Sunday Newsletter

Masses Today

6.30: William J. Fahy, (Anniv).
11.00: John, Patrick & Winifred O'Connor, (Anniv).
6.30: Kathleen, Sylvester & Nellie O'Sullivan, (Anniv).

As I Was Saying...

Ballybrit was not the only place where chance reigned supreme this week. A highway bridge collapsed in central Minneapolis during evening rush hour on Wednesday evening. Dozens were hurled into the Mississippi River, and at least seven were killed with many missing.

It is interesting to observe the manner in which such 'chance disasters' (Minneapolis, I mean, not Ballybrit!) are reported by the media. There is a conventional pattern for covering disasters, be they small or great. It starts with reportage, accurate, vivid, eye-witness description of what actually happened. This is always demanding, sometimes risky, and is the aspect of journalism we most admire when it's done well.

The second stage is human interest aspect, finding people who have a story to tell: the pregnant mum air-lifted to hospital, one of the children rescued from the tottering bus, the old man whose dog disappeared from his side in an instant, the local hero who risked his life to save others,

The third stage is to investigate the consequences of what has happened - in other words, to try to look at its longer term implications. Will people give up crossing bridges at rush-hour? Should Christmas tree fairy lights be banned? What will the disaster cost the Government, or the insurance companies? So far, so good.

At the last stage the story gets fresh legs - who was to blame? Whose fault was it all? Should heads roll? Was there ignorance, incompetence or even culpable negligence? No disaster in the media age is lightly dismissed as 'no fault'. The greater the part that 'chance' is to play in a disaster, the less finger-pointing or scape-goating will follow. While culprits will surely emerge in Minneapolis - like structural engineers perhaps- there are disasters in which there is simply no one to blame. Such disasters are generally elemental, 'natural disasters', such as earthquakes, flooding, lightening strikes, and so on.

Perhaps it's because we don't know who to blame for these so-called 'acts of God' since most of us no longer believe that the chief suspect sends fire, earthquake and flood to punish and discipline the people of earth. 'Look, I think I'll flood Tewkesbury and teach them a lesson!' If I may paraphrase Jesus, 'Were the people of Tewkesbury sinners more than all the others?'

Has God then no role, even for the believer, in natural disasters? As Christians, we certainly must not think of him as remote from his creation; but his involvement, surely, is principally with us rather than the elements. They are simply part of the way the world is - the way God made it.

So if the people of Tewkesbury weren't to blame, and God isn't to blame; and even the cleverest Government can't be expected to predict a record rainfall level, or a collapsing bridge, or a falling favourite! Perhaps we just have to accept that there is no one to blame. It simply happens, part of the fragile unpredictability of life. The real test, then, is not who was to blame, but how do we respond to it?

-Dick Lyng

Items of Some Interest

Br. Robert Ruane, rip

A great many of your will have known Br. Robert Ruane who died this week. He was a very influential figure in Galway city for many years. This influence was wielded first of all through his many years of teaching in St. Pat's, but also through his very active promotion of Gaelic games in Galway city.

Robert was born in Ballymacward in east Galway in 1928. He joined the Patrician Brothers in 1945. He served for two terms in Galway, 1964-1971 and latterly as Principal in St. Patrick's School, Lombard St from 1980 to 1994. Having retired from teaching, he was asked by the late Bishop McLoughlin to take charge of the Diocesan Pastoral Centre at Newtownsmith.

He had been housebound through illness for the last five years. He died peacefully at the Patrician Monastery, Kingston, on Saturday, July 28th. He was buried in Rahoon Cemetery after his funeral Mass in the Sacred Heart Church, Westside. May he rest in peace.

The Late Willie Conneely

Willie Conneely (84) was born in Market St. His was the 4th generation of undertakers. His son Robert gave me an historical perspective on the family business recently. 'In my grandfather's day, we were known as mere coffin-makers; in my father's day, we had become undertakers. Today I am a Funeral Director. The trade 'Undertaking' does not figure in the Yellow Pages!' Not even the business of death escapes supposed sophistication!

Willie Conneely was a fabulous character. I met him first in 1981. It is one of the great ironies of our lives that the undertaker's familiarity with death links him to the living in an intense way. Willie had seen every aspect of life and death, and he love to draw lessons from his experiences. But he insisted on teaching those lessons to the willing and unwilling listeners. My God, could he talk! I know his family won't mind me saying this, because I have said it to them often: but Willie wasn't the easiest man to get away from when he was in full verbal flight!

There was a touch of the Ancient Mariner about him. He had travelled far and seen strange things, metaphorically at least.

An Irish American undertaker and poet Thomas Lynch has written widely on the profession of undertaking. The whole business of funerals demands respect, said Lynch. When dealing with the dead, the commodity 'honour' is elevated to the level of a sacrament. And we honour the dead because of our respect for the living and the grieving. Willie had that honour and respect in spades.

About 15 years ago, Lynch was reading from his Book 'The Undertaking' in the Taibhdhearc Theatre here as part of the Cuirt Festival. I was introduced to him as a priest. Lynch has an almost obsessive interest in Catholicism and Ritual. He asked me how undertakers dovetailed with the Church here for funerals and that sort of thing. I had a brainwave: 'Why don't we go over to the local undertaker on Monday morning, I'll introduce you and you can have a chat with him.'

Lynch showed up as agreed on Monday morning and we walked over to Market Street. Willie was there in his office-cum- workshop-cum dining room. I introduced him to this writer-cum-undertaker from America. Willie started talking, and talking, and talking. Story begat story to produce one long monologue. Lynch couldn't get a word in.

Two days later, Willie crossed the street to greet me. 'Father Dick', he said, 'that was a most interesting man you brought over to me on Monday morning last. I wouldn't mind meeting him again!' I'm not at all sure if Lynch would have returned the compliment!

But that was Willie. What you saw was what you got.

Whatever about Thomas Lynch, Willie was a very interesting and loving man. His wife Patsy died 41 years ago and it fell to Willie to rear Charlotte, John, William and Robert on his own. And, as in everything he did, he did it well.

Today it is his turn. He was the traditional Catholic after the Irish fashion, with perhaps a bit more devotion that the average Irishman. Again, I am sure that that deep respect for all things religious had its source in his easy familiarity with death.

The family and the grandchildren will miss him of course. But you will not begrudge him the peace he now has. Because, he had it tough over the last four years. But he was blessed with the great care of his family. He deserved it. Rest well Willie.

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