Fr. Gerald

The old priest shuffles
across the altar
head bowed
back slouched
he has no pride
save that I have in him
he has no pain
save that I have for him
he has no life
save that he gave for me.

The world was his altar;
he took sanctuary in the Lord.
Now the sacrifice is over
and he is safely home.

For years I knew him only vaguely, from the reflections of the older folks and the ink on blue airmail letters. He was mythic and ancient and far away. I was carefree and indestructible and young. I loved to brag about him – to puff myself up. "My uncle’s a missionary in East Pakistan." It was always a reliable one-upper for bragging rights. But, even when I had the chance, during those infrequent visits home, I didn’t take the time to really get to know him. Time marched on.

The last time he came home, I was 40. No spring chicken. Not so sure of everything – except that time was slipping by and that I had a lot to learn. He was still ancient – but ancient didn’t seem so old anymore – rather, it seemed wise and strong in its endurance and reassuring in its presence – like the sun coming up every morning.

And I am so thankful now – thankful for the last five years – thankful that I had an opportunity to come to know the man. And I am especially thankful for his lessons in love and living in love.

I wanted to write a great tribute to the man. But greatness palls in the wake of his simplicity. He was so ordinary. Ordinary – like the sun coming up every morning. Ordinary. Like the flowers in my garden. There was no pretense in the man. Nothing artificial. You could take him anywhere – but you could not dress him up. He would remain the simple, humble man regardless of the pomp of his surroundings. He was Father Gerald.

I have learned something about love – and Father Gerald was my greatest teacher. Love will not dress up. Love does not want to stand taller – it wants to flow through. It does not want to hold for its own – but give to its own. It wants to share. And what is most profound in the simplicity of love is that as you give your love so do you grow in love. It becomes a fire in you – that melts away impurities and leaves only the gold.

And never was this gold more evident to me than in watching Father Gerald at mass. I watched him 2 years ago, at a great cathedral in Montreal. I was impressed by the grandeur of the place. I was amazed at the ordinary man, who was at home. I do not think he knew the word "intimidated." People from all over the globe were there – praying for miracles – and so was Father Gerald praying for a miracle for my brother John. His mission was not lost in the trappings of this great place. His demeanor was no different than when he celebrated a 12:10 mass here at St. Patrick's.

Imagine his homily – the great pauses as he searched for the words. The chuckle and glint when something occurred to him that should be said. No embarrassment for his long pauses – I might have died. So much for pride.

If Father Gerald could be dressed up – it was in his voice when he spoke of love. You could feel his passion. You knew the truth – the simple truth – and the power in that simple truth. Love made him humble – I think it is a natural side effect of love. It made him at peace in any surrounding. It kept him young. It bowed his head and slouched his back and melted him to a powerful advocate of its truth. Love made Father Gerald extraordinarily ordinary. It made him great in his simple ways.

My brother, Denny, wrote a poem many years ago. It is about being ordinary. It seems most appropriate on this occasion.

ORDINARY

There is virtue in being plain
in being ordinary
like a leaf falling on a hidden lake
or a sunrise on a midwest farm

Nothing special -
only common -
like water in a mountain spring
or a blue crab swimming with the tide.

What is this mad compulsion
to rise above the ordinary
(as if I could)

It's nice to walk and be aware
that I am walking
or to talk and know from where
the sound comes.

Forget all ambitious thought
that breaks me into pieces
and simply let me move
and let me simply dance
like a school fish
turning in a tidal stream
happy just to be -
and be a part
of ordinary.

Thank you, Fr. Gerald. Thank you all.