I shouldn’t be allowed to go to church

00:00 04:35

Melissa Kite has narrated this article for you to listen to.

‘Life is changed, not ended,’ said the slogan on the lectern as the priest told his flock what to think about a difficult subject, with a reassuring smile.

‘It’s quite a big change,’ I whispered to the builder boyfriend who was staring down at his feet in an attempt to stop the allergic response that was welling up. The service was commemorating those who have died this past year in our corner of West Cork, but the overoptimistic way it was being done was making us feel ever so slightly hysterical.

I leaned in to the BB: ‘Have you noticed how Mary has got a halo made of the 12 EU stars?’

I stared at the slogan on the lectern, an excerpt from the Roman Missal, embroidered on an ornamental cloth. Someone would have had to commission those words to be stitched on that cloth. I hadn’t seen it before. It was hardly festive.

I stared at the priest, who is a towering man with a big mop of white hair. Of course it doesn’t help in moments like this that he looks like Father Ted.

‘Mrs Doyle, could you ask Sister Mary Gondola to stitch us a lectern cover with a nice cheerful death theme?’

‘Yes Father! I know exactly what you mean. That lovely bit about death being a nice change of scene…’

‘That’s it exactly. More about the craic in heaven than the actual, you know, dying bit. Maybe mention the free alcohol and the roller-skating…’

I looked around the church at the icons, paintings and frescos, noting the masonic golden triangle with an eye inside it, topping a vast image of Christ on the wall behind the altar. I stared at the statue to the left of the altar and leaned in to the BB: ‘Have you noticed how Mary has got a halo made of the 12 EU stars?’