From left to right: pilgrims Paul O'Neill, Dominic Gallagher, Mark McDonnell, Charles Gallagher, and Fr Gerard Magee outside St Patrick’s Basilica on Station Island, Lough Derg. When I texted my brother to ask if he would like to go to Lough Derg, he responded that he’d already been in 2015, and it would be still another ten years before he would go through that again. Lough Derg is trauma. I remember the first time I was there as I walked round and round the Chapel, barefoot at 4am repeating the same endless prayers, wet and hungry – it was a fever dream.
I had the misfortune to look back at the island as I left, a sign you would return, so I decided I would the next year. I spent that year actively repressing any memory of Lough Derg. It’s good to talk about trauma, but by yourself, honestly, just repress it.
The great Irish historian and hagiographer Alice Curtayne writes of Lough Derg as “a mere knoll less than an acre in extent, set in a grey quiet lake, unfolded by a chain of low rolling mountains, barren, grey too, quiet as the lake they shield.” She could add that the sky is grey too.
As we approached the island for the first time, my cousin pointed and said, “that’s Alcatraz.”
Lough Derg is the grey of penance. It is where the soul is wrung out like a damp towel and every colour drips away. “Where the black bread and sugarless tea of penance will charm back the luxury of a child’s soul” so that “Christ returns with a January flower.” – Patrick Kavanagh, “Advent”.
The world today is going grey. We see it in clothes, cars, and even in films whose drab colours lack the contrasts of the nineties. A greyness is settling. The greyness of Lough Derg vanquishes that greyness and brings back the colour in all its dazzling beauty.
I have just completed my third Lough Derg from July 21-23 and the island is open for pilgrimage until August 15. The pilgrimage consists of a 72-hour fast in which one small meal of dry bread and oat biscuits is allowed per day. During this time, you perform nine stations which involve walking barefoot on stones around a cross, kneeling, and praying.
You arrive at noon on the first day and pray ceaselessly through the night. You go to bed at 10pm on the second day. On the third day you rise early before leaving at 9.30am. Throughout the vigil until the end of the second day you are not allowed to sleep at any time.
I was steeled in my resolve to not sleep by a story from a lady who when she was 18 had committed to going to Lough Derg before pulling out to go to a party. Her mother warned her that something bad would happen if she broke her commitment. She crashed her car that very day. She has since been to Lough Derg 12 times. Though I wonder how much of it is due to her liking the boat over (private joke).
The lack of sleep means that you are compelled to talk to people to stay awake. Fortunately, the atmosphere is very sociable as we gather in the common hall between prayers and there are many good people to talk to. Then there is Dessie, the criminal mastermind, who regaled us with many stories.
People from across the counties discussed football and the All- Ireland Final from different points of view. A popular opinion was that the Sam Maguire would go home to the surrounding hills. At another table a sheep farmer and an embroidress agreed to exchange wool in return for a jumper.
July 22 is the feast of St Mary Magdalene. As I listened to the reading from the Song of Songs at Mass, I found myself thinking that there is a connection between romance and penance. My father had always pitched Lough Derg to me on the grounds that I might meet a wife. My uncle, after all, had met my Auntie on the island. There’s something in it. The connection between penance and romance is like the quest for the Holy Grail. Only the pure in heart can be admitted to the court of the Fisher King.
As I hobbled barefoot around the stone beds, I saw that eight beautiful geese had returned to the island. Though I have yet to see them fly in a V.
It was wonderful to have five priests and a deacon on the island allowing long and fulsome confessions. The organ playing and singing by the ministry staff was very beautiful. The meals consisted of wheaten bread, toast, black coffee and tea. The local staff were friendly and would ask with great enthusiasm, “what can I get you?” I did feel there was some element of irony missing.
A lady described how her mother had worked on Lough Derg when she was still at school and described the island as her heaven. When the sun came out, I could almost believe it. Similarly with a pipe lit, sitting talking to Fr Gerard of Portglenone monastery, looking across the lake to the trees that have fully grown in the last ten years you could begin to think – this is the good life.
Some go to Lough Derg every year, some go several times a year. But even going just once will leave a imprint on you. It is to go deep into the spiritual well, the way a marathon runner draws on all their physical endurance. My cousin went once when he was 18 and said how it was an experience, he drew strength from for many years afterwards.
The sermon at the final Mass was on discernment which the Pope had said was his intention to pray for this month. Discernment, or the ordering of thoughts, is best when you can get to fundamentals. To strip everything bare and reveal the true glory of man. A priest or a king, what shall I be? What a choice.
On the boat to shore, I was having too great a conversation to remember to look at the island. One of the sermons at Mass was on not getting carried away with signs.