Brother Kevin took the broken pieces of a thousand lives and turned them, somehow, into a jigsaw of hope

HIS roomy brown Capuchin habit engulfed his tiny frame completely, an XXL-sized aura of saintly goodness, inhabiting every available atom of the flowing vestment's many leftover nooks.

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It feels appropriate that some 50,000 of his native Cork tribe will invade Dublin for the AllIreland semi-final today, just as the capital city bids a teary, thankful adieu to this Christy Ring of kindness, a JBM of non-judgemental humanity.

Brother Kevin Crowley was as beloved in his adopted home as Molly Malone herself, feted as a miracle of undiscriminating benevolence, his heart a reservoir of compassion so vast it could house every last drop of water flowing between the Liffey walls.

A friar not much larger than a robin or a wren, yet the birdsong of his empathy could be heard in every corner of the sprawling metropolis, a summoning and comforting call to all those who had fallen into a chasm of hardship.

A serene, apple-cheeked man who took all the broken pieces of a thousand lives and somehow found a way to transform them into a jigsaw of hope.

SELFLESS

Asked to identify thoughtfulness and tolerance at an identity parade of the seven million 32-county census reveals now populate the island of Ireland, many up until his death this week would have immediately pointed to Brother Kevin.

He was, in effect, a master craftsman, dedicating an abundance of his 90 years to upholsouls a new stering poverty's bleak landscape with the fabric of his selfless concern.

It is no exaggeration to say that over the last 56 years he made a lifesaving difference - physically, psychologically, emotionally - to a number as great as those who will pack Croke Park to its mighty rafters at 5pm this evening.

His governing philosophy was to help without asking any questions. A friend to those who needed a friend, he never felt the requirement to wield a judge's gavel. Delivering haughty verdicts was never his thing.