Memories of my mom prompt reflections on being Irish

Irish tradition cherishes the expression "my sainted mother." Julia O'Toole Wessell said she appreciated the thought behind it but didn't much care for its prerequisite -- just yet. (She preferred another expression in our family, "My Wild Irish Mother.")

Since last summer, however, she is now "my sainted mother." Her funeral last July in a quiet little western Kentucky town she and my gentlemanly Swedish father retired to concluded a long life lived simply, energetically and generously. It also ended whisper-peacefully. Celebration, then, was the order of the day.

Despite having a Mother from "the old country," we kids -- unlike our cousins -- grew up far from the Irish and Irish-American relatives. Our best example of Irishness was our mother, and that was more than enough. Last July in that little Kentucky town, there was time to think, and be thankful, about that.

One thing we cherish about Irish-American upbringing was the almost sacred code of hospitality -- a wonderful heritage, truly "a gift" in a society that has become too crass in too much of daily life. Mother was highly regarded, especially in retirement in Kentucky, as both gracious host and guest. Down deep, you can't really be the one unless you are able to be the other. The secret to it all: a profound respect for everyone you meet.

Another virtue was her personal flexibility, despite growing up with an experience of society and Church dramatically different from what the next 50 years would bring. Once she was helped to understand the reasons for "all the changes" from Vatican Council II, she reminded her friends that "all the new changes in the Church" were not new at all, but a return to some of the "old" things -- to roots. She really liked looking at it that way.

I think what my sisters and I cherish most about our heritage is the odd irony-and-optimism about life (and death) that comes from having Irish Catholic roots -- especially in a culture that isn't willing to wait for results and sees less-than-success as failure.

The Irish have been such a people of contrasts and contradictions, some imposed on them from the outside, but some seemingly ingrained. Yet rather than impeding them, that ability to live with contradictions helps them get through life with a sense of victory that others seem to have to work harder to achieve. They are a people who long to have a bit of turf of their own, yet want passionately to go on journeys.

As Christianity became established on the Isle after St. Patrick, a contemplative monastic tradition became part and parcel of Irish Christianity. But before long, countless of those Irish monks were driven by their faith to go on the road with their faith to the European mainland. Some of the greatest saints of history have been Irish. (So have some of the greatest sinners, but that is not our immediate topic.)

Some of the most obvious features of Western Catholicism have roots among those missionary monks. It was the Irish who brought to the Church, during the Dark Ages, the highly personalized style of confession and reconciliation that many Catholics still assume was used from the beginnings of the Church, but which was not.

Another, dramatic part of our liturgical life in the Western Church coming straight from Ireland is the ritual of the New Fire at the Easter Vigil, a folk practice that the Irish faithful realized could express their faith.

And so it was that we could have few tears, most of them part of smiles, as we proceeded, at that little church in Kentucky, to celebrate a God who came among us so that...well, I guess so that you can deal with all the contradictions in yourself even if you didn't have an Irish mother.

(Editor's note: The author is director of faith formation for Immaculate Conception parish in Schenectady and assistant editor of the Ballston Journal in Ballston Spa.)

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