By Fr. Joe Mannath, SDB –
Tim McCarthy is ninety–or may be, ninety-one. He is one of the nicest, wisest and most inspiring persons I have ever known. Seeing his beaming smile, few would guess what a tough hand destiny dealt him at the start of his life. Here is his story–or at least a small part of it.
Tim was only seven when his thirty-four-year old father died of consumption. The dying man called little Tim to his bedside and told him: “Tim, promise me two things before I die. One: that you will look after your mother, your younger brother and your granny. Two: that you will never go down a copper mine.” It was while working in the mines that Tim’s father had contracted the disease that would kill him.
Tim said Yes to both requests–and, at age seven, started looking after his mother, his younger brother and his granny.
“I used to feel so unhappy and bitter,” he told me. “What got me over my bitterness was the example of my grandmother. She was paralysed, and sat in a wheel chair. There were sores in her feet. Like many older persons, she would pray aloud. I could hear her praying. In spite of her illness and pain, I never heard her pray for herself. During the harvest, she would pray for farmers. During the examination period, her prayers were for students. In bad weather, she prayed for travellers. It was always others she cared about. This slowly healed me of my own bitterness.”
Tim more than overcame his bitterness and poverty. He went on to lead a very active and productive life, including tough posts like trade union leader. Now, in happy retirement, he helps out in a Boston parish, where I got to know him. When I learned that he enjoyed poetry, I gave him a book of Tagore’s poems, which he relished.
Tim is much loved and deeply admired in the parish. Since he comes to help with the daily Mass, we would meet in the sacristy and share jokes. Tim has a good store of jokes and a very hearty laughter.
One day, one of his sons told us he did not know what to get his dad for his birthday. “What can you give to a man who has everything?” he asked us, knowing that we would enjoy the humour behind the question. All of us knew that Tim had very few things, and led a very simple life. His battered old car was a real sight, something I used to tease him about.
Tim’s own comment to me was: “Father, it is not that I have everything. I learned early in life to distinguish between what I need and what I want. There is no end to what I want; but there is very little I really need. Knowing this difference has helped me to lead a happy life.”
Tim is truly a very happy man, whose company both seniors and teenagers enjoy. In fact, he has a wonderful way with young people; his own grandchildren seek him out for advice. I personally found him a very pleasant person to deal with, a wise man to consult, a reliable friend to count on.
I remember the time one of the oldest members of the parish, Margaret Gallen, was in her last days. Margaret lived alone, and was fighting a losing battle with cancer. Tim told her: “Margaret, please phone me whenever you need help, at any time of the day or night. I will be there.” True to his word, he rushed to Margaret’s side whenever he phoned him for help–and, mind you, he himself was around eighty years old then.
I am sure Tim will be embarrassed (and perhaps amused) to hear that I am writing about him. I can hear the hearty laughter that will be his characteristic response to something like that. I think I will be more faithful to Tim’s spirit if I conclude this piece with a joke he told me one morning before the nine o’clock Mass.
“Father, do you know this one about the guy who goes to confession and tells the priest that he had stolen wood? ‘Father, he says, I work in a timber yard, and over the years I have stolen a lot of wood.’ The priest tells him: ‘That is a serious matter. When you steal, it is not enough that you confess; you have to give it back. Just to show you the seriousness of the matter, I am going to give you a big penance. I want you to make a novena. Now, do you know how to make a novena?’ The penitent replies, ‘Father, I’ve never made a novena in my whole life. But, if you have the blueprints, I have the timber.’” Ending the joke, Tim would laugh as heartily as the rest of us.
Thank you, God, for Tim–and for other witty, wise and loving men and women who teach us the secret of godliness and a happy life without preaching or writing books. Or rather, their life is more moving than the best of books and more eloquent than a thousand sermons.
This article first appeared in The New Leader
Father (Doctor) Joe Mannath SDB is the National Secretary of the Conference of Religious of India (CRI). He is a Seminary formator/professor for 18 years, and professor at Madras University (12 years), visiting professor in the US (some 20 summers), as well as in Italy, Hong Kong, Japan, Singapore, Spain, Thailand and UK. He conducts seminars for educators, religious and priests; counseling; parish ministry; past president of the Association of Christian Philosophers of India and of the Salesian Psychological Association. He is a member of British Mensa; a thinker listed in the Marquis “Who’s Who” in the world. He’s also linguist who knows English, French, German, Italian, Latin, Malayalam, Spanish and Tamil. Studies: M.A. and Ph. D. from Rome, research in psychology and religion at Oxford University, post-doctoral visiting scholar at Harvard University and Boston College. Also an Author/editor of both academic and best-selling books (including University textbooks) and hundreds of articles; enjoys friendships, jokes and cartooning. E-mail: [email protected]