Politics is the new religion

Maybe it's our Celtic blood; maybe it's our Catholic upbringing; maybe it's the innate attraction towards the archetypal God. Or perhaps it's nothing more than human weakness. In any case, most of us need and yearn for some sort of spiritual guidance at some point during our lives. That is not to say that, without some self-righteous bigot breathing down our necks, dictating our every move, we would all run amok, robbing, raping, murdering from dawn till dusk at which time we would really kick into overdrive. Indeed, the vast majority of people are, by nature, good, decent human beings. That said, humans are just that - human beings with human weaknesses, human fears, human needs. And one of these needs is hope. Hope is what keeps our blood pumping and our lungs breathing. Without it, all is lost and life is pointless. When things are at their worst, religion can provide this yearned-for hope. This lovely country of ours is in serious trouble at the moment - we are all in serious trouble. There is no point wasting paper and ink reiterating what we all know too well, so on from that we shall move. At this moment (for in the grand scheme of things this trouble is only momentary) we need hope. We can manage without anything as long as we have hope. But herein lies the problem: where do we, as a people, turn for this elusive concept? So often throughout our history, our people faced terrible, horrible situations, but they always had religion to comfort them. But what do we have now? For sure, many people are still fully practising Catholics - a decision I fully respect. But what about those of us who, as of yet, simply cannot reconcile child rape and torture with our desire to practice religion? Don't we have the right to be incensed that the one institution that could possibly give us solace has rendered this just not possible? Of course, spirituality need not be synonymous with religion, but there is something truly comforting about coming together with one's friends and neighbours to worship God. As this past weekend has indisputably shown, we now have a new religion in Ireland - politics. And the latest deity, apparently, is to be known as Enda. We followed politics over the past few days as once we attended Easter ceremonies. We went in our droves, babes in tow, to the altar of the polling station whereupon we wrote out our supplications and quietly prayed for salvation. For the next day or two, we waited, watched, listened for any sign that salvation was neigh. Anybody new uttering new promises, flanked by new faces, speaking in new tongues would do. Once we had exorcised the Fianna Fail and Green demons, all would be well with the world again. In our frantic quest for hope and salvation, we have already turned our next Taoiseach into a god and TDs into saints in whom we are to place all our trust. We have been watching their every move, listening to their every utterance, all in the hopes of finding someone who will lead us to the Promised Land of full employment and prosperity once again. But at best - and this is where one really needs to be deliriously optimistic, or better yet, clinically insane - all that any politician can ever deliver is financial and economic stability. In short, it's all about money - money for the politicians and their party and money for us. Thanks to its own behaviour, the Catholic Church has no moral authority in this country and this is a terrible, terrible state of affairs. For now, more than ever, we need reminding that the picture is far bigger than us and our banking crisis. Despite all the data, all the articles, all the news coverage of the elections this past weekend, one image grabbed my attention and has held it hostage ever since. It is the cover picture on The Sunday Times Magazine of a little girl, abandoned at birth because of hydrocephalus, and the Danish woman, Cecilie Hansen, who travelled to Kathmandu to try to save her. I defy anyone to look at these pictures and read the accompanying story without sobbing their heart out. In short, no orphanage would have this little girl, so she was left on a chair in a busy, dirty maternity hospital for 18 months and fed only baby milk. Cecilie found a surgeon to try to help this child and stayed with her for her first surgery before returning to Denmark. A week later, Victoria, as she was now named, underwent a second surgery. The next day, her little heart failed. And somehow we think it is the end of the world because we are broke. Did any of us go to bed hungry last night? Will any of us ever have to sleep on the side of the road? A little bit of perspective would certainly help us all see things a bit more clearly.