Sunday Newsletter

Masses Today

6.30: William T. Mullins, (Anniv).
11.00: Ted & Bridie Smith, (Anniv)
6.30: Mary Bridget Morkan, (Anniv).

AS I WAS SAYING.....

The Chernobyl disaster occurred on April 26, 1986. It was the worst accident in the history of nuclear power. A plume of radioactive fallout drifted over much of Europe. of course the immediate vicinity was worst hit: large areas of Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia were badly contaminated, resulting in the evacuation and resettlement of over 336,000 people.

Five years ago, a 32-year-old Russian named Sergei Vassilievich was buried from the Augustinian Church here in Galway. Sergei had been a member of the original military team ordered in to 'clean up'. If ever a man was sent into the depths of Hades, Sergei was! Twelve years later, he developed a brain tumour. When in remission, he came west to Ireland and Galway with his wife and four very young children. Unfortunately, the tumour returned and death came swiftly. For me, the devastation of his wife and young family dramatically personalised the Chernobyl disaster. How often has that scene been repeated since?

This anniversary of Chernobyl forces us to rethink our approach to energy. How do we provide for our heating, lighting, transport needs? Chernobyl reminded us of Hiroshima, when the energy locked in the atom was unleashed and thousands vaporized in an instant, and thousands more succumbing to radiation sickness, and yet more dying of strange cancers years afterwards. Twenty years on we do not know what the final human cost of Chernobyl will finally be.

But one thing we are learning - no form of energy comes without cost. The dangers of nuclear power can make us nostalgic for coal and oil and gas. Once we though these were free and would last for ever. But they're fast running out, and we are paying for them in terms of global warming.

What we need to find is a new relationship with nature. Perhaps it is that our spiritual legacy can help. In the myth of Eden, Adam and Eve represent all of us. Together God calls them to rule the earth. In Paradise nature is benign, but their disobedience ends with them being driven out to fend for themselves. Eating from the 'Tree of Knowledge' was a mixed blessing. The fruit was sweet but the price was high.

When the scientific age began, we looked upon nature as something we should, and could control. Francis Bacon said that it was the task of science to put nature on the rack and torture her until she yielded up her secrets. So we thought we could exploit the natural world, without conscience and without cost. But we were wrong. Chernobyl is part of the cost, a scar on the earth and our minds. It would be nice to think we could return to Eden, to a place of harmony. But there is no way back, and nature anyway is not a goddess to be placated by penance and sacrifice. Ironically, nuclear 'power' exposes our fragility. The fruit from the Tree of Knowledge has turned sour!

-Dick Lyng

Items of Interest

A Sad Sunset

John Moriarty's friends will be saddened at the news of the writer's terminal illness. Many of his friends are in Galway. He lived in Connemara for years and was a keen supporter of "Vision", the Galway theology group based at Newtownsmith, and later at the Ardilaun Hotel, in the late 1980s and 1990s. In fact he was a guest speaker at the sessions on many occasions. And what an inspiring speaker he was! He could hold a full room spellbound for over an hour as he explored some rather arcane philosophical byroads.

Sadly, John revealed this week that doctors at the Mater hospital informed him just before Christmas that he has only months to live after being diagnosed with three forms of cancer. The colourful 68-year-old academic has been diagnosed with cancer of the liver as well as prostate and bowel cancer and he has declared: "I have been given a death sentence."

He said he was told he had just five to seven months to live and he felt like a "wounded animal." And while saying that he has come home to Kerry to die, the respected philosopher is remaining upbeat and is taking a very brave approach to his illness. "There are physical enormities and spiritual enormities to deal with and I started dealing with them," he said. "I certainly believe that death isn't the end. It's a terminal lounge and the adventure goes on," he said. "I will lose my physical body but I can construct a mental body around me, to continue in the great moral and spiritual adventure of the hereafter," he said.

Moriarty said that although his religious practices are "the religion of a loner" and he doesn't go to church very often, he hopes the priests in Kerry will allow him access to the church when the time comes for his funeral.

"I would love a full requiem mass. It would be hugely important to me. So, I suppose, I am a loner who believes powerfully in community," he said. Mr Moriarty added: "I have cancer in three places. One is cut out of me now at this moment but I still go to bed believing in God and I still wake up believing in God."

Moriarty: the man and his work

John was born in Listowel in 1938. Educated at University College Dublin, he lectured English Literature in Canada for six years before dropping out of academia to live in Connemara where he worked as a gardener. In addition to his hugely respected writings and musings, he is also an established lecturer and broadcaster. In 1997 he hosted the RTÉ television series, The Blackbird and the Bell. His books include Dreamtime (1994), and the first two volumes of Turtle Was Gone a Long Time: Crossing the Kedron (1996); Horsehead Nebula Neighing (1997) and Anaconda Canoe (1999). His most famous book, Nostos, published in March 2001, is a huge sprawling volume of autobiography containing nearly 700 pages setting out many of the ideas that he had already articulated in his previous books. He lives near the Horse's Glen at the foot of Mangerton mountain.

May Day

A delicate fabric of bird song Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
Is everywhere.
Red small leaves of the maple
Are clenched like a hand,
Like girls at their first communion
The pear trees stand.
Oh I must pass nothing by
Without loving it much,
The raindrop try with my lips,
The grass with my touch;
For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May
Shining after the rain?

( -Sara Teasdale, 1884-1933)

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