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Beyond Calvary?

Beyond Calvary?

The film Calvary was released just over a year ago, for which reason I feel free to write a reflection that reveals the ending (if you haven’t seen it, consider coming back to this later). Written and directed by John Michael McDonagh, it stars Brendan Gleeson as Father James, a Catholic priest of a small Irish village. The film opens, unforgettably, with a man informing him in confession that he was horrifically abused by priests as a small boy, and that in consequence he is going to kill Father James one week from that day—not because Father James is a bad priest, but because he is a good one. The man is known to Father James, but unknown to us.

What is the point of this disorienting opening and the story that unfolds from it? A number of reviewers have seen in the film a guarded hopefulness about the church. Lauren Ely wrote in First Things, “Is it possible for a film to capture the horror of the sexual abuse scandal in the Catholic Church while at the same time presenting a case for the necessity of the institutional priesthood? Against all odds, this is exactly what Irish director John Michael McDonagh’s Calvary manages to do.” Others have admired the character of Father James, who, indeed, shines with integrity, sincerity and love. He is meant to represent, I think, the priesthood at its very best: generous, gentle, faithful. He is indeed, as we hear in the opening sequence, a good priest.

Mullaghmore Co Sligo

And yet, in the end, he is murdered. To my mind, this radically undermines the attempt to interpret this film as a message about what the church must do if it is to survive. The point is the opposite: even with its very best in full view, the church must die. The film makes it abundantly clear that Father James is good for the community. He reaches out to people in trouble, tries to prevent injustice, is a friend to the lonely; and yet he remains a human being, without pretense, clearly himself vulnerable and compromised. He is a striking contrast to all the other priestly figures in the film, who appear self-interested and unpleasant. He, by contrast, is undeniably a man of integrity. It is hard to imagine how the community would manage without him. Yet, he is killed. And that is the point: even looking the good side of the church square in the face, it must die.

But if Father James is so essential to the community, how can it survive without him? I’m not sure we are meant to feel certain that it can. The final sequence of the film shows all the characters we have met along the way in their various circumstances. It is a sorry sight. There is little hope to be found from any of them. The film closes with Father James’s adult daughter, who we met earlier, picking up the prison phone to speak with his killer. Can this conversation succeed? Can anything be rebuilt from here? Perhaps not. But there is no alternative. There is no doubt that this is all that is left beyond Calvary.

Calvary captures something of the burning rage felt by many against the church. This rage is everywhere in the film. Animosity towards Father James and the church spills out of the villagers constantly. Someone other than his killer, we discover, murdered his dog. This is a feeling that we who are Christians, even if we feel ourselves a long way from Irish Catholicism, need to take the measure of. Have we yet truly appreciated the horror and violence that was perpetrated?

The death of Father James signifies the rejection of an ongoing place for the church among us. The film makes sure we know that the tragedy of this has been felt, while still insisting there is no way around it. Yet there is one detail that disrupts this story. When the moment comes, Jack, Father James’s killer, cannot look him in the eye. He turns away in the critical instant. He cannot look him square in the face. In this, I think, lies a glimmer of hope: in the undeniable beauty of faithfulness, integrity and grace. We can only pray earnestly that God will grant those who feel the kind of rage and anguish we see in Calvary the grace to keep looking at what is good and true, rather than pulling the trigger.

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