As I write these words, I’m thinking about the most recent funeral for a deacon in our diocese, the ninth in six months. This time, it was Deacon Steve Venturini who passed away. Each time these men departed this life, their brothers in the Diocesan diaconate community, along with their families and friends, gathered for the Mass of Christian burial to bid farewell, pray for, and entrust our brothers to the Lord:
Elmer Lampe, Charles Knight, Dick Baumann, Dan Murray, Ralph Parsons, Charles Miller, Eugene Dawson, Jim Rouse, Steve Venturini.
I was able to be at many, but not all, of their funerals. What I have done for each, though, was working with our Diaconate Director, Dcn. Steve Petrill, researching and providing information for the obituary letter that is shared with our clergy as well as helping with the preparations for the funerals. This is one of my responsibilities as Chancellor of the Diocese. It’s usually not such a frequent occurrence.
I’ve worked with obituaries for nearly 50 years, now, going back to my freshman year of college and later on during careers in reporting and public relations. I appreciate the privilege of helping tell, albeit briefly, the life story of a priest or deacon and providing facts about the funeral arrangements in a way that is more personal and spiritual.
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Reading about a priest or deacon’s history is a reliving of a man’s life, a recounting for others about his contributions to ministry in our diocese and letting those who wish to pray for him and perhaps also attend his visitation and/or his funeral Mass to know how, when, and where to do so.
These letters are not just a recitation of facts but an invitation to honor the life of a brother cleric who has left this life, to remember his faith and accomplishments, to pray for the repose of his soul, to pray that the Lord’s grace be a source of comfort and strength for family, friends, and ourselves, and to entrust those who have gone before us to our Lord’s infinite mercy.
By trusting our Lord and giving our grief over to Him, we are acting as people of hopeful confidence. Even though the passing of a fellow cleric is sad, our hopeful confidence calls us to rejoice in the salvation our faith offers us, trust that those who have died now enjoy the eternal embrace of God in Heaven.
Working with an obituary letter and helping prepare for the liturgies and arrangements is a bittersweet experience that is a call to deepen one’s faith in God. But, to have so many deacons pass away in so short a period of time, also begins to weigh on a person’s heart and mind.
Each time I picked up another deacon’s file to review it and help honor his legacy, it began to feel like picking up a stone and placing it in my arms to carry with me, with little time between passings to process and lay the stones to rest in the fabric of life. So many in so short a time affords only small opportunities for the necessary processing, prayer, and reconciliation with what has happened. Those armfuls of stones have grown heavy on the hearts and minds of all of us in the Diaconate here in the Diocese of Columbus.
These were men I had known for many years. I was present at a couple their ordinations, rejoicing as they became ordained sacramental signs of Jesus Christ the servant, rejoicing in the presence of these new brothers in the Diaconate.
As Chancellor of the Diocese, I worked with all of them in our mutual ministries. In particular, I spent time with Deacon Jim Rouse, who was the first permanent deacon to be a Chancery official in our diocese. I was also assigned, after my ordination, to the same parish at which he served. He was a mentor to me at both levels.
As I did my work on their funeral preparations and the research, I learned a bit more about each of their lives, little things I had not known about them before that deepened my appreciation of them and the remarkable diversity and duration of our diaconate here. Among the nine of them, doing some quick math in my head, I believe their total diaconal years of service adds up to more than 300 years of ministry.
ETERNAL LIFE | Have faith and trust in God even in painful moments
These nine men came from different parts of the Diocese, different walks of life, different educational backgrounds. They were chosen for the Diaconate not because of what they did or where they studied but because he, his spouse, and the Bishop discerned that they had a true call to be ordained signs of Jesus Christ the Servant for the people of our diocese.
In the midst of these losses and some gloom, though, there is grace, gratitude, appreciation, and hope. The Church teaches us that the, “meaning of death is revealed in the light of the Paschal mystery of the death and resurrection of Christ in whom resides our only hope. The Christian who dies in Christ Jesus is ‘away from the body and at home with the Lord.’ CCC 1681).”
At times, when I am reflecting on the passing of people and the inevitability of death, I also think and reflect on the phrase hopeful confidence. Because of our faith, because of God’s love and grace, death is not an end but a new beginning. Yes, it hurts when friends and family are gone, but we can rejoice in the possibility that those loved ones now rest happily in the salvation God offers all of us.
Bishop Fernandes, who is not just a Shepherd to us who are deacons but also a caring spiritual father, offered a special Mass last month for all the deacons who have passed away. He shared words of wisdom and comfort with us, words that were healing and gave us renewed strength to carry on in our service to the Church. We were very grateful for that time with him.
As I finish these thoughts, I want to end on that note of hope. This column is not meant to be entirely an elegy, which it partly is, but a gentle tribute to the love and power of God. Our Lord the Father experienced Himself the grief of the death of His Son, Jesus Christ, and walks with all of us in times of sorrow, understanding and helping us to see the way and follow with hopeful confidence our Savior on the path he blazed for us between this finite world and eternity.
Farewell and Godspeed Elmer, Charles, Dick, Dan, Ralph, Charlie, Gene, Jim, and Steve. We look forward with hopeful confidence to seeing you later, and we trust you have heard those words in the Gospel: “Well done, my good and faithful servant… Come, share your master’s joy. (Mt 25:23).”