Another Kilmer Poem - for Memorial Day

A few days ago I included Thanksgiving, a little poem by Joyce Kilmer, in another of my posts. It’s one of those poems that challenges us to rethink our understanding of the events and influences that can dominate the times of our lives. It also asks us to accept that nothing is simply coincidental, that God can bring good out of everything, even that which from an objective, human perspective can seem downright evil. I’ve always believed that as he wrote Thanksgiving, Kilmer might well have been thinking of St. Paul’s famous words to the Romans:

“We know that in everything God works for good with those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose” [Rom 8:28].

Kilmer certainly believed this, and realized God is always in control despite our foolish attempts to subvert His plan for humanity. Everything is a gift for those who love the Lord, even though we don’t understand how God will bring good from it. Believing this, we must then thank God for everything. 

The poet was also “called according to His purpose” in both his life and his death. Perhaps most fittingly, Kilmer wrote this poem from the trenches of World War One. Immersed in the chaotic horror of that war, Sergeant Kilmer faced death and destruction daily. He was highly respected by both the troops and the officers of his battalion. Sadly, Kilmer died in that war, killed instantly by a German sniper on July 30,1918. And yet, although an enlisted man, he was buried next to the officers with whom he served, a most unusual honor in those days. But in truth it was more of an honor for the officers than for Kilmer.

Anyway, all this thinking and writing about Joyce Kilmer, brought to mind another of his brief poems that I read years ago. I’d forgotten the name of the poem, so I had to do a little searching, and finally found it. I had mistakenly remembered its title as “Princes,” but it turned out to be “Kings.” I thought it particularly relevant for our world today, especially Kilmer’s description of the perversion of power. Yes, indeed, the “Kings of the earth” will be so very surprised when in their powerlessness they are called to account by the Prince of Peace. Here’s the poem:

                       Kings

The Kings of the earth are men of might,

And cities are burned for their delight,

And the skies rain death in the silent night,

And the hills belch death all day!

But the King of Heaven, Who made them all,

Is fair and gentle, and very small;

He lies in the straw, by the oxen's stall -- 

Let them think of Him to-day!

It’s evident why so many critics disliked Kilmer. He was simply too simple. He wrote for everyone, unlike so many poets who wrote only for each other and for the literati who could get them published in all the right journals. Kilmer also didn’t disguise his Christianity which he displayed prominently in so much of his work. No doubt this was a major irritant to the faithless denizens of New York’s literary circles. 

Of course, as simple as I am, I’ve always enjoyed his poetry. Some of this appreciation for Kilmer might stem from a few rather vague connections. I was brought up in Larchmont, a suburb of New York City, a village where Kilmer also lived for a time. Of course, he died long before I was born, and 30 years before we moved to Larchmont, but we were both parishioners of St. Augustine Parish. Because of this parish connection, he was somewhat of a local celebrity and the Dominican sisters who taught in the parish school introduced us to his poetry early, in the fifth or sixth grade. My parents were also friends with an older woman, who had known Kilmer as a young man. Apparently, her family had lived next door to Kilmer. She spoke about him often and waxed eloquently about the “handsome, young poet.” So, I suppose I was primed to like him and his work, but I think that’s true of most of our earliest influences. 

Today though, on this Memorial Day, we can pray that the "Kings of the earth" will someday actually approach the Prince of Peace on their knees in repentance. But in the meantime, I am called to remember and thank God for so many of my friends and comrades who sacrificed their lives for you and for me and for generations to come. Because of my own involvement, I especially thank God for those who died during the Vietnam conflict. But I also thank God for those who died in so many other conflicts, including Sergeant Joyce Kilmer, another hero who served a nation and its people and selflessly sacrificed his life for us. 

May Almighty God bless them all and keep them.

May His face shine upon them and be gracious to them.

May He look upon them with kindness and give them peace.

May Almighty God bless them, 

   in the name of the Father,

   and of the Son,

   and of the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

“Gird Your Loins!”

Back when I was just a kid, our family Bible was a Douay-Rheims translation filled with prints of those wonderful biblical engravings by Gustave Doré. (You can view them all here.) As a young child I would sit on the living room couch turning the pages of that Bible and examining Doré‘s remarkably detailed scenes. My approach to Bible Study at that age was rather random, a hit-or-miss approach in which I would look at one of the pictures, then read the opening passages of the book I thought was associated with the picture. Often enough I didn’t understand much of what I’d read and found myself wondering just what those words were telling me. Many of the words were not yet part of my vocabulary, so I’d occasionally ask my mom what they meant. Once, while reading the opening verses of Jeremiah, I came across the following in which God commanded the young prophet:

“Thou therefore gird up thy loins, and arise, and speak to them all that I command thee…” [Jer 1:17]

So I asked Mom, “What does gird up thy loins mean?” As I recall, she didn’t provide a full explanation, but simply replied, “It means to prepare for battle.” At the time that was enough for the nine-year-old me. I’m guessing it was a few more years before I even knew what loins were. Truthfully, I’m still a bit foggy about it today since loins rarely, if ever, find their way into everyday conversation. 

Anyway, the phrase was not restricted to the Old Testament. St. Paul, for example, used it when writing to the Ephesians:

“Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil…Stand therefore, having girded your loins with truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the equipment of the gospel of peace; above all taking the shield of faith, with which you can quench all the flaming darts of the evil one. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God” [Eph 6:11,’14-17].

Here the Apostle, using a variety of military images, instructed those early Christians to prepare themselves for spiritual battle, armed defensively with truth, righteousness, the gospel of peace, and faith. St. Peter, addressing new Christians who were undergoing persecution and hardship, used similar language to encourage them in their faith:

“Therefore gird up your minds, be sober, set your hope upon the grace that is coming to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ. As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, be holy yourselves in all your conduct; since it is written, ‘You shall be holy, for I am holy’” [1 Pet 1:13-16].

Peter used only part of the “girding” metaphor, telling these Christians, “gird up your minds” and calling them to the holiness God wills for them. 

Until the other day, the last time I heard anyone use the phrase publicly was on April 17, 1970, when the Commanding Officer of our Navy helicopter squadron rose up from his ready room chair and gave some final instructions to the crews who would recover the Apollo 13 astronauts. Chuck Smiley looked out at us all and with a smile on his face said, “You’re all professionals, so I know you’ll do an outstanding job today, so let’s just gird our loins and do what the nation expects of us.” And we did. 

Why my current interest in all this loin-girding?  Because of something I read a few days ago in a news article. As you might have heard, the Los Angeles Dodgers invited a radical anti-Catholic hate group to the team’s June 16 Pride Night game. During the game the group will receive the team’s “Community Heroes” award. The group, calling themselves “The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence,” openly mocks the Catholic faith. The Dodgers invited this extremist trans group, but responding to strong criticism and complaints from Christian groups, the team dis-invited them. But then the leftist hate attacks began so the team re-invited them. 

Drag Trans "Sister of Perpetual Indulgence"

While the Archdiocese of Los Angeles issued a statement condemning this hateful decision by the Dodgers, perhaps the best response came from one of the more courageous of American bishops, Salvatore Cordileone, Archbishop of San Francisco. Archbishop Cordileone accused the Dodgers organization of worshiping “alternative gods” and then added:

“Our Catholic sisters devote themselves to serving others selflessly. Decent people would not mock and blaspheme them. So we now know what gods the Dodger admin worships. Open desecration and anti-Catholicism is not disqualifying. Disappointing, but not surprising. Gird your loins.”

Archbishop Cordileone

Don’t you just love it? “Gird your loins,” the archbishop tells his flock. Like St. Paul and St. Peter, he calls us to prepare for spiritual warfare; indeed, we are already in the midst of the war’s ongoing battles. Satan is pulling out all the stops in what will ultimately be his failing effort to destroy God’s Church. I expect this warfare to go on for quite some time, so it would be best to equip ourselves with that same defensive armor recommended by St. Paul: truth, righteousness, the gospel of peace, and faith. And to these let’s add our most effective offensive weapon: prayer.

Oh, and for all you Dodger's fans out there, I'd suggest switching allegiance to another team or just doing what I decided to do and just avoid Major League Baseball altogether. Or as we New Yorkers say: "Fugeddaboutit!"

Grief and Thanksgiving

Note: To respect the privacy of those involved, I have not used any names in this post.  

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On occasion we all get a bit down, thanks to little irritants that loom up and take on an importance far exceeding their reality. This is no virtue because, in truth, it’s more than a little selfish. Were Diane not so kind, she could tell you of my susceptibility to these episodes of self-centered grumpiness. But in my defense, I can honestly say they never last long and are soon overwhelmed by the joy of living each day God has given me. I suppose we’re all rather selfish critters until we step away from ourselves and focus on others and on the Other. The catalyst for this change, at least in extreme cases, often involves coming face to face with tragedy. When tragedy strikes close to us, the minor irritants of our lives become almost meaningless in light of another’s deep suffering.

This past Friday, I got a call from a local funeral director asking if I would conduct a brief service at the funeral home for a young man of 33 who had died just days before. The deceased’s wife would fly in that evening from the northeast with two of her husband’s friends. The funeral director hoped I could conduct the service early Saturday afternoon. My schedule was clear, so I agreed. When I asked for more information about the man, I was told he was involved in telecommunications, and that he and his wife had been married only six months. The couple were both immigrants from Belarus, as were the friends accompanying her. The funeral director then informed me the young man had committed suicide. He had hanged himself. Death at a young age is always tragic and death by suicide doubly so. 

I realized I had to speak with the young widow as soon as possible and was given her cell phone number. I managed to catch her on her way to the airport. She spoke excellent English which is good because my Belarusian is non-existent. We talked for only about 10 minutes because I could tell she was devastated and probably needed time with her friends. But she had told me enough about her husband so I could at least prepare the service and my homily. He was Catholic and she is Orthodox. “A kind and generous man,” she said, but a man also afflicted with addictions that plagued and depressed him. “But he truly loved God,” she added, “and I think he just wanted to escape his problems and be with Him.” 

When I arrived at the funeral home, his body was in an open casket in the chapel. His widow, a lovely young woman, was standing over him, stroking his head and sobbing almost uncontrollably. I approached her and quietly introduced myself. She simply thanked me for agreeing to be there, then hugged me long and hard. It reminded me of the hugs I used to receive from Diane when I returned from a long Navy cruise to the Western Pacific. I think she saw in me, this grandfather-like figure with a deacon’s cross around his neck, a faint connection to God, someone who could make some sense of everything. I could see her husband had been a strapping and handsome young man, and like his two friends, who spoke little English, was no stranger to hard work. As you might imagine, the scene was one of almost inescapable sorrow and I realized I had to inject it with a real sense of hope.

Too many Christians believe suicide is somehow irredeemable, always an insurmountable obstacle to salvation. I have never accepted this, and often argued with those who expressed such a merciless belief. I call it merciless, because it denies both the mercy and justice of our loving God. You and I can never know what lies deep within the heart of another, and to believe otherwise is to assume we possess divine knowledge. Suicide is not a normal response to life’s challenges, and too often is driven by any number of mental instabilities, including addictions. Full consent may not be present when one makes such an agonizing decision, especially when it is made precipitously. Is it sinful? Yes, of course. But so too are many other things you and I do on a daily basis. Divine Mercy cannot be limited by you and me. By trying to do so we turn ourselves into little false gods who actually believe we can know the mind and heart of our one, true God, and then demand He follow our lead when it comes to salvation. I’ve always taken hope knowing that God wills all to be saved. How did St. Paul put it?

“First of all, then, I ask that supplications, prayers, petitions, and thanksgivings be offered for everyone, for kings and all in authority, that we may lead a quiet and tranquil life in all devotion and dignity. This is good and pleasing to God our savior, who wills everyone to be saved and to come to knowledge of the truth. For there is one God. There is also one mediator between God and the human race, Christ Jesus, himself human, who gave himself as ransom for all” [1 Tim 2:1-6].

We don't make salvation decisions about others; we let God do that. Far better if you and I simply trust and pray for the souls of those who have gone before us.

Another serious side-effect of suicide is the presence of guilt that can overwhelm the survivors, especially spouses, parents, and even children. As I told this young man’s widow, if you are tempted to dwell on all you could have said or done differently, thinking that you might have prevented this tragedy, don’t go there; it’s not a good place. Such thoughts are never beneficial and only drive you to despair. I really believe Satan is the one who plants these thoughts in grieving hearts. I also told her, "If you should find yourself there, leave." As St. Paul instructed us, offer supplications, prayers, petitions, and thanksgivings. "Pray for the soul of your husband; thank God for the time you had with each other; and pray too for his parents and family in Belarus who are surely grieving with you." We will not know the answers to all of our questions until we are with God in heaven. It is so much better to spend our time here thanking Him. 

I really believe the best antidote for grief, and pain, and hardship is thanksgiving. I know I’ve posted this poem by Joyce Kilmer before, but I think it deserves another reading, especially today. Kilmer wrote it while in the trenches during World War One, not long before he was killed by a German sniper. He was 31 years old.

                Thanksgiving

The roar of the world is in my ears.
Thank God for the roar of the world!
Thank God for the mighty tide of fears
Against me always hurled!

Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife,
And the sting of His chastening rod!
Thank God for the stress and the pain of life,
And Oh, thank God for God!

A Three-Day Stay Away

At some point this Spring Dear Diane and I realized it had been about three years since we’d taken a vacation (not counting spiritual retreats, which really aren't vacations). In our pre-COVID existence, every year or so we would join up with our good friends, Nancy and Dave Lee, meeting somewhere between our two homes. The Lees live in Northern Virginia and we live in Central Florida, so there’s a lot of territory to choose from. We've spent time with them in Georgia, North Carolina, Williamsburg, and other fun spots.

Dave & Nancy - Friends for 50 years

Because the Lees have children and grandchildren in Florida, we convinced them to join us on a mini-vacation in lovely St. Augustine, a truly historic city on Florida’s northeast coast south of Jacksonville. After a few days with us, they could then visit at least that part of the Lee clan that resides in Florida. Traveling from our home to St. Augustine involves only a two-hour drive, all on Florida’s picturesque back roads. But for our dear friends it meant a flight from D.C. to Jacksonville, then a drive in a rental car to St. Augustine. I think our next get-together will likely be at a more neutral site.

Diane and Me at Our Lady's Shrine

Although we spent only two nights and parts of three days in St. Augustine, we had a wonderful time. The weather forecast seemed a bit iffy, but the predicted thunderstorms never really materialized. We took advantage of the hop-on-hop-off trolley that runs throughout the city’s historic and waterfront districts. Of course, at our age there wasn't a lot of "hopping," but the trolley turned out to be a pretty effective way to see the sights. On each trolley ride we were entertained by a different knowledgeable driver-guide who related fascinating stories of the people and events that formed St. Augustine throughout the city’s long history. 

Chapel: Our Lady of La Leche Shrine

Diane and I had visited the city a few times in the past, so it wasn't all new to us. Our hotel was directly across the street from the National Shrine of Our Lady of La Leche, which we visited on our last morning. We had hoped to attend Mass at the shrine’s church, but we had all misread the sign and couldn’t be there for the noon daily Mass. That was the anniversary of my diaconal ordination (26 years), but we celebrated quietly, thanking Our Blessed Mother for her constant intercession. The shrine, however, is a beautiful and very peaceful place -- a "must-see" if you visit St. Augustine.

We had a couple of wonderful meals in local restaurants. The first, right next door to the St. Augustine Distillery, was at the Fish Camp Restaurant, where we were served a lovely lunch. It's a popular place, especially for lunch, so get there early. And no, we didn't visit the distillery, simply because we were running late.

On our last evening together, we enjoyed a delicious dinner at the Conch House Restaurant, out on "The Island" as the locals call it. Fortunately, this particular island is connected to downtown by a drawbridge, so getting there is a breeze. Our dinner was just perfect, but even on a Tuesday evening we had about a 45-minute wait for a table. We spent the waiting time in the restaurant's bar, which is worth a visit. Halfway down a pier, it's decked-out in true nautical regalia, perfect for Dave and me, a couple of old retired naval officers.

If you occasionally visit Florida, and who doesn't these days, be sure to spend a day or two in St. Augustine. Just don't try to see everything on your first visit. It's one of those places you'll want to visit again and again.

Homily: Saturday, 6th Week of Easter

Readings: Acts 18:23-28; Ps 47; John 16:23b-28

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Back in my other life, in my consulting days, I was often asked to talk to industrial salespeople and sales managers. One thing I tried to instill in them was the need to focus on both the roadwork and the homework. On homework, I meant becoming true experts on their products and services, and equally important, learning everything they can about their customers. Only then will their roadwork bring dividends.

We see a little of that in our reading from Acts. Apollos, an evangelist from Alexandria, was an eloquent preacher but he was lacking in knowledge of the Christian faith. So, the married team of Priscilla and Aquila took him aside and spent some time teaching Him so he could proclaim the truth of the Gospel confidently. It’s a beautiful example of believers helping, supporting, and encouraging each other in the faith, helping one another to grow in the Lord.

As I thought about today's readings, I recalled a few of my own experiences teaching others, both successful and not so successful. 

About 20 years ago, shortly before we moved to Florida, I was asked to give a brief reflection to an ecumenical group in our Cape Cod town. It was during the Lenten season and the pastors of all the Christian churches thought it would be good to have a series of prayer meetings, open to anyone who cared to attend.

Anyway, my pastor volunteered me to represent our parish, and the Congregational minister who had organized everything, asked me to preach at the first of these weekly meetings. The topic he gave me was prayer...so, there I was preaching to a couple of hundred folks, mostly Protestants, from a half-dozen denominations.

At one point early in my talk, I asked the participants, “To whom do you pray?” Almost unanimously, they answered, “Jesus!” I had expected this, and I told them that praying to Our Lord Jesus Christ was certainly a good thing.

But then I went to the Gospel, and read a number of different passages where Jesus instructs His disciples on prayer. Of course, the most famous is the Lords’ Prayer, or as we Catholics often call it, The Our Father, echoing its first words:

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name…” [Mt 6:9]

I then turned to John’s Gospel and read the Word from today’s passage:

“Amen, amen, I say to you, whatever you ask the Father in my name he will give you” [Jn 16:23].

I followed this with another half-dozen passages from the Gospels and St. Paul’s letters, teaching us to pray to the Father, always in Jesus’ Name, and guided by the Holy Spirit.

All too often, though, we think we know what’s best for us, and so that’s what we pray for, as if we need to instruct God on what’s best for us. As St. Paul wrote, encouraging the Christians of Rome:

“…the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” [Rom 8:26].

I’ve always loved that explanation of Paul's. In effect the Holy Spirit is telling us, "You try, but you really don’t know what to pray for, or how to pray, so I’ll just handle it all for you, interceding for you with the Farther…but you must try. Go ahead and pray, perhaps repeating those words of Jesus, 'Thy will be done,' and I’ll fill in the blanks with my inexpressible groanings." Or as St. Paul said to the Ephesians, more succinctly, just “pray at all times in the Spirit” [Eph 6:18].

So, what does today’s Gospel passage, and the New Testament in general, teach us about prayer? Well, among other things, we learn that prayer should be Trinitarian: to the Father, in the Son’s Name, and through the workings of the Holy Spirit. We need only listen to the Eucharistic prayer at every Mass, a prayer addressed to the Father, through the Son – yes, “through Him, with Him, and in Him – and in the unity of the Holy Spirit.” Our prayer, then, has the pattern of the Trinity stamped on it.

As I said to that mixed congregation on Cape Cod, “Pray to Jesus if you like, but remember that any prayer to Jesus will always unite us with the Father through the love and power of the Holy Spirit.” Paul, once again, put it so much better:

“…you received a spirit of adoption, through which we cry, “Abba, Father!” The Spirit itself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God…” [Rom 8:15-16]

Yes, indeed, we are children of the Father…and how good is that!

 

Homily: Tuesday, 6th Week of Easter

Readings: Acts 16:22-34; Ps 138; John 16:5-11

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Coincidentally, or perhaps not since I really don’t believe in coincidences, in our parish Bible Study we’re currently discussing this particular chapter, chapter 16, of the Acts of the Apostles. This section of Acts tells us of Paul’s second missionary journey, a journey that truly made history because, for the first time, Christianity made its way into Europe. For the early Church, Europe was mission territory, and I suppose, in some respects it still is.

Now Paul, on this journey accompanied by Silas, wasn’t looking for trouble. They just wanted to preach the Good News of Jesus Christ to both Jew and Gentile and lead both to salvation. Their first stop after crossing the Aegean, was Philippi, a city of Macedonia and a Roman colony. Philippi was populated by large numbers of retired Roman soldiers, and unexpectedly they ran into some serious trouble.

Paul had exorcised a demon who had possessed a slave girl. This angered the owner of the girl because the demon was pretty good at fortune telling, and people paid for this. As a result, Paul and Silas were arrested and attacked by a mob. The local magistrate conducted a kangaroo court, had the two missionaries stripped and beaten, then imprisoned and chained them. Not a good day.

But that night, as Paul and Silas prayed and sang psalms, an earthquake hit, opened the doors to the jail, and broke their chains. The jailer, thinking everyone had escaped, was about to kill himself when Paul stops him, “We’re all here.” Paul hadn’t escaped and had apparently convinced the other prisoners to remain as well.

It all turns into one of those wonderful events, when the Holy Spirit moves someone to faith, for the jailer asks, “What must I do to be saved?” [Acts 16:30] Paul doesn’t waste a lot of words here, and gives perhaps the shortest of homilies:

“Believe in the Lord Jesus and you and your household will be saved” [Acts 16:31].

The jailer takes them to his home, treats their wounds, listens to God’s Word, and he and his entire household are baptized.

Thinking about this remarkable event, I realized that even when we’re trying to do what we believe God wants of us, without calling attention to ourselves, sometimes it just doesn’t go well, and were rejected, even mistreated.

Paul, trying to quiet that slave girl by exorcising the demon that was creating such a disturbance, ends up getting him and Silas beaten and imprisoned. I doubt Paul regretted what he had done. After all, even if secular authority persecutes us, we must still “obey God rather than men” [Acts 5:29].

In the same way today, the entire Church, and that includes all of us, must stand tall for religious freedom, defending the Church’s right to preach the truth in the face of pressures to conform to secular values. Like Paul and Silas, we must all be willing to proclaim the Gospel, practice our faith, and teach the truth as it relates to both morality and justice. We need only trust in God, in his goodness, knowing He will turn all to good for those who love him. As Paul and Silas learned that night in the prison, in all things, our God is in charge, not us.

And as Jesus promised His disciples, He sends His advocate, His Holy Spirit, to us. It is the Spirit who will lead us, guide us, and speak and act through us…if only we will let Him. Recall what Jesus revealed of the Spirit:

“…the Spirit of truth…will guide you to all truth. He will not speak on his own, but he will speak what he hears…He will glorify me…and declare it to you” [Jn 16:13-14].

This, brothers and sisters, is why we should always be open to the Spirit, letting Him guide us in all things. Through the Holy Spirit, we proclaim our ancient faith in the saving death and resurrection of Christ until he comes again.  

It is also why we should never despair when it seems those we love don’t respond to God’s Word. The Spirit works in His own time and His own way.

We need only trust and be faithful.

 

For Moms

Today on Mother’s Day I thank God for all the wonderful women, the mothers who have not only been a part of my life but also have a lot to do with who I am today.

The first, of course, is my mother, Martha Cavanaugh McCarthy, who died on March 12, 1977 at the age of 67. It’s hard to believe she’s been gone from us for 46 years. 

Mom married my dad on July 4, 1935, and raised two very different and difficult boys, my brother Jeff and me. But she and my dad raised us well. Any faults we developed or demonstrated later in life were all of our own doing. The photo at left was taken probably around 1930 when Mom earned her RN at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Bridgeport, Connecticut. I think she was 21 at the time.

Dad remarried to a wonderful woman named Barbara, who cared for him during his last quarter-century. He lived to a ripe age of 95, leaving us in 2005. And then my big brother, Jeff, died in 2010 at the age of 69. I guess that makes me a 78-year-old orphan, who daily asks Mom, Dad, and Jeff to intercede for me and my family. The photo below, taken in the 1950s, shows Mom and Dad enjoying a beer.

My mom's mother, who was born in Ireland in 1867, died when Mom was just 11, so I knew only one of my grandmothers, my dad's mom, Ann Moran McCarthy. Thanks to her eldest grandchild, my brother, Jeff, she became known as Grangy. I guess he had trouble saying, Grandma. Anyway, the name stuck and that's how she was known by all the grandchildren. She lived with us for several years but spent her last year in a nursing home. Born on October 19, 1877, she lived a dozen years as a widow and died in 1960 at the age of 82. She was a good woman and a wonderful grandmother, always good for a story, a laugh, and an Irish lullaby. I have only vague memories of my grandfather, mostly of visits to the Veterans Hospital where he spent his final months. Here's a photo of me, Grandpa, and Grangy, probably in 1947, when I was only three and apparently fascinated by something else.

Although I loved these women, only one mother is the love of my life, and that's my wife, Diane. We've been married for 54 wonderful years, through good times and challenging times, but no bad times. We've suffered though some sad times, but these were overwhelmed by so many times of remarkable joy. Every day has been a gift, especially that day when I saw her for the first time. It was a blind date and when she walked into her folk’s living room, I was smitten. That was on September 16, 1967. Here a photo of Diane back when we first met.

Anyway, as I recall, it took me all of perhaps ten seconds to decide I would marry her. I needed only to convince her to agree. For some reason that took her a little longer, but we finally married on November 2, 1968. 

Diane is the mother of our four children and grandmother of nine. And so, we have four more moms in the family, daughters and daughters-in-law. Our only hope is that they and their wonderful children all get to heaven. Can we hope and pray for anything better? 

Happy Mother's Day to all.

Homily: Funeral Mass for Patricia Curtin

Readings: Eccl 3:1-11; Ps 23; Rom 14:7-9; Jn 10: 14-15,27-30

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Claude, Diane and I, indeed, all of us here – we know how much you love your dear Patricia, and so, to you and to Sally, to Patricia’s nephews, Rich and Steve, and to all of your longtime friends, our deepest condolences. And I’m joined in this by Fr. Peter, Fr. John, Fr. Gerry, all your brother deacons and their wives – in truth, by the entire St. Vincent de Paul parish family.

Patricia was one of those rare people about whom we can say, “If you knew her, you loved her.” Our love for her just grew over the years, and it’s been almost 20 years since you and Patricia showed up that Sunday and asked, “Hey, need another deacon here?” How glad I am, how blessed we are, that the pastor and the parish said, “Yes, come join us!” Thus began our long friendship with this couple we’ve come to love.

Believe us, Claude, Patricia’s absence has left a hole in our hearts as well. I can only imagine how much you miss her, but if you let Him, God will fill this emptiness; He’ll fill it with His grace, bringing with it His peace and His enduring love.

Know, too, that we grieve with you. And yet, because of our faith, and because of your faith, we can look beyond our grief today. Despite our sorrow, we can be joyful that Patricia is now in God’s care, and to be cared for by our loving, merciful God…well, that’s a wondrous, powerful thing. I suppose St. Paul said it best, as he usually does:

“Both in life and death we are the Lord’s” [Rom 14:8].

Yes, we are His. And our Gospel passage from John sums it up beautifully, doesn’t it?

“I am the good shepherd…the sheep that belong to me listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me” [Jn 10:14,27].

We belong to Him, and so He keeps calling us throughout our brief lives, but then embraces us as we enter eternity.

“I give them eternal life. They will never be lost” [Jn 10:28].

…and what a promise this is, a promise sealed and delivered with God’s love.

I suppose too many of us fall into that straying sheep category – you know, the ones He has to retrieve and bring back to the fold. But not Patricia. She followed the Shepherd, staying close, listening to His voice, and rejoicing in God’s love, a love she was determined to share with others.

Indeed, her kindness was eminently evident. Gracious and graceful, loving, creative, simply a good woman, and so much more. More importantly, Patricia Curtin loved God and neighbor, and in that loving she opened her heart to the movement, the workings, of the Holy Spirit. You see, she was a joy-giver. That’s right, she brought joy to those she encountered, just by being who she was. Diane and I were always happy in her presence.

And Patricia, as your wife, the wife of a permanent deacon, she shared in so many of those ministries. She joined you in hospital ministry visiting the sick. She played an active role in parish outreach at Our Mother’s Attic. And perhaps most importantly, she kept you on the straight and narrow, pretty much a fulltime job.

But Patricia had a professional life of her own. She earned graduate degrees in both French and Italian, and taught for 30 years in a community college in New York’s SUNY system – was a full professor and department chair. Now I know all this from personal experience. You see, the four of us would often dine at Taki’s, a nearby Greek-Italian restaurant. And Patricia would occasionally, but always with kindness, correct my Italian when I ordered off the menu. With this, Patricia became a model for all of us, proving that our working skills remain useful, even in retirement.

Thinking back over all these years of friendship, it’s all packed together: those dinners at Takis and so many other places – and there were many -- the holiday feasts at your home or ours. The good times shared with the Wilsons. The day trips to galleries, and museums, and your kindness when subjected to the intrusive lens of my cameras. Oh, yes, and the bottles of – how can I put this? – cheap wines, sampled here in Florida, and of slightly better vintages at those Finger Lakes wineries.

Yes, we visited Claude and Patricia at their lovely home on Seneca Lake. We didn’t want to leave, but eventually we took the hint. And it was on that trip I discovered they met in Paris in 1965. Coincidentally, thanks to the US Navy, I happened to visit Pairs that same summer, but inexplicably we didn’t run into each other.

Of course, your meeting in that city of light began it all and calls to mind everything that followed. And Claude, to recall that lifelong journey you wisely chose to do so through God’s Word in the Book of Ecclesiastes. Such a good choice. But such an atypical book of Scripture, more philosophical than theological, a book in which the balance of our lives is repeatedly stressed.

Ecclesiastes is really a book of thanksgiving, read in the autumn during the Feast of Tabernacles, or Sukkot. In it we thank God for His gifts, especially the gift of time, of all those times, in which we live our lives.

Times for laughter, and times for tears, times of healthy days and days of suffering.

Times for planting and starting, and times for reaping and ending.

Silent times for prayer and contemplation, and times for talking and sharing and embracing.

Happy times and sad times.

And yes, a time to be born and a time to die.

Sadly, for those who have not accepted the gift of faith, in this they see only an end. T. S. Eliot, among my favorite poets, once wrote, “In my end is my beginning.” And he was right: death isn’t an end; rather it’s a beginning, the beginning of our real life, an eternal life bathed in God’s love. Patricia knew this. She believed it with all her being. And because of her faith she’s now in the embrace of our loving, merciful God.

Realize, too, this funeral Mass is primarily an act of worship, but worship in the form of thanksgiving. We turn to our God and thank Him for the gift of Patricia Curtin’s unrepeatable life, a life we were blessed not only to witness, but also to share. But even more important, here today we gather in prayer, and Word, and Eucharist, thanking our God for the gift of His Son, Who gave His life for us, and renews that sacrifice right here on this altar.

Without this gift, we would have no hope: no hope of forgiveness, no hope of mercy, no hope of salvation, no hope of eternal life. It’s because of this gift that we can gather here today and not be consumed by grief. Because of this gift we don’t despair. Because of this gift we can go on. We can continue with our own lives knowing that Patricia, and you, and I – that we’ve all been redeemed by our Lord, Jesus Christ.

So many gifts from our God, a lifetime of gifts, relived by us through God’s gift of memory. And so, today, filled with hope, we hold close the memories of the past. It’s right to do so, to keep Patricia’s memory alive. We’ll continue to tell the stories, the stories that bring laughter and those that bring tears.

But today let us just claim and proclaim all that was good and noble and loving and faithful in Patricia’s life. And with that we’ll come to realize, the greatest thing she left behind is you, Claude, and really all of us whom she loved and who loved her! In a sense, we’re her legacy, her gift to the world, her gift to God. I can think of nothing better.

Today, then, we ask our Lord Jesus to take Patricia Curtin, his “good and faithful servant,” into His loving embrace, to take away the pain, to wipe away the tears, and give her the first taste of that eternal joy we all hope to share.

God love you all.