We can remember without revering

In a freezing, empty church in Gorey on Thursday morning, I stood before a stunning work of art — a stained-glass window depicting St Stephen being stoned. The colours are beautifully rich, but most striking are the saint’s hands, both lifelike and ethereal.

A tiny signature is etched in the bottom corner: Harry Clarke. The window has an eerie 3D quality, but closer examination reveals it is buckling with age. That seems reasonable, for it has been there, as of this weekend, exactly 100 years.