I say the rosary during my drive to work every day, and on Tuesdays I offer it for clergy and religious. Tuesdays are the Sorrowful Mysteries: Gethsemane, the Trial and Scourging, the Crown of Thorns, Carrying the Cross, and Jesus' Death. When I can, I reflect on specific people or groups with each mystery; seminarians and novices on the first, diocesan priests on the second, bishops and abbots and abbesses and such on the third, any and all who are dealing with daily life on the fourth, and those I've known who have died on the last.
All this to explain why today I thought of Father Tony. He died last year, unexpectedly (to me). He had been our Parochial Vicar for a year or two, before being assigned Pastor of a neighboring parish. I thought of him often, included in the above-mentioned rosary. I remember he always reflected tremendous joy as he said Mass. I sometimes imagine priests facing the life-sized cross and Jesus on it; what would they do if the statue were alive and they could receive His body? Some would take Him in their arms and weep, some would hold him in deep earnest prayer. Father Tony, I always thought, would open his own arms wide with joy in the presence of his Savior and Lord, and I am certain He would return the embrace.
I am certain Father Tony's joy was real, and was in some way the "real" part of him. During the rosary before the funeral, I stood before the casket looking at his body, lying in repose, eyes closed and face smooth, and I thought it wasn't the real Father Tony, because the light of that joy was not shining out of him.
I wish I had gone to visit him, or sent a letter or even a card. I miss him.
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