`The priests of my youth tended to preach about laws and obligations. In this way, they had succeeded in transforming Christianity into something approaching a natural religion.

"In their eyes the rural order in which the church still played a dominant role was an expression of the divine will. They had forgotten about freedom, without which there is no real faith."

If you were to hazard a guess as to the author of these lines you could be forgiven for saying that it was an Irish person, writing about this country during the 1940s and 1950s. In fact, the lines were written in 1966 by a French priestwriter, Jean Sulivan (1913-1980). He certainly doesn't pull any punches when describing the mechanistic type of religion imparted to him by a powerful secular clergy. But then again Father Sulivan was far from being your conventional priest. His views on many issues were challenging and provocative.

I recently translated his memoir of the death of his mother, Anticipate Every Goodbye (published by Veritas last September), from which the opening quotation is taken and around which this article revolves.

It is hard to be unmoved by the raw honesty which the author uses to depict the crisis of faith of this simple pious Breton woman. The theme and thrust of the book have a universal significance because at some stage in life everyone has to face up to the reality of death, either one's own or that of a loved one.

It is frightening to contemplate the vastness of eternity and the finality of death. Father Sulivan was of the opinion, however, that of all people his mother was not going to be frightened by this prospect. Her faith seemed strong enough to withstand any test.

He was wrong: "The worst part was the knowledge that my mother hadn't accepted death. She had protected herself all during her life with words and religious practices. She had had all the feelings of piety, of resignation, of knowing God's love, but she hadn't been able to accept the reality of death."

Her son, the priest, could only watch in horror as this simple woman went on the naked cross, while her eyes screamed at him: "Why did God make us mortal?" Father Sulivan was unable to supply an answer to this question.

He was mainly preoccupied with the thought of losing his mother's comforting presence, and at the same time harboured false hopes of her possible recovery. He tried not to think that she would no longer be there for him on his Sunday visits, that he would no longer see her gentle wave from the window as he turned his car back towards Rennes.

HE had anticipated this goodbye, had said to himself that every goodbye is the last goodbye, but he found the reality of eternity difficult to handle, writing: "You are not present at your own death. But it is impossible to escape from the death of someone you love. When you write, you love once more, suffer the pain all over again."

Writing was cathartic for Father Sulivan, who attempted to recover from the loss of his mother by describing his experiences for his readers and by thus disabusing them of their illusions.

"It is said that the Christian suffers less because he believes. That's just one more magical fabrication of our faith. `You will meet her again in Heaven'. I don't know what that means. I do have the conviction that there is such a thing as an eternal presence, but it in no way alleviates the heartbreak I'm feeling hic et nunc (here and now)," he wrote.

These lines highlight the difficulties Father Sulivan encountered in parting with his mother. Her physical death did not automatically convince him that they would be reunited in the next life. He admitted that he didn't even know what this meant.

He wasn't helped either by pious platitudes or meaningless formulae about concepts like eternal salvation. All he knew was the horrible pain of separation from the woman to whom he liked to turn in times of need.

As he received no solace from the condolences offered to him by friends and acquaintances at his mother's funeral, he didn't presume to offer any simple comfort to his readers: "And don't start thinking that I am going to provide you with proof for all these theories. When the Son of Man, who is also the Son of God, cries out that he has been abandoned on the Cross, by what right do you seek reassuring truths?"

Father Sulivan discovered much about himself and the weaknesses of his priesthood through being present at his mother's death. The experience of abandonment and the spiritual dilemma that his mother underwent showed him that there is no such thing as an easy death, and that no one can help you to take the step from this world into eternity.

His memoir is obligatory reading for anyone who is willing to accompany him on a voyage of anguish that led ultimately to enlightenment.

Eamon Maher is a lecturer in humanities at the Institute of Technology, Tallaght, and author of Crosscurrents and Confluences: Echoes of Religion in 20th-Century Fiction (Veritas, 2000)