyes of his soul, constantly focussed on it, endlessly adoring: ‘I adore you, O spirit of fruitfulness, O beautiful One of the heavenly rampart’-- a quotation from ‘Adoramus Te, Christe’ by Daibhi O Bruadair (1625 – 1698): Sean learnt it at the feet of Professor Gerard Murphy in UCD. It was he who opened up for Sean the enchanting treasury of Irish literature and folklore.

And with Gregorian chant as a lullaby, to the very end he made that mysterious sign of his priesthood and his life; offering – as a child shyly offers his little fists to its mother—his labours, sweat, joys, troubles, failures, retraining, petitions, despair, despondency, love, integrity and the achievements of the years.

May the two hands of the Child Jesus enfold you forever, Seán, while He merrily teaches you the beautiful ‘Home Education’ of his own hearth and household.

Translation Brian Grogan SJ

Interfuse No 98 : Autumn 1998

VISIONARY, YES, POLITICIAN, NO

Conall Ó Cuinn

I missed Seán O'Connor's funeral. But this article is not an obituary. It's a reflection about Seán's short time as headmaster of Coláiste Iognáid in Galway for just two academic years, 1968 and 1969, the period immediately following the Prague Spring and the Paris Student Revolution. It corresponded to my own 4th and 5th Form as a student there. I write as someone who was greatly influenced by Seán's vision for education, a catalytic factor in my joining the Society. I supported him in as much as any 4th or 5th Form student was capable of supporting a headmaster.

In Seán's time I was also privileged to be a member of the first elected school council, which, like the Sunningdale Parliament, was quickly dissolved from above after a very short life, I served as a prefect in 5th year, trying to implement what I understood as Seán's vision of pupils being creative participants in their own education. I was on the editorial team of the student newspaper whose last edition never reached the newsstands, having been confiscated by the authorities. We did manage to spirit a few copies away before the police came knocking at the door and Patrick Hume tells me there is a copy in the archives. Shortly after Paddy Tyrrell took over from Seán in 1970, I was appointed School Captain, and so had a lot of contact with staff.

In many ways, even at that time, I had “insider” knowledge of what was going on above and around me (sources remaining anonymous). However, I am aware now that I didn't really understand the complexity of what was happening politically, or how delicate and fragile the whole situation was. So naive was I, that I was greatly surprised when Seán finished as headmaster after only two years. As captain of the school, I had a lot to do with his successor, Paddy Tyrrell. Like for others enthused by Seán's vision, his removal and replacement appeared to me to be a Margaret Thatcher-style takeover intent on reversing the new social order (others would say social disorder).

I now understand better what a very difficult assignment Paddy Tyrrell had been given. Seán and he were contemporaries and friends during formation. I now appreciate how Paddy managed to preserve many of the positive elements of what we might call the O'Connor revolution. For example, neither corporal punishment nor the 11-plus type streaming into A and B classes were reintroduced. The new pupil oriented attitude continued. People remained more important than system. And further developments took place under Paddy's leadership.

Seán, like Padraig Pearse, was a great visionary, but a poor politician. Seán's studies on education had been about the Pearse educational experiment at Coláiste Eanna. Only later in both cases did their vision begin to flower into political reality. In the immediate, however, Seán failed to win over the four very difficult constituencies which he needed to engage in order to succeed. These consisted of the Jesuit Community, the Lay Staff, the Parents, and the boys (especially the senior classes).

Many of the senior boys used the elimination of corporal punishment as an excuse for license, which initially gave the school a certain chaotic appearance. In his first year, Seán had welcomed a large group of repeat, but disgruntled, 6th years back to school. In general, they proved to be a very disruptive force among the senior boys and Seán's first academic year ended with a riot on the school pitch during the taking of the school photo. This resulted in all 6th years being sent home a full week before schedule, an act just short of expulsion. While the 4th and 6th year battled it out before the assembled school, with Fr. Jack Hutchinson trying to appease both sides, the lay teachers were gathered in the corner of the field to discuss whether they should go on strike. It appeared that the educational revolution had degenerated into chaos.

Owing to the suddenness of Seán's reforms, teachers had suddenly found themselves, without any real training, invited to abandon more formal teaching methods in the junior forms. Classwork was to be organised around projects whereby the teacher's role was to serve the intellectual curiosity of the pupil by providing resources and advice about topics of the pupil's interest. With no corporal punishment as the usual backup control and with little or no focus on public examinations, some of the teachers quickly found themselves bewildered and longing for the good old days of law and order.

The Jesuit staff and community lived with two unresolved tensions. Jesuits in general were divided in their reception of the new orientations of GC31, and in Galway there was the additional division between the “Gaeilgeoirs” and the “Non-Gaeilgeoirs”. Skills of community dialogue were in their rudimentary stages. Communication still tended to move vertically between the individual and the Rector. Despite the many meetings, so difficult for those not used to them, much of the political communication was beamed from one group to the other via the Rector. Our subsequent growth in ability to dialogue can now be seen more clearly when we contrast the serene atmosphere of today's province meetings to those very first acrimonious meetings of the late 60's and early 70's.

Finally, the parents, despite the importation of some high level lecturers of Lonergan leanings from Milltown Park, found it difficult to form a vision beyond the newly introduced points system for entry to University, a system necessitated by the increased number seeking university places following the introduction of free secondary education and university grants. Many parents feared the project/pupil orientated method adopted for the 1st years would spread to all classes prompting visions of their off-spring failing to progress to third-level education. The parents, like the Jesuits, were divided into two camps. The “Jes” parents saw the school as a mini-Clongowes without the boarding fees, and the “Coláiste lognáid” parents wanted an all-Irish education. I believe this division of parental motivation is one reason why Coláiste lognáid in my time never won a football match because the pool of best players was always divided between Gaelic and Rugby which was played in a club independent of the school. With divisions like this it was difficult to work with the parents as a single group. In general, however, the parents were not convinced by what they saw as a Galway version of the Paris Revolution with its sit-ins and teach-ins which were already being picked up in the Irish universities. Our having a silhouette of Che Guevara, with a clenched fist, on the cover page of the banned magazine certainly would not have helped Seán with the parents had it been circulated!

Changing metaphors, Seán was seen as the Dubcec who had gone a step too far. The hot line to the Rector and to Eglinton Road was often engaged for long periods. Both Rector and Provincial were, as far as I understand, ideologically in tune with Seán. However, they could not ignore the persistence of representation from the unconvinced part of the Jesuit Community, and many of the lay-staff and parents. Enrolment was beginning to drop too. Seán's term would have to end prematurely, without time for the fruits to show themselves. The tanks rolled in. At least it seemed like that at the time.

It was not that Seán did not know how important it was to share his vision with the four constituencies. It seems to me, however, that he confused explanation with acceptance. He made great efforts to explain ... all those meetings after school, which went on late into the night. One man, I heard, who did not see the point of all these meetings, obediently attended but spent the time correcting his copy books. However, acceptance comes ultimately with understanding. Seán may not have realised that many of the players were not convinced enough to have a team that could pull together. In fact, the team pulled apart.

Seán himself had come back to Galway after many years of openness to new ideas, both in Dublin and in the US. A small number appreciated or understood all three strands of his vision: Gaelic, child-orientated education, and Vatican II reflected institutionally in the documents of GC31. Some accepted one, or even two of these strands. But with pressure to maintain the status quo, only a few could back Seán in all three strands. Those who were still uncomfortable on any of these three areas found themselves unable to throw themselves into the project. Intellectually, emotionally, or professionally many of the teachers were ill-equipped to deal with the changes. They reacted in different ways, some by withdrawing, some with belligerent opposition to that part which seemed to be “non-sense”, some with quiet passive resistance. Weakened by this, the rope was not strong enough to carry the experiment, unraveled, and eventually snapped.

Politically, Seán might have had a better chance of succeeding if he had taken more time to introduce his changes in a slower fashion. On the other hand, the changes were the result of an intellectual and spiritual paradigm shift: none of the individual changes he introduced would on their own have made any sense without the others, Seán had not had the backup benefits of today's Ignatian colloquium, a systematic way of engaging lay-teachers and parents, and even students, in our vision. (I regard myself as having been introduced to the Jesuit educational vision through “colloquy”). It was out of experiences such as the “Galway experiment”, that the need for such methods developed.

Finally, it seems to me that Seán did have the prophet's self immolating tendency, which we see in Pearse. Say what needs to be said, even if they don't understand. Do what needs to be done, even if they don't follow. Die on the pyre of truth, for the phoenix will rise from the ashes.

But the line between prophetic word/action and railroading is often difficult to distinguish, especially when viewed from the outside. There were 'in' and 'out' groups. Invitation and command were then often perceived, and intended, as synonyms. So there might not have been the freedom to really talk through apprehensions in order to include other wisdoms in the vision. Seán may have interpreted silence as consent, and genuine opposition as belligerence.

This article is one attempt to understand what was happening in Galway at that time. I hope it can be part of the healing process which Seán is now intimately involved with in his new position in the Communion of Saints. His vision was a major stepping stone in my own journey into the Society. It has touched many people and continues to grow and develop in them. As the woman said of her husband who had walked out on her some years previously, “he was doing the best he could”: all were doing the best they could under the circumstances.

There may still be some lessons to learn from this particular phase of the history of the Irish Province. We form one Body, where each person's contribution is vital, and no one can be left out without all suffering their absence. The spirit runs, but must carry the often, as yet, unfit body. Vision must patiently wait for the slow inertia-laden swing of tradition and habit. The body lives in and needs time.

The Galway experiment was about adapting to cultural change. Genuine dialogue and inculturation are an essential part of the quality of our apostolic living and working together, not just tools of the trade or means to an end. They are movements in the continuing act of incarnation, of the Word being made flesh, of t”he entire creation ..groaning in one great act of giving birth...all of us who possess the first fruits of the Spirit we too groan inwardly ... we too must be content to hope to be saved ... something we must wait for with patience” (Rm 8:22-25).

Seán, continue to pray for us, the pilgrim Society on earth as we continue to grow/groan “till fully grown into the Body of Christ”.