Remembering A Good Shepherd

And I felt like my heart had been so thoroughly and irreparably broken that there could be no real joy again, that at best there might eventually be a little contentment. Everyone wanted me to get help and rejoin life, pick up the pieces and move on, and I tried to, I wanted to, but I just had to lie in the mud with my arms wrapped around myself, eyes closed, grieving, until I didn’t have to anymore. ~ Anne Lamott

Today is the second anniversary of the death my friend, Fr. Brian Massie, the former pastor at my church. I thought I might share here the words I spoke at the Prayers of Remembrance Service as a way to pay tribute to him tonight:

I first met Fr. Brian Massie in the sacristy. I had gone to sign in for Eucharistic Minister duty and no one else was there yet. We introduced ourselves, and he then said, “Some blankity-blank blank left this out here.” I thought, “Oh my. This is going to be different.” And different it was indeed. We heard a lot of that language in the weeks and months to come and it both repelled people from the parish and drew them in throngs at the same time. Fr. Brian was real and we loved him because of that. I served seven years with him on parish council and I can tell you that we were lucky to have him as our pastor.

I know that in those first days, Fr. Brian turned some people off. We lost a few parishioners who disagreed with his language and theology and sent letters to the Archbishop expressing their discontent. In the same breath, those looking for a spirituality that was refreshingly honest and unbelievably believable returned to the fold and brought their friends with them. He talked about the messiness of Christmas, Mary as a real person, and suffering without sugarcoating it. Those of us who called St. Ignatius home were thrilled with the latest in a string of good pastors.

Our parish went through many changes with Fr. Brian at its helm. He did away with some formalities that allowed the ordinary person in the pew to step forward and participate in the life of our parish. New ministries arose, parishioners willingly took on new tasks and we reaped the benefit, as our faith lives deepened. Whether he was calling us to contemplate on holding baby Jesus in our arms during a Christmas homily or quoting the Merton Prayer, or encouraging us at Easter to renew our baptismal promises with a hearty “I do”, Fr. Brian changed us.

His homilies always inspired people and gave us lots to think about. In fact, from the beginning his homilies left US breathless. He spoke often about the rough spots of his life as an alcoholic, giving hope to all of us who struggled with our own addictions and temptations, whatever they might be. He challenged us to remember the least of these and to act justly. He made us laugh at ourselves with his insights and at a good joke shared at the end of mass. He stirred us with his spontaneous singing at mass even when he did not seem to have breath left. He reminded us that rest is a good thing and it was always a joy to see him return tanned and tranquil from Florida. It was even a greater joy when he invited parishioners to join him in Cuba one year. What a delight it was for those who sunned with him and brought down school and medical supplies for the Cuban people.

As we have heard, Fr. Brian resurrected a prison ministry here and he was really the perfect pastor to do it. He could capture the inmates’ attention and some have found a home here at St. Ignatius. I remember one time, when he used some of his infamous language. The inmates were shocked to hear a “man of the cloth” use such words. The result was that a group of “hardened criminals” giggled like 6-year-olds when they heard him use it. It was delightful to see those men find enjoyment in such a simple thing. Brian could relate to them on a level of humanity, just like he could relate to each of us. He called forth goodness from all of us, whoever we were. He had a special affection for the whole community of St. Ignatius and the people we minister to. He often encouraged us to reach beyond our walls.

He inspired us to grow by example. PPC went through many transformations during my time on it. It ended up being a discernment body more than anything under his guidance. He was clear that he did not want to make the final decisions—that this group of people could override him. Well, that was fine, until one night, some of us disagreed with him. He won that evening but it was brutal for some around the table as he pulled rank. He had a tendency at times to do things HIS way. I will never forget the next month though, when he began the meeting by humbly apologizing and saying he was out of line. He wanted to live out what he had said and so we revisited the decision. He appreciated people who were frank with him. He was a man of integrity, willing to admit his mistakes whenever possible, able to be a good shepherd for his flock, and lead us to a Merciful Creator.

When a good friend of mine was diagnosed with cancer and given weeks to live, Brian sent an email, quoting the Spiritual Exercises: “A short life or a long life, riches or poverty, sickness or health ....it all sounds so nice in a prayer”, he said. However in the end, he lived out these principles well. He lived his short life with much sickness and yet much grace and we will miss him in profound ways. He once said in a homily that “going through the Narrow Gate is worth it because of what is on the other side.” Welcome to the other side, Brian.

Two years later, Brian is still intensely missed by many of us at the parish and elsewhere. I know that he made it through the Narrow Gate and is a new creation where the physical struggles of this life no longer limit him.

Grieving has been a hard process. I actually spoke those words on the evening of my birthday. His unexpected death was a blow to the entire community. His presence, as well as his absence, linger within the pews still. I do feel like I want to just lie in the mud and not do church-related things some days. Tonight, however, I am grateful for knowing him, for being his friend, and for having the absolute privilege of sharing life with him. He one time told me he was profoundly grateful for my faithful efforts. I think that is my sense tonight about him. I am profoundly grateful for who he was to so many of us.

Peace,

Suzanne