I went to a funeral this morning for the oldest priest in the diocese. He was my family's pastor for years; and I had the privilege of living with him for about 6 months when I was a young priest. That's about 30 years ago: back in 1978. Those were rough times to be a priest. (Ah, but every year since has seemed like a rough time to be a priest, but I'll leave that for another time.)
This gentle, gentle man that I am honoring tonight was a not a skilled preacher, if we measure preaching by words spoken in a pulpit. He used to compare his preaching to that of the Cure of Ars (St. John Vianney) who must have thought he wasn't a good preacher either. But like St. John Vianney, the patron saint for parish priests, it was this priest's integrity, his kindness, his living up to the call to be holy, and his gentleness in confession that made him an echo of the Cure of Ars. Except for preaching skills, this priest had everything else that makes a pastor a man of God in the eyes of his people.
30 years ago this kind man had been savagely disrespected by some people who wanted a better preacher. He was yelled at publicly and insulted and driven out of the community he served. Those were the days when charity seemed to be a lost art for many people. So he came to our rectory, at the invitation of the pastor I was serving with, so he could heal and regain his equilibrium. What stunned me then, and stuns me now, was that he held no ill feelings towards anyone. Instead, when he left his flock he wrote to them asking them to forgive him. He genuinely harbored no ill will. I thought at the time, at first, that he was in a state of denial; but as I got to know him, I found out that forgiving was who he really was. Now that's someone to learn from! Requiescat in pace.
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