Fr Seamus Maguire

This is a series of short stories by Fr Seamus Maguire that have been inspired, for the most part, by his experiences as chaplain at the San Fernando GeneralHospital.
Fr Seamus hopes that this series of anecdotes may help to foster vocations to the priesthood and religious life.
Fr Seamus served the San Fernando Parish between 1995 and 2006. He has since returned to West Virginia, USA.

Strange things can happen in a church in a Mission country, especially if there are no steps up to the door of the church. It seems that the steps can be a barrier against Tom, Dick or Harry, strolling into a church at the slightest inkling.

At Tortuga there are no steps so I noticed a man walking slowly by the front door, but much slower the second time. He must have been attracted by the words flowing from the mouth of the homilist, and he wondered whether he couldn’t do better. So he came into the church and walked slowly up the aisle.

He was definitely causing a distraction for the congregation, even though I was telling a little story at that particular time that I thought would really hold their attention. A little stagger on his way up to the front, indicated that he was a little “Under the Influence.”

When I had finished my story and realised that I was no match for this distraction, I invited him to be seated in the front pew. But he had decided to try his preaching abilities. He was now standing in the sanctuary, rambling on and on in a manner that was not very intelligible.

As I did before, I again invited him to sit on the front bench; indeed I assisted him by putting my left hand on his back and pushing him with all my might, while still smiling at the congregation. I held his right arm with my right hand for fear he would give me the right elbow in the eye.

When we reached the front pew, he refused to sit; he wanted to return to his preaching role in the Sanctuary. I decided to continue to escort him to the door. Then I slowly walked back to the lectern to round out my homily; then I went on with the Creed and Prayers of the Faithful.

Now, what strikes me about all of this is the strange “lack of support” (for want of a better expression) that the priest receives from the men of the congregation. It was only after I had the man well under control that a young man came to my assistance.

I remember saying Mass in the very large Cathedral of St Lucia each day of a month while I awaited my work permit for Trinidad to arrive. About a year later three or four men rushed in the back of that same Cathedral, and proceeded to sprinkle with gasoline the worshippers and set them on fire with a torch.

An Irish Sister who rushed to the tabernacle with the ciborium was bludgeoned to death with stumps of sticks. These same men rushed to the altar, splashed the celebrant with gasoline and set him on fire; he died later in the hospital.

But, my question is: “Where were the men?” Why didn’t someone try to prevent Sister from being beaten to death by those thugs? Why was there no one to assist the celebrating priest? Not all those who interrupt a priest celebrating Mass have bad intentions, as we shall see.
Greater love than this no man hath… They lay down their lives.