In Memoriam
Last night, as I sat in the Adoration Chapel, the body of our parish's former pastor lay in the Main Church for his viewing.
As with any death of someone who was such a big part of your life, and yet you never seemed to really know them or appreciate them, I am filled with regret and quiet sadness. I wish I'd valued him more, known him better, and spoke to him more in life.
He was 77 when he died. He would have celebrated his 50th anniversary of his ordination this coming year. He had been the pastor of our Church for 22 years when he retired. From when my family moved here for 10 years he was our shepherd, our pastor, our Father. We may never have that length of time with any one pastor again.
Memories flooded me last night. I had meant to go to Adoration and pray about the baby and think of Christmas and the coming of that other Baby. But thoughts of Father and what he had been to me filled my head instead.
He's the one who interviewed me for my Confirmation, and thoroughly managed to traumatize me into tears.
He butchered my family's last name at every sacrament one of us received.
He baptized my three youngest siblings.
Every homily he said things like "in terms of the fact that" and "somehow or 'nother."
Every Easter and Christmas, from the pulpit he would say: "If no one's told you they loved you today yet, I do."
And at the end of every homily or Mass: "I hope you have a great day, because you DESERVE it."
Corny, sweet, God-love-him sayings . . .
Some of his favorite well-used homilies were on gratitude -- having an "attitude of gratitude" for all we've been given. He would talk about all we demand -- "I want what I want when I want it"-- and all the simple things that we forget to say thank you for. He was thankful for the simplest things . . .
That's the main way I'm remembering him now . . .
He was gruff, clumsy with words, gave uninspiring homilies, was even scary sometimes.
He was so good. . . so simple and sweet under the gruff blustery exterior. He took good care of his flock as best he could, as best he knew how. And he really did love every single one of us.
He built us a new Church.
Under him the Adoration Committee began.
He worked to get the parish debt-free in only six years.
He smiled at everyone and waved in that way of his -- hand held out to the side with his fingers wiggling at you like he was going to grab hold of your hand.
He was okay and tolerant of so much. When my mother started the Church's "Art & Environment" Committee -- to make the poor Church actually look beautiful sometimes -- he agreeably and peaceably let her do whatever she wanted.
His favorite song was "Amazing Grace." We sang it every year on his birthday.
He loved music.
He had been an alcoholic and was at our Church for so long without being transferred because he recovered here and did so well.
He bellowed "WHO'S FATHER?" every single mass . . . and "WE BELIEVE!" to start off the Creed.
He was a "liturgical butcher" and had no sense of beauty or ceremony while celebrating Mass.
He rumpled altar boys' hair and wore pastel sweaters . . .
Now I'm just stringing together memories in a stream of consciousness way . . .
God, please bless the gentle soul of this good man and priest and carry him to Your Heart soon. He as suffered through a long illness and he is ready to come home!
And let me learn a lesson from him: Don't say "I want" to God ("Me! me! me!" as Fr. would say), say "thank you for Your many blessings."
And I do have so much to be thankful for, don't I?
As with any death of someone who was such a big part of your life, and yet you never seemed to really know them or appreciate them, I am filled with regret and quiet sadness. I wish I'd valued him more, known him better, and spoke to him more in life.
He was 77 when he died. He would have celebrated his 50th anniversary of his ordination this coming year. He had been the pastor of our Church for 22 years when he retired. From when my family moved here for 10 years he was our shepherd, our pastor, our Father. We may never have that length of time with any one pastor again.
Memories flooded me last night. I had meant to go to Adoration and pray about the baby and think of Christmas and the coming of that other Baby. But thoughts of Father and what he had been to me filled my head instead.
He's the one who interviewed me for my Confirmation, and thoroughly managed to traumatize me into tears.
He butchered my family's last name at every sacrament one of us received.
He baptized my three youngest siblings.
Every homily he said things like "in terms of the fact that" and "somehow or 'nother."
Every Easter and Christmas, from the pulpit he would say: "If no one's told you they loved you today yet, I do."
And at the end of every homily or Mass: "I hope you have a great day, because you DESERVE it."
Corny, sweet, God-love-him sayings . . .
Some of his favorite well-used homilies were on gratitude -- having an "attitude of gratitude" for all we've been given. He would talk about all we demand -- "I want what I want when I want it"-- and all the simple things that we forget to say thank you for. He was thankful for the simplest things . . .
That's the main way I'm remembering him now . . .
He was gruff, clumsy with words, gave uninspiring homilies, was even scary sometimes.
He was so good. . . so simple and sweet under the gruff blustery exterior. He took good care of his flock as best he could, as best he knew how. And he really did love every single one of us.
He built us a new Church.
Under him the Adoration Committee began.
He worked to get the parish debt-free in only six years.
He smiled at everyone and waved in that way of his -- hand held out to the side with his fingers wiggling at you like he was going to grab hold of your hand.
He was okay and tolerant of so much. When my mother started the Church's "Art & Environment" Committee -- to make the poor Church actually look beautiful sometimes -- he agreeably and peaceably let her do whatever she wanted.
His favorite song was "Amazing Grace." We sang it every year on his birthday.
He loved music.
He had been an alcoholic and was at our Church for so long without being transferred because he recovered here and did so well.
He bellowed "WHO'S FATHER?" every single mass . . . and "WE BELIEVE!" to start off the Creed.
He was a "liturgical butcher" and had no sense of beauty or ceremony while celebrating Mass.
He rumpled altar boys' hair and wore pastel sweaters . . .
Now I'm just stringing together memories in a stream of consciousness way . . .
God, please bless the gentle soul of this good man and priest and carry him to Your Heart soon. He as suffered through a long illness and he is ready to come home!
And let me learn a lesson from him: Don't say "I want" to God ("Me! me! me!" as Fr. would say), say "thank you for Your many blessings."
And I do have so much to be thankful for, don't I?
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