On a Thursday in the community centre in Dublin’s Fatima Mansions, a group of women wait eagerly to go down to breakfast in the second-floor café. We are welcomed by the men who have done the cooking. They escort us to our tables; take our orders and bring the food with a flourish. Teasing and laughter echo from wall to wall.
A number of us were joined by a fellow priest who had great devotion to St. Michael. He proudly showed us a picture of Michael, lance in hand, Satan in the form of a serpent at his feet, about to be pierced through. “Look at him”, he said, “crying out for mercy!” someone piped up, “But if he asked for mercy, that is what he would receive.’ Stunned silence! And then a bashful admission, “Gosh, you’re right.”
“Would you like to buy me a coffee?” the man who was begging asked. I was tempted to say, “Get your own”. I was at the Starbucks counter. I needed a mocha badly. I needed a lemon cake. I only had $6. If I bought him a coffee, I couldn’t have the cake. Suddenly, I remembered the gospel.
We are a Roman Catholic Congregation of Priests, Brothers and Lay Associates. Our congregation was founded in Paris in 1703 by a young 24 year old Breton Lawyer, Claude Poullart des Places.
He founded a community for young men who wished to become priests and dedicated it to the Holy Spirit.
