Eager to continue the tradition of attending a dawn mass on Easter Sunday, but not wanting to do the usual without mam, we headed to West Clare, to Spanish Point, where some 250+ hardy souls turned out at 5:45 am on Easter Sunday morning.

Under the auspices of Fr Donagh O’Meara, co-PP/VF* in the diocese of Killaloe, we sat or stood shivering in the sharp wind, looking out onto the sea. I recalled a biology teacher, Mr Giesel, urging us to embrace the cold. Given the latest trend in cold therapy, he was years ahead of his time.

At least it wasn’t raining.

We were facing west, not that it mattered, as the cloud cover hid the sunrise. Still, it was lovely to see the day unfold, like someone slowly turning up a dimmer switch. There was none of the dramatic ON! – more a slow burn.

For those who are curious – and I had to look this up – a co-PP assists the parish priest. VF stands for Vicar Forane – a priest who serves as a dean or regional administrator, overseeing a group of parishes within a diocese, essentially a vicar of the bishop for a specific area. Fr Donagh has the parishes of Mullagh (Kilmurry-Ibrickane), Miltown Malbay (Kilfarboy), Kilmaley Inch & Connolly, and Inagh and Kilnamona. He’s a busy lad.

I was impressed that Rita O’Dwyer, a lay Minister of Pastoral Care, read the gospel. I’ve long since held that the good Lord never intended the church to be a haven of testosterone.  Having only recently heard of churching – a blessing women who had given birth or miscarried had to receive before being able to enter a church again – it was heartening to see there are some forward-thinking priests out there.

Imagine being refused communion if you showed up at mass without having been churched. The gall! It meant that in many cases, babies were baptised without the mother being present.

I’d like to think that there was something other than keeping women in their place going on here. I really would.

Fr Donagh’s sermon had the two Rs I value so much – relevance and relatability. He spoke of oppressive fear, noting that we’re afraid of so much for so many. We fear what’s going on in the world – wars, climate change, corruption. We fear for ourselves and for our families. We live in a state of obsessive fear, often afraid of things we can do little about. He urged us to forego the fear and instead to live out of courage.

When I woke to the news on Easter Monday that the pope had died, I was gripped by an immediate fear: Who next? Reading Reuter’s list of potentials felt a little like reading the racing form of pedigrees and handicaps (I’m currently bingeing on Dick Francis novels). Were I a betting woman, I’d stake my money on this trifecta, hoping that any one of the three will win: Cardinals Chito or Grech or Archbishop Aveline.

I suspect that my levity masks a deep-seated fear that the wrong man will emerge from the conclave.

The longest conclave lasted nearly three years, between 1268 and 1271. Several have lasted only one day. The one which elected Pope John Paul in 1978 lasted less than three days. Cardinals chose Pope Francis in around two days.

On the back of Fr Donagh’s sermon from Easter Sunday, I quelled my initial fear that a conservative might win the day. There’s no point going there. I can’t control it. I have no say. I can only pray that whoever they elect will be the right choice.

For the world.

Reflecting on Fr Donagh’s sermon today, too (always a good sign – Boss used to contend that a three-minute sermon that gave you something to think about during the week was the way to go), I’ve realised that fear is a near-constant companion of mine and it’s time we broke up.

It’ll be a slowish process. It might take a few weeks. It won’t be the ‘pack your bags and leave’ sort of break-up, but a more gradual distancing to the point we no longer recognise each other or want to be together. While this isn’t something I’d normally advocate – I’m more the pull-off-the-plaster-and-get-it-over-with type – I recognise that this fear is ingrained. It’s been fed a daily diet that has nourished it, grown it, and kept it alive.

Looking out across the Atlantic (next stop America), there was a vastness to the morning that screamed potential and possibility. It was a lovely way to set up my week.

I’m grateful for the invitation and even more grateful that we accepted it.