An Irish Holy Communion... and Gore Vidal

By Charley Brady

There are three things in this world that seem to have been designed to bring me out in a very severe rash.

One is religion, any type of religion. I'm not crazy about anti-humour bearded headbangers running around waving the Koran in your face. Same goes for the Bible- thumpers (although paradoxically I can appreciate the often-moving words contained in these books. Go figure). Oh, by the way, just in case there is any ambiguity here I'm reading this morning that the Muslem Brotherhood's leader, Mohammed Mahdi Akif, has declared that his crowd "is a global movement whose members co- operate with each other throughout the world, based on a religious worldview-the spread of Islam, until it rules the world."

Well, gosh, not much ambiguity there. He's gone right in with former young Hitler Youth member Pope Benedict XVI as one of those reasonable types who at least tells you to your face what their intentions are.

Having disposed of the desert religions of Catholicism and the Muslims we'll throw in the Protestants, Free Presbyterians, the Church of the Latter Day Saints and whatever you're having yourself. I have a little sympathy for Scientologists, since despite the lunacy of their beliefs I can't see it as any crazier than believing that some poor man who has been tortured and mutilated can rise from the dead after three days, fly like a superhero into the stratosphere in order to sit eternally at the right hand of himself. Why we didn't outgrow these superstitions centuries ago is one of life's eternal mysteries, and certainly adds to the gaiety of the nation. The only church that I have ever subscribed to is Kurt Vonnegut's fictional "Church of God the Utterly Indifferent".

The other thing that I just don't get the sense of is children. I mean, what are they for? You can't have a conversation with them. If they're very small and you're (shudder!) asked to hold one then you're afraid that it's going to break. And they make a lot of noise--- a LOT of noise---- all of the time!

Still, I'd agree to babysit one of these small annoyances any day of the week rather than to break bread with a politician. (My third hang-up). My thoughts on them have been far more articulately covered by Mark Twain and I think it would be fair to say that his comments weren't very complimentary.

So it was with some surprise that I found myself accepting a very gracious invitation to the first Holy Communion of one Ruth Eames, the charming young daughter of Senator Fidelma Healy Eames of Galway and spokesperson for Education and Science. I can honestly say that Fidelma is the first politician that I have warmed to. There's a sincerity there that just doesn't appear to be put on; and meeting her family turned out to be an absolute delight.

First, however, I had to get there.

The cab driver didn't seem to know the area---perhaps she was new--- and we stopped to ask directions from a farmer who was herding the largest cow I ever saw in my life ahead of him. "You'll have to turn around, ye've come too far" were the directions given. I was enjoying myself already. For a townie like myself it was like wandering into a scene from The Quiet Man. The village itself reminds one of the true beauty there is in this world. Doing the job I do I often forget that there is so much beauty out there. Fidelma's home is just breathtaking, with an outstanding view of Galway Bay. As an old cynical loner, I tend to forget the wonderful warmth that can be found when a small community comes together. It truly is a humbling experience to be invited in as part of it.

For a start, Fidelma and her husband Michael have a true home, not just a house. The entire family are lovely, although I must confess to having made a particular connection with Angela, a smashing lady who is Michael's mother. We must have had our heads together talking for an hour. Michael himself was a revelation. I enjoy cooking but he had almost single- handedly (and for around fifty people) done the most beautiful buffet and on top of that was looking after the barbecue which was comprised of lamb and chicken that he had taken from his own stock. Now I say almost single- handedly because, as Angela reminded me several times, she had shelled most of the eggs. As for the neighbours who kept wandering in and out, I found myself transported back to another time that I thought all but gone. Warm and cheerful, everyone looking super and yet with no need to dress formally, they were as good and happy a crowd as I could ever wish to spend time with. Do you remember that great scene in Peter Weir's Witness when the Amish community come together to a marvellous and quietly rising musical score in order to help with the building of a neighbour's barn? Or the community get-together in John Ford's My Darling Clementine? That's what it was like. Honestly, I haven't felt this positive in years! Maybe I just hang out in the wrong circles. No, make that "definitely". A wonderful and energising day.

To make a great weekend even better, last night saw an hour-long interview on British television with one of my few heroes, namely the great Gore Vidal. Now in his eighties, he is a genuine legend and as sharp, perceptive and totally uncompromising as ever. That seductive voice, as he probes and dismantles the anomalies of the fading American Empire and its current, as he put it, "deranged "leader is as strong as ever it was. I was only sorry that he didn't do a reprise of his great and true comment that no one who has a religious belief should be allowed to hold office and certainly not that of the President. Bush, with his prayer meetings and his belief that he has a direct line to God has proved every bit as dangerous as any of the religious fundamental lunatics that he claims to be crusading against.

Vidal still looks great and I fervently hope that he is with us-and stays a thorn in the side of the American establishment-for many years to come.