The man in a purple running shirt grins, proudly showing me his medal. He’d spotted me earlier, standing near the finish line with the spectators in the heart of Dublin, and came back to say hello.

After Mass at St. Mary’s Pro-Cathedral, I’d noticed someone else in the same purple race shirt and learned the marathon finish line was just a few streets away.

As a marathon runner myself, I knew how much a bit of extra support can mean in those last grueling moments, so I decided to head over and cheer on the runners who hadn’t yet crossed.

Two girls slowed their pace when they noticed my Roman collar. They smiled, waved, and crossed themselves. I gave them a thumbs-up and got a cheer in return.

Moments like these remind me how deeply Catholic faith is still woven into the culture here.

A little while later, I see two runners pass by, supporting a third between them. His head is tilted back, eyes closed—he looks barely conscious, if conscious at all.

Marathons can be punishing, and for some people, especially with underlying health issues, it can become serious.

Soon, a woman taps me on the shoulder. "Are you a priest?" she asks, her face clouded with concern. "You might want to go over there—someone collapsed, and the medics are on it."

I hurry around the corner and see the man on the ground, a doctor kneeling beside him. I whisper a prayer, and a moment later, the color returns to his face as he comes to. The medics help him to his feet, and I feel a wave of relief.

"Looks like he’s going to be okay," I tell the woman who alerted me.

I stay for a while longer, giving thumbs-up and encouragement to runners as they make their way to the finish.

I know what they’re going through, and I hope that for each of them, the finish line brings that relief, joy, and the welcome of family and friends waiting at the end.