The Doyle Engaging Difference Program - Georgetown University

Before my semester abroad in Dublin, my dad took me out for coffee and crepes. We talked about how exciting it was that I was studying abroad, a sense of anticipation and curiosity hanging between us in the air. As we finished our coffees and crepes, he took off his gold chain that he had worn as long as I could remember and asked me to remove mine too, taking the charm of Saint Anthony of Padua off of his necklace and putting it onto mine–a symbol of protection and our family. The new weight of Saint Anthony on my necklace would become a comfort for me to hold in my hand whenever I thought of home; grabbing onto it becoming a subconscious impulse built over the semester.

Attending Catholic school since I was 7 years old, nuns drilled into my head that “catholic” (with a small ‘c’) meant universal, as the word came from the Greek. This concept became a major point of reflection for me during my time in Ireland as someone raised Catholic. Ireland is historically a Christian country. Catholicism and Protestantism’s influence can be seen and felt today in Ireland’s architecture, culture, and politics. Historic churches are plentiful across the country, and global visitors celebrate the once mainly religious holiday of Saint Patrick’s Day. In Northern Ireland, religion played a major role in the lives of Irish people during the “Troubles,” a period of religious and political conflict centered on the divide between Catholicism and Protestantism, as well as republicanism and unionism. Coming to a country with a complex relationship with Catholicism presented opportunity for me to reflect on my relationship with the religion and learn about what Catholicism means to others.

One of my first memories related to Catholicism in Ireland was attending a Saint Brigid’s Day workshop on campus, where I learned about Saint Brigid and her holiday and chatted with two other students at my table. Aside from having fun learning how to make Brigid’s cross, this event was educational, as I had never learned about Saint Brigid despite my years of Catholic education. To feel like a newcomer while learning about my own religion was interesting. There was comfort talking about saints and religious holidays, but also foreignness due to my obvious lack of familiarity with Saint Brigid in comparison to the two Irish students I sat next to. 

Nevertheless, as my two peers shared jokes about bringing handmade crosses back home to their very Catholic grandmothers, I was hit with a feeling of home. Despite the differences in the Catholicisms of my peers and I, we bonded over our shared experiences of religious family members, perhaps not being as close to the Church as they would like to be, and trying to make an effort regardless. It was a conversation I felt like I could have at home, despite being centered around a holiday I had never heard about with people I would have never met without flying across the globe. I came to appreciate the dual nature of what it means for Catholicism to be catholic with a small “c”; diverse in its many manifestations and unitary in that it can connect people despite their differences.

On top of these warm, fuzzy feelings, my time in Ireland also forced me to reckon with religion’s dark side. In my visits to Northern Ireland, my tour guides shared traumatic stories of what it was like to grow up during the “Troubles,” experiencing and witnessing horrific levels of violence as young children due to religious and political conflict. In between lighthearted stories about her Protestant boyfriend growing up, my Catholic tour guide would recount memories that made the idea of stepping foot in Belfast give her a panic attack. In my Irish Gothic class, we discussed recurring literary tropes connected to the Catholic Church’s harm against women and children, as well as the demonization of Catholicism by Anglo-Irish Protestant writers. The complexity of Catholicism in Ireland caused me to grapple with the issues I take with the religion, such as the institution’s history of abuse, or the fact that the reason my Mexican and Salvadorian family practices it today is because of the violent colonization of Latin America by Catholic Spaniards.

My four months in Ireland did not give me all of the solutions to my struggles, and I did not become an expert in Catholicism. In fact, I close my time in Ireland with more questions for myself as well as about the history and current status of Catholicism on the island. Nevertheless, I am eternally grateful for my time abroad and the opportunities it provided me to make connections with people I would have not been able to meet otherwise. Being reminded of the many differences and similarities between us all helped me understand a little more about how both big and small the world is. This paradox has helped me become more accepting of the conflicting relationship I have with Catholicism.

During my last week in Ireland, I visited a small jewelry shop in Galway city, and in the middle of talking with a shop clerk, she excitedly interrupted me and asked, “Is that Saint Anthony?” Initially, I was taken aback, confused at what she was talking about, until I realized she had seen the tiny charm on my necklace given to me back in January by my father. I grabbed the charm and said yes, and we smiled at each other. I found this moment during my last few days in Ireland to be fitting; a gift that had originally marked the beginning of my journey as a symbol of my family and home away from Ireland had become a point of connection to the island and its people. It became a symbol of the connections I’ve made, learning not only about a new nation, but myself.