Fr Brian D’Arcy: ‘Sinéad O’Connor has become a saint...she would not be impressed’

It’s 15 years since I last met her. Both of us have morphed into different people – different persons inhabiting the same bodies.

I am not the same person. From watching Sinéad I realised she too matured into a vulnerable woman and mother.

Her life became a search for meaning and love. The journey was never easy but I pray it was worthwhile.

In the intervening years, a priest’s opinions have become irrelevant. Sinéad’s views and attitudes are the soundtracks to modern Ireland. Since her death, she has become a latter-day saint. Honestly, the Sinéad I knew would not be impressed.

People seem to need to make saints and sinners of us all.

Her life seemed lonely because so few even bothered to affirm her as a human being while she was still with us.

I admired Sinéad, even though she challenged my role and my opinions. Her singing voice though, is the most otherworldly, angelic instrument ever recorded.

I admired her innate, anti-cultural attitudes. Her criticisms of religions were fundamentally valid and prescient.

She understood religion in itself is often an addiction, especially for those who make a career out of vocation. Religious groups create their own gods that they can control for their own ends. They often make it impossible for ordinary people to have meaningful relationships with the genuine God of compassion, love and mercy.

I remember her laughing at the ironies in her life. She was born on December 8 – the feast of the Immaculate Conception in the Catholic Church. She then played the Virgin Mary in the film Butcher Boy. Did God get his casting wrong?

When she appeared as a priest – dressed very clerically – she took the name Mother Bernadette, the saint of Lourdes.

The moment that defined her life in the public’s memory was ripping up a picture of Pope John Paul II on Saturday Night Live. She said she did it to highlight institutional violence towards women. More importantly, she pointed the finger at the Vatican as being ultimately responsible for the sexual abuse of children in the world.

Sinéad was the victim of abuse herself as was I; we had different experiences of abuse but remained damaged by the abuse.

The picture she tore up was one that hung in her mother’s home throughout her childhood.

Her mother, she said, abused her emotionally and physically for years. Sinéad, understandably, associated the picture with child abuse. She ripped the picture in October 1992, declaring “Fight the real enemy.”

That was just before the F Brendan Smyth scandals highlighted child abuse in the Church here in Ireland. She was indeed prophetic.

From the early ’90s, I was convinced the Vatican was covering up the abuse while publicly criticising individual hierarchies across the world for not doing their job.

It was the worst kind of hypocrisy. It was bad enough that clerics abused children. It was worse that leaders, up to and including the Vatican, covered up the abuse. Their careers were deemed more important than innocent children’s lives.

Sinéad was cruelly ostracised for her courageous exposition of the truth. She also criticised America’s warmongering. That proved her unforgivable sin for America’s Republican Right Wing.

Some years later I, in my own insignificant way, wrote in this paper that the Vatican covered up the truth about the sexual abuse of children by priests and religious orders.

I pointed out the obvious truth that the Pope himself had to change the governance of the Church to convince us he was serious about outing abuse. That resulted in the Vatican’s attempt to silence me, threatening me with excommunication if I continued to tell the truth. It was a tough time for me; friends and colleagues disappeared down rabbit holes.

It was nothing compared to what happened to Sinéad. I don’t know how she survived it – or if she did.

She wrote about the loneliness of rejection after the Saturday Night Live incident: “When I walked backstage, literally not a human being is in sight. All doors have closed. Everyone has vanished.”

She was booed for a solid two minutes when she was introduced at the Madison Square Gardens by Kris Kristofferson during a Bob Dylan tribute concert 13 days later. Kristofferson came to her aid and comforted Sinead beautifully.

Some time later there was an awards show in Dublin. I was there, as was Kris Kristofferson. I am an incurable Kristofferson fan; I went straight up to him backstage. We had a short chat during which I thanked him for being kind to Sinéad in Madison Square. He told me that not many people thanked him for helping her.

I had spoken to Sinéad earlier and I mentioned to Kris that she was in the auditorium. Immediately, he asked if he could meet her. I made my way back to Sinéad to tell her that he would like to meet her.

“Where is he?” she asked excitedly.

I pointed her in his direction. She shot up through the crowd. She couldn’t get there quickly enough. She was deliriously happy, brushing everyone aside.

Kris opened his arms and gave her a long, loving hug, just as he had done at Madison Square. They hugged forever; there were tears in Kristofferson’s eyes and they disappeared into a corner to talk. It was the happiest I ever saw Sinéad O’Connor.