Will Heaven

This Notebook column was first published in The Catholic Herald on 6th June, 2008

My older, cooler brother rang me the other day with a funny story. He and his rock band, “Rocketeer”, had been playing a gig somewhere off Oxford Street. The evening had gone well and when the band’s set finished, they decided to head to a nightclub in Soho. They did the usual rock band thing: ring ahead, pretend they were important, and hope to get the VIP treatment – or at least be allowed to jump the queue. “It usually works a treat”, laughed my brother.

But on arrival, the club had shut its doors. They were too late and a short, angry-looking Irishman blocked their entry. “No”, he said to their (now rather drunken) pleas, “I don’t care who you are. You’re not coming in.”

“We’ve spoken to the owner”, the lead singer persisted.

“No you haven’t”, replied the Irishman, “because I am the owner.”

“Er, we’ll buy you a drink”, tried the bass player.

“No, you won’t. Because I don’t drink,” said not-going-to-budge club owner.

Admittedly a little surprised to meet a teetotal Irishman, my brother then asked if the club owner was Catholic.

“Yes”, he answered, “staunch.”

Now my brother had found common ground – most of Rocketeer went to Catholic schools – so he tried to exploit it. “We’re all Catholic too, you know. Go on, let your fellow Catholics in.” The club owner roared with laughter: “Yeah, sure guys. An English Catholic rock band! Give up and go home.”

By now it had started to rain. The band were feeling despondent, and they realised that the owner was not going to give way. But, ever resourceful, my brother had an idea.

He began to confidently intone the Credo III:“Credo in unum Deum…” The Irishman, it seemed, might let them in if he believed they were Catholic. So there was only one thing for it. The band loudly followed: “Patrem omni potentem, factorem caeli et terrae…”

By the time they got to “ante omnia saecula” the Irishman relented. Accepting their Catholicism and no doubt taking pity, the door was opened and Rocketeer were ushered, grinning, to the VIP section. Hardly rock ‘n’ roll. But it got me thinking: if put on the spot, how can you prove convincingly that you’re a Catholic? Clearly singing the Credo outside a Soho nightclub is one good approach. There must be others, too.

Incidentally, my brother phoned me yesterday in a state of excitement. Rocketeer have been asked to play at the Glastonbury Festival later this month – though I doubt they’ll be singing the Credo.
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After complaining in my last column about our Church’s softly, softly approach to vocations, I was thrilled to hear of the New York Archdiocese’s latest recruitment campaign. It is called “The World Needs Heroes” and is well designed, unlike anything I’ve seen over here, to appeal to brave young men.

The Leeds Diocese vocations calendar, I mentioned, showed us priests doing DIY, reading celebrity magazines, and watching a baseball game. But a New York campaign video shows us priests in truly difficult situations – a 17th century priest about to be martyred, a modern-day padre administering the last rites to a marine, a priest talking one-to-one with a prisoner.

Interestingly, the campaign also targets Catholic parents because, let’s face it, mum and dad are still big influences on single young men. So, the archdiocese has received “dozens” of applications to the seminary. After his visit it’s proof, perhaps, of this Pope’s appeal to young Catholics. But it also shows that the whole Church can speak a language which appeals to its youth. And it’s not patronising or indulging. It’s a firm language which challenges and inspires.

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