RITE AND REASON: Father Richard Mulcahy recalls driving around the streets of Rome with a man who will be declared by the Pope a saint next Sunday: Josemaría Escrivá, the founder of Opus Dei.
The recent IMS survey on lifestyles (The Irish Times, September 20th) offers a number of interesting statistics. Sixty-six per cent of those interviewed stated that "Jesus is the Son of God with whom I have a personal relationship", while only 49 per cent claimed that "my faith in Jesus is important to me and I seek a closer relationship with him".
In other words, 17 per cent of us have a relationship to Jesus but it doesn't make us seek for more. Perhaps we are in the danger pointed to by St Augustine: "If I say 'enough' I am lost."
Next Sunday the Pope will canonise Blessed Josemaría Escrivá (1902- 1975), who founded Opus Dei in 1928. Like all the saints, he had something to say to that 17 per cent. In 1937, speaking to a student who came to talk to him about his faith, he gave him a book on the life of Christ which he dedicated with the wish: "May you seek Christ, may you find Christ, may you love Christ."
The student lost the book but never forgot the idea which, in later writings, Escrivá revisited by saying that if you seek Christ it means that you have already found him, but there is always more to find.
I had the privilege in my student days in the 1950s of living with Blessed Josemaría in Rome and was able to sense the ever-searching quality of his love for Christ, finding him in unexpected ways. Driving around the city in a traffic jam he spotted a passer-by who had seen better days, rolled down the window and - such was the jam - spent a few minutes chatting to him before handing over all the money we had between us.
From the man's face I got the impression that the conversation and interest shown was more important to him than the alms received.
Josemaría Escrivá was a diocesan priest on retreat in Madrid on October 2nd, 1928, when he realised that God wanted him to point out to lay people that holiness was for everyone and that God was to be found in our work, our family life and in all the daily business of living.
Not keen on making a new foundation, feeling that the church had plenty already and that surely one of them would have catered for this idea by now, he began writing to associations all over Europe to see if one fitted the bill. From their replies, however, he deduced that they did not, so he started working at what his spiritual director called his "Work of God" (Opus Dei), guiding souls and showing them how to blend prayer and work, God and everyday life.
It was uncharted territory, his ideas sounded new at the time and the Spanish Civil War, its aftermath and the second World War made progress slow. By 1950, however, the Holy See had approved his work and it had begun to spread - as it still continues to. By 1965 the second Vatican Council had reflected many of his views on the vocation of lay people and the role of everyday life in seeking God.
Pope Paul VI remarked that he had taken a hard option: bringing Christ into the worlds of industry, academia and entertainment, rather than remaining in more "churchy" echelons.
WHAT was he like as a person? He believed the saints were, first of all, very human, ordinary beings like us and while the Pope will declare him a saint next Sunday, I would like to remember the man. He worked hard and inspired others to do the same, but every day ended with 30 minutes of relaxing conversation with colleagues and guests.
He was no plaster saint: in the 1930s, starting Opus Dei, he found it hard to get up on time in the morning, so his tactic was to promise himself a midday rest, but once on his feet he used to add "fooled you again" - the day was chock-full till evening. His own family meant a lot to him; I often accompanied him on pleasant visits to his sister Carmen and saw how he looked after her in her last illness.
Before Padre Pio's canonisation last June, an Italian theologian remarked that the two differing saints-to-be were very good for the church, for they highlighted two different ways of following Christ: Padre Pio with his extraordinary gifts and charisma, Josemaría with his enthusiasm for everyday existence.
This canonisation would be in fact the canonisation of ordinary life: as Aaron Copeland put it in musical terms, a Fanfare for the Common Man.
Father Richard Mulcahy, a former Army officer, is a priest of the Opus Dei prelature in Dublin.