He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother: Young Peter Hartnett and the Grace of Intercession
We have arrived again at the eleventh day of November—Martinmas—the feast of Saint Martin of Tours, soldier, monk, and bishop. Our thoughts at Silverstream turn once again to our little heavenly friend, Peter Gerard Joseph Hartnett, who entered eternal life on this day thirty-six years ago.
In previous years on Martinmas, we have reflected upon Peter’s childlike simplicity and his love for the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. We also recounted his mother’s heroic Fiat at the Grotto of Lourdes, where her surrender to God’s will “won” three more years with her precious son.
Peter captured our hearts at the monastery nearly a decade ago when we first heard from his parents the story of his words to the nurse: “My cough is my cross. What’s yours?” The more we heard recounted the stories of his life, the more we realised that special graces of holiness had been given to him, even though he was so young. Since then, we have been commemorating his anniversary each year.
Holiness is a work of grace, a fact that is all the more evident when we encounter holiness in a child. A child’s soul can, indeed, be particularly receptive to the workings of grace, given the right circumstances, and yet it is always God who takes the initiative in bringing about holiness. He is never passive with regard to His creation, never the God of the deists, never the clock-maker God. With Peter, it seems that God was leading him, revealing to him his path during his seven years, between 3 July 1983 and 11 November 1990.
“I Must Pray More Myself”
God’s active role in leading Peter by grace can be seen from an event that happened during one of Peter’s stays at Harefield Hospital in England for heart and lung assessments. During this time, his mother, Yvonne, used to lighten the atmosphere by taking him on “fun expeditions” within the hospital. One day, they were on their way down the hall when Peter looked at her and spoke. “Mum,” he said, “God the Father spoke to me.”
“Really?” replied his mother.
“Yes,” came the simple answer. “He told me that everyone is praying for me. And that is good. But I must pray more myself.”
After they had returned home to Ireland, to the house they then lived in across from Our Lady Queen of Peace in Bray, County Wicklow, Peter’s grandmother (who had been looking after the other children) wanted to say something. She waited until Peter had gone up to bed, and then said to Peter’s mother: “I hope I won’t upset anyone, but a thought came to me,” she said. “We are all saying prayers, but I wondered if Peter should say more himself?”
The very same inspiration had come to his grandmother that the seven-year-old boy said he had received in the hospital corridor! Could not God have been indicating through this some of His intentions? Could God have been indicating that He wished to give Peter the grace of intercession?
Carried Up the Mountain
The Little Flower taught the doctrine of spiritual childhood, that if one is very little and becomes like a little child, Jesus’ own arms will become the elevator that raises him up to heaven. She knew that for most people the spiritual life is like climbing a mountain. In fact, the image of the spiritual life as climbing a mountain is ubiquitous—Saint John of the Cross even entitled one of his four major treatises “The Ascent to Mount Carmel”! But if the spiritual life is climbing a mountain, if you are very small and very weak, you can truly be carried up the mountain.
Peter experienced this.
In March 1990, the doctors delivered the verdict that nothing more could be done for Peter and that he might not live until Christmas. The Hartnett family turned to pilgrimage and prayer. That August, Peter was offered a ticket to go on a pilgrimage alongside a group of fourth-year students from Saint Michael’s College, Dublin, led by his father. Peter was enthused to go, and when he returned, he declared not only how much he would like to repeat the pilgrimage, but that he certainly wanted to be a priest.
But on the pilgrimage, Peter became easily exhausted. Since he was so small and so weak, it was perfectly natural that he be carried everywhere he went. As they climbed together, the lads prayed for him, and then sometimes they would sing the 1969 song: “He ain’t heavy—he’s my brother!”
A Brother to Priests and Seminarians
The gifts and call of God are irrevocable (Rom 11:29). Peter was not given the grace of becoming a priest, and yet, like Marcel Van, he had a priestly heart. Hence he offered his sufferings for priests. God wished to carry him up the mountain to become an intercessor. Though the Lord called Peter home on 11 November 1990 before he could ever stand at the altar, surely his love for the priesthood did not end at the grave.
On the back of his memorial card, beneath the words “My Cross is my cough, what’s yours?”, stands the prayer that defined his final months: “Jesus, Mary, save souls, save priests’ souls; I repeat this act of love a thousand times with every heartbeat and every breath.”
In the years following his death, his mother began a quiet apostolate of privately sending copies of Peter’s memorial card—each accompanied by a tiny, unblessed snip of fabric from his First Holy Communion tie—to priests who were elderly, sick, discouraged, or burdened by the weight of their ministry. Is it too much to presume that Peter has been praying for these priests? In fact, we know of at least one account of a great favour received that was in part attributed to Peter’s intercession.
Peter has proven faithful to his promise of intercession. His younger brother, Father Anthony, born after Peter passed into eternity, would later enter seminary and be ordained 9 June 2024. Bishop Alan McGuckian said on that occasion: “We know [Peter] will intercede for Anthony today.” Peter’s mum says she saw Peter appear at her hospital bed before Anthony was born to reassure her, “It will be alright, Mum.”
Perhaps a word of reassurance like this is what Peter wants to say to many priests, seminarians, and mothers whose sons have priestly vocations.
“This Christmas and Always”
At Christmas 1990, just weeks after Peter’s passing, his family received a touching consolation—a “Postcard from Heaven” given to her by an old lady who was a very devout parishioner in Our Lady Queen of Peace. The lady gave the postcard when his mother’s grief overwhelmed her. It bore a simple message of gratitude and promise: “Thank you Mum, Dad, and all my family for your love and kindness to me while on Planet Earth. I love you all very much, with Jesus and Mary. I will be with you all, also Fr. Doyle, Fr. Cahill, Fr. Molloy and all in the Parish, this Christmas and always.”
As we celebrate Saint Martin—whose antiphon at Lauds reminds us, “If I be still needful to Thy people, I refuse not to work”—we recognise that, far from Peter being no longer needful on earth, it is rather that
Being perfected in a short time, he fulfilled a long time, for his soul pleased God: therefore He hastened to bring him out of the midst of iniquities…the grace of God and His mercy is with His holy ones, and He hath respect to His chosen. (Wisdom 4:13-15)
Perhaps now the Lord has perfected the grace of intercession He wished to give to Peter. Perhaps now, from the heights of heaven, the lad who offered every cough and every heartbeat for priests continues to walk beside them, telling them, with Sister Clare Crockett, “If you can no longer walk, I will carry you,” and whispering to each wearied soul carrying his heavy cross: You ain’t heavy—you’re my brother.
