Rev Sean O’Donnell to be ordained a priest in the parish of Derry this afternoon
THERE will be a packed congregation this afternoon in St Eugene’s Cathedral for the ordination of new priest in Derry.
Fr Sean O’Donnell will be ordained by the Bishop of Derry Donal McKeown at the 3 pm service.
Fr O’Donnell was ordained a deacon at Maynooth College last year.
Bishop McKeown says all are welcome for the service.
The 41-year-old hails from Muff, Co Donegal and is a former school bus driver.
Eight years ago he entered the seminary and also worked in the Maxol shop in Muff and as a duty manager in Derry’s Bowling Alley.
He will celebrate his first Mass on tomorrow night, June 15 in his native Muff.
In advance of Fr O’Donnell’s ordination, the Bishop has published a poem on his Facebook page.
The Priesting of Father John
They’ll be priesting him tomorrow, sure it’s a queer thing too,
For I mind the rascal he was, and the things he used to do.
Many’s the time I chased him, when the strawberries were ripe,
Though I own I never caught him, he was faster than a snipe.
He hit me with a snowball once, and that same very hand,
Will be blessing me the morrow, troth it’s hard to understand.
Long Richard from Kircubbin, who’s a sort of far out friend,
Is struttin’ round this fortnight back just like a hatchin’ hen
And McAlister from Cargie, whose no more to him than me,
Why you’d think to hear the talk of him he’d reared him on his knee.
Tom the tailor is nearly beat for hurrin’ on new suits,
And there’s powerful heavy buying on caps and yella boots,
The Square is thick with buntin’, man dear ’twill be a sight,
When the late bus from Downpatrick gets in the morra night.
Ould Canon Dan, God bless him, will be fussin’ fit to burst,
And the women beatin’ t’other to get the blessin’ first.
But Canon, or no Canon, and I’d say it to his face,
For all his bit of purple on, he’ll take the second place.
Shure even if the Bishop come, with yon big mitre on
He’ll never get the welcome, that we’ll give to Fr. John.
Ah, the pains are at me constant now, I seldom cross the floor,
But I’m crossin’ it the morra, should I never cross it more.
Quit your scoldin’ Julia, and saying I’m not wise,
Sure the sight of him will ease me heart and gladden me auld eyes.
It won’t be easy bendin’, for these auld knees will hurt,
But I’ll get down there before him, even in the mud and in the dirt,
And if I get a chance at all, I’ll whisper in his ear,
Och, I’ll do it nice and easy like, so no-one else will hear.
“If anything should happen me, before you go away,
There’s no-one but yourself I want to shrive me for the clay.
The Canon mightn’t like it, for he’s still hale and strong,
And I’m sure if he anointed me he wouldn’t do it wrong.
But I’d just feel more contented, if the hand that helped me go,
Was the hand that threw the snowball, nearly twenty years ago.”
