17/365 The good ones

As promised, the good priests. This is leaving out Fr. Tom, my mother-in-law's brother who died this year, because I knew him as a relative and not as a priest. Considering what his memorial masses and funerals were like, though, I think he belongs on this list.

But others:
The Redemptorists. My parents and grandparents were amongst the first parishioners down at a new parish in South County run by this order. There were several priests and a brother (or maybe a deacon?) there. They baptized me and two of my siblings. My parents were married there (as I learned today, "married by them" is not exactly correct--it is better to say "their marriage was witnessed by them"). I never knew them well but it seems it was a good place to be. The first place I ever went to church. Who says first impressions don't matter?

Fr. Keith...was a friend of the family long before he became our pastor. He baptized Colleen, gave me my first communion, and vacationed with my aunt and uncle every summer. When it came time to get married, Mike didn't have any opinions either way about a priest--and his uncle would have stepped in without question--but I knew Keith was the one I wanted. By then he'd already had a heart transplant and the second heart was giving out. He died three or four years later, refusing to put his name on the transplant list again. His funeral fell on the feast of the Sacred Heart. He's one of those people that comes into your life, and when he leaves you walk around where he used to be, expecting him to be back any moment.

The Benedictines...it was a small abbey of fewer than 20 monks. My school was on the campus and so my first introduction to the Old Testament beyond children's stories was in the hands of Br. Bede. Br. John followed up with the New Testament, with flannel shirts under the black habit and running that classroom like an army captain. I remember him lifting a kid up by his shirt against the lockers in the hallway. I remember thinking it was well-deserved. Br. Bede and I kept correspondence for a long time after I left. He was a permanent brother--he wasn't on his way to the priesthood--so I suppose he doesn't count on this list. But others belong here: Frs. Jerome, Columba, Gregory, Maurus--Maurus gave lovingly crafted homilies to schoolchildren during the week and turned around and could do the same to a packed house of adults. And then when someone would compliment him, he'd tell them to blame the Holy Spirit. And not in a smarmy self-congratulating way. They were as they appeared, personal flaws and all.

Fr. Kip was probably diagnosably ADHD, but it didn't matter because you were along for the ride. His homilies were predominantly church and biblical history, but fascinating. You left there knowing far more than when you came in the doors. He was somewhat self-congratulating, but charismatic enough that you didn't notice until later. But what puts him on this list is that he was always honest and plain-spoken. He told you what he thought and you could pretty much guarantee that it was the truth and that if he changed his mind, he would let you know. He was a force to be dealt with.

Fr. Christian is on this list because he surprised me. I don't know him well but in the 2 hours I spent with him, I knew he was a good priest. When my aunt Maria died after many long years in a nursing home with Friedrich's Ataxia, we attended her funeral at the funeral home, because it was during the 2006 blackout and All Souls had no power. It wouldn't have worked. The priest walks in, in a bit of a frazzled hurry, and I sigh. He's from India. Couldn't they have found a priest from her younger days at All Souls? Wasn't there a family friend they could have turned to? His English at first hard to understand, by the time we got to the gospel, I could follow him pretty well. And then he talked to us about Maria and her faith. He was the chaplain at the nursing home. He'd met with her at least weekly for several years. They were friends. The words he had to say touched me. And chastised me for that old sin of mine of prejudgment. I don't know where he is or what he's doing now, but I have a feeling he's doing it well.

There are several other Benedictines from Conception Abbey that belong here. The priest who used to be at my mother-in-law's parish--actually, at three parishes down there--once you know him for ten minutes you realize you've found the man Diogenes was looking for. And the bishops--the auxiliary bishop in Houston who had a soft spot for my high school and used to talk about how much he regretting dropping out (the Navy saved him later and he entered the priesthood then). We gave him an honorary diploma in my graduating year. The bishop who came over to my mother-in-law's house after her dad died and was unassuming and nice. Nice. The bishop who kept my high school open because he'd made a promise to the order who turned it over to the diocese--kept a promise, imagine that--and of whom my brother talks about in host-eating contests: "That bishop could eat some host." That doesn't make him a good priest one way or another, but there's something to be said for plain speaking, word keeping, having a sense of humor, being pastoral, not being full of yourself.

It is possible to make my list--I don't even think it's that hard, really. What's sad is that it always seems like such a lovely surprise when it happens.

Tomorrow, back to where we are.