Holy Man of Dublin
By James J.
Murphy
ALEMBIC, pages 27-36
May 1941
Some men
build on sand and fail miserably; others patiently seek out
sturdy rocks on which to establish lasting monuments. Matt
Talbot, the model Irish layman, was of the latter
type. He had tasted of the food of the world, nay had gorged
himself with it, only to find it wanting. Then, in despair and utter
humility, he turned to God for sustenance.
There was
nothing extraordinary in Matt’s birth. He was born in
1856 and enjoyed all the advantages that typical God fearing
Irish parents bring. He lived in Dublin
and, with the eleven
other children in the family, was educated, worked, and died there.
Love of the rosary was daily fostered as the family
group
gathered for evening prayer. There are no legends or novel tales
about his boyhood. When only twelve, he left the Christian
Brothers’ school and secured a position as a messenger for a wine
company. Here we trace his fall.
Still only
a lad, Matt began to drink. With the same thoroughness
that later marked his conversion he attempted to satisfy his
insatiable and destructive craving. He received advances on
his salary to purchase more and more of the new center of his
existence. He pawned his clothes. He borrowed money. Finally he came to depend on the charity of friends who were moved by
his pitiful state. When unbridled, man’s desires wreak
havoc. Matt Talbot proved no exception. Bitter, scorned, and
dejected, he was a veritable slave by his twenty-eighth birthday. An
outcast of society, his future was an infinite sea of blackness.
But the ways of grace are strange.
Whether an
unconquerable conscience moved him, or the beseechings of his pious mother, or simply disgust with himself can only be
speculated. At any rate, in this period of his life he began the
great transformation. Seemingly on the spur of the moment he
declared that he would take the pledge. A spark
of
determination was ignited in him and, with the fervent encouragement
of his prayerful mother, he abstained from drink for three
months, then for a year, and finally for the rest of his days.
Let us not
imagine that this was a simple procedure. Old and
enticing habits are not as easily discarded or changed as a suit or a
tie. A definite, slow, painful process must be followed. Victory and
peace of soul are found many times in retreat, in withdrawing
from the forces that would destroy and
contaminate.
The humble
man of Dublin
sought this avenue of escape.
He resolved
to avoid his old sinful haunts. He secured another
position
whereby he could more easily carry out his difficult
task. He
mapped out certain routes which took him away from
the taverns
and saloons. Most important, he turned to prayer,
and thus we
see him more and more devoting himself to the
things of
God as the old passions viciously made final bids for
his scarred
and battle-worn soul. Through it all Matt remained
steadfast.
Daily Mass,
countless acts of charity, repeated visits to church,
sympathy and good cheer for his fellow workers were all in the
order of the day. The time outside of his working hours was
spent in deep meditation and spiritual reading. He read
chiefly the Bible, Cardinal Newman’s works and the Meditations
of Saint Francis de Sales. Over and above these edifying acts the
returning prodigal sought stricter means of chastisement. Matt felt
that just as he had gone to the extreme in his vice he should now
use all means that would draw him closer to his Master. The
strict fasts and bodily disciplines, emblematic of the lives
of saints, were zealously carried out by him. The few hours that
he did sleep he slept on a board with chains wrapped around his
legs and arms. In almsgiving he was most conscientious,
sometimes keeping a mere fraction of his pay for himself. And with
all of his austere practices he logically retained his true Irish
cheerfulness for he was at peace with God and himself.
The years
slipped by and Matt grew spiritually stronger and
stronger. So it is that we find him ready and willing for death. The
culmination of his unflinching struggle occurred on June 7,
1925, outside of Saint Saviour’s Church which is
conducted
by the Dominicans. As he was waiting for the church to be
opened he was suddenly overtaken by a heart attack and passed
away, piously gazing upon a crucifix held by a Dominican father. In
his passing he was calm and unafraid, for in his life he felt and
knew the mercy of God.
No greater
summation or praise of Matt Talbot could be given than
that expressed by Mr. F. J. Sheed: “There is no looking at
Matt Talbot without feeling that he is a perfect example of
the Irish people at prayer: not one sort of Irishman but the
Irishman as such— the Irishman stripped down to his
Catholicism.”
To the Irish especially he is a lovable character for, as one
of their countrymen, he typifies their distinctive faith and
perseverance. To the world in general he offers a stirring example of
a solid character sanely balancing the material and the spiritual.
His great contribution to mankind was a good life simply
lived and calmly ended. In the midst of chaos,
over-indulgence,
and greed, we could well use more Matt Talbots.