IRELAND
Sunday World
Fr. Brian D’Arcy
FIFTY years ago when I first entered The Graan as a 17-year old novice, I tried to be the best I could be. I accepted that the ‘old’ Brian D’Arcy had to die and that I had to take a new name, Desmond Mary. I accepted that I had to leave my clothes to be locked up by the Novice Master and to put on instead borrowed clothes, habit and walk in sandalled feet as well.
I willingly got up in the middle of the night to pray and then went back to bed before getting up at 6am again. I took all those penances for granted. Silence was an essential part of life and I had to leave my family behind. I could not write to them; I could not speak to them if they came to church. I should not try to understand what was happening in the world. All of which was tough but I bought into it anyway. I knew it was what I had to do to be a priest.
Now I realise it was seriously damaging to me as a person. On one of those bleak days the Rector called me to his cell (room). The Rector had been in Africa and was very close to being made a bishop.
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