Requiem Mass for Fr Michael Tate – 16 June 2026
St Mary’s Cathedral, Hobart
A very warm welcome to all of you who have come to St Mary’s Cathedral and those of you joining us online in Tasmania, across Australia and around the world in places like England, Italy, and Tanzania.
The funeral notice placed by the funeral director in Saturday’s paper announced this Requiem Mass as being for Rev. Professor the Honourable Father Michael Tate AO. Michael would have loved that. When he spent some time at Corpus Christi College some of the seminarians would insist on calling him, “Your Excellency” at every opportunity.
Those of you who have rung him on his mobile phone would know that his voicemail says: “You have rung Fr Tate.”
But no matter who you are, the funeral Mass peals away titles and prays for each one by the name given to them in baptism and the name by which friends call us. So, I am going to call him by the name that you will hear in all the prayers of this Mass, namely, Michael. It is the name that the Lord will call him when he is received into the halls of paradise.
Today this Cathedral is filled with gratitude, sorrow, and hope.
Gratitude for the life and priesthood of Father Michael Tate.
Sorrow because a great voice has fallen silent. A mind that illuminated public life and Church life for the better part of a century no longer speaks among us. A friend whose presence filled rooms, tables, conversations, and communities is no longer physically with us.
Yet hope remains. This is not simply optimism nor sentimentality but Christian hope. The hope that comes from the risen Christ.
The Book of Wisdom gives voice to that hope:
“The souls of the virtuous are in the hands of God, no torment shall ever touch them.”
Those words were written for days such as this. They acknowledge what we see: death, loss, grief. But they also proclaim what faith sees: that God’s love is stronger than death.
Throughout his life Michael was a man who loved truth.
He loved ideas because he believed ideas mattered. He believed that faith and reason belonged together. He believed that the Gospel had something important to say to every age. He delighted in exploring questions, making connections, opening new horizons, and helping others see the world in fresh ways.
Cardinal Timothy Radcliffe wrote to me last Tuesday evening commenting that Michael was a man “of remarkable intelligence and faith.”
Many knew him as a priest, pastor, scholar, teacher, diplomat, advocate, pilgrim, and visionary. Others knew him simply as Michael: a friend, a companion, a conversation partner whose curiosity seemed inexhaustible.
There are a few notable restaurants and cafes around here that are probably wondering how they will survive now that Michael will no longer occupy their seats for he was so generous in his hospitality to so many of us.
Michael’s personal generosity was not trumpeted but it was experienced here and overseas. Many people received help from Michael and never spoke about it publicly because Michael himself never spoke about it publicly. He simply saw a need and responded. He provided university scholarships here and for orphans, schools, convents, and water projects in Tanzania. Bishop Eusebius Kyando wrote that Michael “will always be remembered for his extraordinary generosity, faithfulness in communications, and honest friendship.”
Richard and Helen knew him as a loving brother, and his nieces Monica and Adele knew a cherished and supportive uncle. And the rising generations including James and Leila will be able to treasure and pass on the legend of Michael for years to come.
Michael was never content with easy answers. He challenged people. He encouraged them to think more deeply, pray more seriously, and engage more courageously with the world around them.
In recent years, the people of St Francis Xavier Parish and Sacred Heart New Town came to know him not through books or public achievements but through his regular presence among them. They experienced his kindness, his humour, his imagination, and his genuine but unsentimental love for the community entrusted to his care.
Everywhere one looks in the South Hobart parish one finds traces of Michael’s imagination and faith. The renewed hall. The beautiful images of Franciscan life that he brought from Assisi. The Buena Vista Apartments established in the former school. The Camino to Cygnet. Even his final dream — helping people discover not merely environmental responsibility but a spirituality of creation inspired by Saint Francis of Assisi.
Michael did not simply inherit communities. He imagined what they could become.
In the biblical text, the prophet Joel sees dreaming and visions as a sign of the activity of the Holy Spirit:
I will pour out my spirit … your sons and daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams and your young men see visions. (Joel 3:1).
Michael certainly dreamt and though he was blessed with four score in years he possessed the qualities of a visionary in the best sense of that word.
Visionaries often see possibilities that others cannot yet see. Michael was one of those people.
Yet the Gospel proclaimed today reminds us that the final measure of a life is not brilliance, achievement, influence, or success.
Michael possessed these in abundance.
Jesus speaks instead of the poor in spirit, the merciful, the peacemakers, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.
The Beatitudes reveal what God values.
And, that is why funerals are such moments of grace. They strip away many of the things that seem important and leave us standing before the essentials.
Before God, none of us presents academic qualifications or a CV.
We come as beloved children seeking mercy.
This is true of every one of us: Whether we be bishops, priests, or laity, saints, or sinners. And, it is true of Michael.
Today, though we honour him, we do not canonise him. The Church does not do that at funerals.
Rather, we commend him to the hands of God, trusting in the promises of Jesus Christ, whose love is greater than our weakness and “whose mercy endures forever.” (Ps 118, Ps 136)
Saint Paul speaks in today’s second reading of creation itself groaning in labour pains while awaiting redemption. We know something of that groaning today. We feel it in our grief and our loss.
Paul, however, does not end with groaning. He ends with hope. He writes of the glory, which is waiting for us, which is waiting for Michael.
That hope is echoed in the beautiful words we shall soon pray:
“Indeed for your faithful, Lord, life is changed not ended, and, when this earthly dwelling turns to dust, an eternal dwelling is made ready for them in heaven.” (Preface for the Dead I).
Those words are not poetry. They are Christian conviction.
The man we knew as Michael has passed through death into the hands of the God whom he served for so many years.
And the Church firmly believes that Jesus Christ, who conquered death, remains faithful to his promises.
Later in this Eucharist we shall pray that “the Lord will transform our lowly body after the pattern of his own glorious body.” (Eucharistic Prayer III) We entrust Michael with his long-wounded body to the Lord “who is faithful in all his words and loving in all his deeds.” (Ps 145:13).
The hymns chosen for this morning’s funeral are among Michael’s favourites. And if you think about them, they sum up his life as they speak of divine love that gathers us, of priestly service offered for God’s people, of vision fixed firmly upon the Lord, and of the camino of life being undertaken in faith, hope and love which finds its destination in the Father’s home above.
There was a lovely picture of Michael in the Mercury with the pilgrim shell around his neck. (There is another on the back of the Mass books).
Like all of us, he was a pilgrim.
He walked many roads: the roads of priesthood, scholarship, diplomacy, politics, parish life, friendship, and service. Some roads were smooth. Some were difficult. Some led him across continents. Others led him deep into the hearts of people.
And every pilgrimage ultimately seeks one destination: the Father’s house.
Today our final word is not grief, nor is it accomplishment, nor even memory.
Our final word is Christ.
When Archbishop Adrian Doyle ordained Michael as priest in this Cathedral, he prayed for him, “May the Lord who has begun this good work in you bring it to fulfilment.”
Today, again in this Cathedral, another Archbishop stands at the end of Michael’s earthly pilgrimage and prays that the good work God began in him has indeed been brought to fulfilment and prays, “Open the gates of paradise to your servant.”
Fr Michael Tate, pastor, mentor and friend to so many, as you walk through those gates, we wish you, Buen Camino and pray that you may rest today and for ever in peace. Amen.
Most Rev. Anthony J. Ireland
Archbishop of Hobart
16 June 2026