for my father

There are 3 Greek verbs in the Bible that are translated into English as “love.” Don’t worry – I’m not going to go into all that here. I would, however, like to direct our attention to “agape” love. This is the type of love referred to in 1 Corinthians 13: love is patient, love is kind, love does not put on airs. It is also the name for the covenantal love of God for humans, as well as the human love for God. It is not an impulsive or romantic love – I think of it more as a way of loving people – steadfast, persistent, connected, considerate of others and of how your way of being with them contributes to the fullness of a situation. This, I believe, is my father’s greatest contribution as a person – that he loved – truly and well, and with the fullness of his being.

(He loved the Earth.)

While my father inherited his love of hamburgers from his mother, he inherited his love of the Earth and the outdoors from his father, who taught him how to hunt with a bow and arrow and introduced him to the joys of camping. He shared this love with many, many people over the years by teaching cousins, friends and neighbor kids how to hunt and fish. He let us take our friends camping with us every year – many of whom would not otherwise have had a chance to be in the woods. Ultimately, my father happily and peacefully made his home in the forest for the past few decades.

His grandchildren called him “camping grandpa” because he lived in the forest. He would take them for walks in the woods, or, if they were little, around the driveway. He bought and raised chickens with them. Taught them how to feed the fish in his pond. How to pick huckleberries. And, one year, he set up an epic treasure hunt for my nephews that they still talk about. I did not know this until recently but he also preached the gospel of the Teva sandal – providing detailed examinations of the virtues of pairing them with wool socks in the winter, barefoot in the summer.

Milan Kundera says “When the heart speaks, the mind finds it indecent to object.” My father loved his entire family – ferociously – particularly his grand children – and was guilty, if you can call it that, of seeing us mostly with his heart. I think it is fair to say that I have developed a sometimes-excessive view of my capabilities based upon his opinion of me. There is no doubt it is a large part of why I’m able to be before you today.

(He loved God.)

GK Chesterton said, “The Catholic Church is like a thick steak, a glass of red wine, and a good cigar” but George Carlin said, “The only good thing ever to come out of religion was the music.” My father visited both of those places with the Catholic Church throughout his life – more than once – while adamantly claiming his Catholic identity. Though I shared his love of Pre-Vatican II worship – the latin mass, the chant, the incense – my formal education could not seem to convince him that post-Vatican II theology, with its emphasis on love and mercy and justice was really as simple and accessible as it seemed. His was the knotted brain of a theologian. While he was gracious and quick to forgive others, he was hesitant to extend the same courtesies to himself.

(He loved music.)

Kurt Vonnegut said “If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph: THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD WAS MUSIC.”

There is not a single person I know of who knew my father and with whom he did not  experience and share his love of music. My early childhood memories are indivisible from a soundtrack by The Beatles, Carlos Santana, Led Zeppelin, and Willie Nelson. He taught us how to sing harmony and then subjected us to endless recording sessions as his background singers. Like many, I never mastered the lyrics to “Penny Lane”, and though I don’t know the proper titles to most Beatles’ songs, I am constantly surprised by the degree to which their music and lyrics are embedded in my head because of my father.

As much as he loved music, my father loved to laugh. You can see it in his eyes in the pictures today – they sparkle and shine with barely-suppressed mirth. My brother and sister and I learned at an early age that we could send him into fits with serious attempts at delivering the Woodstock stage announcements, word-for-word, at the dinner table. If you can, imagine a 6 year-old child with a pixie cut and missing teeth talking about “The Brown Acid that’s going around….”

I do not think it does service to a person to imply that they are saints – anyway, that is not the way that I loved my father. He could be prone to temper, sometimes with surprising verbal dexterity. He also never met a budget that he couldn’t derail in the service of some new interest or project. I have come to realize that my father imparted to me a curiosity about the world and how things work that I find invaluable in my life, if detrimental to my finances.

As Tolkein said, “So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings” – it was my privilege, and my sister’s, to be present at my father’s passage from this reality to what I believe, and he believed, is the greater reality. And I would like to thank Debi for her grace and dedication to my father’s wish to be surrounded by family as much as possible.

In closing, I would like to offer this thought, from the mystic Rumi,

“Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul, there is no such thing as separation.”

Dominus sit semper tecum, Pop.