On being brave

A recent timely letter by Fr Mario Attard, on the wisdom of using our God-given gifts for the benefit of others, remembering that the 'Final Examination' questions are preceded by four little words - "What did you do?" - brings to mind a salutary story which I would like to share.

A very talented, wealthy and haughty old lady died and met St Peter at the Golden Gates.

He escorted her past several splendid villas to a glorified garage which he informed her was to be her home for all eternity. Stamping her foot in fury, she demanded an immediate explanation for this unheard of discrepancy. He replied: "Sorry Madam, but try as we might, we could not have built you anything better because of the paucity of the materials you sent us."

This was the fable told by Fr Tom Moroney when preaching the parable of the talents on a Sunday morning in Tipperary in the middle of the last century. It was now being discussed by all six of the O'Brien clan as they sat with their parents around the table for Sunday lunch.

Each member was the proud possessor of a string of degrees after his name with the exception of Pudsy, who was "a bit slow" at school and was apt to keep silent unless the conversation revolved around the subject of football, when immediately he became eloquent and could talk the hind legs off a donkey.

The proud father seated in his carver at the head of the table, queried them about how they employed their gifts for the Lord and, again, Pudsy fell silent.

"Ask the Good Lord to lead you into situations where it will be possible for you to use your talents to the full," the mother interposed. She continued: "Do be brave, and mighty forces will come to your aid if you are serious with God!" and so the conversation continued well into afternoon which was so typical of an Irish family at Sunday lunch - now a thing of the past - where the garrulity level was high, witty and so stimulating.

Pudsy listened attentively and took it all in. He did exactly what Mum had suggested and this was the result. Next evening as he cycled past St Vincent's Hospital he made a sudden decision to enter the building.

As if propelled by some invisible force he found himself in the men's ward. Shyly looking around, he approached a bed where the patient had no visitors like the others. To begin with, the conversation dragged and there were moments of acute embarrassment until the Good Lord put the magic word 'football' into his mind. "What did you think of last Sunday's match in Croke Park?" he ventured and immediately the sick man sprang to life.

Goal by goal they played out that match and soon the whole ward was caught up in their enthusiasm and pulsed with life. Pudsy knew without a shadow of doubt that he had found his niche. For the next 30 years he talked football and ran errands in the men's wards bringing joy and fun into the lives of ailing or dying men. He became a legend in his own lifetime.

When the Lord called Pudsy home eventually, he still had no letters after his name but loud and clear, a golden 'St' preceded it instead.