Country Living with Francis Farragher

Okay, so I admit that it can be boring to keep harping on about the passing of time, but it only seems like yesterday when the editor of this esteemed publication [it’s in my contract to say that!] asked me to write a piece about our new Pope. The reason for his request was quite obvious in that like another 50 or so million people around the world, my Christian name provided the rather tenuous connection.

For a few hours, even a day or two, around mid-March, 2013, my life seemed to change a little with the arrival of a series of texts and public house greetings that noted the elevation of my name, following the white smoke from the Vatican that heralded the arrival of our new church leader.

When the late Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio chose the name Francis on that particular date, March 13, 2013, it at last sorted out, once-and-for-all, a little name predicament that had always been part of my life.

To be honest, it never bothered me too much but from parents, school friends, work colleagues, aunties and occasionally cross teachers, I had to respond to many different variations of Francis . . . Francie, Frannie, Fran, Frank, Phonsie and even Fransheen . . . but when Cardinal Bergoglio took on the ‘full and proper’ version of the name, that eventually made my mind up. Now, it was Francis, and nothing else. [Not to be taken too seriously!].

I’m told by people who know far more about religion than I do, that our late religious leader was influenced greatly in his name choice by the work and good deeds of St. Francis of Assisi, the founder of the Franciscan Order and the Poor Clares, who cast aside all his worldly possession to devote his life to God and looking after the poor. He was also reputed to be a man close to nature with a love of birds and animals.

In the week before Easter, I read pieces from a full-page advertisement that appeared in this publication, obviously coming from a very devout and sincere believer, where she referred to the souls that had become lukewarm, and I kind of thought to myself, that I slipped into that category. Neither hot nor cold . . . submerged at times by doubt and on other occasions then refreshed by trinkets of Christian hope.

Pictured: Pope Francis visiting a prison in Rome on Holy Thursday just four days before his death.