Diary of a Gen Z Student: Enough guilt — time for the bell to toll on The Angelus

Jane Cowan in the Shelbourne Hotel, Dublin Photograph Moya Nolan

I had this fear — back when I was a decent, God-fearing Catholic — that I would someday, forget all of my prayers. 

This fear reached its peak when I was about eight years old, making my Communion. 

I had a vision of myself at 80 years of age unable to receive Holy Communion because I couldn’t remember the right prayer.

Between that, and saying yes to the dress, second class was a particularly high-stress year. 

Having to lie about sins I had committed to get through my First Holy Confession was a low point. 

But at least the lying gave me something factual to work into my second Holy Confession. There is a God.

Now, the only ounce of Catholic left in me is cultural. Catholic, in the toaster on the kitchen counter, sense of the word. 

Begging St Anthony to send me the lip liner in the bottom of my handbag when I’m on a night out. 

That sort of stuff. But if I could go back and tell my eight- year-old self not to worry about the words to different prayers, I would. 

Because no amount of amnesia or brain rotting TikTok scrolling could possibly dull my memory of those prayers.

REFLEX AND RELICS

This is particularly apparent when I’m watching the news or listening to the radio at midday or 6pm. 

Because the second the Angelus starts playing, there is not an atheistic bone in my body. 

I’m fairly certain it’s a reflex. Like saying ‘bless you’ when someone sneezes. I can’t bloody help it. 

Maybe it’s written in the genetics, but I simply can’t listen to the soporific Angelus bell without breaking into prayer. I don’t think I’m alone in that.

A friend of mine learnt the Angelus prayer as a song during her school days; she still sings it on command.

I understand why the Angelus became a regular part of Irish media in the 1950s. 

Producers have a serious amount of airtime to fill. And they didn’t have Taylor Swift’s discography back then.

But like many relics of Ireland’s past, we’ve been slow to shift the Angelus away from our national broadcaster’s airwaves. 

It was only in 2018 that it became legal for pubs to open on Good Friday. Even so, it’s still surprising to me that the Angelus has survived this long on RTÉ. 

Cancel culture throughout the 2010s annexed so many things from our lives, deserving and less so.

All the while, the Angelus wriggled its way through, escaping our grasp. So, maybe we should be taking a closer look at it.

ALTERNATIVES

I get it, old habits die hard. But I’m not asking RTÉ to quit smoking. Just to come up with an alternative for those 60 seconds of airtime. 

Don’t worry, I’m a solutions kind of guy. So, I’ve come equipped with suggested alternatives. 

Firstly, you could play 60 seconds of Hot To Go, by Chappell Roan. 

Unlike Mass, I’ve never seen someone come away from a bit of Chappell Roan feeling worse about themselves. 

I can think of no one more suited than Chappell to substitute God. 

Alternatively, I would appreciate 60 seconds of trivia. Everybody loves a quiz. And general knowledge has no spiritual associations that I can think of. 

Need I say more? If those aren’t suitable, 60 seconds of silence may suffice. Peace and quiet really does go a long way.

BETTER SOLUTIONS

You may think I’m a radical lefty hooligan for suggesting this. 

But maybe I’m just a person who thinks it odd to have a diverse population pay TV licence fees, and then privilege any one set of beliefs with the use of those fees. 

If you’re into the Angelus you can watch it for free on YouTube until you’re blue in the face. 

But, if like the majority of the country, you’re not going to Mass on Sundays, you might enjoy a non-religious national broadcaster. 

Because saying that those who aren’t interested can just ignore it for those 60 seconds isn’t a great solution to a problem. 

Like the kids being told to do extra maths while the rest of the class praises Jesus, it’s not exactly inclusive.

On a more selfish note, I have plenty of Catholic guilt to keep my brain occupied, without adding my Angelus-induced chanting into the mix. It’s involuntary.

And there are only 24 hours in a day. I can’t spend the rest of my life reciting the same prayers I learnt when I was eight. 

Well, I can. But I’d rather not. Second class was a gruelling time for me.