Well, Holy God: My Life as an Irish, Catholic, Agnostic Correspondent

by Patsy McGarry

As the Religious Affairs Correspondent of The Irish Times from 1997, Patsy McGarry reported on some of the most troubling scandals to have rocked both Catholic and Protestant Churches in the last few decades. In Well, Holy God, he looks back not only on his time in journalism, recalling some of the most distressing stories he has had to cover, but also his own history with Catholicism and of a faith lost when the stark realities of being part of that Church became apparent to him.

This book covers the gamut of his career, from the horrors of the various clerical child sex abuse cases, the vilification of Bishop Eamonn Casey and the muted reaction the Church of Ireland to the violence at Drumcree, to the role of women in the Catholic Church and the tragedies of the Mother and Baby Homes and the Magdalene laundries. Alongside accounts of such seismic events, there are lighter anecdotes, including the perils of travelling with a pope, some characters he’s met along the way and a look at the good that those with a true calling can do. Well, Holy God is a memoir brimming with personality, charting the highs and lows of a truly fascinating career.

Genres: History

297 pages, Kindle Edition

Published August 5, 2024

Reviews

[Deirdre Clancy · Rating 5 out of 5]

Recently, on mentioning that I was reading this book in an educational setting, a professor of theology wondered aloud in response whether a Religious Affairs correspondent should rightfully be a person who had a background in theology. This is something that could be debated endlessly. Certainly, McGarry's reasons for going from a child who dreamt of entering the priesthood to becoming an 'agnostic Catholic' seem somewhat vague, at least as related in this book. His version of the theology of the Cross which he finds difficult to accept is a fairly outdated rendition of Catholic teaching that has none of the richness of understanding that has been added to it by many writers in the last few decades (such as, for example, Rene Girard).

However, a person's relationship with their Creator or lack thereof is, to some, a personal matter that is not for public consumption, so whether those reasons for rejection of the Church are vague in actuality is open to question. Though not a theologian, McGarry does have a background steeped in Irish Catholicism and a robust appreciation for the Church's social teachings, as well as a passion for ecumenism on the island of Ireland. Moreover, it would be difficult to find any Irish person, even among the most devout, who has not at some point wondered how a Church founded by the incarnation of God could sink to the point that it has in the last couple of decades, and had doubts as a result.

'Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs', said the God-Man on whom the Church is based. This means that sexual abuse of children in a Church context is also profound spiritual abuse, with cover-ups making the Catholic Church tantamount to a criminal enterprise at times throughout the '90s and 00s, when the drip-feed of reports started to come out in the media. While Ireland was awash with child sexual abuse in other organizations also, the Church had no excuse. Indeed, some of its most public and celebrated members were outed as predators (for example, Fr Michael Cleary, 'only had an affair with his housekeeper' as opposed to abusing children, one often hears said - but when you find out the details of her age and background of vulnerability when the 'affair' began, it becomes a bit more sinister).

While this book gives an excellent run-down of the history of the main Christian churches in Ireland from the '90s to the present day, taking in much territory, it doesn't really interrogate what forces have made Irish society turn so dark when it comes to certain aspects of religion. It's not only about the Church hierarchy - the laity who are unaffected directly by abuse have also played their part by looking the other way. People who are unscrupulous have used the social respectability afforded them by publicly being pillars of Catholicism or of the GAA to facilitate grooming and abuse also.

For example, at my secondary school for senior cycle, everyone was aware of a pattern related to a senior teaching staff member who was having students visit his home over a number of years. Those who mentioned it even mildly as being strange or weird were met with appalled horror and menacing questions such as, 'What exactly are you implying?' I know, as I was one of the people who commented aloud on it (I wasn't one of the visiting students, thankfully). I also noticed a pattern where those students who were 'favourites' seemed to become quite sexualized before others in my year the same age, and even went on to attempt to sexually assault fellow students (I know that last bit also, to my cost). Asking aloud what was going on with this bizarre home visit setup was entirely legitimate, but people, including many staff and parents, turned a blind eye. After all, this man had been a (lay) pillar of the local churches, schools, choirs, and so forth, for decades. How dare anyone query something he did?

There was, and remains to some degree, a mentality in Ireland that if someone is known for doing good works in the community, they are immune from criticism. It comes up in statements of 'mitigation' in court cases about sexual abuse in Ireland and is reported on in the newspapers from time to time. The defence counsel at sentencing will say, in the predator's favour, that they did massive work with the young people in the local GAA club, or the local youth club, and were a stalwart of this or that club before the offences took place.

The attitude seems to be that the person has a bit of a weakness for 'interfering' with kids or teenagers, but really overall he's a grand fellah who'd give you the coat off his back if you needed it. It's a truly unbelievable split mindset that requires a profound false consciousness and wilfull blindness for an intelligent person to maintain. We can be sure that many maintain it because they don't want their bourgeois lives upset too much by having to recognize the reality of how damaging sexual abuse can be to the victims. Sexual abuse over a prolonged period has been a major cause of suicide and drug use, and many of the predators are utterly aware of these effects as they go about their criminal activities, masquerading as pillars of the community who care about the kids and are 'down with' them.

This lack of interrogation of the norms of Irish society that allow abuse to continue is something I've noticed in journalism as a whole in Ireland. Obviously, reporters will report what's being said in court faithfully and it's not their job to question socio-cultural norms (except for opinion pieces). Books allow a bit more freedom as a format, though. Regardless of the above, obviously, this is still a really well-written and informative tome, my own hobby horses aside. Its analysis doesn't claim to be comprehensive on every issue and addressing institutional and cultural deficits could be seen as a longer-term project. I'd recommend this as a solid cultural history of the influence of religion in Irish society, with some fascinating insights into the workings of the Irish religious denominations at an institutional level. McGarry is particularly interesting on the contribution of Mary McAleese to Irish ecumenism.

[Martin Conboy · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Well, Holy God" is a powerful and profound work that masterfully intertwines personal reflection with insightful journalism. The author’s writing not only offers a deep dive into the complexities of faith and human experience but also serves as a poignant reminder of the struggles of an entire generation who wrestled with the dual forces of religious faith and societal change.

Reading this book, I was transported back to my own childhood, recalling the sensory richness of life in rural Ireland. The vivid imagery of Irish country life, struck a personal chord with me. The author's descriptions of early living conditions and the sense of nostalgia they evoke brought to life memories of my grandfather’s house in Manch, West Cork, where I visited as a young child.

The book's journalistic elements, however, are what truly elevate it. The author has an exceptional ability to articulate the profound human cost of the scandals uncovered within the Catholic Church, and the schools that it managed, particularly the ongoing stories of horrific sexual abuse. How over a long period of time the Catholic Church fought tooth and nail to project its carefully cultivated image and strived to always protect its considerable assets at the expense of vulnerable children who it had a duty of care to protect. They were living a lie and they knew it. So much for holier than thou!

The weight of these revelations is carried throughout the narrative, as the author does not shy away from the complexity and scale of the trauma inflicted upon countless individuals. The book’s exploration of how these injustices have shaped a generation’s loss of faith is both moving and deeply insightful. This loss of trust is not just spiritual—it is existential, affecting individuals in ways that are often too painful to articulate, yet the author captures this sense of collective grief with grace and clarity. Its a great read and a must have if you want to understand how the Catholic church has disgraced itself in Ireland.

[Marie O'Halloran · Rating 5 out of 5]

As much social history as personal history, Patsy McGarry's memoir of his career as Religious Affairs Correspondent at The Irish Times is a fascinating journey through the many dark days of the established church in Ireland in the second half of the 20th century and early years of the 21st. It's also an appreciation of the people who worked selflessly to improve unacceptable situations. Highly recommended.