F E AT U R E
ME & MY GOD
MY KNOWLEDGE OF GOD HAS BUT SCRATCHED THE SURFACE BY PATRICK COURTNEY 30
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n rural Ireland of the 1940s, there was just one rule to follow. Sunday Mass, weekly confession and deference to teachers and clergy, especially the latter. Parents lived in fear of God and indirectly passed that fear on. My earliest memories are of the stained glass windows in our local church. One in particular haunted me. It looked to me like the image of a very stern Jesus. Later, I was exposed to the Redemptorists, Passionists and Franciscans in the annual parish mission. I was the chosen altar boy to be present at every session, male and female. I could perceive the missioners' anger, yet was too young to really know what was being said. They did make an impression in the wrong way. They instilled an unwanted fear into a sensitive being. God had a ledger. Everything was written down. God was stern, strict and somewhat unforgiving. The word 'love' didn't enter the equation. We had to do everything to avoid hell, and sexual sins were high on God's don't do list. Confessions were dreaded, especially when the PP roared out at what you did or didn't do. Anything remotely sexual, be it thought or action, raised his blood pressure. REALITY JANUARY/FEBRUARY 2022
I can look back now and see its utter stupidity. As the years went by, this fear of hell took on an even greater grip. Domestic circumstances and the dread of going to the local Christian Brothers school pointed me to look elsewhere. Was I called by God? Did I have a vocation? INTO AFRICA I joined the Society of African Missions in 1958. With all the propaganda leaflets pouring into primary schools, I have no idea why I chose them. With hindsight, I made the right choice. Africa was my great learning curve. Six years of theology did not offer proper preparation for work abroad. Nothing was ever questioned. It was in Africa that I began to question. I was not involved in pastoral work. I was a science teacher, and I loved it. However, at weekends, I helped out in the local parish. Celebrating Mass with three interpreters was a bit too much for me. I began to see a different God from that of my youth. I gradually became a free spirit. I ignored canon law. Avoidance of hell was no longer my motive for priesthood. I knew these local people had a belief in a deity long before Christianity arrived. I lived in a small rural town for over a year, the first European to live there. In the rainy season, I was cut off for months. My only companion was my pagan cook. We often sat
In this series, contributors reflect on their understanding of God and how it has evolved.
on the veranda in the dry season, shared a drink and looked up at the stars. I thought of Juno and the Peacock. I asked my cook what are the stars. Without hesitation, he replied, "Fadda, they are my ancestors." He wasn't a philosopher, yet there was a grain of truth in what he said. We are all made from the dust of stars. I never liked how missionaries ignored local customs, traditions and rituals. My notion of God was expanding. I buried the medieval teaching that outside the church, there is no salvation. I devoured de Chardin's writings. I ended up with more questions than answers. NO CHANGE AT HOME I worked in Nigeria for about 14 years. For a number of reasons, I left the priesthood and married in 1980. I was teaching in London. The chair of governors (a priest) found out. He gave me 24 hours to get out. That single action angered me. I concluded that all these legal trappings had little to do with the God that was evolving in my mind. I refused to sign papers. I refused laicisation. I worked in London until 2007. It was only when I returned to Ireland that the God issue raised its head again. I had been away for years. I witnessed many changes, yet I was shocked that so many Catholics had the same notion of God as I had in my youth. My wife and I did radio
