Nothing 'magical' about Christian ministry

The piece below appears in this week's INM Irish regional newspapers.

There is another comment on the TP McInerney blog entry. To read it, click on to 'older posts' and scroll down.

On January 19 a Dominican colleague of mine died in a Dublin hospital.
Fr Pat ‘Tom’ McInerney OP had been in hospital almost continuously since August. The hospital is near where I live I so managed to call to him most days.

I had developed a routine: arrive home from work, get the dog and head out for a walk and then on the way home, make a slight detour, tie my Labrador, Tess to a bicycle stand and visit Tom.

The visits were always short. He had difficulty breathing and I wanted to get home and settle in for the night, light the fire, read my book and watch the news.

Since his death I have learned that he had a most aggressive form of cancer. He knew all about it but never once did I hear him complain. I have been flabbergasted with the man’s fortitude and bravery. He never spoke to me about his illness except on one or two occasions when he went into spasm when I was there.

I first met Tom back in the late 1960s when I went to live in the Dominican Priory in Tallaght. He taught me for two semesters but his main work was at RTÉ Radio, then known as Radio Éireann, where he was a producer of programmes.

Of course I had known that he had worked in RTÉ but I was never aware of the pioneering work he had done there. He played a major role in introducing talk radio at the station and was the first producer of the Liam Nolan Hour. He was involved in a myriad activities at RTE, including early work on cable television.

Back in the late 1960s I was greatly impressed with the man. He was much older than I – 20 years of a difference but when I was in my 20s, someone in their 40s was ‘old’. So when I began visiting him in hospital I was, in many ways, rekindling an older 'friendship'.

Indeed, back in the ’60s he had given me a Velo Solex. It was an unusual type of motorised bicycle. You pedalled like hell and then with the help of a lever, let the engine down on the front wheel.

In hospital he reminded me that I never gave it back to him.

These days passing the hospital I am inclined to make a detour off the road and walk through the gates. But no, there is no sense to that. Tom is dead. He’s gone from us.
Death is the only certainty. It comes to us all, in so many different ways.

I miss him. I cried on his shoulder. Even in his great illness, he listened to me and always gave me good advice. I burdened him with my troubles and worries and he was there to listen and help.

In last Sunday’s Gospel we read about how Jesus cured people, who were sick and his mission in life was to preach the Good News.

Tom’s death and that Gospel have set me thinking about life and death and how we manage and handle our lives and also how we manage sickness and death.

The idea of ever attaching any sort of ‘extra natural' powers to priestly ministry is something that has always made me nervous. There is nothing ‘magical’ about Christian ministry. Alas, it’s a cliché or trap into which it is so easy to fall.
Surely we help bring about the first signs of God’s kingdom by being kind in our words and deeds with other people and by our prayers too.

But ‘grace’ flows in two ways too. In my limited experience of visiting people who are sick or fragile, I have always come away realising that I have gained in knowledge or understanding through my encounter with that person.

I’m thinking out loud right now, but I wonder when we use 'holy-sounding' words are we not at times simply looking for a cop-out. What do you think?

I miss Tom. I’m left with fond memories. There are things I would love to say to him. It’s too late for that now.

I cling on to those words in the funeral ritual, 'life is not ended but changed’.