I’m late to the party by more than 20
years, but I finally read Angela’s Ashes and its sequel, ‘Tis, by
Frank McCourt. McCourt’s memoir won a Pulitzer prize in 1997, sold millions of
copies, and was made into a movie by the same name. His story is best
summarized in his own words:
“Worse than the ordinary miserable
childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable
Irish Catholic childhood.”
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| Frank McCourt |
It’s hard to pinpoint what pulls you in so
completely while reading McCourt’s work, other than his no-pretense descriptions
of his early years told with frankness and humour. I found myself thinking in
an Irish accent for days after I finished it.
Born in Brooklyn, New York in 1930 to
Irish immigrants, Frank was the oldest of six children to arrive within the
span of five and half years. Only three survived infancy. A seventh arrived
after the family returned to Limerick, Ireland, where they lived in utter
squalor.
“It was like Calcutta,” McCourt said in
one interview. “Only worse, because Calcutta would have been warm and dry.”
His alcoholic father, who could never keep
a job more than three weeks, eventually left the family to fend for themselves.
Denied access to a Catholic high school, Frank worked odd jobs until he could
save enough to sail back to America at the age of 19.
Eventually, he served in the U.S. military
and talked his way into university on the G.I. bill. After teaching high school
for three decades, he found time to write his memoir, never imagining what a
phenomenon it would become. For a mostly sad tale, the book shines as a tribute
to human resilience in the face of indescribable adversity.
Frank McCourt died in 2009, still
despising the Catholic church but, in his words, “fascinated with faith.” While
he held certain priests and nuns in high regard because of the good work they
did individually, he saw the church itself as cruel. “All they did was instill
fear.”
Ironically, McCourt’s story of poverty made
him wealthy. Nevertheless, he died with two failed marriages in his wake and a
lingering disappointment with God.
Eight years after Frank McCourt sailed
away from Ireland, another Irish baby was born named Robin Mark. He lived
through the unrest, terrorism, and violence in Ireland but became a musician
who’s been leading worship for four decades at his home church in Belfast and
all over the world.
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| Robin Mark |
“Our job is to decrease so that he [Jesus]
might increase,” Mark says. “It’s a purely servant roll. There’s no place for
selfish ambition. The heart of a worship leader has to be extremely humble,
preferring others over self. It’s an act of worship to rein back your own style
of worship in order to engage others. It’s a sacrificial act.” His words ring
true in his song lyrics as well.
Robin Mark says the strongest of his songs
came out of the chaos around him in northern Ireland. “You’ve got to be able to
address suffering and pain. David never shied away from every human experience.
Jesus never shied away from it. Never lead people where you’ve never been
yourself.”
What a contrast between these two men! While
I respect both for different reasons, I consider only one a role model. I’m neither
a musician nor a worship leader, but Robin Mark demonstrates by his life and
words what it means to serve God by serving others. His is a living, breathing
faith from which all of us can take courage.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
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