Ronan, John 1893-1979, Jesuit brother

Person

Ronan, John 1893-1979, Jesuit brother

11 February 1893-08 August 1979

Born: 11 February 1893, Dublin City, County Dublin
Entered: 02 June 1915, St Stanislaus College, Tullabeg, County Offaly
Final Vows 02 February 1926, Rathfarnham Castle, Dublin
Died:08 August 1979, Milltown Park, Dublin

◆ Irish Province News

Irish Province News 54th Year No 3 and 4 1979

Obituary :

Br John Ronan (1893-1913-1979)

John Ronan was born in Dublin on 11 February 1893. His family had Scottish connections and John used like to take his holidays in Scotland. It may well be that it was from his father he inherited his dry wit and his gift with words. He attended National School and then a Christian Brothers school to sixth standard, and joined the novitiate at Tullabeg in the year 1913. The precise date was a subject of controversy between John and a succession of editors of the Province Catalogue: in the Catalogue he consistently appears as entering in 1915; Fathers Aubrey Gwynn and Fergal McGrath, however, recall that John was in Tullabeg in 1913; further, John's Final Vow formula is dated 2nd February 1926, which indicates that he must have taken First Vows in 1915 or early 1916.
In 1918 a young man was despatched from Tullabeg to Gardiner Street; the Minister, Father Bury, greeted the news with joy: “This is splendid: he will tempt the Fathers to eat better because of his good cooking!” John was twenty-five then, and his gift for making people happy is well attested; he was asked for by various houses, and a member of the Province who arrived in houses which Brother John had just left recalls that John was remembered with gratitude and affection. Cooks have a central place and wield great power within their domains: John cooked for his brethren for thirty years and made them happy because he was generous, painstaking and thoughtful. He worked in Gardiner Street (1918-23), Rathfarnham Castle (1923 36), Belvedere (1926-29), Clongowes (1929-31), Emo (1931-35), Mungret (1935-38), Tullabeg (1938-43), St Ignatius, Galway (1943-47), Crescent (1947-48), Clongowes again (1948-58), Manresa (1958-59) and finally Milltown Park (1959-79).
It was during the last twenty years of his life that the present writer came to know and appreciate him. He was assistant to Brother John Rogers in the bindery and ad dom. He was neat and self-contained; had a small stocky frame, large and long face, black hair, steel rimmed glasses, black chesterfield and boots which had long since seen their best days; he made an unusual figure both within and outside the house. He loved the city of Dublin and was the best known of the community on the 11 bus route; drivers used make unscheduled stops to take him aboard. They loved him more for his easy chat and good-humoured wit than for the sweets he used give them. He aged imperceptibly, for he was built of durable stuff. He seemed indestructible, as was illustrated when at the age of eighty three he came limping home after an affair with a car; he was reluctant to admit to the accident, went off to take a bath to ease his wounds and was back in action the following day. He was delightfully unpredictable in ways, and free of shyness in his relating to others. To illustrate: passing the Gas Company showrooms one day, he looked in and saw a salesgirl within who looked very gloomy. He went in: “I'd like to ask you about a gadget which you're advertising; you don't seem to have it on display”. “What is it?” she replied grumpily. “Well, you've an ad saying: Make your tea in a jiffy! I'd like to see a jiffy and know how it works!” As she tried to explain she began to smile. After a while, he said: “I know well what a jiffy is, but you look a lot happier now than when I came in!” And off he went.
John was seventy years old when Vatican II came, bringing to an end an era of stability in which regularity of practice and unswerving loyalty to authority were the characteristic of the faithful, John among them. The way was opened for new forms of religious and personal expression, with questioning and experimentation the order of the day. Like many of his generation, John found the sweeping changes in Catholic and Jesuit life hard to understand; the new forms of expression and the eclipse of the old left him confused. He was ill at ease in the new Milltown Park, and voiced his reservations with great honesty to his superiors and to the community; he was distressed that his critiques met with little effective response; he felt that a sympathetic hearing of his views was not enough. Values were at risk, as his eagle eye could see, and he loved religious life and the Province enough to do what he could to safeguard these values. Now that we as a Province are moving into calmer waters we can be grateful to John and others like him who have acted as reminders of the central qualities which must characterise any religious life worthy of the name.
Together with the difficulty he experienced in adjusting to the upheavals of aggiornamento, John went through a long period of indifferent health. For sixteen years his problem was wrongly diagnosed and treated, until finally Dr Dan Kelly brought him relief. The wit which had been so noted in him before was less evident in the latter years, though it emerged in flashes still, and brought many a smile. The younger brethren who overslept were labelled “the rising generation”; “All for me, dear Jesus!” was a remark used for a certain Father whom John thought as caring for himself a little too well. Some found it disconcerting to pass him on the corridor and half-hear a devastating remark as he shuffled away, but this may have been a device to communicate and keep in touch with those whose ways he found hard to understand. He detested beards, and persisted for quite a time with one scholastic in an anti-beard campaign until the object of his attentions asked him to ease up, whereupon to his surprise John said: “I’m only waying it because I like you”! A few years ago he fell into conversation with a lady on the front drive: he confided that he had been sent down town to buy two butterfly nets for the Rector (these were in fact intended for the removal of leaves from the swimming pool), He then launched into an incisive commentary on the Rector’s general performance, and told how the superiors of old used stay in their offices and appear mainly at mealtimes whereas the present one ... etc., etc. At the front door the lady revealed that she was the Rector's mother. Nothing daunted, he bade farewell with the remark: “See if you can't do something with him!”
Over a long lifetime John used his gifts well; he was cook, dispenser, house steward, manuductor, assistant bookbinder; he was a respected watch-mender, fiddled with radios - one of his crystal sets is still extant; he made walking sticks for those who, unlike himself, enjoyed the countryside. The present writer, more than forty years his junior, never knew him in his heyday, but considers his sixty-six years of service to the brethren a remarkable achievement worthy of the gratitude which was expressed by the wide representation of Province members at John’s requiem. What I find more remarkable, however, is the manner in which he continued his life of service to the very end. He might well have felt that by his eightieth year he had done enough, that he was no longer needed or wanted, that he could legitimately retire. Instead he took on a new role - that of postman and messenger. In finding yet one more way to serve the brethren he was typical of a great tradition of Jesuit brothers; having early on, in the words of the Kingdom exercise offered himself “entirely for the work”, he carried through to the end his promise of availability. While he was glad to have a daily task and was upset when the protracted mail-strike from February to June of this year left him with little to do, the work took its toll, and he was frequently to be seen suffering from attacks of dizziness, sitting along the corridor with his head between his hands.
What was sad in the final years was that it was hard to convince him that he was appreciated. Superiors had with doubtful wisdom allowed too much to change for him to be other than wary of well intentioned compliments. He developed the habit of blessing himself as they went by. Yet he had his friends in the community, and also among the lay-staff. He delighted in chatting with the latter and running errands for them; he continued to get cut-price cigarettes in Clery's for one woman long after she had given up smoking, for she had not the heart to tell him she no longer needed them. Moreover, he always presented the best side of community life to outsiders. I quote from a letter of his nephew: “John always spoke with great pride of your Society ... and of the wonderful work which is being done by everyone within the order”. That reticence, however, which often blocks us from speaking within the community of that pride we feel for the brethren afflicted John too. There's the story of the two scholastics who came early to supper and found John sitting down before them. “Supper doesn't begin till six!” he admonished them. “Ah”, they answered, “but we have an excuse; we're off on apostolic work. We're working for God!” “That's obvious”, said John. “If you were working for anyone else you'd have been sacked long ago!”
Of the inner life of such a man one of my generation can only guess. Surely there must have existed a deep union between God and himself to make him so consistently faithful to his religious practices, so simple and frugal in his dress and way of life, so willing to live out a life of uneventful service. He had to face the sufferings of loneliness, ill-health, confusion and perhaps even a sense of betrayal over the changes that came in the last years of his life. One thinks of the hardships of the disciple’s calling in the gospel of Luke; of Ignatius' prayer: “To give and not to count the cost”; of Hopkins sonnet on St Alphonsus Rodriguez; of K Rahner's account of the “wintry spirituality of many Jesuits”.
His death, like his life, was simple, unadorned, unromantic and without fuss. When asked about his health earlier this year, he used reply: “I'm all right, Father, you have to keep going, if you lie down they'll put you in a box?” He was moved down to the Chapel Corridor a month before he died: he had already renamed that corridor “the coffin corridor” some time before. He accepted the change with macabre humour; the door of his new room would be just the right size to get out the coffin! He sought out his friend Dr Dan Kelly at St Vincent’s, the day before he died. He knew with his quiet realism that he was dying, yet he refused to stay in hospital; he wanted to die at home. A life-long Pioneer, he took a little brandy that night; the end came peacefully about 6 am the following morning; it is hard to think that he was reluctant to go. I like to think of him now as surprised by joy at his meeting with the Lord, amazed and delighted at hearing the divine commendation for his life of service. Gone now the misunderstandings that marred the last years; if the communion of saints means anything, we at Milltown Park may confidently hope that he will keep a brotherly eye on us and on our affairs, now that he has entered into new service as God's messenger of grace to us.

A writer from the Far East would like to add the following:
A fine, warm-hearted man, whose conversation on spiritual and secular matters had the quality of suavitas. Knowing that he was from the Coombe, I associated him with a man like Dean Swift - he had that observation of people and that natural eloquence of the Dubliner. A dedicated man, he had that warm humanity so befitting a Jesuit, and which the Brothers by their prayer and simplicity have given so fully to the Society. May he pray for us to be gifted with more vocations like his

Irish Vice-Province of the Society of Jesus, 1830- (1830-)

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