Opinion

Jarlath Kearney: My friend Fr Des Wilson was a shepherd in fiercest storms

Fr Des Wilson and Noelle Ryan on Springhill Avenue July 1990 Picture Jarlath Kearney
Fr Des Wilson and Noelle Ryan on Springhill Avenue July 1990 Picture Jarlath Kearney Fr Des Wilson and Noelle Ryan on Springhill Avenue July 1990 Picture Jarlath Kearney

In July 1990, when I was 17, I captured this photograph of Fr Des Wilson and Noelle Ryan, as they strolled up Springhill Avenue in Ballymurphy, the shaggy tail of their dog Husky brushing the bottom of frame.

This photograph was used in the order of service for Des’s funeral on Saturday, along with his remark: “A single person can inspire, uphold and make happy a host of others.”

Thirty years on, at almost the same spot where the photograph had been taken, I helped to lift Des’s remains down Springhill Avenue towards Corpus Christi chapel for requiem mass. A circle of love folded around a lifetime of connections.

Saturday’s beautiful funeral service, from Fr Paddy and Fr Joe, brought to life Des’s values of dignity and grace and laughter – in word and in spirit, in deed and in prayer. People from all creeds and classes celebrated in communion with Des’s two families; on his right, his loving nieces and nephews, and other close relatives; on his left, his faithful community of brothers and sisters from Springhill Community House.

As someone who built ecumenical bridges between faiths here in the 1960s, (sadly, burned by others), the attendance of clergy from across denominations, like Harold Good, Brian Smeaton, Bishop Treanor, was a reminder of Des’s unfinished work about transforming our relationships.

Many tributes were forthcoming about Des, including heartfelt words from President Michael D Higgins praising his vocation for a better, equal, peaceful society.

Most people knew that Des was a brilliant writer, a gift he nourished in numerous publications, books, pamphlets, plays, letters, campaigns and newspaper columns (at one point inheriting shares in The Irish News).

But he was also a lesser known – though no less enthusiastic - photographer. Film photography probably appealed to the spiritual scientist of his sharp mind.

Though rarer now, the process of film photography involves looking at a situation; weighing up the interplay of light and perspective with people and places; managing the right camera settings; then clicking the shutter to capture the image in negative. Only through a process of systematic development can negative be transformed into positive, with the final photograph being created.

Film photography (as with good writing) is about self-awareness, observation, patience, insight, practise, and ultimately transformation. These elements were at the heart of Des’s approach, especially his ability to empower a whole person through human dignity and the power of independent thought.

While he could credibly challenge any authority, he was also a pragmatic problem-solver - willing to speaking with anyone, on any side of society. Des insisted that differing politics should never come between friendships. He didn’t just preach inclusion. He lived it, without hypocrisy.

For my family, and for me personally, Des was a shepherd in fiercest storms, a North Star during bleakest nights. In recent years, he and I talked often and long. He was fond of saying ‘when circumstances change, we can change our minds’ - always teaching the positive importance of transformation, even writing his own blog until a few months ago.

Last October, he critiqued those in the public sphere who define others (and therefore themselves) through negativity and abuse: “Often we find to our surprise that we love the things and people we criticise, so our criticism needs to have a culture, even a special quality, that says what we need to say but does not damage our neighbours.”

Wise and beautiful words from the most special of old souls, one of his great arts.

A couple of weeks after I’d taken this photograph, Des wrote me a cherished note: ‘May all your work be positive’.

I reminded him of that precious life guidance just a few short days before he died. I could see time shortening, and - as he slept - I gently reached over and whispered final words of goodbye, kissing my old friend’s cheek and marking the sign of the cross on his forehead. And as the sorest of tears began to drop, I thanked him again for everything, one last time.