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.

Homily: Feast, St. Luke, Evangelist

I didn't actually preach this homily today, since the celebrant decided to preach, which is certainly fine with me. But since I had prepared a homily for St. Luke's feast day, I thought I might as well post it here.

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Readings: 2 Tim 4:10-17b; Psalm 145; Luke 10:1-9  

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Today we celebrate the feast of St. Luke, evangelist and companion of Paul – author of the Gospel that bears his name and also the author of Acts of the Apostles. Of all those early Christians, those we read about in the Gospels and in Acts, Luke is the one I’d most enjoy meeting and spending some time with.

He was a physician – “beloved physician” Paul calls him – and therefore like Paul an educated man – something that’s evident by the quality of his writing. Most scholars believe he was a Greek and a Gentile, but whatever his background, it’s apparent Luke was in the first wave of Gentile converts to the Faith. 

His Gospel was aimed at the Gentiles, those unfamiliar with Jewish Law and custom. In other words, he wrote for folks like you and me, so his approach is quite different from the other Synoptic gospels. For one thing, he rarely quotes the Old Testament, and never refers to Jesus with the Hebrew title of Rabbi, but always with the Greek title of Master. Unlike Matthew, Luke doesn’t trace Jesus’ genealogy from Abraham (the founder of the Jewish race) but from Adam (the ‘founder’ of the human race). 

Luke gives women a more prominent place in his Gospel. The nativity and infancy story, much more extensive in Luke’s Gospel, is told from Mary's point of view. And it’s through Luke that we know about Elizabeth, Anna, the widow of Naim, and the woman who anointed Jesus’ feet.

Luke also gives us some of the most beautiful parables, for example, the Prodigal Son; and only Luke relates the parable about the non-Jew, the Good Samaritan. Without Luke we wouldn’t have the road to Emmaus or those three great canticles -- Mary’s Magnificat, Zechariah’s Benedictus, and Simeon’s Nunc Dimittis – canticles we pray every day in the Liturgy of the Hours. But what I like most about Luke’s Gospel is the emphasis he places on prayer and praise, and the mercy and goodness of God. He describes Jesus praying at all key moments of his life.

What sort of man was Luke? Well, in today’s first reading we get a glimpse of the real Luke. Writing to Timothy, Paul describes how he’s been abandoned by co-workers and friends except for two key companions.

Onesiphores, had traveled far and found Paul, seemingly without help from the Christians in Rome. And Luke who had remained with Paul, endured the imprisonment with him and cared for him. It would seem Luke’s friendship was important to Paul. Cut off from his own community, perhaps unappreciated by the Roman Christians, Paul faced certain execution, and was unable to move about and preach the Good News. We sense his loneliness. 

Luke, trying to complete his texts, found himself attending to Paul who was probably held in some sort of house confinement or possibly even imprisoned. We can only imagine what this friendship might have cost Luke personally. He probably wondered whether he’d also be caught up in Rome’s campaign to destroy the Christian message. But his loving care remained authentic, and he stayed beside his friend.

True friendship is a uniquely human experience and is often most clearly shown by the small acts of care and attention one person shows for his or her friend. It’s also a simple thing, something in which even a child can participate. And yet it has a divine element as well. Listen, again, to these words from today’s psalm: 

“Your friends make known, O Lord, the glorious splendor of your Kingdom” [Ps 145:12].

Yes, the compassion and love that are the signs of friendship are also signs of the Kingdom of God, signs of God’s grace. Knowledge of the Kingdom is made possible by experiencing the quality of love that a friend bestows.

The Gospel, too, invites this insight. Friendship brings a Spirit of Peace with it; and where the Spirit of Peace is found, one discovers true hospitality. It is, then, in the heart of true friendship that the lost, the lonely, the abandoned, the imprisoned, the hurting, and the broken find encouragement and are made whole and healthy and strong again.

Saint Luke is the patron of physicians, not just because he was one himself, but because he was a healer of the both the heart and the soul. He was a true friend to Paul, who no doubt was in great need of consolation. 

But St. Luke is also recognized as a friend of the poor and the outcast, because he recorded how Jesus took pains to care for the least, the most rejected, the impoverished. At the Last Supper, Jesus set the example for all of us saying, “I call you friends,” because a friend will lay down his life for the other.

Luke, recognizing the divine character of this most human of relationships, followed the Lord’s example. Perhaps, then, we should honor St. Luke as the patron saint of friendship.

Nancy Hathaway, Our Dear Friend - Rest in Peace

Nancy

Today, in the early morning hours, Diane and I, and so many others, lost a dear friend, Nancy Hathaway. She died the day before her 63rd birthday

Nancy's husband, Joe, lost a loving wife, a partner who cherished him, cared for him, encouraged him, nudged him and sometimes shoved him, but always kept him pointing in the right direction. Her children and grandchildren lost a mother and grandmother whose deep love for them they will never fully comprehend, at least not in this life. And those of us who were blessed to be counted among her friends will miss her dearly, for she was one of those rare friends who always went the extra mile. We are joyful that she has gone to her true home, but her absence has left a hole in our hearts.  

Nancy and Joe - May 2018

At the end of her life on earth, Nancy was back home in Sumter, SC, together with her family. Of her four children only one was missing, but not really. Her youngest, John, returned to the Father last month, and as Joe said this morning when he called us: "John was there, waiting for his mother so he could carry her to the Father." Amen! I wrote a brief post about John the day he died -- click here if you'd like to read it. 

Nancy with granddaughters Allie & Gianna (2008)

Diane and I have known Nancy and Joe for well over a decade. I first met them when Joe applied for the position of director of our parish's music ministry and my pastor asked me to join him for the interview. In walked Joe with Nancy at his side. Joe handled the interview well, but Nancy was the one who iced the cake. She repeated the many testimonials, made sure we knew the breadth of Joe's experience, and handled all the negotiating. It was an impressive team performance. We hired him (them).

Nancy & Joe at our Home - December 2012

At the time Joe was working at Valdosta State University in southern Georgia. He and Nancy would drive down to Wildwood, Florida every weekend so Joe could lead our  parish's music ministry. Our pastor at the time put them up in an old Winnebago motor home he kept in a local RV park. It wasn't just an old motor home, it was an old, leaky and moldy motor home, unfit for human occupation. I expect our pastor didn't realize how bad it was since to my knowledge he'd never stayed in it, but as one of our other deacons remarked at the time, "Even St. Francis wouldn't stay here." And it was especially horrible for Nancy who at the time was recovering from brain surgery. So Diane decided Nancy and Joe should stay with us each weekend, and thus began our friendship.

The Four of Us - Tennessee (August 2009)

Over the years we've visited them as they moved, vagabond-like, from Georgia, to Florida, to Tennessee, and to South Carolina. I like to think they always considered our home as their home, a place they could stay, if necessary without notice. We certainly thought the same of their home, wherever it happened to be. We never demanded much of each other but each gave whatever was needed. It was the kind of friendship that didn't ask questions, except for, "What can we do?"

Diane and I got to know Nancy even better this past year since she and Joe lived with us for several months while Nancy underwent treatment at Moffitt Cancer Center in Tampa. As you might expect, driving to and from Tampa, plus all those hours during treatments, generated some interesting conversations that spanned the human condition and more. We shared the stories of our lives, cried occasionally, but laughed more, a lot more. The laughter was usually at ourselves and the strange things we've done and encountered over the years. We also prayed. We prayed for healing. We prayed for miracles. We prayed for each other and our families. But we always prayed that God's will be done, for He knows what is best and turns all to good for those who have faith and love Him [Rom 8:28].

Take it! We can't keep smiling: Nancy & Diane (2016)

Throughout much of her adult life Nancy waged an ongoing battle with illnesses many and varied. She suffered much and deeply, but never let suffering stop her from embracing the duties of this life. Heck, she never even slowed down, at least not until her very last days with us...a true energizer bunny. But now she can rest easy in God's loving embrace, for He "will destroy death forever. The Lord God will wipe away the tears..." [Is 25:8].

Giving me "the Look" -- Ocoee, TN (August 2011)

Describing another is always a very personal thing. The person I know and love may be a very different person to someone else, who sees her from a unique perspective. But if I were asked to describe Nancy with only a few words, I'd simply say, "Sweet, funny, loving and tough." For me, that says it all. 

Nancy seemed to be most relaxed when our little Bichon, Maddie, would assume the role of therapy dog and cuddle up with her. And remarkably, Maddie seems to know that something has happened. She has obviously missed Nancy since she and Joe returned to South Carolina last week. But today, our little dog has not been her usual enthusiastic, nagging self. Like most dogs, Maddie is sensitive to changes in the humans with whom she lives.

Dear Nancy, everyone, all your family and friends, will love you always. We will miss you, Sweetie, but we know we will be with you again. May Almighty God look upon you with kindness and give you peace. 

Pray for us, Nancy, intercede for us, and keep a place for us.