Video Meliora, proboque; Deteriora sequor

  End of an Era

Our charismatic Dominican friar is leaving, going to become pastor at a church in Kentucky. I knew he wouldn’t be with us forever; he occasionally gave intimations of his mortality. He’s very overweight, he once mentioned in a sermon he dreamed he had a heart attack and died.

I grew to acquire a proprietary feeling towards him. He was always there, available on Wednesday nights for a seeming endless stream of bible studies or RICA classes. I didn’t go as often as I wanted, but it was a comfort to know he was there. He was an inexhaustible resource. He was opinionated and imbued with a different world view. It was from him I first learned the Enlightenment was ill-named.

Every hot August he’d dress in this eighth century Celtic warrior uniform, holding a spear, playing dress-up at the annual Dublin fest. I loved him for it. The innocence. The love of all things Irish. The strength of his convictions. The sense of honor, humor, chivalry and masculinity, the latter too rare today.

Every St. Patrick’s Day parade he'd march in that outfit while bagpipes played, “Risin’ of the Moon” and the sight and sound would send chills thru every beating heart. Past midnight, at the Hibernian party, he’d be singing some stirring Irish anthem. He had the aura of celebrity about him.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw him. I was taking an Irish language course at a local Catholic college. In the middle of class he rushes in in these strange Dominican robes, gigantic rosary at his hip like a Colt on a gunslinger.

I shamefully admit to be initially off-put by his enormous girth and beard. He sat forward in the tiny chair the classroom afforded and eagerly responded in Irish to queries, showing off I thought. I didn’t know then that in an earlier life he’d graduated Summa Cum Laude with a biology degree and later became a lawyer. His vocation was late in coming, although he's still relatively young, maybe late 40s.

Ah, but a beacon can’t be hid, and he is a beacon. He gathered a small coterie of followers, perhaps thirty or forty who went to every lecture, every bible study, every Theology on Tap. Many went to RCIA classes year after year just to hear the charismatic preacher and to wait for his fascinating digressions (which came early and often). He made you want to be better, and he felt a sense of responsibility for your improvement such that you would let him down if you weren’t better. The Holy Father triggers similar feelings.

I bought the good padre's series of tapes on the Catechism, so at least I’ll always have those. Obviously this will be tough on him. Change is difficult and this is a big one. He asks we pray for him.