A bit of Irish Catholic humour

The first full week of 2016 has not been pleasant or funny. Muslims invading not just Europe but America, stock markets in meltdown around the world, crazy North Koreans threatening to blow us to Kingdom Come... and of course the weather. We need something to make us smile, and what better than a couple of stories about priests from the Ould Sod. Walt sends these out with a smile for Agent 9.

The Roman Catholic parish priest of a Belfast church was amazed to find two bigoted and drunken Orangemen outside his window at 2 a.m. "What do you want?" he called.
"Well, we wanted ye to tell us if it was tha Pope that called the Ecumenical council?"
"Look, come back in the morning and I'll discuss it when you're sober."
"Sure when we're sober, we don't give a damn about the Pope!"

Father Slevin stopped Mick on his way into the church. "Mick, could you come back tomorrow night for confession? We have hundreds in the church at the moment. You haven't committed a murder since the last time, have you?"
"Indeed I haven't, Father. I'll come back tomorrow night."
On his way out he met Declan. "Go home, Declan, and come back tomorrow. They're only hearing the murderers tonight."

Father O'Leary had given a long sermon to his congregation and he was apologizing to Padraig Corcoran.
"Don't apologize at all, Father," said Padraig with a grin. "Sure you've done a lot to shorten to winter."

The Protestant minister was impressed when he was shown over Father Quinn's new residence. "You know," he said, "this is far better than what my wife and I have at the parsonage."
"That's logical," replied Father Quinn. "Protestant ministers have better halves and Catholic priests have better quarters."

The little boy had been sitting close to the confession box door for a long time before Father Casey noticed him.
"Have you been listening to confessions all evening?" thundered the priest.
"Oh no, Father! I'm only here since the woman who slept with the sailor came out!"

And one more, not involving a priest, just an ordinary Irishman.

With two ingots of lead, one under each arm, Connor came down the gangplank of the cargo ship. Suddenly he slipped and fell into the water. As he came up for the first time, he called for a rope. Then he went down and came up again.
"Throw me a rope in the name of the seven saints of Aran," he yelled, and then went down once more.
He was about to sink once more when he made a final plea. "If yiz don't throw me a rope, I'll let go the lead!"