A REFLECTION ON FORBIDDEN FRUIT by Fr Joe McDonald

To speak the truth is a difficult task. To speak the truth in love is not only difficult but is, in my experience, rarely achieved. This is a hard hitting piece of work but it is not a tirade. Henry does not pull his punches, nor does he put the boot in – though if he had done, many would argue, with considerable justification, that it would be well deserved by the church.

This is a serious book about a serious topic, but it avoids harshness. I think one of its greatest strengths, which is also a key reason why it does not descend into mudslinging, is that the author also manages to avoid caricature. In so doing, and in his undertakings with real people, he acknowledges the complexity of much of the material under examination.

This is a special book and indeed a book of significance. It will prove an important text for many, and what might be surprising is how it will speak to many disparate groups. Three groups in particular come to mind. Firstly, given the book’s title and subject matter, I expect the many people who have been hurt, and in a multiplicity of ways, will be drawn with little need of encouragement to read this book. They will not be disappointed. Another group, perhaps, will be those ‘somewhere in the middle’, who know next to nothing about how the church is internally, and indeed less about how the church made a right mess of things, especially in the area of sexuality. Neither will this group be disappointed. The third group I believe will be drawn to this book is the people who, despite all that has happened, simply have to, in varying degrees, hang on to their love for the church. Strange as it may seem nor will this group be disappointed. How can this be? How can a book written on such sensitive subject matter have such a broad appeal?

Precisely because this book is brave. It is considered, thought provoking and real. Perhaps it is the fact that the author interviewed over thirty priests and sought out salient aspects of their stories that lends its distinctively authentic hue. This is a broader piece of work than one might initially expect. Yes, it unapologetically discusses the church and certainly does not shirk the many troublesome flashpoints, but it does so in the context of contemporary Ireland. Declan Henry’s style is discursive and very engaging and I can honestly say if it was twice the size I would have been thrilled to invest in the time and effort of reading. This book brings about clear rewards. I felt a number of times that it would serve as an excellent primer for all those engaging in the increasingly popular study of the survival of the church in a secular age – but it is much more. In fact we are taken on a journey akin to the Via Crucis, and experience the shame and degradation that was both the lot of the Crucified Saviour, and in recent times that of much of the contemporary church. However, in the words of the good thief ‘in our case we deserved it’, we are reminded of the fragility of our condition, and indeed the human aspects of being church. When I turned the final page and closed the cover of Forbidden Fruit I felt a surge of hope. This is fresh. It is real. In my own journey – which has taken me on a constant oscillation between righteous rage at, and passionate defence of the church – seldom have I encountered a voice like Henry’s. Yes, he uses the scalpel and, yes, he lances and indeed treats several ecclesial maladies, but he does so with compassion. In wielding a scalpel with compassion, and speaking the truth in love, Declan Henry has done us some service, whether we are in the church, not sure any more, or long gone from it. Henry’s service also includes that he did not leave us atop Calvary Hill but, albeit tentatively, has dared to sketch the little chink of light breaking through on Easter morn.