Don’t forget to check out our Calendar of Scottish Saints as well as some of our archive articles from our permanent and guest writers including Kirsten Schouwenaars-Harms who has written extensively on Scottish Catholic history. Or, our American cousin Jack Heitman who likes to write on the stories of the bible and most recently the language of the bible.

Get Involved

Would you like to be involved in one of Scotland’s few Catholic magazines? Have you got some hidden or visible gifts in writing, recording, graphics? Maybe you would like to help publicise the Coracle throughout Scotland? If so please get in touch. Previous experience is not a must.

About

St Moluag’s Coracle is an online Catholic magazine focused on and about faith in Scotland today. We have two aims; bringing you writing that will build and inform your faith and secondly, to bring to light Scotland’s hidden Catholic history.

Our writers come from all walks of life, some are Religious or in the Priesthood. Most are lay people with excellent knowledge and insight.

St Moluag’s Coracle was begun in a kitchen in Nairn by Eric Hanna; with the help of Dominican Sisters, Bishops and the many wonderful and talented writers who have contributed to making this magazine a thoughtful and thought-provoking place for Catholic writing in Scotland.

St Moluag’s Coracle is part of the registered Scottish charity and apostolate Mary’s Well. In addition to publishing this magazine, Mary’s Well also oversees the Association of King James VII and II - a group dedicated to promoting the Cause of this Servant of God. Please find out more here, or email admin@kingjamesviiandii.org. We also put on retreats from time-to-time which we publicise here as well.

SC050978 | E: maryswellscotland@gmail.com | editor_stmoluagscoracle@proton.me

The Catholic Church is replete with miracles like levitation, stigmata, ecstatic trances, visions of Jesus and Mary, bilocation (being in two places at once) and speaking with animals. Saints like St Pio of Petricichino, St Teresa of Avila, St Joseph of Cupertino, St Francis of Assisi and St Phillip Neri to name just a few, all reported such signs - as did their followers and those who in some instances became their enemies. A more recent claim comes in the form of Natuzza Evolo, born in Calabria in 1924 to a poor family, married and had 5 children. In her life-time she spoke with Angels, had communication with Mary who presented herself as thev Immaculate Heart of Mary Refuge of Souls, bilocation, ecstasies and stigmata. Her Cause was opened upon her death in 2018 in Diocese of Mileto-Nicotera-Tropea.

Yet with such a rich tapestry of the miraculous woven into our tradition, both past and present, Scottish Parishes in the main have engineered a faith that appears more sociological, material, and although would carry devotions to the Saints would not necessarily be promoters of their more miraculous feats, let alone teach that it is possible these things can happen today and amongst ordinary folk.The excellent book; They Flew, by Carlos Eire, recounts many of the miraculous stories of Saints seeking to understand the context in which these spiritual experiences could manifest. The book is not so much about proving that St Joseph of Cupertino really did levitate over Pope Urban VIII but that our understanding, and current paradigm of supernatural and natural may not help us explain these events. I would recommend the book to all but it got me thinking about Scotland. Where was the levitating Saints in the convents and monasteries of Scotland? How did the Reformation and subsequent periods of suppression (and renewal) affect the faith in, or appetite for these quite extraordinary events?

As Eire wrote, the early Protestant reformers and the Church would do battle in this realm. Early Protestants took what was is called a cessationist line, in that, the miracles of the New Testament stopped occurring when the last Apostle died – arguing that they were no longer necessary. It was a useful bat to use against the Catholic Church that not only believed in miracles but would promote them as evidence of the Roman Catholic Church being the True Church. But, the enlightenment and this ideological tussle with Protestant apologists would effect how the church investigated and declare the truth of a miracle attributed to someone; with the devil not far away, the Church’s main concern was that neither charlatan nor demonic power could lead its flock astray.

As the modern period dawned and as the reformation took its powerful turn in Scotland, the last reference to any sort of Spiritual experience by a Catholic is of St John Ogilvie – which although does not speak of levitation, does speak of an ecstatic experience. It does not appear we have any other recorded manifestations, which does not mean they did not happen amongst the Catholic communities but as the Monks and Nuns were expelled, the locations in which these sorts of miracles seemed to flourish on the continent disappeared here. Whether in the more far flung communities of the Highland recusants instances of this happened, is unknown to this author. A useful comparison in this regard might be with Spain. It did not suffer from the Reformation greatly and had some of the largest numbers of people claiming these miraculous experiences along with eye-witness accounts. Most experiences seemed to happen in Religious communities so a good starting point at why Scotland seemed to have little known examples of this is that there was no environment in which the sort of devotions, mortifications and holiness that seemed to produce these feats was available. Or indeed for there to be anyone to record such events.

So although it is possible people did indeed levitate, or manifest the Stigmata or have visions we do not appear to have any record of such things happening once Protestantism took root. However, by the 18^th century something was happening within Protestantism itself which began to look like a version of these spiritual experiences. The Wesleyan movements (offshoots of the Methodist founders John and Charles Wesley) would begin to see the growth of a Holiness Movement that emphasised Christian Perfection and would hold large meetings in public which would provide testimony of people falling down under the deep weight of sin, weeping uncontrollably and then the joy of forgiveness. There was the idea of a second work of grace that was separate to someone ‘being saved’. This would eventually feed the idea of the Baptism of the Holy Spirit (which we will get into later). Out of these movements, including the Quakers who emphasised hearing and then speaking Gods prophetic word, came the Great Awakening of the American colonies and Britain in the 18th century, followed by more sustained revivals again in America but also Ulster and Scotland in the 19^th century. As one paper reported:

‘When John Horner came from the Irish Coleraine revival to preach at the Religious Institution Rooms in Glasgow on 24^th July 1859, the congregation began to experience what was happening in Ulster and America. According to The Scottish Guardian scores of people were “in great distress” and “many were seen weeping”.

The miraculous in the form of healing from sickness and speaking in tongues would come to Port Glasgow in 1830. Edward Irving, a Scottish clergymen and eventual founder of the Catholic Apostolic Church (not a Roman Catholic offshoot!) began operating an increasingly successful ministry that in the words of his biographer, Margaret Oliphant, believed:

“...unclaimed and unexercised supernatural endowments, which had died out of use so long, would be restored only at the time of the Second Advent, in the miraculous reign, of which they form a fitting adjunct,” and “that the Holy Ghost ought to be manifested among us all, the same as ever He was in any one of the primitive Churches.

This seemed confirmed when a Port Glasgow woman called Mary Campbell began speaking like the Apostles did after Pentecost. Again Oliphant writing about her:

‘When in the midst of their devotion, the Holy Ghost came with mighty power upon the sick woman as she lay in her weakness, and constrained her to speak at great length, and with superhuman strength, in an unknown tongue, to the astonishment of all who heard, and to her own great edification and enjoyment in God..’

For some this would be the foreshadowing of the Pentecostal movement of the 20^th century and subsequent charismatic movement which the Catholic church itself would go onto embrace. What does appear to be common in all the examples of revival, and the manifestation of the gifts of tongues, healing and other gifts as spoken of by St Paul in Corinthians; was the depth and passion of devotion, the amount of prayer, time at religious meetings and in a community of willing believers. They also believed in the possibility of the supernatural and that it was for all.

There appears to be scant evidence of Scottish Catholic experiences in this regard during the same period. There are possible explanations though. All penal laws in Britain had been revoked by the mid-19th century, and the growing numbers of Irish and Highland Catholics filling the urban areas of Scotland brought with it a boom in church building and growth of religious orders and schools.There was however still a mistrust and prejudice of Catholics, especially the Irish. Their poverty, to many Scottish Protestants seemed to confirm the falsity of their religion. For the Irish in Scotland, and other Scottish Catholics a balance would be walked between embracing all that the 19th century British empire could bring to them, with the drive (mostly by the clergy) to ensure they stayed Catholic and retained Catholic devotional life in a land that had industrialised at a faster rate than even England did. I would suggest this more defensive attitude taken, along with the great social need made the priorities focus on just this.

Another aspect however should be highlighted here. The miraculous in Catholic circles was (and still is) seen as an offshoot of a particularly holy life, one that for many Catholics then as now, would seem out of reach of most of us. How many of us for instance really believe God is calling us to be a St Joseph of Cupertino? As mentioned above the clash with protestantism would change how the Catholic Church dealt with these sorts of cases. To prove ones miracles, one had to be holy and above reproach - otherwise it was fake or demonic. In this environment then, is is it a surprise we do not seem to have instances similar to Mary Campbell let alone bilocation or levitation?

By the 1960’s a new protestant miracle movement would take shape with the advent of charismatic churches in the US. It would come to Britain around the same time and eventually would inspire the Catholic Charismatic renewal. Much like the Holiness movements, the new charismatics would operate in varying sizes of public meeting, would emphasise a second experience and a community that accepted and promoted speaking in tongues, prophecy and other miracles. What was different was the emphasis in holiness would decrease, but a new understanding of empowerment to do mission became the reasoning behind why the gifts were necessary. What also came along with it was a new praxis in how to do church, music, ecclesiology and tied to elements of it - the so called Prosperity gospel. Another notable influence should be mentioned is the Word of Faith movement here. St Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, and the Acts of the Apostles are the scriptural bedrock for belief in all these interconnected movements, including Catholic. Charismatic Church movements would explode into mega churches and church planting networks -so much so that today the ‘Charismatic church’ is globally the fastest growing of any branch of Christianity.

What are Catholics to make of this? For many there is an ascent to the idea of speak in tongues but usually with a not for me thought. There is a strong movement toward the Charismatic in programmes like Divine Renovation, as well as Sycamore and of course Alpha, which has taken onboard many non-denominational protestant frameworks for its thinking on how to do mission and why. The belief appears to be that for the Church to do mission successfully one must be baptised in the Spirit. Yet for all the proliferation of charismatic churches and belief of these gifts, including in the Roman Catholic Church, there is still no room for bilocation, levitation, stigmata or blood miracles of the Eucharist in this new wave of miraculous.

On one hand, should it be a surprise, as these are special graces that are few and far between? Might we then view the modern charismatic turn as a sort of correction, or reaffirmation to the idea that the miraculous is not just for the Religious or those seemingly superhuman in their holiness? Or rather, does it reveal more about what we think of as holy and what it means, and therefore, what we are able to become? Is it shedding a light on our lack of knowledge, and type of environment we are in, to know how to be perfect as our Father in heaven is? I think it is also revealing of how we view the natural and supernatural. God is not constrained by these definitions and divisions of life yet we can thank the enlightenment for constraining us! How can the one who is ‘in all’ be suddenly only around when someone appears thousands of miles away from where their body is? Is Jesus not also there when you make the coffee or do a decade of the rosary? If we think God has given us the gift of service or charity - are those gifts and callings really that different from having prophetic words of knowledge, or gifts of healing St Paul taught the Corinthians about? These gifts have the same author and the same purpose - the building up of the body of Christ, His Church. Therefore, if we can accept these corporeal gifts, why not the miraculous?

So, should we be seeking levitation in today’s modern Scotland? None of the authentic cases of levitation or bilocation were ever sought - only a deeper and deeper abandonment to God. In fact, many of the Saints asked God to stop them. So in that respect, no we should not. But what these Saints do challenge us on is how much do we want to submit to God? How much of ourselves are we willing to spend? If we said Yes to God more, might we one day find ourselves flying?

By Eric Hanna

Image: Saint Teresa of Avila in Ecstasy is a painting by Gerard Seghers

Cormac O’Hara writes on how the hypostatic union (defined as Jesus possessing a divine and human will that were also distinct but inseparable) is not just a term for theologians to bandy around, or for Catholics to simply nod their head at, but to embrace it as part of what we are…and do.

Stephen Watt takes a read through Pope Leo’s new Encyclical - Magnifica Humanitas and draws out some of it’s implications and questions that go right to the heart of what we call Catholic Social teaching. As he notes, with frustration, Catholic Social teaching is more than just a theology of the body or about labour division - but an ongoing encounter between the living and intervening God and His Gospel in human history.

Although we have missed his feast day by a few days, Dr Carly McNamara has contributed a brief survey of St Serf of Culross, well known in Fife and supposedly a very early Saint.

Finally, Dhylan Livani captures the peaks of troughs of being Catholic in rural parishes in Scotland; the blessings and challenges around living outside the larger town and city parishes.

July Saints

Apart from St Serf there is also St Palladius on the 6th July, St Drostan on the 12th (See film here) and St Thenog/Thenew on the 18th - mother of St Kentigern.

Get Involved

Would you like to be involved in one of Scotland’s few Catholic magazines? Have you got some hidden or visible gifts in writing, recording, graphics? Maybe you would like to help publicise the Coracle throughout Scotland? If so please get in touch. Previous experience is not a must.

About

St Moluag’s Coracle is an online Catholic magazine focused on and about faith in Scotland today. We have two aims; bringing you writing that will build and inform your faith and secondly, to bring to light Scotland’s hidden Catholic history.

Our writers come from all walks of life, some are Religious or in the Priesthood. Most are lay people with excellent knowledge and insight.

St Moluag’s Coracle was begun in a kitchen in Nairn by Eric Hanna; with the help of Dominican Sisters, Bishops and the many wonderful and talented writers who have contributed to making this magazine a thoughtful and thought-provoking place for Catholic writing in Scotland.

St Moluag’s Coracle is part of the registered Scottish charity and apostolate Mary’s Well. In addition to publishing this magazine, Mary’s Well also oversees the Association of King James VII and II - a group dedicated to promoting the Cause of this Servant of God. Please find out more here, or email admin@kingjamesviiandii.org. We also put on retreats from time-to-time which we publicise here as well.

SC050978 | E: maryswellscotland@gmail.com | editor_stmoluagscoracle@proton.me

A country known for its rugged mountains and rolling hills, Scotland has a large amount of terrain that is unsuitable for building. This means that most of the land is uninhabited and makes for a rather sparsely populated nation. It is estimated that around 94% of the country remains unoccupied, and statistics from 2024 show that the population sits at roughly 5.5 million. Living in especially rural, sparsely populated areas can present some challenges such as being far from shops and supermarkets; a lack of public transport; and occupational difficulties. However, there are some positives that can be found in living in rural areas, including more tranquil environments; nature surroundings (with the added bonus of being without visual and noise pollution!); and a much more financially friendly way of life. Both blessings and challenges present themselves in a series of different ways to church parishes in rural environments, and I have interviewed three people with varied roles in parish living: a Sister of St. Cecilia from Elgin; a mission-focused resident at the Craig Lodge Family House of Prayer, Argyll; and someone with a long association to Nunraw Abbey, East Lothian. They all gave me some interesting insights into their experiences in rural parish living, outlining their own, personal takes on some of the peaks and troughs that come with the way of life. Rural parishes don’t always feature in stories that surround evangelisation, so it was important to get an idea of effective ways to spread the Gospel, missionary objectives, and how to propagate the faith outside of a busy location.

Nunraw Abbey

Sancta Maria Abbey (locally known as ‘Nunraw Abbey’) is run by the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance. The monks who have resided there over the years have dedicated themselves to contemplative living since 1946, when the monastery was founded. Nunraw Abbey itself isn’t a parish church, but Mass is celebrated there daily and on Sundays, and throughout the week there are other opportunities for worship, especially Vespers and Compline. I contacted someone with a long association with the Nunraw community, gaining some fascinating knowledge about the foundational days and establishment of the monastery, and about the continuing importance it has for those who worship there.

As I spoke with the local, he highlighted the sense of ‘belonging’ he has felt in the Nunraw Abbey grounds, suggesting that a spiritual home can be found in a contemplative environment away from the hustle and bustle of city living. Growing up within proximity of the monastery also provided many practical experiences, including hands-on work such as milking cows and herding sheep. These experiences were invaluable, as Nunraw was found to be a blessing during periods of hardship. “Later in our teens, my younger brother and I spent our summer holidays helping the monks build their new monastery, along with volunteers from all over the country” he said. This outlines the close-knit dynamic of the Catholic community and provides a closer look at how the community grew and developed, with volunteers giving their time to help build the Abbey over a period of several decades. It was at this time in Nunraw’s history that around sixty Brothers resided in the monastery.

Of the challenges that the rural parishioner met, one was that, not living in the town, he knew few people who actively attended Mass at the parish church, and so, did not feel part of that community. Another challenge was the “shortage of priests”, he states. Continuing, “But it does make a big difference to the soul of a parish”, the parishioner refers to the wider negative impacts on laity that frequent changes in clergy can cause, particularly where continuity and community are already fragile.

During the early 1980s, in the locality, there was an attempt to close a Catholic primary school, which he was at the forefront of trying to protect from closure. Speaking of the situation, the local stated, “Underlying the whole episode it felt like there was an anti-Catholic prejudice that sought to undermine Catholic education”. This highlights the concerns that he had regarding Catholic education in the rural space and serves as an example of a major disadvantage that can be found in a location that doesn’t receive much media coverage.

On the topic of mission objectives, Nunraw Abbey serves as a spiritual space, surrounded by nature, that extends a warm welcome to those drawn to prayer, and the Cistercian vocation of contemplation and hospitality.

“There is no need to go beyond the bounds of the monastery to spread the Gospel, it radiates from here,” the local says. “People come here and are made to feel welcome. They go away and spread the good news”. This encompasses much of what the Abbey values regarding mission, evangelisation, and practical faith. Nunraw Abbey acts as a centre where faith is expressed through prayer, hospitality, community living, and service, offering a rural environment and peaceful atmosphere that can draw people in and send them out again strengthened.

Visit their website here for news, information and some films.

Craig Lodge Family House of Prayer

I spoke to Finley Allen, who is originally from Rutland in the East Midlands. After feeling inspired to go on retreat at Craig Lodge in Argyll, a break from the hustle and bustle of densely populated areas has proven to be fruitful spiritually. Talking to him, I managed to get a real sense of purpose in the way he reflected on his time spent at the Family House of Prayer. We spoke of transience in city environments, with some congregations feeling temporary in highly populated locations because of the coming and going of laity, the positives and the negatives of rural parish living, as well as the importance of missionary work, bearing spiritual witness and evangelisation.

Finley expressed a lot of joy for being a resident of Craig Lodge. He informed me that there are blessings in abundance in rural parish living, and one of them is the “rootedness” that he described, which in particular, refers to the “constants” in the parish who have been loyal churchgoers for decades. This, in turn, creates an authentic “family feel”, and it is invaluable in the growth of one’s faith. Luckily, in the surrounding areas of Craig Lodge, some parish priests have been engrained in their communities for a long time, as opposed to serving in fleeting ministries there. He also describes rural parish life as having more “purity” and “simplicity”, where it is easier for Christian’s to be the salt and light of the world that Christ called us to be. Thus, it is easier to have the positive, spiritual influence on the culture in the locality and beyond, when preserved from broader, city pressures.

For Finley, the blessings of rural parish life seem to outweigh its challenges. However, because of the sparse population, it isn’t as easy to form social connections as it is with the higher numbers found in cities. In densely populated locations, word-of-mouth spreads faster and social media use is much more prominent, which makes Christian events gain traction a lot quicker than they would in a rural location. Sometimes, this can be discouraging, as the parishioners in the local communities would like to see greater numbers. Speaking more on the topic, Finley said, “There is a human element that loves to have a room full of people worshipping the Lord,”. Besides that, he says that it is important for him to cling to the Lord, and remember that he was brought to Craig Lodge for a reason.

The topic of evangelisation is one very close to Finley’s heart. He stated: “The Holy Spirit meets every person at a certain time. The truth is received at an important time on one’s personal journey.” He has gained valuable experience having been on a mission placement for nearly a year, and it is important to him that he bears witness to the locals in the surrounding areas. As Catholics, it is very important to make people aware of Eucharistic Adoration – a practice that places the individual before the body, blood, soul and divinity of Christ, whether they have faith or not. This is done in Beauly. As a part of his and the teams evangelisation methods, they promote this devotional hour to encourage people to come and meet Christ where they are. Finley also has experience in sharing the Good News with staff in coffee shops and the local barbers, finding that a lot of curiosity is stirred upon his telling them about his missionary work – this evangelisation is gentle, but can be proven effective. “There’s an invitation to meet Jesus as He is the one knocking the door and the one they’re looking for”, he said, on the topic of sharing the news with strangers. Finley referred to the local churches in his rural environment as “little satellites”, that look to host Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament, build friendship, and to love as Christ loves. Paragraph 2126 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church reads: “The Church knows full well that her message is in harmony with the most secret desires of the human heart”, which is one that resonates with Finley the most, as it bonds humanity with what is at the heart of the message of the Gospel.

On the topic of rural, community-based evangelism, there is a group dedicated to mission work in Kilcoy, near Inverness, called ‘Scotland Awakening’. It is a designated space for worship before the Blessed Sacrament and looks to create new disciples in Christ. The Diocese of Aberdeen hold gatherings for people looking to attend.

Visit Craig Lodge's website here.

St. Sylvesters

The Congregation of the Dominican Sisters of St. Cecilia operates in Elgin, Scotland, which is east of Inverness in the Highlands. The town itself has quite a high population, but it finds itself situated near rural spots that provide for contemplative living spaces. Sister Mary Gianna speaks a lot about the positives of living in Elgin, including how the rural environments around her have borne spiritual fruit. Sr. Gianna also addresses some of the challenges that come with being based in the countryside, away from mega cities, and what the mission objectives of the Dominican Sisters of St. Cecilia are in Scotland, as well as some evangelisation methods used in the Highlands.

We spoke first about the fruits that come with living in Elgin. “You get to know people… the energy is focused on the one area”, Sr. Gianna said. She highlighted that St. Sylvesters is not far from the countryside, and that people in the parish will make the effort to know you and will welcome you if you’re not a churchgoer there. The parish is close-knit, and with its population contrasting the larger numbers found in city churches, the parish “feels like a family”. Nearby is Pluscarden Abbey, which is inhabited by the Benedictines. The Sisters join them for Mass and prayerful reflection. The Abbey is situated in a very rural environment that makes for a contemplative, monastic lifestyle.

There can be challenges found in rural environments. Sr. Mary Gianna outlines that the Diocese of Aberdeen (which St. Sylvesters is a part of) is the second largest in Europe, and with all parishes being spaced out, connection can be challenging. This makes it hard for fellowship between churches. With the number of parishioners normally being small in rural parishes, Sr. Mary Gianna reflects on her coming to Scotland in 2017: “When we first arrived here, we were to be content with the small – Jesus knew the 12 Apostles would grow”. To grow the parish, the Sisters began youth groups and planted seeds, with them growing as a result. The Sisters don’t have access to all the same resources that a bigger city can offer, but their youth groups have all the essential components that are needed to thrive.

Coming from Nashville, Tennessee, Sr. Mary Gianna reflects a lot on her time spent in Scotland. Two of the many Dominican virtues of the are teaching and faith formation. As schools are generally state-run in Scotland, up in Elgin, the Sisters pursue the faith formation of young people outside of school settings and in groups. As a part of their mission statement, Sr. Gianna says that they were invited to Scotland to evangelise. “It is about being present in a community, living in the religious house and being available,” she continued, “Wearing habits is a reminder that God is with us and God is here. It directs minds to God, to Heaven, to the transcendent.” These words outline that wearing the habit can be a medium through which one serves as a visible witness to the faith, encouraging people to search within and find Christ around them. The Sisters have had opportunities to talk openly about their presence and mission in the local Elgin community. The ‘Be Active, Live Long’ group for over-60s asked the Sisters to talk about their lives; secondary schools in Elgin have asked for them to support religious education by speaking about Christianity; university chaplaincies across Scotland have requested them to give talks; and all of these provide an opportunity to share more about the apostolate of caring for and nurturing the souls around them.

Find our more here about the Sisters.

By Dhylan Livani

St Serf (or Servanus) is a saint venerated in Scotland with a heavy presence especially in Perth, indicated by the spread of place-names associated with him there. His cult spreads into Fife, towards Stirling, and a bit further afield in places such as East Lothian. He is included in the sixteenth-century Aberdeen Breviary, a Scottish breviary created at the direction of King James IV of Scotland, where his feast day is given as the 1st of July.

​Beginning with the Aberdeen Breviary is perhaps the easiest place to start, though you will quickly find that he is not an easy figure to understand. St Serf is noted as a bishop there, and he is claimed to have originated ‘from the race of the Scots’. The Breviary associates St Serf with Palladius, the first bishop sent by Pope Celestine to ‘the Irish believing in Christ’ in the year 432. Miracles of healing and discovering the truth are associated with St Serf in the Breviary, and even resisting questioning by the devil himself and the slaying of a dragon! The only hint we get here of the many threads to untangle is a mention at the end of the entry of ‘another St Serf, an Israelite by race, who at the time of the abbot St Adomnán shone with many miracles in the island of Portmoak; as the deeds done by him are more clearly described in his Life’. A surprise here, perhaps, is the failure to mention Culross or Lochleven as religious sites closely associated with St Serf.

​It seems that multiple versions of the Life of St Serf existed, with some conflicting information arising between them. One version is bound in a manuscript alongside Jocelin of Furness’ Life of St Kentigern and may date to the twelfth century or earlier. This Life focuses on St Serf in west Fife, associates him clearly with the foundation at Culross, and places him chronologically around the beginning of the eighth century, a far cry from the time of and location of Palladius. Even more confoundingly, Jocelin’s Life of St Kentigern makes St Serf a contemporary of St Kentigern, giving him a date around 570, and even naming him St Kentigern’s teacher. St Serf’s Life itself gives yet another temporal association, noting that he asked Adomnán for lands for his familia, his religious followers, and was given lands in Fife between the Ochils and the ‘Hill of the Britons’.

​If we backtrack a moment here and return to the question of St Serf’s familial origins, we have the Aberdeen Breviary associating him with Gaelic culture (through the reference to the Scoti), while an Irish genealogical tract on ‘The Mothers of the Saints’ notes in some places that St Serf’s father was the king of Canaan in Egypt. The Life of St Serf gives his parents as Obeth, king of Canaan, and Alpia, daughter of the king of Arabia. These are very different claims of origin for our saint. We can see more wild claims associated with St Serf by looking at the work of Andrew de Wyntoun.

​Andrew de Wyntoun, prior of St Serf of Lochleven in the early fifteenth century wrote his own history of the saint. In his account, St Serf was elected Pope of Rome after John III (who served as Pope between 561 and 574), while St Serf’s Life only says the see of Rome was vacant when he arrived. We should note that there is no Serf or Servanus, or other similarly named person at this time in the papal lists. In this version of St Serf’s story, he took himself and hundreds of companions by ship to the Firth of Forth, meeting Adomnán at Inchkeith. Wyntoun’s version has the Pictish king Brude giving him the isle of Lochleven rather than Adomnán granting him lands. Both Wyntoun and the Life of St Serf give far more detail about his temptation by the devil than the Aberdeen Breviary does, outlining a series of questions that were answered by the saint. Even the end of St Serf’s life is not free from confusion and disparate stories. St Serf’s Life has his death taking place at Dunning and carried afterwards to Culross, while Wyntoun locates his death at Culross. The Aberdeen Breviary gives no account of his death at all.

​So what are we to make of this saint, whose story is so conflicting? We can be absolutely sure of nearly none of the details of his life. Not his origins, when he lived and who he knew or even where his primary religious foundation was. We would expect there to be some evidence of an early foundation at Culross for it to be mentioned in the Life of St Serf, even if it is from the twelfth century, and indeed there are carved stones there which could be of early Christian date. We do know that a Cistercian monastery was founded at Culross by Malcolm earl of Fife in 1217, but the lack of mention of other Cistercian-associated sites in the Life of St Serf indicates this document was not a backwards looking reference trying to create a history for the new foundation. Alan Macquarrie, a noted historian, indicates the presence of ‘an echo in the exploits of Irish saga-heroes’ in the Life of St Serf, and there is a possibility these eastern origins and associations could be metaphoric references to the Easter Controversy, which saw differences in the calculation of Easter coming to a head in the north of Britain in the seventh century. From here we may look at the text itself to give us some idea of the possible truths that sit at the core of St Serf’s story.

​There appears to be a heavily Gaelic-influenced core of the Life of St Serf, noted in the forms of place-names used, such as ‘Fif’, ‘Culenros’, ‘Atheren’, Cella Dunenensis’ and others being close to their Gaelic forms. Even people’s names, that of Brude f. Dergard, king of the Picts, and Adomnán’s name given as Edaunanus. The foreign origins are likely fanciful invention or meaningful metaphor rather than fact, and we should more likely believe that St Serf was either of Gaelic origin or perhaps Brythonic, which allows for him to have been Pictish. Associations with Palladius can likewise be set aside more easily than those with St Kentigern or Adomnán. He is not mentioned in Bede, but that is not necessarily a glaring mark against him, and we might comfortably associate him somewhere in the eighth or ninth century.

By Dr Carolyn McNamara

Image: “File:West Kirk Culross - geograph.org.uk - 216333.jpg“ by Paul McIlroy is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

One of the major branches of Theology is that which is concerned with the goal of human striving – theological anthropology. In contrast to social anthropology, which takes a horizontal approach to human existence, theological anthropology looks at human existence with both a horizontal and vertical approach. It seeks to account for the role of sin, how it affects human experience, and how we, created in the Image of God (Imago Dei) are called to overcome sin in every aspect of our lives.

Theological anthropological paradigms began with the deification anthropologies of the Church Fathers, particularly St. Irenaeus, who spoke of the soul going through a spiritual “maturation” on its journey to Heaven. However, there is only one way how humans can reach this maturation. By living like Christ and sharing in his life. What this article aims to articulate is how we can look towards the nature of Jesus Christ’s distinct but inseparable divine and human natures as a guide for how to fully live of the Christian life.

The Council of Chalcedon (451 A.D.) decreed that Jesus possessed two natures that were utterly distinct, but inseparable from each other. A divine nature and a human nature – Dyophysitism. Later, the Third Council of Constantinople (680-81 A.D.), defined Jesus as also possessing a divine and human will that were also distinct but inseparable – Dyothelitism. The theological name for this union of the two natures and wills is called “The Hypostatic Union” and this term will be used from here on. Utilising the hypostatic union forms a foundation for an anthropological outlook pertaining to it. However, what must also be explained is the nature of human existence, and why that analogously pertains to the hypostatic union.

Joseph Ratzinger in his Book Jesus of Nazareth provides commentary on the High Priestly prayer of Christ in John chapter 17. More specifically, the nature of the “consecrations” that Jesus speaks of. First Ratzinger writes about how the man Jesus Christ in virtue of his divinity is consecrated to the Father. His mission as redeemer of all is set apart solely for the Father, but his mission is for the good of the whole of humanity. Second, Ratzinger converses about how Christ understands he himself is consecrated and set apart, in virtue of first, the Paternal consecration which was mentioned above, and secondly, that his divinity causes his humanity to become sacred. Then, third, Ratzinger commentates on Christ’s prayer to the Father to consecrate his disciples “in truth”, so that they may have a share in his priesthood, and become priests of God, and “baptise all the nations.” What is notable here is that Ratzinger emphasises the consecrations and the missions are inseparable, but distinct from one another. This is very similar to the Hypostatic Union of Christ, who’s divinity is inseparable but distinct from his humanity.

However, the incarnational analogy gets even more profound when investigating the nature of the consecrated Christian missions. In his book The Spirit of the Liturgy, Joseph Ratzinger looks at the notion of an exitus and a reditus (a coming from and returning to) a principle as undergirding created reality. In this case, God. When Jesus was on Earth, he had undergone a creation, and an exitus, descending to Earth in the hypostatic union. This mission culminated in a reditus – this would be the Ascension into Heaven. Fittingly, his reditus to the Father occurs immediately after he consecrates the missions of the Apostles. “Go and baptise all nations…” (the Apostles’ exitus) “…in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (the Apostles’ reditus). Jesus Christ, as the consecrated Godman for the World, consecrates the missions of the Apostles for the World.

How does this incarnational anthropology apply to us today? For this, we look to the sacraments which are essential to human existence. Joseph Ratzinger (now as Pope Benedict XVI) in Verbum Domini likened the revelation of the Incarnation to the sacraments. How can Jesus Christ be likened to a sacrament? For this, we bring in Thomas Aquinas. Aquinas defines a sacrament as a “sign of a holy thing which makes men holy.” The sacraments are sacred signs which constitute a unity of matter and form. That is, the form consecrates the matter and makes it holy. For example, in the Eucharist, the bread and wine are matter. However, when the priest utters the words of consecration “Take this, all of you…” the words don’t in and of themselves possess any power to transubstantiate, but through God using these words as an instrument, they become the form which sanctifies the matter to create the sacramental sign of God’s grace and makes men holy. Jesus Christ in his hypostatic union possesses an analogous nature to the sacraments. His human nature, the matter, unifies with the form that is his divinity. The Son’s hidden divinity then sanctifies the human actions of Jesus Christ.

This may seem at first a bit confusing. However, the whole argument comes together when we look at the Catechism’s assertion: “The Eucharist is the source and the summit of the Christian life.” The consecrated man, Jesus Christ had a divine mission of an exitus and reditus, which he fulfilled in the matter and form of his hypostatic union, and part of this was instituting the source and summit, the exitus and reditus of the Christian life – the Eucharist. The Eucharist is a visible sign of the unity of material matter and the divine form, which is essential for a valid sacrament. When the Christian comes to the mass, he greets Christ “face-to-face”, which is a common characteristic of friendship with the Divine (cf. Ex. 33:11; 1 Cor 13:12). Through the consecrated Eucharist, their life and mission in turn is also consecrated. This is their source (their exitus). They “go forth” after Mass to carry out their mission, consecrated solely to God, but for the World’s sake – just like Christ’s nature and mission. Through the prompting of grace within the soul, the human nature is elevated. Co-operation with grace means missions arrive at their reditus, their summit, which is also in the Eucharist. By carrying out their Eucharistic missions in a state of grace, the soul fulfils the model of incarnational anthropology. Their interior becomes deified; they become heirs to God’s Kingdom and coheirs with Christ.

Every person is created because God has a mission for them – just like Christ had a mission. However, upon closer analysis, we can see that each essential component of human existence involves an aspect of hypostatic union. Our missions (the matter) are consecrated by Christ (the form) and always entail an exitus and reditus in relation to God like Christ’s mission. However, to live out this incarnational anthropology, and to have our missions consecrated, we must consult the consecrated man himself – Christ. In his human existence on Earth, he had an analogous matter and form, which is fully present in the Sacrament of the Eucharist, the source and the summit, the exitus and reditus. If we treat the Eucharist as our exitus and reditus, we attain the spiritual maturation that Irenaeus spoke of, we achieve friendship with God, completing our reditus. In the next life, we share eternal beatitude with our ultimate source and summit – we share in God’s life.

By Cormac O’Hara

Image: Gebhard Fugel, ‘The Ascension of Our Lord’ (detail), ca. 1893 (photo: Wikimedia Commons)

The publication on 15 May 2026 of the Encyclical Magnifica Humanitas (MH) ‘on safeguarding the human person in the time of Artificial Intelligence’ has been widely welcomed both in Catholic and other circles and has already provoked considerable immediate analysis. The main theme of the Encyclical can be summarised in the contrasting biblical images of the threat of the Tower of Babel, and the promise of the rebuilding of Jerusalem by Nehemiah. The former offers a picture of

…a project conceived without reference to God, supported by a uniformity that eliminated diversity and that chose homogenisation over communion. When a city is built on pride and the claim to self-sufficiency, communication breaks down, languages are confused and people no longer understand each other. (MH 7)

The rebuilding of Jerusalem after its destruction by the Babylonians in 586 BC provides the contrasting promise of a building project that produces unity from diversity:

[Nehemiah] did not impose solutions from above. He convened the families, assigned each of them a section of the wall to rebuild, listened to their concerns, coordinated their efforts and addressed any opposition. […] It is an undertaking with God at the centre, which rebuilds relationships before rebuilding with stones. Thus, ancient Jerusalem rediscovers a common language — not one of uniformity, but one of communion, namely the harmony that arises when all persons assume their own role and recognise that their strength comes from the Lord. (MH 8)

In short, in a time of a new challenge from the technology of AI to human dignity, our response needs to be one which emphasises human relationships under wise leadership, rather than projects imposed by leaders exerting power unresponsive to other human beings and to God.

It’s long been one of my bugbears that Catholic Social Teaching is too often presented simply as a rule book of instructions which came into effect with Leo XIII’s Encyclical Rerum Novarum in 1891, rather than the application of the fulness of Catholic theology and philosophy to a particular realm and particular problems. One of the great strengths of MH is its explicit acknowledgement of its incompleteness and tentativeness:

In light of what has been said so far, the Church’s Social Doctrine can be seen more authentically. It is not a handbook of principles and norms to be applied, but a process of shared discernment. It is born from the encounter between the eternal truth of the Gospel and the questions of history. It allows itself to be challenged by the signs of the times, and draws nourishment from the contributions of science, culture and human experience. (MH 27)

I’m going to discuss the Encyclical concentrating on the two themes of human flourishing and wisdom. These should not be taken to exhaust the contents of the Encyclical: one of our responses to AI should be an increased emphasis on the personal and individual, and I can see that this list reflects my own existing philosophical and theological interests. I hope that others will find something of value there, but my main hope would be to encourage readers to do their own thinking about the Encyclical and, more broadly, the issues surrounding AI and the human person.

In the Greek philosophical heritage which underlies much of Catholic thought, the key to ethics is the concept of human flourishing or, in the original Greek, eudaimonia. Our thinking about what we should do is governed by this concept of a flourishing life or human being. Part of human nature is our need to form various communities such as families, villages, workplaces and nations: thinking about our social nature is not an optional extra to thinking about what it is to live well but is an essential part of that reflection. So when there is a major technological and social change, it is to that central idea of the flourishing life that we need to look for our response. That all sounds fine until we start digging into what that deeper good life might be. There, the big problem might well seem to be that, while ordinary modern common sense dismisses God and spiritual values, the Catholic Church is going inevitably to talk about God and more specifically Catholic practices. As an example, MH 229 states:

This avenue [of response to AI] emerges through contemplating God’s plan, living ecclesial unity by partaking of the Eucharist, building a world centred on the common good and praying in union with the Blessed Virgin Mary.

This is something that clearly needs to be said from a Catholic perspective, but which is unlikely to elicit much of an immediate response from a non-Catholic, let alone non-religious public in Scotland. Well, fine. The sort of public discussion that the Encyclical envisages will always involve disagreement and will sometimes end in disagreement. But an unashamed proclamation that, despite all the assumptions of secular materialism, many of us do believe in a supernatural goal for human beings and that this goal is central to a good life is an important contribution to public debate, and one that, even if most will not immediately accept in every detail, many might well find resonates in their own beliefs in spiritual or transcendent values.

Linked to this focus on God in the good life is the emphasis on wisdom.

Let us remain faithful to the truth! Living amid incessant flows of information, opinions and images, we know how easy it can be to influence decisions and preferences through increasingly sophisticated algorithms. […] In this context, it is imperative to cultivate hearts that love the truth, prefer what is right despite the most appealing content and pursue wisdom rather than immediate results. We must always keep before us the truth about God and humanity, just as Christ has revealed them to us […] Fidelity to the truth requires integrating the possibilities offered by technology within a framework marked by wisdom, which is capable of safeguarding both the dignity of each person and the future of our common home. (MH 237)

Wisdom as an intellectual virtue can be contrasted with a mere technical cleverness which emphasises the calculation of effective means to an end without regard to the ultimate value of that end. In particular, the Encyclical emphasises the need to avoid imposing the results of calculation by brute force. Here the discussion of war in this Encyclical takes on a more central place than a mere consideration of the use of AI in modern warfare, important as that is (MH 197-200). War instead becomes part of a wider culture of power (MH 188) which imposes solutions in the manner of Babel rather than of Nehemiah. And as existing Catholic Just War theory can be misused as merely a set of legal hoops to be jumped through to justify war rather than an attempt to find love and wisdom in the most difficult of times (my interpretation of an admittedly brief mention in MH 192), so Catholic Social Teaching in general can be misused as a set of rules to be applied blindly without wisdom and love. It is difficult when reading of the difference between the culture of power and the culture of love to avoid thinking more deeply of the difference between thinking which simply follows the rules (algorithms) and thinking which is directed by the virtues of love and wisdom. And confronting this difference, which is the difference between thinking that merely mimics what it is to be human and thinking that is centred on wisdom which is both the depth of the human being and of God, is an opportunity the challenge of AI gives us: to reverse that shallow image of human beings as calculating machines which is already widely present in the modern world, and to restore our understanding of human beings as partaking in the image of God and particularly of divine wisdom.

Further reading and notes:

The version of Magnifica Humanitas used above is: https://www.vatican.va/content/leo-xiv/en/encyclicals/documents/20260515-magnifica-humanitas.html (Orthography anglicised in excerpts.)

The Scottish bishops are preparing study materials on the Encyclical which are not yet available. A currently available set of resources online can be found here: https://catholicsocialthought.georgetown.edu/essays/resources-for-magnifica-humanitas-ai-catholic-social-teaching-and-pope-leo-s-new-encyclical

An initial response to the Encyclical by a non-Catholic academic who specialises in the philosophical ethics of AI can be found here:

Setting Out for Ithaka

On the Pressing Duty to Remain Profoundly Human

[T]he key issue is not the use of technology as such, but the vision that underlies it…

Read more

2 months ago · 15 likes · 1 comment · John Tasioulas

I have said more about my understanding of Catholic Social Teaching and its relationship to philosophy in my previous Coracle article here: https://www.stmoluagscoracle.com/p/arguing-about-catholic-social-teaching

By Stephen Watt

(Picture of ‘The Confidence’, dedicated to St. Therese of Lisieux - Pope publishes new Apostolic Exhortation dedicated to St Thérèse of Lisieux - Catholic Bishops’ Conference)

In 2009, England and Wales had the opportunity to venerate the relics of St. Therese, fondly named ‘The Little Flower’. The tour of her relics started in Portsmouth and ended in London, which is meaningful, as these two cities featured on a map of the United Kingdom that a young then-Marie Francoise-Therese Martin drew as a child.[1] It was reported that a whopping two thousand people attended the final Mass dedicated to her at Westminster Cathedral.[2]

(Picture of map hand-drawn by a young St. Therese of Lisieux – provided by St Thérèse’s Scotland map proves relics’ visit ‘fulfils her wish’ - SCO News, 2019)

This map, drawn in pencil, and composed when she was at school, includes a light and impressive sketch of the United Kingdom. Not only that, but a few Scottish cities are also pinpointed like Edinburgh, Glasgow and Aberdeen.[3] It is unknown what this map was drawn for, and it is up to the observer’s imagination – but in 2019, it became a part of St. Therese’s mission.

From 30^th August to 20^th September 2019, The Little Flower’s relics were on display for veneration across the country.[4] The tour of her relics ventured to the dioceses of Motherwell; Galloway; Dunkeld, and Argyll and the Isles. Most meaningful were her visits to the archdioceses of St. Andrews & Edinburgh; Glasgow; and the dioceses of Aberdeen and Paisley.[5] The latter four mentioned were all places listed on the map drawn by the Carmelite nun when she was a young girl.

St. Therese of Lisieux’s religious life began at the young age of 15, when she sought to become a cloistered, monastic nun at the Carmelite monastery of Lisieux in France.[6] A priority of St. Therese was evangelisation, and she cared for the souls in every corner of the world. Praying for the salvation of all became her intention.[7] Though she passed away at twenty-four in 1897, she informed her friend who was a Carmelite missionary that she would spiritually intercede from Heaven to save souls in abundance.[8]

Retroactively, her map now becomes a mission statement, as the cities dotted around can be seen as checkpoints on her eternal journey. By her relics being shown on display across Scotland in 2019, it is unknown the blessings that might have came as a result.

[1] ‘Little Flower’ arrives in Garden of England - Catholic Bishops’ Conference

[2] St Thérèse of Lisieux • V&A Blog

[3] St Thérèse’s Scotland map proves relics’ visit ‘fulfils her wish’ - SCO News

[4] Relics of St Thérèse to visit Scotland - Carmelite Nuns in Britain

[5] Relics of Saint Therese of Lisieux arrive in Scotland | ICN

[6] Saint Thérèse of Lisieux

[7] Daniel Acharuparambil, OCD, ‘St. Therese of Lisieux and the Missionary Role of the Contemplatives’, 1996, p. 419

[8] Joan Monahan, ‘St. Therese of Lisieux: Missionary of Love’, 2003, introduction p. ix

A Catechesis on Corpus Christi

Bishop Hugh Gilbert gave a video talk on this important feast. Please click the link here to have a listen.

Scotland’s Saints for June

In this month we have 2 of Scotland’s most consequential - St Columba (9th June) and St Moluag (25th June). We also have St Ternan and St Baithen, both significant in their own way and worth a read on our Calendar page.

We all have our favourite and chosen Saints we ask for intercession from - but do not forget our own Saints who are just as lively and active as your st Pio of Pietrelcina or st Therese of Lisieux. We have an extensive list on this website which we invite you to explore.

Rackwick Bay, one of the most important and recurring places in George Mackay Brown’s work, is a splendid valley located in the north-western part of Hoy, the second largest island of the Orkney. Brown visited it for the first time with some friends in the summer of 1946, during a particularly bleak period in his life, marked by semi-debilitating tuberculosis and days that followed each other with a sense of aimless monotony. He was captivated by it, and no other place would ever have such an intimate impact on him. From that moment on, the bay represented for him a sort of “Tir-nan-Og,” an earthly paradise, an inexhaustible source of inspiration, and a haven of peace and security. His friend, composer Peter Maxwell Davies, also fell in love with Rackwick, even wanting to move there, to a small farmhouse he had renovated.

However, even a wonderful place like that concealed its shadows, of which Brown was perfectly aware: in the mid-19th century, Rackwick had a population of about 150 inhabitants working small crofts, but at the time of his visit, only a handful of them remained, almost completely isolated from the rest of the world (twenty-five years later, there would be only one resident farmer). After all, life in the bay was far from easy, and it was capricious nature that dictated the law. Sometimes there could be unexpected strokes of luck, such as when, before the advent of coastal lighthouses, ships were wrecked, leaving their precious cargo on the beach, but these were still rare occurrences. Even the inhabitants could be the cause of their own misfortunes, as evidenced by the sad story of Betty Corrigall, who committed suicide around 1770 after being impregnated and abandoned by a sailor.

Aside from this, Brown sensed something positive underlying the existential rhythm of the valley’s farmer-fishermen, marked by an endless cycle of “birth, love, labour, death” that had remained unchanged for generations. Moreover, it was by meditating on Rackwick’s tragic fate that he came to develop the idea that it is “Progress” that leads to worsening things, severing the essential bonds that exist between people, the earth, and Heaven. Electric light, improved transportation, and mechanization are therefore, according to Brown, some of the manifestations of that new materialist faith that does nothing but drain the lifeblood from human beings, filling them with comforts and offering them the illusion of inexhaustible happiness. Rackwick has emptied precisely because young people have been driven elsewhere by the opportunities offered by an ever-expanding world, seeking less demanding employment than that of their ancestors. Hence the belief that the artist’s ultimate goal is to constantly remind people of their roots.

The bay appears in several of Brown’s works. For example, a chapter of An Orkney Tapestry (1969) is dedicated to it, and it is the setting for the events described in The Golden Bird (1987). The work that showcases it most, nonetheless, making it in a certain sense the protagonist, is the poetic cycle Fishermen with Ploughs (1971), whose title takes from a line from “Rackwick,” one of the poems of The Storm (1954).

Brown had been working on a series of poems that would tell the story of the valley, between glory and decadence, since the spring of 1965. It was a long and not always easy task, but he was rewarded by the positive response from the public and critics, so much so that a reviewer described him as “one of the consummate masters of poetry in Britain today.” Brown, generally highly self-critical, admitted in his autobiography that Fishermen with Ploughs contained some of his best poems, although in hindsight, the final section left him unsatisfied.

The cycle, dedicated to his friends Ian and Jean MacInnes, is divided into six parts based on interdependent poems that give the story a sequential form rather than a continuous narrative; Brown’s fixation with numbers also plays an important role. The poems, several of which had already been published previously, are characterized by an extraordinary metrical variety, and there are also prose passages. Each of them gains contextual strength from the overall concept thought they still retain a considerable measure of autonomy. Fishermen with Ploughs is also interesting for Brown’s bringing together the long-standing influence of Hopkins, his preoccupations with saga style, and linguistic experiments of the day.

The story begins in the 9th century, when a tribe of fishermen leaves the coast of Norway on a ship to start a new life in Rackwick. Their land is threatened by some evil, simply called “the Dragon,” a term that alludes to famine, pestilence, and war. The first section, “Dragon and Dove,” opens with the poem “Building the Ship,” which describes the construction of the vessel Dove, whose name alludes to the hope of lasting peace: “The bird would unlock the horizon westwards.” The subsequent lyrics recount the desperate struggle of the tribal chief Thorkeld against the Dragon and his inevitable death. His son, Njal, who is destined to abandon fishing for agriculture and to make Gudrun, his wife, “a mother of harvesters”, succeeds him (”The Blind Helmsman to Njal Thorkeldson the New Chief”). The fertile soil of Rackwick is ready to welcome the seed of the new inhabitants, just as the woman is ready to welcome her husband’s seed (women, who generally have a less superficial gaze than men in Brown’s work, are very often allied with reproduction).

The alliterative manner of Old English poetry gives way, in the second part, “Our Lady,” to a greater stylistic variation. The community has found stability, and its inhabitants’ days, though laborious, are made meaningful and happy by faith. In “Station of the Cross,” which Brown himself considers one of the key poems for understanding his writings, a comparison is made between the life of Christ and that of the peasants, while in “The Statue in the Hills,” people recite litanies to the Madonna to invoke her protection. The islanders are closely in tune with the Mother of God, a unifying force in medieval society.

“Hall and Kirk,” the third section, is characterized by concise and cryptic language. It summarises three centuries of history, from the 16th to the 19th, in which the first shadows of “Progress” gather over Rackwick, constituted by Calvinist fanaticism that condemns innocent old women to the stake (“Witch”) and by the arrogance of the powerful who demand increasingly expensive rents (“Taxman”) and services (“Grave Stone”). Brown’s polemic against Protestantism, the religion of the book that has reduced faith to a mere abstraction, forever severing the bond between the people and Christ truly present in the Eucharist, is combined here with his annoyance at all those who disturb the peace of the community, including those who seek to forcibly conscript people to fight wars that have nothing to do with them (”Buonaparte, the Laird, and the Volunteers”).

In the fourth and fifth parts, entitled “Foldings” and “The Stone Hawk” respectively, Rackwick’s decline between the 19th and 20th centuries appears unstoppable, and even the local nobleman laments the onset of poverty (”The Laird”). Work has become too arduous, with the result that the inhabitants eventually “will leave this keening valley” (”Crofter’s Death”). Life spent between land and sea now holds little promise (”Fiddlers at the Wedding”), and a sense of tragedy lingers everywhere (”Twins,” “A Warped Boat,” and “Funeral”). In “Homage to Heddle,” a once-vigorous man is forced by old age to sit and read the Bible, and solidarity among the community seems to have disappeared: “A fish-brimming corn-crammed house / But a hard door” (“Ikey’s Day”). Only “The Scarecrow in the Schoolmaster’s Oats” remains to watch over the fields, almost as if in parody of the crucifixion; tourists with a passion for ornithology overrun the bay (“A Child’s Calendar”), and the ancient religion has been replaced by the modern one of shops and technology (“Roads,” “Butter,” and “The Coward”). As the quality of life improves, depopulation sets in, and in the summer of 1952, following the tragic deaths of two children (“The Drowning Brothers”), its last remaining residents abandon Rackwick. The final poem of the section, “Dead Fires,” offers an image of utter desolation: “The poor and the good fires are all quenched. / Now, cold angel, keep the Valley / From the bedlam and cinders of a Black Pentecost.”

The concluding part, “Return of the Women,” written almost entirely in prose, witnesses the return to Rackwick by boat – called Truelove – of a group of survivors, composed of seven women and six men, after modern civilization has been destroyed by “The Black Flame,” presumably a nuclear holocaust. Technology has been swept away, and the valley’s new inhabitants, led by Saul the Skipper, settle in abandoned crofts, returning to traditional farming methods (there is even a reference to Edwin Muir’s poem “The Horses” when an old, rusty tractor is mentioned). Everything seems to be proceeding smoothly, although the death of a child and the indifference shown to the discovery of the old statue of Our Lady insinuate themselves into the story like sinister omens. Indeed, it won’t be long before Saul, tainted by “Progress,” reveals himself to be a brutal leader, and the others realize, with bitterness, that the land is not bearing fruit. They must therefore devote themselves to fishing, the opposite of what the Norwegian tribe in the first section did eleven centuries earlier.

Fishermen with Ploughs thus has an enigmatic ending: will the people surrender to Saul or rebel and go their own way? The story, as a whole, conveys hope for improvement, recovery at all levels, as a new cycle of ruin and regeneration begins. However, a melancholic atmosphere remains, and the final sentence states that the survivors have “returned, uncaring, into the keeping of the Dragon”.

By Luca Fumagalli

Image from: https://www.northlinkferries.co.uk/orkney-blog/the-story-of-rackwick/

The image of a pelican is commonplace in sacristies around the world. The self-sacrificial love of the pelican as she feeds her young is clearly symbolic of the self-sacrificial love of Christ as he feeds his Church through the gift of the Eucharist. As the pelican sustains her young with her own blood, so too does Christ.

On the night before he died, Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, gave it to his disciples and said, “This is my Body, given for you” (Luke 22:19). By instituting this eucharistic sacrifice, Jesus was entrusting to his beloved bride, the Church, not just a memorial of his death and resurrection, but also a way of remaining with us res et sacramentum through his Real Presence. He was giving us the inexpressible gift of himself, so that, through this wondrous exchange, he may in turn fashion us for himself as an eternal gift to the Father.

It belongs to friendship to want to communicate oneself to one’s friend. When speaking on the topic of the Last Supper, St. Thomas Aquinas commented that: “Last words, chiefly such as are spoken by departing friends, are committed most deeply to memory; since then especially affection for friends is more enkindled, and the things which affect us most are impressed the deepest in the soul” (ST III, q.73, a.5). Simply put, we have a tendency to remember the words spoken by the people we love. Most especially when these words are spoken during an emotional farewell. It is unsurprising, then, that the disciples were able to recall the lengthy words spoken by Christ during his Last Supper discourse, “I have called you friends, because all things that I have heard from My Father I have made known to you.” (John 15:15) But to what extent can we truly claim friendship with God?

St. Thomas believes that for friendship to exist, there needs to be some measure of equality between the friends. Are we equal to God in anyway? Certainly not by nature. But in the totality of his great love for us, God has made us partakers in his divine nature in his Son. The original friendship that had been lost through disobedience has now been restored to us through the Blood of Christ. When commenting on the Gospel of John, in Homily 86, St. Augustine says: “Friendship is born between equals, or makes them so.” In this regard, it is through the instrumentality of Christ’s sacred humanity, and the grace that flows from it, that we become capable of friendship with God.

When describing the Eucharist, St. Thomas calls it “the sacrament of charity, the bond of perfection” (ST III, q.73, a.3). Through this sacrament of charity, the soul is united to Christ in love and brought to perfection through the gift of his divine grace. Just as love begets union, charity transforms the lover into the beloved. What does this mean for us? That through the reception of this sacrament our minds and hearts become slowly transformed by Christ’s grace; we begin to see as he sees, to think as he thinks, and to love as he loves. Through this great sacrament, our lives become patterned after that of Jesus Christ, so that, like him, we may learn to have an interior disposition toward the Father that is always ready to say: “Thy will be done.” Through our union with Christ, mankind’s relationship with God is radically transformed into one of friendship. Thus, each time we receive the Eucharist, we enter into an ever-deepening friendship with God through charity, in which He shares His very self with us through grace.

In the mystery of the Eucharist, mankind enters into the mysterious marriage covenant wrought between Christ and his Church on the wood of the cross. This marriage covenant, once believed by the Israelites to mean a simple standing in God’s presence, is now actuated by a sacramental union through which Christ shares his very Body with us in total self-gift. By the nature of this wonderous exchange, mankind is elevated to a level hitherto inconceivable; for grace alone makes us capable of receiving Christ’s perfect self-offering and of offering ourselves to him in return. As St. Thomas Aquinas penned in his famous Eucharistic hymn: O salutáris Hóstia, quae caeli pandis óstium. Christ came so that we might have life and have it more abundantly (John 10:10).

Are there social implications to this exchange? Indeed. In Deus Caritas Est, Pope Benedict XVI reminds us that “union with Christ is also union with all those to whom his gives himself” (DCE 14). Thus, from our one intimate friendship with Christ flows a multitude of friendships with all he calls friend. From this one friendship ripples a sea of friendships effectuated by and sustained in the eucharistic communion of charity. Pope Benedict goes onto say: “Eucharistic communion includes the reality both of being loved and of loving others in turn. A Eucharist which does not pass over into the concrete practice of love is intrinsically fragmented.” We see this fragmentation perhaps most clearly in social relationships that are not grounded in true charity. Charity is, by its very nature, a unifying force that fosters bonds of authentic communion and has the ability to order rightly all lesser loves according to the pattern of Christ’s sacrificial love that we see so clearly from the cross.

Christ left us this example, so that we could follow in his footsteps. How is authentic friendship to be rightly understood then? Well, perhaps it involves not just willing the good of the other, but also a willingness to be vulnerable before the other. It involves a willingness to be seen in truth by the other, and to trust that you will be accepted despite your brokenness. When Christ instituted his eucharistic friendship with us, he did so not only in the glorified state of his resurrected body, but also in the wounded state of his sacred humanity. He was willing to be vulnerable and exposed on the wood of the cross, so that, by gazing upon the one whom we had pierced, we might come to know that no obstacle was so insurmountable, no sin of ours so great, so as to separate us from his invitation to friendship.

The reality of this great invitation to friendship holds true when we gaze upon his Eucharistic Presence in the monstrance. By gazing upon the one whom we have pierced, we see reflected back at us a love that is stronger than death. It is no great wonder then that, when speaking on the Eucharist, St. Thomas chose to include a quote from the Song of Songs: “Eat, O friends, and drink, and be inebriated, my dearly beloved” (ST III, q.79, a.1, ad.2). We see, exposed for us on the altar, the heart of one who was willing to be poured out and emptied of all strength and pretence to become a perfect receptacle for divine love. It is said that love abolished the chasm that separated the Creator from the creature, since the characteristic of love is to lower oneself. For this reason, Christ became poor for our sake, so that we might become rich by his poverty. During Eucharistic Adoration, we are met by the gaze of one who is not scandalized by our weakness, but who has been equally tempted in every way, yet without sin. We are met by the gaze of one who looks at us in the brokenness of our humanity and sees not problems to be fixed but persons to be loved, for charity is the best healer and grace the best medicine. And the healing balm of this grace, channelled to us through the sacramental economy, is sweeter than any medicine for, by it, Christ is able to unite those parts of our hearts that have been ruptured by sin. Through his eucharistic friendship, we are bathed in the sweetness of his grace and strengthened in our journey toward the heavenly realities foreshadowed therein (see Roman Missal, Preface for Corpus Christi).

When writing to one another, my religious sisters will often end their letters by saying: “See you in the Eucharist.” This is not a throw away comment, but the remembrance of a sacramental reality. A reality that, although we are scattered throughout the world, we are bound together by the noble bonds of charity, united in Christ by our common “yes” to Him. On this great Solemnity of Corpus Christi, may our collective “yes” as a Church continue to draw us into an ever-deeper friendship with the One we all call Friend.

By Sister Isabelle Marie

Sr Isabelle Marie part of the Dominican Sisters of St Cecilia whose Mother House is in Nashville but with a significant (and much loved) outpost in Elgin in the Diocese of Aberdeen. They run the Ogilvie Centre with a ministry toward young people, evangelisation and catechesis.

Image: The stained-glass window located in the Motherhouse sacristy of the Dominican Sisters of St. Cecilia, Nashville, Tennessee, U.S.A.

Scottish Catholicism is at its heart reflected in the lives of those who make it incarnate, the “living stones” of the Scottish Church. As a Church with Apostolic origins, we are never short of inspirational examples of what it means to be Catholic in Scotland. The Coracle has published on the Saints associated with this land, who often lived many centuries ago, but it has also given room for some lesser-known models of Holiness, from more recent times. There are already two articles dedicated to Priests who worked in the Outer Hebrides, most notably in South Uist: Fr. George Rigg and Fr. Allan McDonald.

This brief article is dedicated to another Priest, one who served with the Diocese of Paisley, and who was another son of the Hebrides, Fr. Douglas Macmillan. He was born on the 1^st August 1953, to an Irish Catholic mother and a Presbyterian father from Harris. His father was tragically lost at sea, while Douglas was still a young child. He and his brother were then raised by their mother in the south side of Glasgow, and it was a Catholic upbringing. Fr. Douglas recalled his Confirmation, in which he chose the patronage of St. Joseph, a Saint to whom he remained devoted. He studied at St. Aloysius’, and upon terminating his studies, he entered the banking sector to make his living.

Beginning initially at Victoria Road in Glasgow, his work ultimately took him to Fort William and to Oban, and he enjoyed living in the Highlands of Scotland. In this vein, he also recalled holidays to Ireland and to the Isle of Harris, stating that he felt quite at home in these places where he had roots. In any case, he succeeded in his work and attained to the position of bank manager. Always having a strong sense of humour, Fr. Douglas mentioned some of the characters who would ask for loans at the bank. On one occasion, a particularly passionate individual was attempting to convince the bank to finance his projects, and the response was clear: “While we recognise the great enthusiasm which you have for this enterprise, it is an enthusiasm which we do not share!”

During this time, his faith continued to deepen, and the Priesthood began to seem more attractive. In his own words, it was once Fr. Douglas began to make pilgrimages that the calling became clearer. He recalled fondly his studies at the Seminary (Scotus College, Bearsden) and had many anecdotes about those years. To quote just one of them, he confided that he took inspiration from Winston Churchill’s speeches to develop his own style of public speaking, an admission that wasn’t to be shared with everyone! Like Churchill, he also enjoyed cigars, albeit on rare occasions, and his preferred brand was King Edward Imperial.

Fr. Douglas was already in the category of a “late vocation”, and was Ordained on the 17^th April 1999, at the age of 45. His wasn’t the only religious vocation in the family, as two of his aunts were nuns. His priestly life was served in a few Parishes, beginning with the role of Assistant Priest in St. John the Evangelist, before serving at St. Mirin’s Cathedral. His first appointment as Parish Priest was to the Parish of the Holy Family in Port Glasgow. His second and final Parish was St. Bridget’s in Eaglesham, one of the oldest Parishes in the Diocese. It was here where I first came to know him, and his ministry of some nine years there was very fruitful. These years included the trauma of a fire which devastated the Church, followed by refurbishment, and a providential fraternity developed with the neighbouring Church of Scotland, who had given us the use of their buildings for weekly Mass during this time. All the while, Fr. Douglas shepherded the community, and made every effort to encourage people to become more involved in the Parish.

The strength of this ministry came from several defining characteristics and went beyond Fr. Douglas’ role as Parish Priest. In the first instance, it was clear that he had a great devotion to Our Lady, and he had made St. Louis Marie de Montfort’s Consecration to Her on a number of occasions, renewing it each year. Accompanying this devotion was a real passion for the Divine Mercy, and he never ceased to preach on this subject, weaving it into homilies, and promoting a prayer group devoted to it. Everyone in St. Bridget’s knew something of St. Faustina and her Diary by the end of his ministry there.

These devotions were also expressed in his continued commitment to pilgrimage. Speaking personally, one of the fondest memories I have of Fr. Douglas was a shared journey to Craig Lodge, where we joined a group of diverse pilgrims and spent a weekend in reflection. He never tired of visiting Medjugorje and may well have been one of its most committed Scottish Priests! He likewise retained an active interest in the supposed apparitions at Garabandal until the end of his life.

His faith was one that was ever open to the supernatural, and he would relish the opportunity to talk about miracles (sometimes even Catholic ghost stories) over a dram in the Parish house. At the same time, this same faith was centred on Jesus Christ, and on Salvation being assured in Him. This imparted a certain optimism to his perspective, one of his favourite phrases being “Praise the Lord!”

Besides his role in the Parishes he served, Fr. Douglas was actively involved in the RCIA, and offered spiritual direction to people across the Diocese. He was committed to Charismatic Renewal, and he was open-minded to the gift of “speaking in tongues”. As readers might surmise, his ministry was varied, and focussed on God. It was entirely given over to Him.

From his thirties, Fr. Douglas had began developing a progressive paraplegia (HSP), which gradually limited his physical capacities. When he first came to St. Bridget’s, he was already using two walking sticks, and preparing for Sunday Mass could be a challenge, not least because of a flight of stairs from his house to the chapel. His commitment to the Priesthood was exemplary, and many noted his extraordinary courage in the face of his physical suffering.

The Parish house (Mayfield) in Eaglesham was always well-ordered and it was graced with bookshelves holding hundreds of volumes. There was even a space dedicated to several first-class Relics, which were always in view. Often, Fr. Douglas would host people for several hours, and discussion would turn to theological debate, not least because one of his closest friends was a “die-hard atheist”. One point that is clear in retrospect is the generosity he made of his time: nothing at all was rushed, from the Holy Mass and Confessions, to the time spent with others. He was available at all hours, even on early morning emergency calls. Indeed, we might say that he really didn’t waste any time – either he would be in prayer, he would be celebrating the liturgy, or he would be engaged in pastoral work. His illness had forced him to slow-down, and he simply adapted with an intensity of commitment that is rarely seen.

After breaking his leg in the Parish house, his mobility declined further, and he was forced into retirement in 2019. His final years were spent in a wheelchair. He was based first at St. Laurence’s, Greenock and finally at St. Joseph’s, Bow Road. This period was significantly challenging for him, as he was effectively confined to his living room, and required carers to visit throughout the day. For some two years, being unable to access the nearby Church without help, he celebrated daily Mass on his dinner tray, with all due solemnity. It was a privilege to have been present at well over a dozen of these Masses. They were always followed by a pizza, on the house, which was always a treat.

He celebrated his Silver Jubilee of Ordination on the 17^th April 2024, and this was Fr. Douglas’ last major celebration, a gathering of his closest friends and family. His passing on the 6^th February 2025 was sudden, but not entirely unexpected. He had received the Last Rites, and the funeral was organised at St. Joseph’s, Clarkston. An impressive number of people attended, and he was buried with his mother at St. Conval’s. At the committal, a handmade St. Bridget’s Cross was placed in the grave, in a final gesture, highlighting a life marked with devotion, profound care for his flock, and a lively faith.

By Anthony MacIsaac

We’re diving into part two of our “Language of the Bible” series. The first part discussed how we can be confident that the modern Bible is an accurate translation, and this part will shift focus to the specific language used in the Bible itself, particularly with trees.

Though it may come as a bit of a surprise, trees are fundamental to the spiritual teachings of the Bible. Beyond God and humans, trees are the most mentioned living things in the Bible (The Bible Project). And while they may not naturally come to mind, today I hope to show how the core teachings, overall narrative arc, and methods of emphasis used in the Bible are very often centrally tied to trees. Much of the inspiration for this article comes from the Bible Project and their podcast on the Tree of Life—I recommend checking it out if you want to learn more.

Humans as Trees

Throughout the Bible, and especially in the Old Testament, trees are used as a mirror into humanity. Most often, linguistic and physical traits are shared between humans and trees, drawing a connection between human bodies and botanical structures—both humans and trees possess zera ‘seed’ (a deliberate connection to children and descendants) and both produce peri ‘fruit’ (the outcomes of their actions and life). The Bible also uses words such as ‘branches’, ‘shoots’, and ‘roots’—all obviously building a shared anatomy between trees and humans.

But the linguistic choice in these cases isn’t merely to build a visual bridge between us and trees, but to construct an anchor in which to extrapolate teachings for a righteous and virtuous life.

Take Psalm 1, for example, where a righteous person “is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither—whatever they do prospers. Not so the wicked! They are like chaff that the wind blows away.”

Similarly, Jeremiah 17 discusses how “blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.”

But so too, like trees, are we fragile. Without the Lord, we will wither and even be chopped down when we are wicked, living without his water. The prophet Ezekiel (31) describes how “because the great cedar towered over the thick foliage, and because it was proud of its height, I gave it into the hands of the ruler of the nations, for him to deal with according to its wickedness. I cast it aside, and the most ruthless of foreign nations cut it down and left it. Its boughs fell on the mountains and in all the valleys; its branches lay broken in all the ravines of the land. All the nations of the earth came out from under its shade and left it… Therefore no other trees by the waters are ever to tower proudly on high, lifting their tops above the thick foliage. No other trees so well-watered are ever to reach such a height; they are all destined for death, for the earth below, among mortals who go down to the realm of the dead.”

The line of King David, we are told, is dead. Isaiah 11 describes the seed of Jesse as a dead, chopped-down stump, but promises “a shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.” So, yet again, where out of death comes the hope of new life, and trees are at the centre of that message.

Sacred Spaces as Trees

Beyond humans, we find trees to be central to a sense of a “holy place”. The common theme of trees representing a holy temple may very well begin with the Garden of Eden, where the Tree of Life sat in the Holy of Holies at its center. There, of course, also grew the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. The former represents eternal life and access to God’s direct presence, whereas the latter is heavily representative of God’s gift of freewill to humanity. Together, these trees symbolize a proximity to God and his divine blessing, which humanity lost access to with the fall of Adam and Eve.

With that core narrative in mind, it’s often found that temple and church architecture often feature tree imagery in tribute to that lost Paradise. One that comes to mind after a recent talk at St. Mary’s Cathedral in Edinburgh is the Sagrada Familia, aimed to be completed by the 2030s in Barcelona. The interior is heavily inspired by nature (and trees more specifically), which, among other artistic reasons, is used to symbolize our desire to return to that blessed place.

Points of Emphasis in Scripture

Trees are also found at almost every major crisis, test, or encounter with God, usually also at a high place (mountain, hill, etc.). These moments of trees and high places often come at a crossroad between God and human decision-making. The Garden of Eden, where humanity chooses between trusting God’s wisdom (Tree of Life) or seeking to define good and bad on their own terms (Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil), is of course an early example. Also in Genesis, Abraham builds an altar to Yahweh under the great trees of Mamre—here God (accompanied by two angels) visits him and prophesizes that Sarah would in time bear a son; it is also here that Abraham pleads to God to spare the righteous in the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. A further example is in Exodus; God reveals himself to Moses through a burning bush (which uses the Hebrew word seneh, meaning a bramble bush or tree).

All these encounters and more leads to the most important point of a tree on a high place, namely Jesus’ death on the cross.

Jesus and His Death Upon a Tree

The narrative of the Bible culminates on Jesus’s death on the cross at Calvary. Evidence implies that this place must have been a hill or high place, including from the Aramaic name of Golgotha ‘The Place of the Skull”, elevation implied in Mark 15:40 (can be seen from a distance), archaeological findings of a rocky outcropping outside ancient Jerusalem’s walls, and the Roman practice of preferring raised, highly visible areas for public execution. And while one may not initially connect the crucifixion with a tree, the New Testament authors purposefully refer to the cross as a “tree” using terms like xylon in Greek, which can literally translate to ‘wood’, ‘timber’, or ‘a living tree’.

• Acts 5:30: “The God of our ancestors raised Jesus from the dead—whom you killed by hanging him on a tree.”

• Acts 10:39: “We are witnesses of everything he did... They killed him by hanging him on a tree.”

• Acts 13:29: “When they had carried out all that was written about him, they took him down from the tree and laid him in a tomb.”

• Galatians 3:13: “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written: ‘Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree.’”

• 1 Peter 2:24: “He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree...”

Deuteronomy 21:22 discusses how a person, who commits a crime worthy of death, is executed and hung on a tree. The New Testament authors are directly referencing this, indicating how Jesus died and took on the curse of human sin. Of course, this circles back to how the fall of humanity first began at a tree in the Garden of Eden; our redemption was also achieved upon a tree, but at Calvary. The crucifix—once a symbol of execution and death—has transformed into the new symbol for the Tree of Life.

The Ultimate Bookend

Finally, trees provide the backdrop to the wonderfully bookended story of creation. The Bible opens with the Garden of Eden narrative, and the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil are absolutely central to the message and narrative elements. At the end of the Bible, in Revelation 22, the world is reconciled and Eden is restored—there, at the centre of a Garden-city, is a tree, also described with the same Greek word xylon. The tree and the fruit that it bears is to heal the nations; through this, Christ’s suffering upon the xylon of Calvary is bound to the redemption of humanity and our return to eternal life. The tree shows that history is not circling aimlessly with no end; on the contrary, it shows that we are growing for the ultimate and beautiful fruit of a restored and enhanced Eden. There we will sink our roots into rich earth and be nourished with living water; we will never again be thirsty.

“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” John 15:5

Amen.

By Jack Heitman

After many years of religiosity being on the decrease, it seems that interest in church attendance has piqued among young adults. But what exactly does this revival look like, and is it specifically a Catholic one?

In 2006, there was a piece of academic literature that suggested from the 1960s onward, Christianity was falling in numbers. But not just Christianity – complete dissatisfaction with religion, regardless of its origin, deity or convictions. The future was looking bleak and atheist, and that was the prospective future that Scotland was facing.^[1]

The same written work produced an assessment of the census figures for 2001, which highlighted the low number of religious affiliations across the country, and made the original sentiment from the 60s look like a prediction: the country was, indeed, moving away from God – but not completely by this point. 45% of the country still held a Church of Scotland membership and 17% followed the Roman Catholic Church.^[2] These numbers from 2001 imply that both the national church body and Catholicism to be the two major, religious sects across Scotland, and there were little numbers pertaining to church attendance across other Christian denominations and alternative religions alike.

According to an official government statistic, in 2011, there were 841,053 Roman Catholics across the country, and approximately 1,717,871 Church of Scotland followers.^[3] In the 15 years that have passed since then, the ecclesial framework of the Scottish Kirk has been in the throes of financial strain, budgeting struggles and a whopping 35% decrease in church membership.^[4] With these numbers in mind, it’s easy to worry about the presence of the Catholic Church in Scotland.

The Church introduced an impressive 549 people to the Sacraments during Easter Vigil Masses across the country (Archdiocese of St. Andrews & Edinburgh, 2026). This number is staggering because it is 224 more Confirmations than the Church welcomed in 2023. ^[5]

According to an article by the Catholic Herald in March 2026, the university town of St. Andrews is becoming its own hub of Catholicism among the young people, too.^[6]

In an article for EWTN, Archbishop John Wilson based in Southwark stated that there was a big resurgence in Catholicity among people in their twenties and thirties. EWTN made the point of saying in this article that both Southwark and Westminster were receiving a wholly unprecedented number of people into the church, with the former up to 450 individuals and the latter 500. Westminster had seen a 25% increase in their numbers, which was unlike anything they’d ever seen before in modern times.^[7]

The online Catholic news website, Aleteia, called it a “convert boom” that the Roman Church was witnessing in 2026. The author of the written piece states that it was unknown what effect Pope Leo XIV’s ascension to the papal office might have on the Catholic Church in the USA, but now it’s understood that it’s been received very well. A University of Illinois student recorded 120 Confirmations – the largest in her four years studying on the campus.^[8] It could be suggested that having an American pope has reignited this interest in Catholicism across the States – though this is conjecture.

These examples show that Scotland isn’t the only country witnessing a large amount of people enter the Church. What is happening here is happening internationally. But why, exactly?

Saint Carlo Acutis and Saint Pier Giorgio Frassati

The city of Edinburgh was blessed in September 2025, as the relics of the recently canonised Saint Carlo Acutis made their way to the city.^[9] These included a fragment of his pericardium, and a few strands of his hair. Here, there was veneration for the young boy who passed away at fifteen-years-old. Scots from all over the country came to visit the Archdiocese across the two days when Masses were being held for him, and there were a lot of numbers attending.

Side note: I was received into the Church on Sunday, September 7^th last year, the same day that then-Blessed Carlo Acutis became canonised and made a recognised Saint of the Catholic Church. I chose him as my Patron Saint.

I attended the three Masses held in his name at St Mary’s Cathedral, and it was incredible the amount of people my age (in their twenties), below and above were there. People of all generations chose to come and honour the young man. It is no lie that the younger generations are inspired by Saint Carlo Acutis, but why exactly?

The young Carlo Acutis was into computer games and using the internet to raise awareness of Eucharist miracles. The use of his computer was his main way of evangelising, and the playing of games made him a child of his time. Naturally, that is quite the juxtaposition, because “how could the internet ever be used for good?” society has asked for years, and “what good do videogames bring?” is a classic. But a young Carlo realised how to find the good in both worlds in the early 2000s.^[10]

In his tomb in Assisi, Italy, St Carlo is wearing his blue jeans, a sweatshirt and his sneakers. These are all representative of the fact that he was still a very young boy when he was called from his earthly life. But not only that, his clothes are a key reminder of the generation he was from. Carlo Acutis was born in 1991, meaning he would be classed as a “Millennial”.^[11] It is because of his Millennial-ness that people of the generation after him, “Generation Z”, find him to be so inspiring – he was close to us in age, had similar interests and most of all, was a fantastic ambassador of the faith while still a child.

At Saint Carlo Acutis’ final relic display at the Mass on Sunday, 15^th September at St Mary’s Cathedral in Edinburgh, there was a large amount of pupils from one of the local Roman Catholic high schools in the city. The Mass and homily were being led by both His Grace Archbishop Leo Cushley and Monsignor Anthony Figueiredo, who is the guardian of St Carlo’s relics. One thing that was of note was the attention paid to the reflection on St Carlo’s life growing up. It inspired all the young folk in the cathedral that afternoon. They were eagerly awaiting to meet face-to-face with the relics in a state of veneration.

On the same day in September 2025, Italian Catholic Pier Giorgio Frassati was canonised. He was a 24-year-old who died a hundred years before he was officially recognised in the Church as a Saint. This man inspires a lot of young Catholics today, too, through his popular adages like “joy through suffering”, which was quoted to be one of his responses to life and its many hardships.^[12] Naturally, because he was a member of the Third Order of Saint Dominic, that joy was found in a relationship with Jesus Christ in his life. The world that Gen Z was born into has experienced warfare, economical crises, the rise of social media and a lot more that can impact how we value our lives and where God sits in them – but Frassati offers a way forward. Joy through suffering – these powerful three words that can challenge the pessimistic mindsets we know all too well. Pope Saint John Paul II highlighted his own reason for being inspired by the example led by Frassati – he was steadfast and unwavering in his Catholic witness.^[13]

With these two Saints being recently canonised in the Catholic Church, and given their ages at their times of death, the “revival”, so to speak, can be attributed a lot to their models of faith. We’ve already seen that throughout the United Kingdom and the United States that interest in Catholicism has been on the up for quite some time, and it should come as no coincidence that it is happening around the same time as these two Saints have gained traction in the media. People are interested in them, investigating why they chose to consecrate themselves to a life of following the Lord in His Church and it is sparking conversation.

An article from 2016 looked at trends across the country pertaining to religiosity. The Church of Scotland was dwindling significantly in membership, and 2016 marked the year where membership was at 24% of the population – while Catholicism was sitting at 14%. The vision here was that, in the eight years after these figures were released, Catholicism with its statistical stagnancy may still manage to overtake the national Church of Scotland. The year 2024 was projected to be the year that this would come to fruition, and how remarkable is it that in 2026, the Church has managed to receive its highest ever number of Confirmations in the modern day?

After all is said and done, “the harvest is plenty” and the future is looking bright for the Catholic Church in not only the world, but specifically in Scotland.

By Dhylan Livani

^[1] Voas, ‘Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 2006

^[2] Voas, ‘Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 2006

^[3] Religion | Scotland’s Census

^[4] More difficult decisions needed to help Church balance the books | The Church of Scotland

^[5] Church prepares to welcome new Catholics - Archdiocese of Edinburgh and St Andrews

^[6] The quiet Catholic revival in a Scottish university town

^[7] Britain’s ‘Quiet Catholic Revival’ Is Lay-Driven, Mostly by Young Men – EWTN Great Britain

^[8] 2026 convert boom: Where around the world? And why?

^[9] SATURDAY: Carlo Acutis relics arrive in Edinburgh - Archdiocese of Edinburgh and St Andrews

^[10] Courtney Mares, ‘Carlo Acutis: A Saint in Sneakers’, 2025, p. 11-64

^[11] Here Come the Millennials | JACC

^[12] Pier Giorgio Frassati, a “True Brother” to be canonized by Pope - Vatican News

^[13] Brief Biography of St. Pier Giorgio Frassati | FrassatiUSA, Inc. | Nashville, TN

discusses the aftermath of the failed Assisted Dying bills and new writer ( and 2025 convert) Dhylan Livani on the recent announcent from the Bishops Council of Scotland about a restructuring of the Scottish Church.

As ever we list this months Scottish Saints and just to remind you that if you have not read the April edition - it was all about the Holyrood elections that are being held this week - click the link here.

May Saints

10th May sees the celebration of St Comgall, abbot of the hugely influential Bangor Abbey and was contemporaneous to St Columba. St Cattan of Bute (17th May), St Conval of Renfrew (18th May), St William, Martyr of Perthshire (23rd May) and St Dagnus of Galloway (29th May). But below we highlight two in particular:

3rd of May - Saint Fumac -

25th May - St Bede

I began taking notes for this article on the night that the Scottish Parliament voted on the Assisted Dying Bill which was introduced by Scottish Liberal Democrat Liam McArthur; thankfully it failed to win the majority vote. It was a close call, and every argument I heard for or against was very vague and didn’t seem to ever get to the very guts of the issue. I couldn’t put my finger on why, waiting for the result of the vote, this felt like a watershed moment; the dreadful realisation that our United Kingdom was built by people with a much firmer grasp on ethics and truth than those drafting bills now. So, I began to think about these concepts that kept being plated up, ‘rights’, ‘autonomy’, ‘dignity’ as if they’re self explanatory concepts. Well, to believe that they are self explanatory is to presume a moral foundation and I cannot see that any argument in favour of assisted dying can be resting on one. My fear is that this Bill should it pass at a later date, is the fruit of a long and slow degradation of truth and the abdication from natural law to moral relativism, and I fail to see how a coherent system of law can function on this basis.

“If God does not exist then everything is permitted.” – Dostoyevsky

The idea of a fundamental human right to life rests on the belief that human beings are uniquely made in the image of God and therefore have inherent dignity. We know that we are set apart from the animal kingdom because of two things: speech and reason. But these things don’t necessarily earn us ‘rights’, if we needed to earn our human rights, they would no longer be inalienable. Why should we have inalienable rights regardless of committing a heinous crime for example? Well, the assumption is that we are all equal in the eyes of God and despite our sins, Christ’s mercy is not limited nor prejudiced. If humanity creates it’s own rights, then they can be revised or removed according to, say, a vote.

So this brings us to ‘autonomy’, the right to refuse your inalienable right? Whether an individual wishes to refuse a human right or not, it cannot be acknowledged in law because the virtue of ‘justice’ involves the whole, not just the individual. The concept of autonomy in this instance is flawed since it is very conditional in that it requires others to partake in the suicide by making an assessment on eligibility and prescribing or administering the deadly drug. A patient must also be able to give consent to be eligible. This raises several questions: how does a physician measure suffering and how can it be legislated? If only those who are competent enough to consent are allowed to commit suicide, then surely this limits who actually has autonomy. The often discussed point of ‘compassion for suffering’ then becomes conditional also, how and why should compassion only be shown for those competent enough to consent? Suffering is surely a subjective experience and to deny a person’s reality could be considered prejudiced. If this question cannot be answered with empirical evidence now, then it will be answered if an assisted dying bill passes at a later date, and no doubt these points will be met with agreement.

In CS Lewis’s ‘The Problem of Pain’ he makes the point that kindness is not love, kindness is disinterested tolerance. Love expects much more, loving thy neighbour is not putting down a sick animal. If as a society, we legally accept that some lives are not worth living, it is inevitable that the group will expand from terminally ill adults who can physically consent, to those who cannot consent, to terminally ill children, to the elderly, depressed, disabled, poor. (This also begs the question, why not the death penalty? Is it only the innocent that can be killed by the State?) These are not medical assessments, they are philosophical and legal questions. To give powers to the State to legally take the lives of innocent people is a risk that tenuously hopes that a government will always remain politically sensible and never fall into tyranny. The ‘right to die’ is the removal of a human right, not the addition of one.

“The Son of God suffered unto the death, not that men might not suffer, but that their sufferings might be like His.” – George MacDonald

First of all, dignity is not bestowed on a person by the State, it is inherent in the human being. Secondly, as a Catholic whose God suffered for the sins of humanity, I cannot rightly agree that to suffer is to lack dignity. We can not also agree that all who suffer would be better off dead, whether they are suffering due to illness or in war zones or due to poverty. We have seen these arguments in the dialogue around abortion, if the existence of life itself is not outright denied, then the argument often switches to the circumstances of the mother. I think an unforeseen element of the cultural repercussions will be that it will become morally reprehensible to be ‘against suicide’ in a similar way to abortion, to talk someone out of the idea of suicide will be considered taboo, and perhaps we will see those talking to potential suicides or quietly praying for them arrested as with the case of the director March for Life (UK) arrested for silent prayer. The intrinsic value of a person’s life is not diminished by their experience of suffering, on the contrary many who suffer find purpose in ways that are unique to their experience and in helping others.

In the same way that the pharmaceutical industry depends on illness to make profits, it’s undeniable that assisted suicide is vulnerable to becoming a lucrative business, especially if outsourced to third parties. Organ harvesting could also easily fall into a moral black hole, if pressure is placed on potential donors and even due to the problem of ‘ischemia time’ whereby organs are damaged during the time that the donor dies and the organs lack blood flow before transplantation; how long will it take before donors who choose assisted suicide are having their organs removed alive? The UN reported that “the organ trade, which includes human trafficking for organ removal, is a lucrative criminal business, amounting to between 840 million to USD 1.7 billion USD annually.” If this trade is legalised with a fresh source of transplants and supported through official routes, I cannot see that the industry, already on morally flimsy ground, can retain watertight safeguards. The risk of cutting corners on psychological as well as social and welfare assessments to ensure individuals are not being manipulated by families and the temptation of financial incentives just looks like a march toward continued dehumanisation in an increasingly atomised world. If dignity and rights are not considered intrinsic to the human person, but rather given by the State, then they can be withheld, taken or outright denied with enough social conditioning.

“Without a theory of Immortality it leaves no room for the value of death” – CS Lewis

I cannot presume to know what it’s like to suffer with a terminal illness, the pleas for compassion from the assisted suicide lobby seem to stress the suffering of physical pain but really I think it is more about the psychological pain and more so even than that, a spiritual pain. The grief of being unable to live a normal life. Where medication can in most cases be used to alleviate physical pain, the spiritual suffering comes down to grappling with the rawness of the unique human experience itself. I think that is why the assisted dying debate generates such contention. Pope John Paul II articulated this unavoidable aspect of life perfectly:

“...what we express by the word “suffering” seems to be particularly essential to the nature of man. It is as deep as man himself, precisely because it manifests in its own way that depth which is proper to man, and in its own way surpasses it. Suffering seems to belong to man’s transcendence: it is one of those points in which man is in a certain sense “destined” to go beyond himself, and he is called to this in a mysterious way.”

Pope John Paul II goes on to say that humans are uniquely aware of our suffering and that an individual suffers greatly when he is deprived, according to the normal order of things, of what is ‘good’. It might seem extraneous to the debate, but I actually think the questions of good and evil are precisely what needs discussing, a ‘returning to the drawing board’. We instinctively perceive what is ‘good’ and according to the Church our awareness comes from God so that we are able to know ourselves and God, to witness and respond to the world. To reference CS Lewis again, we know right and wrong because ‘all men are conscious of guilt’, therefore guilt is either an ‘inexplicable illusion or else revelation.’

If what sets us apart defines us, i.e. communication and awareness, then to know and communicate the Good, the True and the Beautiful (the Transcendentals) and gain knowledge is to know God and find purpose. Aristotle says that happiness is not a state of being but is the acquisition of outstanding natural activity, aiming at ‘some good’ with every choice. So, the theft of self determination can be viscerally painful, especially in the West where this freedom is enjoyed by the majority.

In November of last year, the funeral Mass of Br Aidan John was held at Pluscarden Abbey. Br John took his monastic vows as he was dying of Cancer at 38. Some of the monks spoke of the beautiful and edifying experience of visiting Br John and offering Mass at his bedside before he passed. In the homily read at the funeral, Br John’s own words were shared where he reflects on his life’s purpose and failings and ultimately the gratitude he felt and the hope that his last days gave everyone around him; Br John’s vivid example of what suffering can even, perhaps, offer us, of which the truest of introspection is one:

“I spoke to Br. Peter yesterday and he mentioned again his trip to Iona and the idea of its being a thin place, where the boundary between heaven and earth is particularly narrow, and that death does something similar. What a beautiful thought, that the dying person is a thin place where the veil is drawn aside and heaven becomes close to all who approach! I see this now as my mission: to be a thin place where those around me, whether family, friends, carers or strangers, can see through the burden of illness to the beauty and joy of heaven, can see through the trials of this earthly human life to the glory of God and his unfailing, abundant love.”

By

The Death and Burial of Br. John Aidan Cook — Pluscarden Abbey

Salvifici Doloris (February 11, 1984)

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Catholic parish priest, Gaelic poet, and folklore expert, Father Allan MacDonald was one of the most fascinating personalities of the Hebrides over the last two centuries and probably the most esteemed ecclesiastic in northwest Scotland after Saint Columba.

Born on October 25, 1859, he was the third of five children of John MacDonald and Elizabeth MacPherson, originally from Torlundy and the daughter of a farm manager. His father came from a family of carters and escorted carriages through the Highlands, from Loch Lomond to Fort William. He was a direct employee of the post office, and his job was to prevent mail from being stolen. When he married in 1852, he gave up his job and used the money he saved to buy a tavern overlooking the main street of Fort William.

The city was located in a relatively wealthy area, reliant on trade and tourism, and young Allan, named after his paternal grandfather, had the opportunity to grow up in a healthy and peaceful family environment. His father, a proud representative of the middle class, cherished aspirations for his children, and it is no coincidence that he wanted to give them an education in English, the language of commerce and empire, setting aside the Gaelic spoken by the majority of the population. Religiously, however, he held more traditional views: he was a Roman Catholic, proud to belong to one of the clans that had supported Bonnie Prince Charlie, the young pretender who in the eighteenth century attempted in vain to re-establish the Stuart succession in Britain.

Between 1867 and 1868, when Allan was still a child, the Church of the Immaculate Conception, the first Catholic chapel in Fort William, was built, and the MacDonalds were among the first to receive communion there. Later, the boy attended the Fort William Roman Catholic School, run by a local priest and teachers mostly women, which provided him with a solid education in subjects such as Greek, Latin, French, English literature, and mathematics. The professors quickly recognized his potential and invited him to continue his studies at St. Mary’s College, Blairs, a minor seminary near Aberdeen, where the young MacDonald transferred in October 1871, shortly before his twelfth birthday.

Donated in the early nineteenth century to the Catholic bishops of Scotland by a wealthy member of the faithful, Blairs College, as it was commonly known, was at the time a rather small institution, housing students from not only Scotland but also England and Ireland. MacDonald was an intelligent and receptive student, but he resented the Spartan regime imposed by the rector, the Reverend Peter Joseph Grant, which contrasted with the cheerfulness he had experienced at home and in the small community in which he grew up. The school placed ample emphasis on the teaching of modern languages ​​such as French, Spanish, and Italian, because a large portion of the students would continue their studies at one of the Scots Colleges on the continent, established during and after the Reformation. Conversely, Gaelic was not particularly encouraged, and so MacDonald, who wished to speak it fluently, was forced to study it on his own, encouraged, among others, by Father James A. Smith – the future Archbishop of St. Andrews and Edinburgh – who also instilled in him his passion for philology. John Mackintosh, his classmate and future priest, who became his lifelong friend, also supported him.

After the death of both his parents, in September 1876, MacDonald was encouraged by his professors to continue his studies abroad. He chose Spain, more precisely the College of San Ambrosio in Valladolid, where he quickly adapted to a congenial environment, less harsh than the other institutions he had attended up to that point (the only trial was having to get used to the local climate, decidedly different from Scotland’s). Another stroke of luck was that the new rector, besides being a supporter of Neo-Thomism, encouraged his students to learn and practice Gaelic. Many of them, once ordained, would in fact serve in parishes where Gaelic was the first language and often the only one spoken and understood by the faithful. These communities had been incorporated into the newly formed Diocese of Argyll and the Isles, created following the restoration of the Catholic hierarchy in Scotland in 1878, and MacDonald, who at heart felt himself a proud son of the Highlands, could not have hoped for a better destination.

And so it happened: in 1882, after being ordained a priest, he was sent to Oban as assistant to Bishop Angus MacDonald. Although very few Catholics lived there, one a fisherman who introduced Father MacDonald to traditional Gaelic hymns and Hebridean folklore, the town had the great advantage of being well connected to the north-western islands and, at the same time, not too far from the archdioceses of Glasgow and Edinburgh. It was also the closest coastal town to the sacred island of Iona, the starting point from which Saint Columba, in the sixth century, began his preaching in Scotland.

After two years, Father MacDonald was offered a teaching position at Blairs College. He was almost inclined to accept, but when he learned that the community of Daliburgh, in the southern part of the island of South Uist, had recently lost its parish priest, he changed his mind and, packing his bags, moved there without hesitation.

South Uist, with a population of 3,600, mostly farmers, was one of those peripheral areas of Scotland where, with very rare exceptions, the people had always maintained the old faith, resisting the blandishments of the reformers. For them, Gaelic identity was part of a millennia-old bond with the Celtic Church, and for a priest, it meant finding himself working in a safe and welcoming environment that existed nowhere else in the country. Thus it happened that Father MacDonald, like his predecessors, easily integrated into the new environment, appreciating its rhythms and customs, and eventually representing his faithful even in political contests (in 1888, he was even elected to the island’s School Board). Tensions were not lacking, not only because of the effects of the Clearances of the previous decades – the forced and mass eviction of the rural population to benefit a handful of landowners – but also because the entire chain of Catholic islands in the Outer Hebrides, from Barra to Benbecula, was then under the control of Lady Gordon Cathcart, an aristocrat who exercised her prerogatives without too many scruples.

Father MacDonald landed on South Uist in the summer of 1884 and occupied the rectory near St. Peter’s Church, in what was then the largest of the island’s three Catholic parishes. The elderly Father Alexander Campbell, who would die only nine years later, and whom the bishop wanted to work alongside him to instruct him in the islanders’ customs and traditions, as well as to strengthen his Gaelic, welcomed him warmly. In his limited free time, Father MacDonald enjoyed long walks and climbing hills, or he fished, both in the sea and in the lochs. He also loved music, was an avid reader, and became an amateur archaeologist, exploring the prehistory of South Uist. Around 1887, after three years in the Hebrides, he began collecting information on local folklore, and a couple of years later he compiled a Gaelic hymnbook, which included a commentary on the sung Mass in the Highland and Island language. As might be expected, this work earned him a certain fame among late-Victorian enthusiasts of Celtic culture, some of whom came knocking at his door. Apparently, some even took advantage of his availability, stealing some of his notes and publishing them as their own.

In 1894, due to increasingly evident physical and mental fatigue, MacDonald was moved to Eriskay, a decidedly less demanding parish. Except for two or three perfectly assimilated Protestant families, the island’s 450 inhabitants, economically dependent on the sea, were Catholic, and almost all spoke Gaelic. In his rectory of Am Rubha Ban, the priest lived a frugal life, devoted to his duties and study. He also wrote sacred and secular poetry, songs, and hymns, and it was to Eriskay that he dedicated one of his finest poems, “Eilein na h-Òige,” or “The Isle of Youth.” Thanks to numerous donations from across Scotland –among the many benefactors, there was Marc-André Raffalovich, a close friend of the priest John Gray – he also managed to build a new parish church, inaugurated in 1903.

Father MacDonald, who by then had even become a character in a couple of novels, died on October 8, 1905, struck down by pneumonia that had degenerated into pleurisy. The funeral was unforgettable: no fewer than twenty-one priests crossed the waters of the Minch to be present, all the island’s inhabitants were in mourning, and the priest was buried amid the tears of strong men unaccustomed to weeping. Not only Eriskay but also a vast array of friends mourned the death of this heroic and humble parish priest, a remarkable scholar of Celtic culture and, above all, one of God’s greatest ministers in the history of the Hebrides.

By Luca Fumagalli

As Catholics we might feel familiarised with the words evangelization and mission. We normally hear these words in a catechesis either by our parish priest in his homily or by a lay catechist in a lesson, or sometimes when there is an appeal for a second collection on Sundays to support the mission of the Church. However, we don’t often stop and pay close attention to these words and what they mean to us personally. Specially so because we might feel or see ourselves detached from such actions. In contrast, in other contexts of our lives, we focus our attention and intellect into trying to look for a meaningful answer to the ever present question: what is my mission? what is purpose or meaning of my life?

Does it sound familiar to you? I’m guessing it does because we are in a restlessness quest for meaning and fulfilment. As late Pope Benedict XVI pointed out “(…) Possessions, pleasure and power show themselves sooner or later to be incapable of fulfilling the deepest yearnings of the human heart. In building our lives we need solid foundations which will endure when human certainties fail. (…)” (Verbum Domini 10)

This personal quest is the individual starting point of a much larger one which moves us out of our own self to the other. It is, in simpler words, a quest to feel connected. The late Pope, Francis, tells us:

‘The Gospel offers us the chance to live life on a higher plane, but with no less intensity: Life grows by being given away, and it weakens in isolation and comfort. Indeed, those who enjoy life most are those who leave security on the shore and become excited by the mission of communicating life to others’.

When the Church summons Christians to take up the task of evangelization, she is simply pointing to the source of authentic personal fulfilment. For “here we discover a profound law of reality: that life is attained and matures in the measure that it is offered up in order to give life to others. This is certainly what mission means”. (Evangelii Gaudium 10)

The meaning that Jesus’s words in the Gospels have in my choices and life is directly related to my free personal response to Faith. Faith is a grace as much as a human act (CCC 153 ,154). Looking at it closer we understand Faith not as an empty word but rather as profound encounter between two selves, that of God and that of the man, entering in a relationship. “…Faith is man’s response to God, who reveals himself and gives himself to man, at the same time bringing man a superabundant light as he searches for the ultimate meaning of his life (…)” (CCC 26). In the words of Pope Benedict XVI “Being Christian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter with an event, a person, which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direction”. (Deus Caritas Est 1)

This articles intent is to make us realise the deep interactions that exists between our own personal fulfilment in relation to how we might be living my faith and, more deeply, in relation to how our encounter with the Resurrected Christ makes us identify with the love of God and the Mission of the Church.

The joy of the Gospel and the call to Mission.

“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit”

“Then Jesus approached them and said to them, ‘All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.” (Matthew 28:18–20)

These words in Matthew’s gospel are so rich!. I would like to invite you to meditate upon them.

The evangelist starts by stating a fact “Jesus approached them”, here we understand it is God Who looks for us, come to our encounter and speaks to us. He reveals himself and His Divine nature. “Thanks solely to this encounter – or renewed encounter – with God’s love, which blossoms into an enriching friendship, we are liberated from our narrowness and self-absorption. We become fully human when we become more than human, when we let God bring us beyond ourselves in order to attain the fullest truth of our being. Here we find the source and inspiration of all our efforts at evangelization. For if we have received the love which restores meaning to our lives, how can we fail to share that love with others? (Evangelii Gaudium 8)

Who did Jesus’s approach? To His apostles, it would be the immediate standard response. Let’s stop and think, once more, as our personal answer to this simple question describes how I feel before Jesus’s presence in my life, in turn our answer helps us understand where we are in the path of our personal conversion and that of our personal journey of faith.

“In virtue of their baptism, all the members of the People of God have become missionary disciples (cf. Mt 28:19). All the baptized, whatever their position in the Church or their level of instruction in the faith, are agents of evangelization, and it would be insufficient to envisage a plan of evangelization to be carried out by professionals while the rest of the faithful would simply be passive recipients. The new evangelization calls for personal involvement on the part of each of the baptized. Every Christian is challenged, here and now, to be actively engaged in evangelization; indeed, anyone who has truly experienced God’s saving love does not need much time or lengthy training to go out and proclaim that love. Every Christian is a missionary to the extent that he or she has encountered the love of God in Christ Jesus: we no longer say that we are “disciples” and “missionaries”, but rather that we are always “missionary disciples”. ( Evangelii Gaudium 120)

“Faith thus takes shape as an encounter with a person to whom we entrust our whole life. Christ Jesus remains present today in history, in his body which is the Church; for this reason, our act of faith is at once both personal and ecclesial.” (Verbum Domini 25).

What did Jesus say? Let’s notice the verbs go, make, baptize, teach, observe. “Evangelization is the task of the Church. The Church, as the agent of evangelization, is more than an organic and hierarchical institution; she is first and foremost a people advancing on its pilgrim way towards God. She is certainly a mystery rooted in the Trinity, yet she exists concretely in history as a people of pilgrims and evangelizers, transcending any institutional expression, however necessary”. (Evangelii Gaudium 111). “The Lord’s missionary mandate includes a call to growth in faith: “Teach them to observe all that I have commanded you” (Mt 28:20). Hence it is clear that that the first proclamation also calls for ongoing formation and maturation. Evangelization aims at a process of growth which entails taking seriously each person and God’s plan for his or her life. All of us need to grow in Christ. Evangelization should stimulate a desire for this growth, so that each of us can say wholeheartedly: “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Gal 2:20).” (Evangelii Gaudium160)

“Above all the Gospel must be proclaimed by witness. Take a Christian or a handful of Christians who, in the midst of their own community, show their capacity for understanding and acceptance, their sharing of life and destiny with other people, their solidarity with the efforts of all for whatever is noble and good. Let us suppose that, in addition, they radiate in an altogether simple and unaffected way their faith in values that go beyond current values, and their hope in something that is not seen and that one would not dare to imagine. Through this wordless witness these Christians stir up irresistible questions in the hearts of those who see how they live: Why are they like this? Why do they live in this way? What or who is it that inspires them? Why are they in our midst? Such a witness is already a silent proclamation of the Good News and a very powerful and effective one. Here we have an initial act of evangelization” ( Evangelii Nuntiandi 21)

What does this command entail? The words of Jesus in Matthew’s the Gospel are a direct invitation to have faith but also because of that same faith a sparkle appears , one that demands us to move outside of our own self and give others the joy that originates from the News of Salvation. “Those who have opened their hearts to God’s love, heard his voice and received his light, cannot keep this gift to themselves. Since faith is hearing and seeing, it is also handed on as word and light” (Lumen Fidei 37). “Faith transforms the whole person precisely to the extent that he or she becomes open to love. Through this blending of faith and love we come to see the kind of knowledge which faith entails, its power to convince and its ability to illumine our steps. Faith knows because it is tied to love, because love itself brings enlightenment. Faith’s understanding is born when we receive the immense love of God which transforms us inwardly and enables us to see reality with new eyes” (Lumen Fidei 26) “Precisely because it is linked to love (cf. Gal 5:6), the light of faith is concretely placed at the service of justice, law and peace. Faith is born of an encounter with God’s primordial love, wherein the meaning and goodness of our life become evident; our life is illumined to the extent that it enters into the space opened by that love, to the extent that it becomes, in other words, a path and praxis leading to the fullness of love. The light of faith is capable of enhancing the richness of human relations, their ability to endure, to be trustworthy, to enrich our life together. Faith does not draw us away from the world or prove irrelevant to the concrete concerns of the men and women of our time”(Lumen Fidei 51)

“The entire activity of the Church is an expression of a love that seeks the integral good of man: it seeks his evangelization through Word and Sacrament, an undertaking that is often heroic in the way it is acted out in history; and it seeks to promote man in the various arenas of life and human activity” (Deus Caritas Est 19) . It is under this light we are move by the words of St Paul “With such yearning love we chose to impart to you not only the gospel of God but our very selves, so dear had you become to us.” (1 Thess 2:8)

I have a mission it is the Mission of the Church!

Written by Alexandra De Carias

Alexandra is a catholic Psychologist and and representative of Betania XXI which is a spiritual movement originating in her home country of Venezula. If you would like to know more about Betania XXI email her at betania21UK@gmail.com. You can also read her previous article here which talks specifically on the special ministry of reconcilliation and conversion of the faithful.

In March just past, Bishops across the country assembled to talk about the current functioning of the Catholic Church in Scotland, and changes that can be made for its betterment.

Pictured: St Mary’s Catholic Cathedral, Easter Sunday, 2026

The statement produced at the Bishops’ Conference of Scotland for 2026 addresses some stark pressures that the Church is currently facing, ranging from a lesser number of ordained priests; evolving practices; the eight dioceses across Scotland lacking in the essential requirements to function and more.

While these issues were addressed in the statement, it was also highlighted that the Holy See initiated this call for introspection among the Bishops in the country, and to determine whether it’s possible to maintain the upkeep of all these dioceses.

We spoke to Bishop John Keenan, of Paisley, to gather more information about the talks and the approach to future evangelisation:

“The process is not about rationalisation in an administrative sense. It is about how… we can be the best Catholic Church in terms of our mission of evangelisation and the involvement of the whole People of God in the life and mission of the Church.” (Bishop John Keenan, 2026)

This outlined the deep-rooted interest in evangelism in the Church, and that it is intrinsically connected to the heart of the Gospel and Jesus Christ being its drive during outreach. This echoes what is in the official Bishops’ Conference statement, which reads:

“Yet our mission remains unchanged: to proclaim the Gospel and to lead our people to Christ.” (Bishops Conference of Scotland, 2026)

While the importance is on evangelisation, there are two potential routes that have been proposed in order to ameliorate the problem of lowering resources among the dioceses of Scotland. These are drafted to ensure that the future of the Catholic Church in Scotland is a positive and fruitful one, and are important facets of the official March 2026 statement.

One of these options sees the maintenance of the current ecclesial framework of the eight dioceses of Scotland, maintaining their individual identities as separate to the other, but highlights that in order to achieve this vision, there must be shared resources. This creates space for more conversations to be held, as inter-diocesan communications are what will fuel this pathway.

The second route that was proposed sees the merging of dioceses across Scotland, as it acknowledges that resources are short, and ergo, the current ecclesial framework across Scotland will change in order to merge them.

Bishop John Keenan highlighted the importance of lay voices in these choices, and that they are valued by Bishops who are currently in the process of decision-making:

“The bishops will get together to discern among ourselves first of all, but we are keen to involve the clergy and the lay faithful of Scotland.” (Bishop John Keenan, 2026)

The symbiotic clerical/lay relationship in this process is emphasised by Bishop Keenan as he discusses the importance of the decision at hand. Either one will impact the future functioning of the Catholic Church in Scotland, and will come with its proponents and its naysayers.

Both clergy and laity are encouraged to pray during this time of discernment, and are asked to contribute in sharing their thoughts on the future of the Church body across the country.

By Dhylan Livani

Dhylan is current studying a Masters of Theology at New College in Edinburgh having previously completed a degree in Journalism at Napier. He is also a brand new Catholic having only just entered the Church in September 2025.

Image: St Mary’s Cathedral Edinburgh