Who is Mike O’Shea?
Quite a few people, as they learn that I am an Irish Catholic, will immediately classify me as a person with a mindless, inherited faith: no reason or choice involved. I am amazed that so many people believe each one of us - and presumably also themselves - to be simply and solely products of our environment, cast by birth in an inescapable mould - totally incapable of personal choice.
In my case it will no doubt be: "Shure - if you come from Ireland y’must be Catholic; unless you’re a Northern Protestant! Aren’t all of you in that island a throwback to superstitious beliefs, still fighting wars that ended 300 years ago in the rest of Europe!"
I hope that you will jettison such preconceived mental baggage and consider what is actually said in these pages.
DEVELOPING A PERSONAL VISION
Some forty years ago, in London, I was accused of only believing in God because I imbibed belief on my mother’s knee.
I rejected this accusation at first, but eventually had to concede that I personally did not really know whether or not there was / is a god. I just did not know.
I became an honest agnostic. (Atheism I considered then, and now, to be a totally untenable position. How can one demonstrate by rational argument the proposition "There is no God"? Unreason wanders in. The mind boggles in confusion.)
Quite happily I wandered the world (as a merchant seaman - the only way a penniless person could get around those days), curious about everything, debating, thinking, reading, drinking strong beer and rotgut whisky, looking at women and occasionally consorting with them. Rather vaguely I was looking for something fulfilling, something beautiful, something that would make sense of the world.
For me it was Plato who made the difference. Some professional philosophers will, no doubt, snort with derision that such a simple volume as "The Symposium" - Plato’s Socratic meditation on the mystery of love, could lead to the conclusion that there is a loving God. Plato (or was it indeed Socrates?) merely pointed out that all men agreed that there was something called love, but no man could possibly say what it was.
ON THE BOSOM OF THE DEEP
Coming back through the swelling Pacific Ocean, swaying at ease with the slow roll of the RMS Rangitoto over unimagined deep, awed by midnight blue skies spattered with billions of bright stars, overwhelmed by the majesty of creation, caught up in ancient Athenian debate, I found myself gradually growing into a new realisation of what love might be – arriving at such a profound and compelling perception that, as I finished my paperback Plato, I could not help but drop the book on my chest and exclaim, "My God, there is a God!".
It was a ‘leap of faith’ if you like, but in my case not a leap at all. I was surrounded by; enraptured by, glowing within, such an experience of love and joy - silver jubilance, gold delight - that it would have been insanity to deny the reality.
This was my introduction to the mystery of God, the Creator of the universe. I had a long way to go before I realised that Jesus of Nazareth is the only person who can tell us more. I had to undergo much suffering and grief before I became aware of my total dependence upon Him and His Father, my smallness and their greatness.
The name and person of Jesus is so traduced, so casually used, even by his followers, that I experience unease writing or saying his name. It is a name loaded with misapprehension, associated in my mind with idiotic Bible thumpers and psalm singing dimwits – this despite the real beauty of the psalms and the wonder of scripture. It is a fact, unfortunately, that too many seem to believe in Jesus in a mindless fashion, frequently without any clear understanding of who he really is.
You may judge from these pages whether my understanding matches my belief.
I FORGOT ABOUT ME...
Apologies, this section, which has got out of hand, was supposed to be about me!
You have a right to expect some information, especially if you have managed to read so far.
What I have written above is, in fact, the most important information I can give about myself, for I believe, with St. Paul, that "we are all one person in Christ". A great mystery this, on which I hope to dwell elsewhere.
But should you be interested in some less important information I should perhaps add the following:
I am a toothless 66-year-old (in 1998), joints creaking and groaning; a former teacher of art & design, at one-time a fledgling Northern Irish politician (Alliance Party), an ex-public relations consultant in London and Belfast, a Dominican friar, factory worker, merchant seaman and architectural student... (I do hope you were not attempting to classify me by occupation?)
This will do about me for the moment. I am as unique and mysterious as you. I am as important as you, but not more. Perhaps we will get to know each other a little more as time progresses. That would be good.
< This is roughly what I look like now.
- circa 1997
< I
have looked younger!
<
This is how a friend sees me. An uncanny resemblance! She omitted
the aureole but it miraculously appeared during the scan. Talk about Ireland’s weeping statues!
I live in a small labourer’s cottage overlooking the little
fishing village of Ardglass, County Down -
in the North of Ireland.
Beyond the village, and across the Vale of Lecale, rise the
beautiful Mountains of Mourne: you know the song ".... where the mountains of
Mourne sweep down to the sea."..........
This is the view from my house ....... I’m very lucky - no, Blest!
It would be hard to do without the quiet
peace and comparative isolation of my small habitat, though it can be as tough as
anywhere else........ some could not endure the solitude.......
Have moved - December 2001 - to rented house in
Ardglass High Street (No.36).
One of my friends phoned me, "I believe you're looking for a house to
rent? My mother has a house in the High Street that would suit you right down
to the ground. It's only a 100 metres from the graveyard!"
I
took it! A few broad shoulders instead of a hearse ......! Such a
saving!
2005 - Still here! A piece of pig fibre sewn into the heart to form a replacement aortic valve (2002) keeps the blood pumping round the body. Some of it even reaches the brain! Oink!