AT THE PEN’S POINT

Southland Times, Issue 20044, 4 December 1926, Page 13 (Supplement)

AT THE PEN’S POINT

IRISH WIT (By “Joshua.”) There is something in the Irish which suggests wit and humour. Is it the expression in the eyes combined with that peculiar mobile mouth with its twitching corners wnich keeps us expectant ? This gift is not confined to the Irish layman. Someone has said that the Irish priest could be distinguished from his fellows by his gift of humour and his knowledge of horses. In t such a racing country as New Zealand a • knowledge of horses is indeed a recommendation ; and if to that knowledge be added the faculty of making people laugh, what more , is needed? That which tends to make most priests of the Roman obedience so popular in the company of men is just this , peculiar knowledge of the world and its ways, with that added intangibleness not understood by the man in the street, but by . the discerning, recognised as true religion. ■ That elusive air of mystery there is; that > suggestion of the supernatural which they . : get from Mother Church, there is; that know- ■ ■ ledge and experience of the affairs of the ; world, there is; and to the Irish, that great t saving grace of humour, there is also. , So do we look back upon one beloved > of his own and respected by all—the late ■ Right Reverend Monsignor Burke, an Irish - . man of the Irish, a much sought after ■ preacher, a man of literary knowledge of no • mean order, and, withal, a priest of the [ Church Catholic. How curious are the workings of co- , incidence! During the week I read of one, Father Tj6m Burke, of the famous Order of . St. Dominic. On Saturday I converse i with a friend on many things and hear of the ability of a name-sake of “Father ■ Tom’s”—his quick wit and ready reference ; to obscure words and phrases and ‘to his- ; torical events. On Sunday I “listen-in” ; I and hear over the wireless of the death of him who was the subject of conversation twenty-four hours earlier. The mantle of Father Tom, of honoured memory, would seem to have fallen upon his name-sake, perhaps (who knows?) his • descendant. The mind of Father Tom Burke is more or less revealed in his biography published many years ago but always readable. Father Burke’s father was a Galway baker. Someone asked him “Was he one of the great Burke family?” He replied that his father was ‘Master of the Rolls’ and one of the best-bred Burkes in Galway.” Full of mischief he was often landed in scrapes, in one of which he was caught and taken home by the parish priest. No sooner had the priest retired than Mrs. Burke took him into an inner room, and, locking the door, knelt down and began to pray: “Prevent us, 0 Lord, in all our doings, etc.” “When I saw my mother enter the room, make the sign of the cross and solemnly invoke the light of the Holy Ghost to direct her, I knew’ I could expect no mercy. I never got such a thrashing as that one inspired by the Holy Spirit.” He tells us that never afterwards did he hear that prayer without a cold shiver between his .shoulders,' His mother was a strict ; and holy woman who behaved thoroughly in Solomonji d ctum and Father'Tom early began his novitiate for a life of obedience. Fishing often got him into trouble. “Do you ever catch anything?” an inquirer once asked him. . “Not till I get home,” said the young fisherman. Father Tom was ordained in 1852. As a young Religious he was thoroughly happy and kept everyone in good heart, but his life was a very strict one. A convert once asked him what she ought to do to become a true Religious. “Be as humble as a doormat and as pliable as a plate of porridge.” He enjoyed the rigour with which his Prior did everything. He describes the blessing of an Alb which the Prior saturated with holy water, remarking that it was quite proper as the prayer said “Wash me,” and the Alb had to be worn drenching. Father Tom had a story <?f a lady who greatly admired Cardinal Wiseman’s writings, and tried to catch a glimpse of him at the railway station of a town where he was advertised to preach. So full were her thoughts of the Cardinal that every cleric who emerged from the train was suspected of being the great man. At last, observing on the platform a rather pompous-looking individual, she commissioned a porter to find out his identity. On his return he said it must be his Eminence, and on being asked why, answered: “Because he told me to go to the devil.” “Roma locuta, causa finita est” once more appropriate! At dinner on one occasion two ladies asked whether a mutual friend were really dead. Could he give them any clue? He brought a small bone from his pocket. “Would you know her from that?” he asked. “Did you hear my last song,” asked a singer once. “I hope so,” was his disconcerting reply. Father Tom had his own version of the “Curate’s Egg.” One morning a new curate was breakfasting with his parish priest. He observed that only two eggs had been cooked, the larger of which had been speedily devoured by the elder priest. The curate eyed the smaller one. “Don’t be afraid,” said his superior, “it is quite fresh.” “It may be fresh,” replied his coadjutor, “but it does little credit to the hen who laid it.” So the biography goes on, full of the humours of the priestly life—a rollicking book and yet the life history of a Religious! But he was an Irish Religious. His nationality supplied both the piety and the humour. CK Father Tom’s preaching much is written, humorous and serious. His sermons did not always read well but they were nevertheless packed full of a profound knowledge of theology and human nature. His power lay in the combination of hands, eyes, voice and Dominican habit, together with a mighty love for Our Lord and an intense sympathy with his fellowmen. Take away the Dominican habit and you have Monsignor Burke, of Invercargill, a forceful figure in the pulpit, a power in the Church and beloved in the'world.