Saturday night, around 9:00pm-
Beneath a ‘high-visibility’ reflective coat that glowed brightly from the streetlights above, a young man wore a dapper shirt, vest, and trousers combo that seemed to belong to a bygone era. Slowly, but confidently, he sauntered down the noisy, crowded lane that I stood upon. I watched in wonder as nervous tourists, loud partygoers, and loners with headphones that read, “I’m not one to be bothered,” parted like a stream around the rock of his presence. They made sure to turn their eyes the other way as they passed, but the man’s peaceful expression never faltered nor took offence.
What was most strange about the young man, however, was not his eclectic style. In fact, his appearance somehow tied the old and new worlds together; the modern cut of his vest and trousers fit his form like the new paving stones beneath him hugged the imperfections of the ancient street. It was something else about him that stood out and gained my attention, making him look as though he were a spirit or a living omen; In his right hand, hanging by his waist, swung a small, black lantern. The lantern’s light shone warmly on his reflective vest, contrasting the the harsh light from the street lamps above. And as my eyes followed him down the lane, the lantern seemed to turn the atmosphere in the street a little warmer, a bit more welcoming.
But wait, look! Someone in the crowd had broken rank, a fish had sprung from the stream and was now moving timidly toward him. The young man smiled and said something to him that I could not hear, but soon after the lantern bearer beckoned with his namesake toward a nearby side street and invited the stranger further. The reluctant lungfish of a man almost gasped as he seemed to question his initial decision to leave the safety of the stream. He looked to his friends for help as they waited anxiously nearby, but behold, he didn’t have to decide alone as his friends joined him and said they would go too. All together now, they followed their vested ferryman across the gutter and down the side street. But instead of asking for a donation, the young man reached into his shoulder bag and offered each of them a small, unlit candle, inviting them but never forcing them to take it. I, being drawn as well by this mystical event, followed at a distance and watched until I saw them disappear through the discrete entrance of a hidden church.
After a longer amount of time than I had expected, the school of strangers reemerged. They were now candleless, but they also seemed less burdened than when they had entered. They they smiled at their host and wished him well once more before heading out on their way. Moved by this encounter, I too would accept a candle that night and step inside the dark and quiet Church. I added my candle the carpet of flame on the ground, a collection woven by the many prayers and candles before me. It felt as though every flame were standing guard in the dark, taking comfort in each other’s presence. Finally, after finding peace in sharing God’s presence, I walked back out front and grabbed my own vest and handful of candles join the cause.
You will have to excuse my over-exaggerated retelling of something that actually happened to us this past week. But I mean it when I say that I felt as though I were suddenly in a dream or in an older version of Dublin. I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen someone genuinely use a lantern like this, except for power outages when I was a child. But this event was real, and it happened all night in downtown Dublin around St. Teresa’s Church with around 20 more garishly-vested volunteers handing out hundreds of candles.
The event was called Night Fever, and it is one of the many night-time events run by young Catholics that we have started to attend in order to support old friends and make new ones. The event only happens once a month, but I was told that it’s become a popular trend across Europe. We even had a volunteer from Spain who had attended the same event in his own hometown. Eventually myself and some of the other HoB members helped invite people in from the streets for an hour or two.
What I think I love most about this event though is the attitude and approach it takes toward reaching others. Public involvement with the Catholic Church can sometimes be a matter of conflict in a place like downtown Dublin nowadays. But the volunteers I worked with had no desire to make a scene, to call people out, or to start arguments with strangers. They merely invited them to experience a few minutes of prayer and contemplation. Most people said no thanks, and we genuinely wished them well anyways, but a few people surprised us. Those who accepted our invitation ranged from Americans visiting from abroad, businessmen and women on their way home, a few people of other faiths, and even some would-be-partyers in zebra-print pants. They all responded to our spirit of friendship first, and some said that they would love to come back again.
If there is something that I have learned from my own doubt-filled faith journey and now my time here with House of Brigid, it is that you can only reach people by first reaching their hearts, and that usually means meeting them wherever they are. Confronting people head on or with fierce accusations will only reaffirm their fears and does not display a spirit of mercy and empathy. For these reasons, I am incredibly grateful today to be a part of a group of volunteers who value that. Hopefully our spirit of honest invitation to events such as our Taizé nights, Sunday choir, or guest speakers will touch people’s hearts as well.
