Matt
Talbot was born May 1856 in Dublin Ireland. He was one of twelve children,
six of whom lived to adulthood. His father was a heavy drinker and, as a
result, the family grew up in poverty. Typical of his era, Matt spent just
one year at school. There was no compulsory education and he was unable to
read or write. He entered the workforce at age twelve, employed by E & J
Burke, a firm which bottled beer. His drinking began with taking the dregs
from the bottom of bottles, which had been returned. Within two years, he
graduated to whiskey and by the time he was sixteen, he came home drunk
regularly.
By the time he was in his twenties, he spent all his wages and spare time in
O'Meara's Pub. As far as the neighbors in that area of Dublin were
concerned, Matt Talbot was a habitual drunk. Today with our understanding of
the illness of alcoholism there is little doubt that he was already a
chronic alcoholic.
Drink had become Matt's only interest in life. When his wages were spent, he borrowed
and scrounged for money. He pawned his clothes and boots. He supplemented
his wages by doing extra work after hours. Among other things he minded
horses outside a tavern, while the owners enjoyed themselves inside. The
tips he received bought him more drink.
He became
a thief, once stealing a fiddle from a blind man. On Saturday he would come
home with just a shilling from his wages for his mother. His life had become
unmanageable. His drinking companions had several hobbies: swimming, playing
cards, and girl friends. Matt had only one -alcoholic drink.
By the time he was twenty-eight, he was well on the road to self-destruction, when
a traumatic incident changed his life. On a Saturday morning in 1884, he
waited outside O'Meara's without a penny in his pocket. He had been
unemployed that week. His problem, he told himself, would be quickly solved.
When he had money, he shared it generously with his drinking friends.
Therefore, he reasoned, they would not reject him in his misfortune.
But they did. One by one, they passed him. Some greeted him; others ignored him.
Perhaps he had scrounged money from them too often, but they left him
standing on the corner. Matt Talbot was stunned and shocked. Years later, he
said that he was "cut to the heart." But, it was a moment of grace. After
some time thinking about his problem, he realized that he was totally
enslaved to drink. He made his way home slowly. His mother was preparing the
mid-day meal when he arrived.
In nineteenth century Ireland it was common for someone who wished to stop
drinking to take a solemn pledge before a priest to abstain for a period of
time. Mrs. Talbot could not believe her eyes when Matt came home sober on
that fateful Saturday morning. "Ma, I'm going to take the pledge for life,"
he said. He headed off to a nearby seminary where the priest persuaded him
that he should take the pledge for ninety days only.
Those
three months were sheer hell. We understand today the withdrawal symptoms of
addiction, but in 1884 Matt Talbot had no one to share his suffering - the
hallucination, the depression and nausea. But he had an iron will, a
rock-like stubbornness that stood him well down through the years. "I know
that I will drink again when the three months are up," he would remark to
his mother.
To fill
in the time he used to spend in O'Meara's, Matt went for a walk every
evening after work. During one of those walks his resolution almost broke.
He passed Bushe's Public House about a mile from his home just as it opened.
He caught the strong smell of beer and saw the crowded bar. The barman was
busy serving the local men, and he paid little attention to this stranger
waiting at the counter. Matt felt humiliated for the second time within a
few weeks. Deeply hurt, he stormed out of the bar down the street and into a
Jesuit Church. That evening he made another resolution, never to carry money
with him. He kept that resolution for the rest of his life.
Dropping
into a Church to rest during his walks became a habit. Matt was neither fit
nor religious-minded. He grew tired quickly and since he could not rest in a
Tavern or sit down on a public street, a church provided the haven he
sought. Gradually he began to pray, to ask God to help him.
To find
the strength to remain sober he decided to attend Mass every morning before
work and to receive Holy Communion. This was very unusual in the 1880's when
the average good layman went to Mass just on Sunday and received Holy
Communion only at Easter and Christmas. At the end of three months, Matt
took the pledge to abstain from alcohol for six months and finally took it
for life.
Matt Talbot now turned all his effort to increasing his union with God and
developing his life of prayer. The strict ascetical life of the early Irish
monks attracted him. Their love of prayer with the emphasis on penance and
humility, and manual labour dedicated to God, appealed to him. He turned to
a Jesuit Father, Father James Welshe to help him.
His
austere daily program may shock us today in an affluent society that demands
comfort. He allowed himself just four or five hours sleep at night and arose
about 5 a.m. to prepare for early Mass. Then he would return home for
breakfast. Afterwards he would set off for work in the lumberyard of T. & C.
Martin. He was a conscientious worker. Many years later, one of his former
foremen described him as "the best worker in Dublin" who was often chosen to
set the pace for others. But at a time when Dublin labourers were often
exploited, he was not a "bosses" man. He had learned to read and write and
was quite ready to discuss the rights of workers.
Since he
was a member of many religious associations, he attended a meeting almost
every evening. When he came home about 9 p.m. or 10 p.m., it was time for
his spiritual reading. His spiritual reading ended about I a.m., and he
retired for four hours rest before beginning his daily routine again. He did
not go to work on Sunday but went to one of the City Churches and would
kneel in an obscure corner from the first Mass at 6 a.m. until mid-day.
Despite his austerities, Matt was a small tough man - "as strong as a little horse",
according to a fellow worker. He had an iron will and a constitution to
match. Neither the other workers in T. & C. Martin's, nor the fellow dockers
on Dublin's waterfront had an idea that he was leading a life modelled on
the early Irish monks. He was a happy little man, although more silent than
others. "Matt smiled at everything except a dirty joke," a friend remarked.
But many workers knew about his generosity. Matt lent them money to buy
clothes or shoes for their children or to pay overdue rent.
Matt Talbot died suddenly from a heart attack in Granby Lane on the way to Mass
on Sunday, June 7th, 1925. He was buried in what was virtually a pauper's
grave in Glasnevin Cemetery a few days later.
The
story of his life came to light because when his body was undressed,
three chains were discovered wrapped around it. Inquiries disclosed that
he practiced a devotion known as the slavery to Mary. The underlying
idea was that a person who considered himself a spiritual slave to the
Mother of God would remain close to her and to Jesus, her son. The
devotion included wearing one fine, loose chain. It was typical of Matt
Talbot to wear three.
In 1972 his remains were removed to a tomb in Our Lady of Lourdes Church in Sean McDermott Street.
In 1975 the Holy See conferred the title "Venerable" on him, which means that from a
purely human point of view, Matt Talbot has the qualifications of a Saint.
If this Opinion is confirmed by the Miracles required by Canon Law, he will
be canonized.