In terms of numbers, the passion and prayers went to Poland yesterday – Poznan trumped the RDS
WHERE WAS everybody? The rows of empty seats told their own story on a strangely muted day in the RDS showgrounds.
The opening day of the Eucharistic Congress was years in the planning.
Churches around the country hung out the white bunting in readiness. The faithful were given plenty of notice.
A crowd of 20,000 pilgrims was predicted. But the final turnout came nowhere near.
Apparently 7,000 pilgrims will travel from overseas for this week’s celebrations. A fair number of them attended yesterday’s event. Add to them the huge contingent of priests and religious in the crowd and it pointed to a disappointing display of local support.
But it made for easy parking, a fascinating experience and, one suspects, a happy hunting ground for future historians.
The organisers could never hope to live up to those amazing images from 1932 – the last time Ireland hosted the Eucharistic Congress, when over half a million people crowded into Dublin for the final Mass.
To draw a comparison with it is unfair. That was then, in a very different country to the one we live in today. And yet, the overwhelming majority of citizens declared themselves Roman Catholic when the last census came around.
A decent fraction of that number would have amounted to a stunning success for the organisers. But just how different things are now could be measured in the disappointing figures yesterday afternoon.
We hate to harp on about it, but for some of us observers, it was the most striking aspect of the proceedings.
Pilgrims registered in the cavernous Simmonscourt extension and made their way across to the arena in the main complex.
In a dark corner of the hall, just outside the Youth Space, was a table and two chairs. Above it, a sign reading “Lost and Found”. There was nobody at it.
Where would they have been? The people in the RDS may once have been lost, but now they are clearly found. It’s why they were there.
Those representing their parishes lined up with their banners and county flags and paraded to the arena.
They were excited and in high spirits as they queued to get into the stadium. “We are singing, we are singing in the light of God,” they sang, waiting to take their seats. “We are waiting, we are waiting in the light of God.”
All around them, bishops and priests and monks strolled about in billowing cassocks. Every so often a bishop or an archbishop would emerge.
It was a surreal scene. Was that a cardinal in front of us, walking hurriedly along the path, a group of black-suited priests around him, some carrying briefcases?
The photographers were in seventh heaven, chasing groups of nuns. That’s a thing about press photographers – they never tire of photographing nuns.
The nuns were unfailingly smiling and courteous, but they must get tired of the attention.
The altar was just under where the rugby goalposts would be at the Simmonscourt end, with the clocktower behind it. The staging was impressive – a flight of broad white steps leading to the altar, with its gently swaying backdrop of Byzantine mosaics.
The choirs and orchestra were housed on either side. They made beautiful music.
In the centre of the pitch was a circular platform.
There was a touch of the rock concert about the build-up.
Cardinal Seán Brady waited in an entrance tunnel with three archbishops, waiting to get the nod from a stage manager when it was time to take to the pitch.
Archbishop Neary of Tuam gave us a wave. The last time we saw him he was belting past us on Croagh Patrick. Archbishop Clifford of Cashel beamed.
Passing pilgrims posed for photographs with them. Diarmuid Martin, the Archbishop of Dublin, joined the group. He looked a little anxious, but then, this gig was happening on his home turf.
One volunteer with access-all-area status told us what Dr Martin would be doing, calling him “the AB”. Finally, the cardinal was given the green light. He walked on to the pitch to the centre platform, his pectoral cross glinting over his laminated pass.
He formally opened the 50th Eucharistic Congress and two pilgrims standing beside him rang the Eucharistic bell.
A week of prayer, reflection and celebration was under way.
From ground level, the crowd looked good. But from the stand, the empty gaps were glaring. Two stands were all but empty, the main one no more than two-thirds full.
How must that have looked from the altar? In the exhibition hall, the people on the trade stands took a breather. You could buy a bishop’s ring, or a chasuble or a mitre. Or contemplate joining the monastic life. Or find out about the Billings method of family planning. There were some lovely stained-glass windows.
But they were doing very slow business at the food concessions. Had it not been for the gardaí (who weren’t under any pressure; the protests outside the RDS were calm and dignified) seeking bodily sustenance, Eddie Rocket’s would have had a very bad day.
In his address, Archbishop Martin said repeatedly the church in Ireland was on a path to renewal. The rest of the country, it seems, was already on the path to Poznan.
The television transmission of the Mass was cut off before it finished to make way for the soccer coverage.
An interesting day. Filled with worship and wonder and hope and inspiration for the pilgrims.
But – are we wrong here? – it felt like a niche event. One of many to command the attention yesterday. To this observer, it all seemed rather flat.
In terms of numbers, the passion and the prayers went to Poland yesterday.
The football won. And somehow, that makes us sad.
