A people’s faith: Irish pilgrimage during crisis

Clouds rolled in, and the emerald fields and mountains transformed into a land of shadows. Looking out the bus window, my thoughts matched the growing gloom. It was August 2010, and I was on my way to another pilgrimage. I had been living in Ireland since January—first to study abroad at University College Dublin and then as a pilgrimage researcher traveling throughout the country. Thinking about the wonderful aspects of my visit on the Emerald Isle—supportive friends, generative conversations, and delicious fish, to name a few—always brought a smile to my face. Staring at the darkened vista outside my window, though, my thoughts turned to another defining force of 2010—the abuse crisis. The Irish public’s roiling disillusionment, rage, and grief over historic and contemporary abuse by Catholic leaders—and Catholic leaders’ often harmful responses—shadowed the nation. During my time studying in the capital and pilgrimaging throughout the Republic, I had seen the cycle of harm firsthand.

My breath suddenly caught. Rays of sunshine broke through the cloud cover, returning light to a corner of the darkened western Irish landscape. Dazzled by the “God rays,” I remembered the words of a Croagh Patrick pilgrim. Mary, an Irish woman in her sixties, had gestured to the crowds of pilgrims climbing up the mountain, smiled, and said, “This is the faith of the people of faith. Not of the institutional Church. . . . This is a people’s faith.”¹ In the midst of a reckoning about Catholic leaders’ crimes and the Catholic institutions that bolstered them, the people’s faith offered me a small measure of solace.

In the 2000s, Irish society’s understanding of the clerical abuse crisis shifted from a focus on individual criminals to an awareness of systemic rot. Cases of clerical abuse had horrified the Irish public since the early 1990s. In the 2000s, though, government investigations uncovered the system that perpetuated abuse throughout the Republic. In 2009, two long-awaited reports provided new proof of the pervasiveness of child abuse in public and Catholic institutions. First came the Ryan Report, the Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse’s findings on public residential institutions across Ireland. During the commission’s decade-long investigation, 1,090 witnesses had given oral evidence about their experiences in 216 institutions managed by religious orders, religious congregations, or the State from 1914 to 2000. In May 2009, the commission published their damning conclusions in the Ryan Report: Physical abuse, emotional abuse, and neglect “were features” of both girls’ and boys’ institutions. In many institutions, religious and lay adults sexually abused children—and in institutions for boys, sexual abuse was “endemic.”² The public read the horrific accounts of this abuse and had an “immediate convulsive reaction . . . of shock, horror, anger, and blame.”³ The Ryan Report confirmed what survivors and activists had been shouting for decades—the root of the problem was the system, not “bad apples.”

While the country was still reeling, in November a second government commission provided more evidence of the Catholic Church’s perpetuation of abuse. Instead of a nationwide investigation like the Ryan Report, the Murphy Report focused on the Archdiocese of Dublin, analyzing how the archdiocese had handled sexual abuse cases from 1975 to 2004. The report concluded that archdiocesan and religious orders’ leaders prioritized secrecy, asset retention, and the reputation of the priests and the Church when managing clerical child sex abuse cases. Children’s welfare “was not even a factor to be considered.”⁴ With the Murphy Report, shock and outrage exploded anew. Responding to public pressure, four bishops named in the Murphy Report resigned in December 2009.⁵ Although a small victory, these individual resignations did not fix the systemic problem, and calls for accountability, reform, and ethical leadership continued to grow.

When I studied in Dublin in 2010, I experienced local expressions of the national turmoil. Marie Collins, a survivor of clerical child sexual abuse and an advocate for sexual abuse survivors, described the time to a reporter: “The people are very angry. The people have had their eyes opened.”⁶ I witnessed this myself. For example, during a Sunday Mass I attended at St. Teresa’s Church in Dublin, a middle-aged man grew more and more agitated during the Eucharistic Prayer. Suddenly, he began to shout, squeezing out from the pew and walking toward the altar, crying, “How could you?! They were children!”⁷ Silence descended. The celebrant’s eyes darted to the man, around the church, and back to the man. Returning his gaze fixedly to the missal, the priest haltingly resumed the Eucharistic Prayer, barely heard over the distraught man’s appeals to the restless congregation. He asked us how we could stay silent “when you know?! We know!” Then, my fellow Mass-goers told me that a church official called the police. For generations, the Irish Church protected criminal priests from the police, but in 2010, the Garda were called on a wounded man in a church.

During my time in Dublin, I saw Church officials choose again and again to protect the Church’s institutional body over the people of the body of Christ. In March, Pope Benedict XVI wrote a pastoral letter “to the Catholics of Ireland.” Many welcomed his acknowledgment of the “grievous wound” caused by clerical child abuse. Instead of focusing on the institutional and particularly Catholic elements of the crisis, though, Benedict placed most of the blame at the feet of individual sinners, writing, “All of us are suffering as a result of the sins of our confreres who betrayed a sacred trust or failed to deal justly and responsibly with allegations of abuse.”⁸ Then, the Archdiocese of Dublin set up a public conversation about the abuse crisis at a parish church I attended. When I entered the downtown church for the session, quiet conversations and cautious hope filled the air. This began to change when the archdiocesan and Vatican officials entered, and they sat in the sanctuary—apart from and higher than the other attendees. Then, those men in front of the altar gave defensive and dismissive answers to the heartfelt questions of the people in the pews. These Catholic leaders came to meet anguished people as lawyers, not pastors. As in the church that night, Church officials across Ireland often chose institution over people and furthered the cycle of harm.

Against this fraught backdrop, I wasn’t sure what to expect during my summer 2010 pilgrimage research. It seemed that every Irish Catholic knew someone—themselves, a family member, a friend—affected by the abuse crisis, and so many Irish women and men knew someone who habitually pilgrimaged. Many shared these facts with me—the former with a grimace and the latter with a smile. Ireland, I heard repeatedly, was a close-knit country that prized community and connection. How would the abuse crisis affect the pilgrimage culture? Seeking to do no harm, I did not initiate conversations about abuse during my pilgrimage research, and international visitors rarely discussed the crisis. Instead, they regaled me with miraculous and humorous tales of their travels around a magical island. Irish pilgrims also brought me to tears and laughter with their pilgrimage stories—from praying for a medical miracle to seizing an excuse to take a day off work. Belief, tradition, exercise, the afterparty, a determined relative—all of these inspirations and more coaxed people from their homes to pilgrimages. In addition to such “traditional” pilgrimage topics, though, almost every Irish person whom I interviewed brought up the clerical abuse crisis. What I learned from these difficult conversations was that many Irish people who embarked on a pilgrimage in 2010 had lost faith in the institutional Church, and for some, the clerical abuse revelations caused this loss of faith. Still, most of these same Irish pilgrims retained faith in the people of faith, in lay leadership, and in particular priests or sisters. With this as the bedrock, they sought the beginning of a way forward for the Irish Church. Three of the pilgrimages that I studied illustrate the struggle taking place as a result of the abuse crisis in 2010 Irish pilgrimage communities—Croagh Patrick, a “wild” national pilgrimage site; Inis Caher, a local pilgrimage tradition; and Knock, a “modern” international shrine.

Croagh Patrick

Croagh Patrick seizes attention. Visually, the cone-shaped mountain dominates the Clew Bay landscape. Grey, scree-covered slopes draw eyes up and up—over 2,000 feet above vibrant western Irish hills. Culturally, the region and nation focus on “the Reek” every midsummer. Kevin, a historian who teaches in Dublin, explained that “Croagh Patrick looms in people’s imaginations,” and many aim to complete the pilgrimage at least once in their lifetimes.⁹ In the 20th century, between 15,000 and 100,000 people climbed “Ireland’s holy mountain” yearly on the last Sunday in July.¹⁰

Some came to the mountain to continue ancient, pre-Christian traditions. Teresa, a guide who lives near Croagh Patrick, explained to me that people on the isle have been pilgrimaging since “Neolithic times, 3000 BC,” and events like Reek Sunday continue that long-standing pilgrimage tradition. In particular, she said, journeying up the windswept mountainside helps people to grow closer to nature and God.¹¹ Other journeyers emphasized the connection between the annual Reek tradition and the harvest festival of Lughnasa, celebrated August 1. Some aimed to reclaim the mountain for Lughnasa and the Celtic deity Lugh—reversing the work of early Christian missionaries.¹²

The majority of pilgrims I met, though, still claimed Catholicism and Saint Patrick as their own. On Reek Sunday, I joined a group of several dozen on the Tóchar Phádraig (Patrick’s Causeway), a 23-mile path from Ballintubber Abbey to—and then up—Croagh Patrick.¹³ As we walked down roads and across pastures, we prayed for forgiveness, healing, and connection. We shared many laughs—including when a lost man described his location over the phone as, “I am in a green field. . . . I see . . . sheep and a fence!” We helped one another—distributing walking sticks, snacks, and water to those struggling. Through blasts of rain, we also shared stories. Paddy, a man in his fifties from County Westmeath, explained that when he reaches the top of Croagh Patrick every year, he picks up a stone to bring to his good friend—a priest who is physically unable to climb.¹⁴ Many talked about how we, especially those climbing “in their feet,” were walking in Patrick’s footsteps. During his evangelization of the area, the saint famously walked what is now called the Tóchar Phádraig and then climbed the mountain barefoot. In addition to Saint Patrick’s footsteps, almost every person I interviewed shared how they walked in their direct ancestors’ footsteps, noting how proud they were to continue that tradition.¹⁵ During the 2010 pilgrimage, I saw how, visually and culturally, Ireland’s holy mountain commands attention.

The 2010 pilgrimage aligned, in many ways, with recent years’ precedent. Reporters estimated attendance on the low side of average. During the 1990s and 2000s, Reek Sunday regularly drew between 20,000 and 50,000 attendees. On July 25, 2010, about 20,000 ascended the mountain.¹⁶ Demographically, the event also aligned with recent years by attracting participants from across Ireland, Europe, and North America. At the turn of the century, larger numbers of international tourists and pilgrims joined Irish and Irish Traveller devotees on Croagh Patrick. As a local newspaper reported in 1995: “Croagh Patrick was simply rockin’ with religion on Reek Sunday.” Among the attendees, the journalist identified international visitors by their “foreign tongues,” which she “heard in myriads along the mountain.”¹⁷ By 2010, some of these visitors were repeat pilgrims, joining the Irish tradition of returning year after year. During my time in Westport, the main base for Croagh Patrick hikers, I met many repeat visitors. An extended Irish family was staying at the same bed and breakfast they had patronized for over a decade. Bronagh, a Northern Irish accountant, had first climbed the Reek with friends in his twenties, and 2010 marked his ninth annual ascent. Patrick, a Northern Irish lorry driver, was celebrating his 25th consecutive Croagh Patrick pilgrimage; such traditions, he explained, helped in “keeping up the faith.”¹⁸ With such continuities with tradition, on the surface, all could be assumed to be well.

In important ways, though, the clerical abuse crisis changed the 2010 Croagh Patrick pilgrimage. Undoubtedly, some bypassed the pilgrimage altogether. For those who chose to participate, many avoided the “traditional” Catholic trappings of the event. They did not seek a plenary indulgence by completing the penitential stations—prayerful circumambulations of stone cairns, the mountaintop chapel, and a stone bed.¹⁹ They intentionally planned their climb to avoid the scheduled Masses and confession times held on top of the mountain.²⁰ Mary, a local woman in her sixties whom I mentioned earlier, was one of these pilgrims seeking to rub shoulders with lay people, not clergy. Her statement—“This is a people’s faith”—reflects a faith in God, faith in one another, not faith in the institutional Church. This faith of the people, Mary explained, flourishes on mountaintops and outside of church buildings.²¹ Emma, an office administrator in her fifties, described how “long ago when priests were fewer . . . holy wells and holy places provided a place of worship.” Maybe, Emma mused, we should return to lay-led Catholic practices.²² Others wanted to divorce the pilgrimage tradition from the Catholic faith entirely and suggested returning to “pre-Catholic” traditions like Lughnasa. I met many completing the arduous trek up Croagh Patrick for Reek Sunday 2010 who advocated for a shift in power, for less influence from the institutional Church and more leadership from the Irish people.²³ For these pilgrims, the revelations of the depth of religious abuses of power demanded radical change.

For those not ready for major change, the abuse crisis was still top of mind on Reek Sunday. Pilgrims did complete the stations, attend confession, and schedule their journey around Mass. Per the Irish Catholic Bishops’ Conference, Archbishop of Tuam Michael Neary “led the 2010 National Pilgrimage to Croagh Patrick.” At 10:30 a.m., Neary celebrated Mass on the misty mountaintop. In the beginning of his homily, he acknowledged “the storm and stress of current controversies,” and “the struggles of the Church to adjust.” He also acknowledged that “many have lost faith in the Church, in political promises, in the stable institutions of the past.” Then, though, he warned listeners about “what some have called a ‘culture of blame.’” Instead of participating and “seek[ing] out the negligence of doctors, the health service, bankers, the Church or the school,” believers should follow Christ’s message of forgiveness. For Christ, Neary proclaimed, “did not encourage us to imprison people by their human failings. Instead he taught us the way of forgiveness.”²⁴ Perhaps this message of forgiveness offered a healing path forward for some of those listeners who still wished to embrace the “traditional” pilgrimage trappings. For others, certainly for those advocating for institutional reform, the homily deepened divides. Neary’s message minimized the clerical abuse crisis by comparing it with other “controversies” in Irish society. Further, his call for forgiveness without mention of apology, restitution, or reform continued the intergenerational harm caused by Church leaders.

Inis Caher

While carefully picking our way down Croagh Patrick’s steep slopes, I learned about the connected Inis Caher pilgrimage from a friendly local. Pádraic, whom I met as we “leapfrogged” one another, asked if I planned to “complete” the pilgrimage on August 15. Traditionally, he explained, people from the area connected Croagh Patrick and Inis Caher on the spiritual landscape—and the full pilgrimage entailed first ascending the mountain and then praying on the small island, just as Saint Patrick did. “Would you like to come with us?” Pádraic invited, and a couple of weeks later, I hopped on a currach with him and his family on the Feast of the Assumption.²⁵

The pilgrimage was mostly lay-led, with a trusted priest coming in at the end to say Mass. As we approached the small, uninhabited island, vessels big and small steered toward the landing point. Once ashore, Pádraic explained, people would stretch in a line from the harbor toward the holy well, disappearing over a hill. I clambered up the rocky landing point and joined them, heading toward Tobar Mhuire (Mary’s Well). At the well, a long and orderly line waited to remove their caps, clasp their crosses, offer prayers, and gather the healing water. Afterward, a festive spirit seized the crowd, and everyone scattered across the 128-acre island, exploring lakes and picnicking along the coastline.

Slowly, we coalesced once more around Teampull Phadruig, an ancient monastic church, and its associated graveyard and leachta (small stone structures with crosses atop). While waiting for the priest, many fellow pilgrims assured me that he’s “a good one,” not like some others. Several shared that they would attend Mass here, with this priest and on this holy island, but nowhere else. Those gathered around murmured their agreement. As time ticked by, the community considered reasons for the priest’s lateness—he was probably helping a particular widow or caught with a well-known talker. Finally, a cheer from the crowd announced his arrival, and Mass began. After the final blessing, pilgrims prayed before and left offerings on the leachta, the Leabaidh Phadruig (a stone known for healing), and the Leac na Naomh (a cursing stone).²⁶ Then, everyone walked at speed to their boats—the pilgrimage afterparty on Inishturk was calling! A quick hop to the nearby inhabited island, and pilgrims and community members, including the priest, celebrated with food and drink and by plunging into the cold ocean waves. For some, this kind of lay-led, ground-up event represented what the Irish Church should become once more.

Knock

While pilgrims lauded their opportunity to reconnect with “nature” on Croagh Patrick and Inis Caher, “modern” pilgrimage opportunities also are scattered across Ireland. The most famous may be Knock. Like the Reek and Inis Caher, Knock is located in County Mayo in western Ireland, and like Croagh Patrick, Knock is a national pilgrimage site. Knock rose to prominence as a national—and then international—Marian shrine after an August 21, 1879, apparition. As described by the Knock Shrine Society: “At about eight o’clock on that evening (of course in daylight) an Apparition of Our Blessed Lady, crowned and clothed in white garments, was distinctly seen by some fifteen persons at the gable wall of the church.”²⁷ Although Mary appeared with saints, a lamb, and angels on either side, Our Lady remained central for devotees who quickly began reporting healing miracles from Her. When I visited in 2010, I knelt before the recreated apparition scene: Our Lady of Knock’s hands raised in prayer; St. Joseph and St. John the Evangelist flanking Her; and to the trio’s left, a lamb and cross atop an altar, around which angels hovered. When they visited, Pope John Paul II and Pope Francis also prayed in the Apparition Chapel, the central feature of the Knock shrine.²⁸ Beyond the chapel, pilgrims could explore a massive, modern campus with paved pathways, maps, signs, and audio announcements directing visitors to prayer opportunities, as well as volunteers like the Handmaids and Stewards ready to help those in need.

Knock organizers focused on creating an accessible shrine for large crowds. As Lorna, a Knock Shrine Society Handmaid, explained, the shrine is a place of healing, and we should welcome all equally. As a child, Lorna’s mother brought her to Knock in search of a miracle for her debilitating illness, and after praying in the church, Lorna walked. Back home, her doctors marveled at the new test results, and they could not explain how she regained her ability to walk. Now, Lorna served as a Handmaid to aid others, especially those with fragile medical conditions, in search of their own miracles.²⁹ The Handmaids always were busy. As a Knock administrator told me, on a “slow day,” about 1,000 people visited the shrine, and annually, they clocked about 1.5 million visitors who came from around the world.³⁰ To care for this volume, the shrine relied on archdiocesan paid staff, volunteers like the Handmaids and Stewards, and communities like the Daughters of Charity. The shrine’s approximately 100-acre grounds also helped by spreading pilgrims out—inviting people to wheel through landscaped grounds, to receive the Anointing of the Sick, to pray the Stations of the Cross, to attend confession and Mass, to participate in a procession, to gather holy water from a row of fonts, to learn the site’s history at the museum, to buy a souvenir at the bookshop, and much more. Whatever a visitor’s level of disability, Knock administrators sought to provide a welcoming environment.

In 2010, shrine leaders also sought to address the individual and communal trauma of abuse. Every day, counselors and confessors were prepared to listen and offer support. During the national public novena commemorating the Knock apparition in August 2010, shrine organizers focused on finding a way forward. The novena’s theme, “The Path to Repentance, Healing and Renewal,” could be a lesson for those who wished to skip over repentance. Talk titles for the nine-day devotion attempted to draw in those hurt by clerical abuse. Featured talks included: “The Spirituality of Repentance and Healing” and “Child Safeguarding and Support for Victims of Abuse.”³¹ I could not attend these novena talks; I pray that they were nourishing for attendees.

Although I do not know what the private counseling sessions or public novena conversations sounded like, I can share that many Irish pilgrims at Knock talked with me—a young, international researcher—about their rage, disgust, and sorrow over clerical abuse. They also focused on finding a way forward. For example, Rosalie, a Presentation sister in her seventies, explained that “the Church is the people of God,” and the people’s faith will “prevail over institutional churches.” The priesthood of the laity, she suggested, was a path forward for the Church.³² Rosalie’s words reminded me of sentiments from Croagh Patrick and Inis Caher devotees who also called for a shift in power as one way to help address historical and contemporary harms by the institutional Church.

At each pilgrimage, I witnessed Irish lay leadership and faith in action. Thousands walked or drove from their homes to Croagh Patrick, where they climbed the holy mountain, recited the prayers in their hearts, and lent a helping hand—or walking stick—to those in need. Long-time devotees invited family, friends, and strangers to hop in their currachs for the annual Inis Caher pilgrimage, and on the island, these repeat pilgrims guided newcomers between the sacred sites. Dedicated Handmaids and Stewards aided Knock’s thousands of weekly visitors. These examples barely scratch the surface of the lay people shaping and leading the Croagh Patrick, Inis Caher, and Knock pilgrimages. In 2010, I witnessed a continuation of generations of lay Irish people shaping their religious landscape. The historical and contemporary nature of this leadership may be one reason why so many expressed that, when betrayed by the institutional Church, they felt confident that they could rely on the people’s faith. The difference in 2010 was not lay leadership itself. It was a renewed call for a power shift, for lay believers to lead the Church.

There is no quick or easy solution to healing harm caused by religious abuse—in Ireland or anywhere else. What I experienced in Ireland in 2010 was a society grappling with acknowledging trauma and then seeking steps toward healing. In Dublin, I saw Catholic priests perpetuate harm, and I prayed with a community in turmoil. Then, on a mountaintop, beside a holy well, and at an apparition site in County Mayo, I met lay and religious pilgrims searching for a way forward. The resounding call I heard again and again from Irish pilgrims was to orient around the people of God. Hopefully, this people’s faith can lead the way toward intergenerational healing in Ireland—and in the global Church.

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Melissa Coles is a postdoctoral research associate at Notre Dame’s Cushwa Center. A historian of 19th- through 21st-century North America, Coles specializes in the intersection of lived Catholicism, intercultural traditions, and sacred places. She earned her Ph.D. in history from the University of Notre Dame, where she also received her B.A. in honors anthropology and peace studies. She earned her M.Div. at Harvard Divinity School.

This article appears in the spring 2026 issue of the American Catholic Studies Newsletter.

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Notes

1 Mary, interview with author, Croagh Patrick, Ireland, July 24, 2010. Note: Interviewees who agreed to be named are identified by their first names and personal details. Interviewees who wished to remain anonymous are identified by an anonymized name. Since the majority of people I interviewed claimed Irish nationality, going forward, I do not note Irish narrators’ nationalities. I do note other interviewees’ and pilgrims’ nationalities or ethnicities.

2 The Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse investigated abuse at Irish institutions. “Institutions” included industrial and reformatory schools, schools for children with disabilities, hospitals, orphanages, foster care, residential laundries, hostels, novitiates, and other residential settings. Although the commission examined 216 public institutions, they excluded institutions deemed “private” at the time—such as the Magdalene laundries. In 2013, the “McAleese Report” confirmed state involvement with and abuse in the Magdalene laundries. The 2009 Ryan Report, which includes five volumes, and the 2013 McAleese Report are both publicly available online. Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse: Report (“Ryan Report”), vol. I, 2009, https://childabusecommission.ie/?page_id=241, 1–34. Ibid., vol. IV, 451–459. Report of the Inter-Departmental Committee to Establish the Facts of State Involvement with the Magdalen Laundries (“McAleese Report”), 2013, https://www.gov.ie/en/department-of-justice-home-affairs-and-migration/collections/report-of-the-inter-departmental-committee-to-establish-the-facts-of-state-involvement-with-the-magdalen-laundries/.

3 Willie Walsh, “Reflecting on the Ryan Report,” The Furrow 60, no. 11 (November 2009): 579.

4 The Commission of Investigation examined a representative sample of cases in the Dublin archdiocese. The commission’s conclusion that archdiocesan and other leaders prioritized perpetrator priests, the Church’s reputation, and Church assets pertains to cases of child sexual abuse brought to the attention of the Dublin archdiocese until “at least” the mid-1990s. With the implementation of the Framework Document in 1996 and the establishment of the archdiocese’s Child Protection Service in 2003, the Murphy Report notes that the archdiocese began to change how it handled abuse cases. The commission published their report in July 2009; it was publicly released in November 2009. Commission of Investigation, Report into the Catholic Archdiocese of Dublin, July 2009 (“Murphy Report”), https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/243712-4-murphy-report-entire-ireland/, 28.

5 Listed with the titles before their December 2009 resignations, these were Bishop of Limerick Donal Murray, Bishop of Kildare and Leighlin Jim Moriarty, Auxiliary Bishop of Dublin Éamonn Walsh, and Auxiliary Bishop of Dublin Raymond Field. Other Church leaders named in the Murphy Report—such as Bishop of Galway Martin Drennan—refused to resign. To the outrage of survivors, Pope Benedict XVI refused to accept Walsh and Field’s resignations in August 2010. Walsh and Field continued their work as senior clerics until retiring quietly in 2019. “Abuse survivors disappointed as Dr Drennan refuses to quit,” Irish News (Belfast, Northern Ireland), December 28, 2009. John Cooney, “Outrage as Pope allows two bishops to keep jobs: Shock Vatican decision deals major blow to the authority of archbishop,” Irish Independent (Dublin, Ireland), August 12, 2010. Fergus Black, “Survivors are outraged at ‘extraordinary move,’” Irish Independent (Dublin, Ireland), August 12, 2010. Aideen O’Flaherty, “Bishop Eamonn intends to help parishes: Well-known figure Eamonn Walsh to retire after 29 years as a bishop,” Echo (Dublin, Ireland), October 3, 2019. David Cheney, “Bishop Raymond W. Field,” Catholic Hierarchy, 2024, https://www.catholic-hierarchy.org/bishop/bfieldr.html.

6 Marie Collins has worked to protect children and help survivors receive justice since the 1980s. For example, in 1985, she helped found Aware, a depression support group. In 2003, she helped the Dublin archdiocese set up their Child Protection Service, and she became a trustee of One in Four (Ireland), an abuse survivors support group. From 2014 to 2017, Collins served on the Pontifical Commission for the Protection of Minors. “Patron: Marie Collins,” Marie Collins Foundation, 2026, https://www.mariecollinsfoundation.org.uk/Who-We-Are/Patron. Saul Gonzalez, “Catholic Ireland Struggles with Response to Child Sex Abuse Scandals,” PBS News Hour, May 11, 2010, https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/catholic-ireland-struggles-with-response-to-child-sex-abuse-scandals.

7 At the time, I did not write his words in my notes. The quotes used in this article are some of what I remember him saying. He said much more.

8 When Benedict discussed larger factors that contributed to the abuse crisis, he devoted an entire paragraph to the “challenges to the faith arising from the rapid transformation and secularization of Irish society.” Then he succinctly summarized other “contributing factors”: “inadequate procedures for determining the suitability of candidates for the priesthood and the religious life; insufficient human, moral, intellectual and spiritual formation in seminaries and novitiates; a tendency in society to favour the clergy and other authority figures; and a misplaced concern for the reputation of the Church and the avoidance of scandal, resulting in failure to apply existing canonical penalties and to safeguard the dignity of every person.” The space in the letter that Benedict devoted to exploring the results of societal transformation—in contrast to the pro forma way he listed several Catholic systemic causes for clerical abuse, which previously had been called out in Irish reports and by Irish reformers, reveals Benedict’s analysis that Irish society, rather than Church structures, was the root problem. Benedict XVI, Pastoral Letter of the Holy Father Pope Benedict XVI to the Catholics of Ireland, March 19, 2010.

9 Kevin, interview with author, Dublin, Ireland, July 14, 2010.

10 Numbers of pilgrims drawn from the Mayo News and the Western People, two local newspapers published in County Mayo, Ireland. A major numerical discrepancy that stands out: in 1950, these papers reported that between 60,000 and 100,000 devotees climbed Croagh Patrick for that year’s pilgrimage. Whichever number is correct, two reasons for the largest Reek Sunday crowd in the 20th century were the Holy Year and direction from the Archbishop of Tuam for all to pray for “Peace and Concord among the Nations.” Peter Gavin, “Reek Pilgrimage Down through the Centuries: Holy Year Expected to Bring Record-Breaking Crowd,” Mayo News (Westport, Ireland), July 29, 1950. “Reek Pilgrimage Exceeds All Expectations,” Mayo News, August 5, 1950. “Croagh Patrick Pilgrimage,” Western People (Ballina, Ireland), August 5, 1950.

11 Teresa, interview with author, Croagh Patrick, Ireland, July 26, 2010.

12 Drawn from interviews with many Croagh Patrick pilgrims, Croagh Patrick, Westport, and Ballintubber, Ireland, July 23–28, 2010.

13 Some translate Tóchar Phádraig as “The Way of Saint Patrick.” I use “Patrick’s Causeway” because that is the translation utilized by Ballintubber Abbey. For example: Tóchar Phádraig: Patrick’s Causeway from Ballintubber to Croagh Patrick: A Pilgrim’s Progress (Ireland: Ballintubber Abbey Publication, 2006).

14 Paddy, interview with author, Croagh Patrick, Ireland, July 25, 2010.

15 Drawn from interviews with many Croagh Patrick pilgrims, Croagh Patrick, Westport, and Ballintubber, Ireland, July 23–28, 2010.

16 Numbers of pilgrims drawn from Mayo News and Western People.

17 A Mayo News journalist identified international tourists and pilgrims from Germany, France, the United States, and Britain who attended the 1995 pilgrimage after reading about it in guide books. Joan Tobin, “Foreign Tongues But No Miraculous Phenomenon,” Mayo News, August 2, 1995.

18 Mary, interview with author, Westport, Ireland, July 23, 2010. Bronagh, interview with author, Croagh Patrick, Ireland, July 25, 2010. Patrick, interview with author, Croagh Patrick, Ireland, July 25, 2010.

19 The sign posted at the base of Croagh Patrick advised: “Every pilgrim who ascends the mountain on St. Patrick’s Day or within the octave, or any time during the months of June, July, August & September, & PRAYS IN OR NEAR THE CHAPEL for the intentions of our Holy Father the Pope may gain a plenary indulgence on condition of going to Confession and Holy Communion on the Summit or within the week.” Below this prescriptive statement, the sign then described each of three stations required of the pilgrimage. First, at Leacht Benain (Benignus was a disciple of Saint Patrick): The pilgrim walks around the stone cairn seven times saying seven Our Fathers, seven Hail Marys, and one Creed. Second, at the summit: The pilgrim kneels and recites seven Our Fathers, seven Hail Marys, and one Creed; she then recites the Pope’s intention near the chapel and walks clockwise 15 times around the church reciting 15 Our Fathers, 15 Hail Marys, and one Creed; finally, she walks seven times around Leaba Phádraig (Patrick’s Bed) while saying seven Our Fathers, seven Hail Marys, and one Creed. Third, at Roilig Mhuire (Virgin’s Cemetery): the pilgrim walks seven times, while praying seven Our Fathers, seven Hail Marys, and one Creed, around each of three stone cairns; then finally, she walks around the entire enclosure while praying. This kind of ritualistic prayer is a core part of many Irish pilgrimage traditions.

20 Drawn from interviews with many Croagh Patrick pilgrims.

21 Mary, interview.

22 Emma, interview with author, Croagh Patrick, Ireland, July 26, 2010.

23 Drawn from interviews with many Croagh Patrick pilgrims.

24 “National Pilgrimage to Croagh Patrick,” Irish Catholic Bishops’ Conference, July 20, 2010, https://www.catholicbishops.ie/2010/07/20/feature-national-pilgrimage-to-croagh-patrick-25-july-2010/. Michael Neary, “Homily of Archbishop Neary for Reek Sunday Mass on Croagh Patrick,” Irish Catholic Bishops’ Conference, July 23, 2010, https://www.catholicbishops.ie/2010/07/23/homily-of-archbishop-neary-for-reek-sunday-mass-on-croagh-patrick/.

25 Pádraic, interview with author, Croagh Patrick, Ireland, July 25, 2010.

26 Patrick Logan, The Holy Wells of Ireland (Gerrards Cross, UK: Colin Smythe, 1992), 73, 111–112, 146–147.

27 Knock Shrine Society, associate member of the society card in author’s personal archive, received August 1, 2010.

28 John Paul II visited in 1979, and Francis visited in 2018. In 2021, the Pontifical Council for the Promotion of the New Evangelization recognized Knock as an International Marian and Eucharistic Shrine.

29 Lorna, interview with author, Knock, Ireland, July 31, 2010.

30 Maureen, interview with author, Knock, Ireland, July 31, 2010.

31 National Public Novena in Honour of Our Lady of Knock, August 14–22, 2010, pamphlet in author’s personal archive.

32 Rosalie, interview with author, Knock, Ireland, July 31, 2010.