Where's Yer Local?

"Praising God is thirsty business."  This bit of wisdom has been known to escape my lips from time to time, actually on both sides of the Atlantic.  So a critical part of our living in Dublin from 2016-2021 was determining where our local would be.  O'Donoghue's on Merrion Row?  Too touristy.  Temple Bar?  Too crowded with Yanks.  Cobblestone?  Well, now yer talking the real deal (I think the folks there were extras in The Lord of the Rings), but for the love of Mike, it's on the other side of the Liffey...  ya might as well walk to Malahide.  But The Hairy Lemon seemed just right.  It was right around the corner from the Gaiety Theatre, so an easy stroll through St. Stephen's Green – which was important on those frequent nights when you were thirsty but the heavens were unleashing their worst on the streets of Dublin 2.

Yer local was (and is) an important part of the culture.  Here you can ruminate about the state of politics (no matter what country you're from or what condition it's in; they're all in the trash heap).  You can have a heart to heart about how stupid American football is compared to the true genius – and utter danger – of Irish hurling.  Or you can just shut up and listen to music, or the banter of others, ninety-nine percent of which might just be pure gobshite.  

During our time in Dublin, following our Tuesday night services at Newman Church, a few respectful souls and myself, accompanied by my good woman herself, would make our way down to The Hairy Lemon.  Libations, wisdom, camaraderie, and sometimes even great cultural and historical achievements were shared.  The genius and the woes of the world were laid bare, all fortified by the mandatory pint.  

Tonight, for the first time in years, a few of our fellow parishioners gathered at this august watering hole, talked of years gone by, the beautiful regeneration of Newman University Church, the expansion of the sacred music choral program, the condition of the Irish Catholic Church (are you listening, Pope Leo?), and who might win the next All-Ireland.  The craic, as they say around here, was ninety.

The ministerial part of me (which is a big part) takes comfort in the fact that Jesus blessed both libations and such gatherings.  I never went to a pub alone – therefore, when two or three were gathered, the Savior of the world, I was assured, was in our midst.  

And that is a comforting thought, indeed.