Parish Newsletter

Masses Today

6.30: Sheila McCormack, (Anniv)
12.00: Larry Carter & Eithne Dooley, (Anniv).
6.30: Joseph & Esther Creane & family. (Anniv).

AS I WAS SAYING.....

Cities and Thrones and Powers,
Stand in Time's eye,
Almost as long as flowers,
Which daily die.

So wrote the British 'poet of the Empire', Rudyard Kipling. His words were prophetic in that, at his death, he was aware that the Empire which he served so diligently had already begun to unravel.

All human constructions are transitory. Hurricane Katrina illustrated this general truth in a dramatic and particular way: Here was a great city, New Orleans, a modern city, that, like flowers, was swept away in a short time.

Chaos follows on disaster. No one in is in charge. No information is available. No one able to formulate a plan or assign tasks. Because no one was able to comprehend at first the magnitude of what had happened or the kind of response necessary. Only gradually were understanding, leadership and a plan put in place. And this was a tragedy involving relatively small numbers on a restricted site. The Tsunami of last Christmas was on a different scale entirely

So I am not as willing as some to put American officials, including the president, so quickly into the dock for their initial response to Katrina. If there was a failure of imagination I'm not surprised. This was an unprecedented and catastrophic event in which some resources you would expect to be available were completely swept away - emergency services, communications networks, roads, highways, the airport, water, electricity. The major failure was the breaching of the protective infrastructure, - 'the levees', as the protective embankments are called - and since they take years to construct, blame for that must start way back and embrace many administrations.

Disasters bring out the best and worst in human nature and that goes for commentators as well as victims. We heard many secular sermons last week along the lines of - We thank you God that we are not as the Americans. We never build on the flood plane and our cities have no impoverished ghettos where people may be identified by race.

Kipling's poem goes on to suggest that we all live like the daffodil, blind to the reality of our fragile hold on existence.

The truth is that we have no way of knowing whether or not at some future time we might be overtaken by some similar disaster, great or small, when so much of what normally sustains us is torn away. The resources we are then left with are not external and material but internal and spiritual. So the question posed to us by this story of a great flood is this: What are the inner resources the human spirit needs at times like this and do we have them? Like the protective infrastructure of New Orleans they will have to be laid down over time and kept in good order.

What disasters do is reveal what is in place and what is not.

-Dick Lyng.

By the way.......

THE LATE MARGARET CONNEELY

We buried perhaps our most faithful parish- ioner this week, Marga- ret Conneely from Lower Merchant's Road. A great crowd gathered at the Claddagh Church on Tuesday evening, and again on Wednesday morning, to pray for her soul and to sympathise with her sons Peadar and Micheál, her four daugh- ters Marian, Bríd, Mairéad, and Cáit, and her extended family.

In the context of the Christian funeral, I like to quote the example of St. Augus- tine. We are not often exposed to Augustine's wonderful sense of humour. He was a practical Christian believer who strove always to make sense of human experience for his congrega- tions at Hippo. While presiding at the funeral Mass of a fellow monk, Augustine reminded his congregation: "Of course we are deeply saddened at the death of our brother. The passing of one whom we loved deeply evokes deep grief. But grief is not the only emotion. If we are honest, we will acknowledge that death evokes relief too! Which of you have not said at least once over the last few days: 'Of course the passing of this brother has been a great sadness for us; but it could have been so much worse. It could have been me!' "

I last used that quote at the funeral of Josephine Kelly from the Docks last April. Margaret was present that day and she subsequently reminded me of that reference more than once. It resonated with her own sense of humour, and she admired honesty wherever she met it. Besides, she was very ill herself by then, and she was was learning a new perspective on life and death. She considered every day a good day!

We are all made in God's image. The story of every Chris- tian is important and worthy of honour, respect and remem- brance. Margaret Conneely was born on Inis Oirr Island on March 19th, 1925. She grew up in a family of nine, four girls and five boys. Six of that nine are still to the good, Bridget and Sarah, Padraig, Colie, Peader and Seaan. Like many Irish people and indeed Islanders in particular, she emigrated to London in search of work in the late 1940s. Her childhood sweetheart, Petie departed for San Francisco in 1947. So the emigration of both was made with the explicit intention of putting a few bob together to marry marry and set up home together.

Two little stories that link up the relationship between Margaret and Petie have passed into the Conneely family lore, and probably the lore of Innis Oirr. While in San Francisco Petie worked in Holy Cross cemetery. He retained a rich stock he had gathered from that time. Many of the stories were connected with the funeral rituals carried to America by west of Ireland emigrants. Apparently, it was a common practice and a sign of great generosity to bury a bottle of whiskey with the deceased relative. It was an obvious sign of how greatly you were pre- pared to inconvenience yourself for the sake of the departed friend. However, according to Petie, it was not at all uncommon for those same relatives to return to the cemetery later in the week and to pressurise the cemetery staff into exhuming the bottle of whiskey. Having adequately fulfilled its ritual role, the bottle of whiskey could now be utilised in the manner which the creator intended!

In the early months of 1952, a friend persuaded Petie to travel with him to Las Vagas to chance their arm with the one-armed bandits. Petie was never a gambling man but went along nonetheless. On his first and last visit to the casino, the infernal machine spat out one thousand shiny silver dollars! This was in 1952. With that money Petie made his way home, married Margaret and set up home below in 18 Lower Mer- chant's Road.

The home they both set up remained an open home from its foundation. It became a focal point for the island people coming into Galway on their various errands. They stayed and were most welcome in Merchant's Road when they came in to shop for their wedding attire, when they came in to have their babies. Margaret had a great curiosity about humanity, and she marveled at the variety of the human condition. Young and old found a friend in her. Margaret and Petie acted as gracious hosts throughout. In fact my own family, when they came visiting me in my first years here in Galway, always stayed with Margaret and Petie.

Yet, through no stretch of the imagi- nation could Margaret be classed as a 'home bird'. She let a very full and active social life outside the home. She was keenly interested in drama, particularly whatever happened in the Taidhberach. She was also a very talented dancer apparent- ly, and was impatient of men who had not learned the trade! Throughout her life she was a faithful member of the ICA and involved herself in all their many philanthropic activities. She belonged to a very talented knitting and crochet circle, one of the products of that circle being the vestment I am wearing here today. She always had a flutter at the Galway Races, and she was as lucky as a black cat. (Well, up to the time the cat's luck ran out in very recent times at any rate!)

So she lived a very full and fulfilled life. Her two great crosses however was the prolonged illness of Petie, whom she nursed for 11 years with such great love and care. The other cross of course was the loss of her beloved son Colm so tragi- cally five years ago. She was however a woman of strong faith and that sustained her and helped her greatly.

The Conneely family, and this parish community, has much to be grateful for. May this generous woman rest in peace.