But those leading the funerary rites often fail to distinguish between "the church" and "the faith".
The "church" is the ecclesiastical structure of a formalised religion, and the bishops are akin to its management, which, like all managements, can vary between the heroic and the hopeless.
The "faith" is what the people feel and experience, bred in the bone.
The annual pilgrimage to Croagh Patrick last Sunday, although led by an ecclesiastical figure -- Bishop Michael Neary of Tuam -- is far more about the traditions of the people's faith.
At a time when "the church" is widely criticised, a faith pilgrimage like "the Reek", as Croagh Patrick is known, is more popular than ever.
Granted, the mountain, located between Westport and Clew Bay, is placed in a heavenly spot, and surely even an atheist would ascend it for the good of his health, or the serene sense of achievement in looking down at a breathtaking seascape formed in the last Ice Age.
Westport itself is one of the prettiest towns in Ireland, and was recently voted the best place to live in the country.
Not every pilgrim climbing up the 2,500 feet of Croagh Patrick would be a deep-dyed Christian believer: especially since the Reek is reputed to have been a place of pagan pilgrimage even before the arrival of Christianity in the 5th century, and before the tradition grew that Patrick had fasted there for 40 days and nights (before expelling the snakes from Ireland).
But pilgrimages have always been a colourful mixture of faith journeying, folk tradition, commercialism and following a trail in the company of others. Chaucer's famous 'Canterbury Tales', written in the 14th century, demonstrate what mixed motives often get mingled into pilgrim journeys, including the less than holy idea of flirtation and romantic encounters. Oh, and opportunities to ply trade, too.
Mont St Michel, the rocky tidal island in Brittany, is one of the most commercialised spots you could ever encounter. Before you climb to the chapel at the top, there's a shop selling garish souvenirs every few paces. But it's been like that since the 8th century.
And the faith of the people has always contained an element of folklore, as well as genuine spirituality. Those who seek to evacuate faith practice of all its myriad accretions are being overly austere and puritanical.
Yet in an age that is supposedly increasingly secular, pilgrimage activity generally is booming and expanding, wherever there is a tradition of holy journeys or visiting ancient sacred places.
The Camino to Santiago de Compostela in Spain's Galicia bustles with pilgrims walking the road of St James, established since the 9th century -- some setting out from Paris, some from Canterbury or from Rome but it remains one of the most well-flagged itineraries on the Spanish tourist website.
Again, not everyone walking the Camino is doing it for the sake of their soul: some make the journey just because it's a tradition, a personal challenge, excellent for health and confidence, and an adventure where you meet all kinds of people.
A friend of mine rode on horseback, from Canterbury to Santiago, and had many memorable experiences, the horse being a conversation-starter wherever they camped.
But if faith alone isn't everyone's motive for a pilgrimage like the Camino or Croagh Patrick, it is still the historical nub of the venture.
These locations become places of pilgrimage, often because people have journeyed there for centuries and centuries, and have found, in such places, a balm to the soul.
We need a rest from everyday cares and preoccupations, however important these are: we need time out from worrying about the euro, or the troika, or the banks -- and the hectic wall-to-wall focus on the Olympics doesn't do it for everyone.
The scaling of Croagh Patrick puts the pilgrim in touch with a physical challenge and the peace of nature, along with the fellowship of others. And sometimes a sense of transcendence, too.
Political arguments about the position of the church are a necessary part of public discourse, and relevant to any society that lays claim to diversity and tolerance. These debates often cluster around defining values, the meaning of marriage, the control of education, or how the Constitution defines the state.
Sometimes these discussions just reflect change: but sometimes they are power struggles, where politicians seek to replace areas of social control once commanded by the clergy -- as in education.
But outside and beyond all that, the people's faith has a knack of continuing on, drawing on deep traditions such as the practise of the "month's mind" as a memorial after a death, the veneration of local saints, and the way in which a religious service will bring a community together after a tragedy.
And, on a more cheering note, the challenging practice of scaling Croagh Patrick on the last Sunday of July.