Humble priest who fought in church's SAS to baptise a nation's leaders FATHER Emmet Costello finally passed away last week, aged 89, shortly after the former Jesuit student Bill Shorten had become Opposition Leader. The frail priest had been rallying and relapsing for months. Some said that he was determined to cling to life until he could see a protege of his become prime minister. Others said that he wanted to see both the prime ministership and its alternative claimed for the Jesuits. Emmet, in fact, was often a critic of his own order, as he was of the institutional church generally. His habitual disappointment with the Catholic hierarchy, though, was the frustration of a doting parent for a wayward child or a dedicated coach for an underperforming athlete. If the risen Jesus really was "my brother and friend," as Emmet fervently believed and frequently declared, how could this not dominate one's life? If Christianity really was God's best gift to the world, how could the church not be more conscious of what it had to offer? Emmet's real complaint was not out-of-touch bishops or priests who were dull preachers so much as that the church no longer took its mission as seriously as it had when he dedicated his life to it. Deep down, he was fiercely proud of the Jesuits' impact on the world at large. The Jesuits, he was convinced, had been established to be the church's SAS: fighting for their faith way behind secularist lines, in the media, academe and business. Other Jesuits may have given up the struggle and retreated to a religious ghetto or embraced a social gospel that made them virtually indistinguishable from any other well-meaning social reformer. Not Emmet. Anyone in public life or on any perch of the modern world's commanding heights could expect a letter or a call from Emmet, full of advice, praise and the invitation, sometimes merely hinted at, to talk about life's higher purposes. Like his great Jesuit forebear Matteo Ricci, evangelist to the Manchu court, he thought the best way to "baptise the world" was to baptise its leaders. It's not that Emmet was uninterested in those who were less likely to succeed. Certainly his memorable homilies, quick wit and charismatic teaching had wide appeal. Still, he took the traditional Jesuit view that the world would become more Christian more quickly if the church's shock troops concentrated their efforts where they were most likely to turn the tide of battle. From a Fiji-based Australian family with extensive commercial interests in goldmining and later in tourism, the early years of his priesthood were spent in Melbourne. From the early 1970s he was based in Sydney: successively at St Ignatius' and St Aloysius' colleges, and the Jesuit parishes at North Sydney and Lavender Bay. There are few former students of those fine schools, from that day to this, who escaped his influence. Many were taught by him; many more wished they had been taught by him; more still had heard stories about him or had heard his own stories from the pulpit. Some of these involved the well-known people whose lives he had touched, such as Sir Warwick and Lady Fairfax. This engendered the occasional accusation of snobbery - which was unfair. Emmet enjoyed good food and good conversation but, regardless of the company, his life was utterly purposeful. It was entirely directed to helping his interlocutors to be their best selves and, as far as possible, to cultivate lives based on a relationship with Jesus through the sacraments of the church. My first recollection of Emmet was his suggestion, wonderful to a sybaritic boy in Year 10, that going to Mass more often would be a far more worthy Lenten discipline than giving up chocolate. For me, this quickly developed into a settled practice of frequent Mass-going. Quite apart from any sacramental grace, particularly in tougher times, this regular period of calm has been an important element in mental health. These days, alas, the occasional weekday Mass has become something to offset against frequently missed Sunday Mass - and Emmet's wise observation has become corrupted into a kind of self-serving bargain with God. For Emmet, religion was never a checklist of dos and don'ts. He had taken to heart the gospel message that God's son had come on earth so that we "might have life and have it to the full." He invariably had more time for youngsters who kicked over the traces from abundance of high spirits than for those who were less tempted to break the rules. In the end, he always seemed to imply, it was better to have a go at things, at the risk of making mistakes, than to dare little for fear of failure. The greatest sins were the result of hardness of heart: the "sins against love," he called them. It was hardly textbook Catholicism but highly pastoral and kept many people going to Mass and in touch with their faith. To those assailed by doubt, he offered the centurion's prayer: Lord I believe; help my unbelief. Emmet sometimes joked that celibacy meant that he hadn't had to break women's hearts. I suspect that the absence of children was what he found hardest to bear. On the other hand, not having a family of his own meant that everyone who needed his help could become his family. Emmet had a spiritual family, if you like, numbering in the tens of thousands. We are all the poorer for his passing but so much the richer for his living. Tony Abbott is Prime Minister of Australia and was taught by Emmet Costello at St Ignatius' College, Riverview.