Through Different Eyes: Rediscovering Jesus and Christian faith

By Brendan McCarthy

Through Different Eyes presents a refreshing approach to exploring life’s intricate questions that often defy simple answers. Unlike many books in its genre, this thought-provoking work does not aim to provide definitive solutions to profound inquiries like the existence of God, the identity of Jesus, or the stance of Christians on abortion rights. Instead, it invites readers to embark on a personal journey of introspection, empowering them to form their own perspectives on these and other compelling subjects.

Within the pages of this enlightening book, readers will find a captivating map of ideas shaped by the author’s diverse experiences within Catholic, Evangelical, and Liberal circles. Drawing from a rich tapestry of literary forms, including narratives, discussions, parables, and poetry, Through Different Eyes captivates and engages readers on multiple levels.

A truly unique contribution to ongoing debates, this book embraces the complexity and nuances of life’s biggest questions, recognizing that definitive answers may elude us. However, it offers an invaluable opportunity to encounter profound questions that resonate deeply, encouraging readers to embark on further explorations of their own. Whether readers emerge with newfound clarity or a renewed desire to delve deeper, Through Different Eyes promises an enriching and thought-provoking experience that lingers long after the final page.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035809097

Book preview

About the Author

Brendan McCarthy was the Church of England’s National Policy adviser on medical ethics (2009–2023). He was a hospital chaplain and had served as a non-executive director of the Western Health and Social Care Trust. He was an adviser to the Parades’ Commission of Northern Ireland. He was also full-time rector of Ardtrea and Desertcreat parishes (1983–1990), Drumragh with Mountfield parishes (1990–1996) and Senior Leader of Omagh Community Centre (1996–2010). He has been part-time Priest-in-Charge of the Swanlinbar group of parishes (2010–2014) and the Manorhamilton group of parishes (2014–2018).

His passions include family, writing, history and football.

Dedication

To my wife, Hilary; and my children; Cara, Caolan, Erin and Michael; their partners, Niall and Kate; and their children, Edie and Timothy.

Copyright Information ©

Brendan McCarthy 2024

The right of Brendan McCarthy to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

The story, experiences, and words are the author’s alone.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035809080 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035809097 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.co.uk

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

To my wife, Hilary, for her help with the text of this book.

Part One

The Gospel

Westlight

Children look to the dawn

Fearful of the night

And dying souls

Hopeful of one more day

But we are no longer children

And should not dread the dusk

Or cling to morning sunshine

When life and faith were fresh

It is evening only if we choose

To look towards the West

Rooted where we stand

And let the shadows lengthen

The light has not grown dim

It is seeking new horizons

And we must travel with it

For we must travel on

It’s Personal

Things Come in Threes

Within the space of a few months – from 8th December 2016 – three things happened that had an unexpected and significant impact on my psychological and spiritual wellbeing.

I cannot say if one of them, or a combination of any two, would have had the same effect; in my case, things really did come in threes.

The first was the death of my father. He was 87 when he died and had lived a good life with a secure evangelical faith that had sustained him since he had moved from Catholicism in his mid-forties.

Like many fathers and sons, our relationship was complex and had oscillated in quality and intensity through the decades. I was unprepared for the way his death rocked me: too many things unsaid, undone. I mourned as much for what had not been as for what had been lost.

In the following February, I turned 60 with a flurry of good wishes, presents and a new decade to face full of family, friends and opportunities.

I was unprepared for the way in which I reacted to this personal milestone. It made me aware for the first time of my mortality. Perhaps because it came hot on the heels of my father’s death, the impact was greater than it otherwise would have been.

I began to wake each morning with an unsettling sense of the transitory nature of life, of our accomplishments, of our hopes and aspirations.

Then, in the spring, I received some good news. For four years, I had been part-time Priest-in-Charge of a group of small parishes in beautiful County Leitrim in the Republic of Ireland.

I loved the role which I carried out alongside my ‘real’ job as the National Adviser on Medical Ethics to the Church of England.

The parishioners and I were informed that my contract had been extended indefinitely. We enjoyed a strong bond and we celebrated accordingly.

A few weeks later, I was told that I would be replaced by a Bishop’s Curate. It came as a bolt from the blue and I was stunned. It was the final blow and the final straw. I have no idea why the combination of these three events had the effect that they did.

I had faced greater personal and professional traumas in the past and had taken them in my stride. No doubt there was enough going on beneath the surface to keep an army of psychologists and psychiatrists going for a decade.

The result was that I felt as if I had been spiritually and emotionally hollowed out. I began the quest to be filled out again. I had no idea where that journey was going to take me.

Losing the Will

For the first few weeks after my departure from the parishes, I quite enjoyed the unusual experience of having free weekends; ‘So this is how most people live,’ I thought.

The novelty wore off after a while, but no desire returned to get out of bed on Sunday mornings to attend a Church service. Instead, I began a weekly blog, titled ‘Sunday Comment’ which, I confess, has helped to fuel me over the years.

I have some idea from the website’s statistics of how many people read it each week, but in truth, I would have written it even if no one had ever turned to it. I am, of course, grateful to all those who continue to read it and for their often very kind comments.

It helped to know that some others benefitted from my musings, but the blog was, in part, displacement therapy for me; not entirely so, as I still continue to write it!

After decades of delivering sermons, the thought of being silent would have been a cut too deep.

I was still enjoying my work with the Church of England where I had friendly, stimulating colleagues and a supportive and generous boss.

The reason I had sought part-time parish work in Ireland, however, was that my job did not burn any pastoral calories. More than that, it did not involve engaging with the spiritual, mystical aspects of life. Community and spirituality, people and God had been part of my life for almost 40 years.

I had in my mind the intention of looking for another small parish in which to minister once I had gathered myself and my thoughts. I soon discovered that I was having difficulty doing either. As much as I tried, I couldn’t manage to motivate myself to attend a Church service, never mind to think of ministering in a parish.

I entered an ecclesiastical limbo in which, apart from being a guest preacher in a couple of Churches, I did not attend Sunday services.

While in London, I would sometimes attend Evensong at Westminster Abbey or sit quietly in a Quaker meeting, but I was under no illusion that this came even close to being part of a worshipping community.

In truth, my soul was not faring very well. My mind was working overtime. Not for the first time in my life, I felt that I needed to conduct a thorough review of what I believed in order to find a platform for spiritual momentum and