"As he crossed the vast ocean, he dreamed of mounting any pulpit, stepping down any street, stopping into any hovel just to reach them, to touch them, to save them…
He was like many of the other good American priests, but there was something about him, something unique, something special. Was it because he was like the people? Was it because he was one of them, talked like them, used their words, knew their first names? He seemed always to be there. His church and rectory were open from dawn to dusk. Like his people, he, too lived a family life. He prayed and ate and laughed and lived in a home with his Redemptorist family. He waited on tables, washed dishes, did the shopping and sat around at night telling stories…
He looked on his days as days of privilege, wonderful moments of grace and life. He heard the laughter of their weddings, graduations and baptism. He tasted the tears of their sickness and death, their mistakes and sins. He got them out of trouble and into heaven by walking with them as one of them. And they grew old together."
He was like many of the other good American priests, but there was something about him, something unique, something special. Was it because he was like the people? Was it because he was one of them, talked like them, used their words, knew their first names? He seemed always to be there. His church and rectory were open from dawn to dusk. Like his people, he, too lived a family life. He prayed and ate and laughed and lived in a home with his Redemptorist family. He waited on tables, washed dishes, did the shopping and sat around at night telling stories…
He looked on his days as days of privilege, wonderful moments of grace and life. He heard the laughter of their weddings, graduations and baptism. He tasted the tears of their sickness and death, their mistakes and sins. He got them out of trouble and into heaven by walking with them as one of them. And they grew old together."
-- Rev. John McGowan, C.Ss.R
1 comment:
Father John McGowan is a blessing to us all. Read his book of short stories from his time in Brooklyn. God bless you Father John.
Post a Comment