Masses Today

6.30: Sylvester, Kathleen & Nellie O'Sullivan, (RIP)
11.00: Jimmy Tully, High St. (Anniv)
6.30: Joseph & Esther Creane, (Anniv)

AS I WAS SAYING...

I had an opportunity to observe the Catholic Church in Poland at close quarters recently. It was a fascinating exercise. Parallels are often drawn between the Polish Catholic experience and the Irish experience: 95% of Poles identify themselves as Catholic; weekly Mass attendance has fallen to 51% per cent in recent years (though 51% of 35 millions is still a lot of people!) Like Ireland too, Polish Catholicism has experienced severe persecution down the years, though the Polish experience has been more recent and incomparably more intense. For example, during World War II Poland suffered at the hands of the Nazis as no other country in Europe. It lost nearly 20 per cent of its population and virtually its entire Jewish community, its principal ethnic minority. In 1945 the now Soviet-dominated nation was once again carved up by outsiders, losing its eastern lands to the USSR, and gaining large tracts of formerly German lands in the west. To an extent that was never true before, 'Polish' and 'Catholic' are almost synonymous terms after 1945. This is another element that Poland shares with the Irish experience: Catholicism is inextricably linked to the nation's identity.

Of course our respective experiences diverged sharply from 1945 onwards. For over 50 years, the Catholic Church in Poland served not only as a spiritual and moral guide, but also as the de facto political opposition to the status quo, Marxist communism. It was a gigantic power-struggle. In that context, I suppose, it was relatively easy for Catholicism to make common cause with a people who perceived themselves to be suffering under a repressive regime. (Though, through necessity, communism took a relatively benign shape in Poland. In truth, Poland was never a typical communist state. Stalin displayed an uncharacteristic sense of humour when he remarked that 'imposing communism on Poland is like trying to saddle a cow!' ) The enormous energy of the Polish Catholic Church for those 50 years was devoted to opposing communism and defending the right of the Church.

Throughout the rest of rest of the Catholic world, the Church's principal focus was 'Renewal'. Poland, however, had more important matters on its collective Catholic mind: 'defending one's corner', and 'holding the line' would take precedence over theological or liturgical renewal.

I attended four Masses in the working-class suburbs of Krakow last weekend. It was an amazing experience. It was, in many ways, like walking back in time, into a pre-Vatican II church. Yet there were elements that should make the modern western Church envious: the church was packed; the greater part of the Mass was sung; the words of the hymns were projected onto the wall and the congregation participated in the singing with gusto. However, this was a totally clericalised Church: ministers of the Eucharist are not permitted; no women involved whatsoever; communion in the hand is prohibited; even the men taking up the collection were clad in clerical garb, complete with large Roman collars. It was very noticeable that only a small fraction of the congregation received Communion. There is only one other Catholic state where communion in the hand is not an option: the Vatican itself! This is the defensive, combative world in which John Paul II was formed. It explains a lot about the mentality of the man. I'm sure he would love to see the Polish model operating throughout the universal Church. But I guess even he knows the limitations of his high office.

-Dick Lyng.

EVENTS THIS WEEK AND LAST

REFLECTION ON HORROR

It's the most poignant line in the Bible. God has just created a world of order and beauty. Then he sees Adam and Eve, then Cain, begin to destroy that order, until the world is full of violence. And then it says, "And God regretted that he had made man on earth and it grieved him to his very core."

That line has haunted me these past few days. We grieve the victims of Beslan, the killed, the injured and the missing, the shattered families, the broken lives.

But surely our grief goes deeper still, for humanity itself that we have fallen so low - because a new kind of violence has entered our world: not violence for gain, as in crime; not violence against opponents, as in war; but violence against the innocent, office workers in the case of 9/11, holiday makers, in the case of Bali, and now against innocence itself, young children on their first day back at school. This is violence that serves no purpose, advances no cause, wins no victories, whatever the perpetrators tell themselves.

We've heard much these past years about weapons of mass destruction, nuclear, chemical and biological. But all along we were looking in the wrong direction. These crimes of terror involved no sophisticated weaponry. 9/11 was done by box cutters and planes; Beslan by rifles and explosives. It's not how they were done but why they were done that we should be thinking about. They were done as symbolic gestures, designed to capture the attention of the television cameras throughout the world with complete indifference to lives destroyed in the process. The greatest weapon of mass destruction is the human heart.

We now know the challenge humanity faces in the 21st century: the democratisation of violence. In the past, only states could wage wars. Today any group can, so long as its imagination is evil enough, its target innocent enough, its scale spectacular enough. That is a challenge that reaches beyond politics and touches the very roots of the human condition. In our churches and synagogues this weekend we'll be reading some words from the Bible that speak to us as directly as they did when first spoken, perhaps the only words strong enough to save us from ourselves: "This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse; therefore choose life that you and your children may live."

-British Chief Rabbi, Dr. Jonathan Sacks.

THE LATE MARY FAHY

Those of you familiar with this church will be familiar with Mary Fahy. It wasn't beyond her to make a grand entrance after the Mass had begun, very deliberately making her way to the front pew helped by the ever-present stick and hindered by the ever-present paper bag. Mary, her stick and her bag were inseparable. The purpose of the stick was obvious. But the purpose of the bag was a different matter. In fact one of the major questions that preoccupied the parishioners remains: "What does Mary Fahy carry in the bag?"

I suspect myself that it may have been empty most of the time. But I do know that, on a Sunday morning, if the sermon went on too long, Mary ostentatiously transferred her interests from the preacher to the bag. The rattling of Mary Fahy's bag was a very clear signal to the preacher to land his damaged craft immediately. That, I believe, was the real purpose of the bag. When Mary died suddenly on Monday last, she took the secret with her.

Mary was born in Cummer near Tuam 76 years ago, she remained the unmistakable countrywoman all her life. She had all the strengths and weakness of any countrywoman: she was as inquisitive as hell but was faithful above and beyond the call of duty. We might be familiar with Mary; but we should not confuse familiarity with knowledge. Very few knew her. Like her bag, she remained a mystery. She was a very private woman. Yet, she could announce her presence in a shattering fashion. How often was I browsing through a book or a magazine in Eason's. Browsing in a bookshop is a furtive, private exercise since you are acquiring knowledge by stealth. But I was often traumatised by Mary's loud voice shouting across the shop floor: 'What book are you reading now Father Lyng?'

She made her first appearance in the Church about 15 years ago when Whitehall was first opened. She worked as a housekeeper for Patrick Tobin for a time, and later for the PP of St. Joseph's here. The greater part of her working life was spent in Renmore army barracks working there in the domestic side of things. Her hobby was crochet and needlework, a craft in which she was quite accomplished. But from the time she moved into Whitehall, she made the Augustinian her second home.

She collected at all Sunday Masses. She relished the role and exercised it with great enthusiasm. Very few escaped her attention. There is an African proverb: "Never get between the hippopotamus and the water." Sensible people never got between Mary and the collection basket. Those who did paid a high price! And she wasn't beyond commenting on the amount contributed. Billy Glynn once placed €20 in the basket. Mary, fearing he was losing his mind as well as his money, asked him did he not think that €20 was over-doing it. Thank God we had already invested in the closed collection baskets and the damage could not be undone!

Well, Mary's journey has ended. It's entirely appropriate that she should be surrounded this morning by the community she served so faithfully. She was as character. She added a bit of colour to our otherwise dreary lives and she all but made her home in the Augustinian Church. She will be greatly missed here. May she rest in peace.

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