Last summer, I moved to Salthill in Galway, on the Western coast of Ireland, and am blessed to live a minute away from the Atlantic Ocean. It has been quite the change, having lived all my life in landlocked areas in Kilkenny City and Rathmines in Dublin. (Allegedly, according to Joyce, there is a beach in Dublin but I have yet to personally verify this rumour.) Singing “Star of the Sea” in the heart of Kilkenny City does not have quite the same power as when the sea is literally metres away.
Beside Salthill is the old fishing village called the Claddagh. Although mostly absorbed into the bland banality of suburbia now, it was once a thriving fishing village. In the Dominican Church, St. Mary’s on the Hill, in the Claddagh, there is a statue to Our Lady of Galway as the residents of the Claddagh held a strong devotion to Our Lady, praying she would ensure that their fishermen would safely return from the daily catch.
With so many people tragically still losing their lives at sea, a yearly blessing of the bay is still carried out for the fishermen and their boats. It is one of the few remaining elements in nature that can’t be tamed by man. On walks by the famous Promenade, passing by fitness fundamentalists, wannabe influencers, legions of dog-walkers (furbaby dogmatists?) and geriatrics submerging themselves in ice-cold water, the ocean captivates me. Since moving, I have been repeatedly struck by the awe-inspiring power of the sea.
It is plain to see how much of our faith is connected to the sea. Given that, after His baptism in the River Jordan, Jesus began His ministry by the Sea of Galilee with many miracles and preaching connected to the sea, and that several of the Apostles were fishermen, it is no wonder that many of the signs and symbols for our faith, especially in the early Church, were related to fish and the sea. Examples of these include the ichthys, which resembles a fish; an anchored cross showing our faith rooted in the future; and the name of the central part of a church, the nave, which comes from the Latin word for boat, <em>navis</em>.
Many churches across the world with vaulted ceilings showcase wooden beams which symbolise, even more visibly, Noah’s Ark and the Church representing the new Ark. In addition, the Pope wears the Ring of the Fisherman – which is traditionally kissed by faithful Catholics seeking his blessing and an indulgence. Furthermore, the Acts of the Apostles offer examples of the first Christians embarking on perilous sea voyages. St Paul travelled thousands of miles of the Mediterranean for Christ, famously getting shipwrecked off Malta, while the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage owes its existence to the<mark style="background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)" class="has-inline-color has-vivid-cyan-blue-color"> <a href="https://catholicherald.co.uk/pilgrimage-standoff-assisi-versus-santiago-de-compostela-which-comes-out-on-top/">claim that Saint James came to preach in Spain</a></mark>.
Living by the sea has challenged me to reflect deeper on the many Gospel passages and parts of the liturgy concerning the sea, making them all the more powerful. During Eastertide, we heard the <em>Vidi Aquam</em> sung during the sprinkling of Holy Water, which refers to Ezekiel 47:1 when water flows from the Temple, eventually purifying the sea so that “fishermen will stand along the shore” spreading their nets. Christ became the new Temple during his Passion when blood and water gushed from his side. After the Resurrection, Jesus appeared at the Sea of Tiberius to the disciples while they were fishing. Having recognised it was Jesus after the enormous haul of fish, Peter jumped in the sea 100 yards from the land to reach Him.
Watching the waves crash against Blackrock Pier makes it easier to imagine, elsewhere in the Gospel, some of the terror that the Apostles felt as they cried to Jesus, “Lord, save us! We are perishing!” Observing the wild chaos of the waves, one wonders if they could be as brave as St Peter to trust in the Lord and take a step towards Him on the water. Living by the sea puts you close to the extremes. While on those sunny days you’re struck by the breathtaking beauty of God’s grandeur and how much you have to be grateful for: the beautiful sights of the sea, beach and sky. On those stormy, wintry days, you realise how grateful you are for the simple things in life that we take for granted: shelter and safety from the winds and rain.
When I came back to the Church, I quickly grew to love the writings of the late Pope Benedict XVI. In particular, his Introduction to Christianity had a profound impact on me. At the start of the book, he quotes an excerpt from a Paul Claudel play (incredibly over 11 hours long in duration) about a Jesuit missionary, which has stayed with me ever since. We are told of a Jesuit surviving a shipwreck, where he is lashed onto the mast, in the shape of a cross, drifting helplessly across the raging ocean. “Fastened to the cross,” Benedict writes, “with the cross fastened to nothing, drifting over the abyss. The situation of the contemporary believer could hardly be more accurately and impressively described.”
Benedict reflects on how only the loose piece of wood keeps the Jesuit afloat; but this wood connects him to Christ and “in the last analysis he knows that this wood is stronger that the void that seethes beneath him”. Claudel demonstrates how belief will always have to grappled with and how in the end, like the shipwrecked Jesuit, we all must surrender and believe. In the play, the life of the Jesuit – the life of the believer – is presented as a challenge, as the possibility of falling into the void of unbelief is always a looming possibility. Images like this only come alive when you can see and hear the ocean vent its fury against the rocks.
Looking out towards the Atlantic, one is reminded of the <a href="https://catholicherald.co.uk/reading-on-this-holy-island-a-modern-pilgrimage-across-britain-can-leave-you-yearning-for-a-bit-more-religious-commitment/?swcfpc=1"><mark style="background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)" class="has-inline-color has-vivid-cyan-blue-color">heroic Celtic Saints who, in tiny boats</mark></a>, sailed as far as the Faroe Islands and Greenland – as mentioned in Fr Conor McDonagh’s brilliant video series, <em>Treasure Ireland</em>, on the Irish Dominicans’ <em>YouTube Channel</em>.) In this age of mandatory health-and-safety training, it is mind-boggling for most of us to imagine these holy men even reaching the relatively close-by islands of Skellig Michael, Arran, <a href="https://catholicherald.co.uk/marygate-house-retreat-centre-suffering-structurally-after-54-years-of-storms-and-strong-winds-on-holy-island-of-lindisfarne/"><mark style="background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)" class="has-inline-color has-vivid-cyan-blue-color">Lindisfarne</mark></a> or Iona in boats that would be uninsurable today.
While St Brendan the Navigator most likely did not find “Australia then China and Japan” as claimed by Christy Moore, even the short journeys he made by sea are staggering to consider. The bravery of these men sailing off to spread the Good News “to the ends of the earth” is incomprehensible for modern man. They followed the motto used by Venerable Nano Nagle in recent centuries: “Not words but deeds”.
As someone who struggles to clear the mind of extraneous thoughts, the ocean has an unstoppable pull that commands attention which, in turn, stokes reflection. The ocean must be reckoned with. Walking along the beach and hearing the waves rush in, man is forced to come to terms with his own insignificance. The rocks that wash up onshore have been smoothed and shaped over countless thousands of years. The glistening sand in my fingers and seabirds flying overhead remind me of Bob Dylan’s classic song “Every Grain of Sand”. Dylan must have felt similarly when he wrote the song at his newly-bought beachfront mansion in Malibu, California in about 1980, after his conversion to Evangelical Christianity.
“In the fury of the moment I can see the master’s hand in every leaf that trembles, and in every grain of sand.” One is tempted to despair at times amid <a href="https://catholicherald.co.uk/the-last-priests-and-nuns-in-ireland-a-missed-opportunity-to-move-beyond-the-same-old-tropes/"><mark style="background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)" class="has-inline-color has-vivid-cyan-blue-color">Ireland’s aggressively anti-Catholic culture</mark></a> today, but these paths have been trod before. The <a href="https://catholicherald.co.uk/podcast/confronting-the-machine-a-strategy-for-church-renewal-with-paul-kingsnorth/"><mark style="background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)" class="has-inline-color has-vivid-cyan-blue-color">ever-compelling author Paul Kingsnorth</mark></a>, also residing in the West of Ireland, has an excellent Substack series where he explores remote holy wells in his locality. His visits show how the faith has survived and continued down the generations in some instances, but has been forgotten and left to wither in others.
Dylan wrote: “I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea; sometimes I turn, there’s someone there, other times it’s only me. I am hanging in the balance of a perfect finished plan, like every sparrow falling; like every grain of sand.” Walking by the ocean reminds me that we are all part of a “perfect finished plan”. We must cling to the Cross in these stormy seas and remember that “every hair is numbered like every grain of sand”.
For those living inland: take a trip to the seaside. Pray for us, Star of the Sea.
<em>Ronan Doheny is an archivist and historian.</em>
<strong><strong>This article originally appeared in the May 2024 issue of the <em>Catholic Herald</em>. To subscribe to our award-winning, thought-provoking magazine and have independent and high-calibre counter-cultural Catholic journalism delivered to your door anywhere in the world click</strong> <mark style="background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)" class="has-inline-color has-vivid-cyan-blue-color"><a href="https://catholicherald.co.uk/subscribe/?swcfpc=1">h</a></mark><a href="https://catholicherald.co.uk/subscribe/?swcfpc=1"><mark style="background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)" class="has-inline-color has-vivid-cyan-blue-color">ere</mark></a>.</strong>
