Half my life ago I was sitting on a church bench talking to my favorite person in the world about something only a14 or 15 year old kid might think is a big deal. He jokingly told me “you’re going to be my greatest cross as a priest.” While I’ll never know for sure what his “Greatest cross” might have been, in hindsight this statement feels like unfortunate foreshadow.
A little over two weeks ago my husband and I sat down for Mass with our three rambunctious boys. That Sunday they were unusually well behaved. The Gospel for that Sunday was as follows (Matthew 18:15-20) :
Jesus said to his disciples:
“If your brother sins against you,
go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.
If he listens to you, you have won over your brother.
If he does not listen,
take one or two others along with you,
so that ‘every fact may be established
on the testimony of two or three witnesses.’
If he refuses to listen to them, tell the church.
If he refuses to listen even to the church,
then treat him as you would a Gentile or a tax collector.
Amen, I say to you,
whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven,
and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.
Again, amen, I say to you,
if two of you agree on earth
about anything for which they are to pray,
it shall be granted to them by my heavenly Father.
For where two or three are gathered together in my name,
there am I in the midst of them.”
This particular weekend we had a visiting priest who, not so surprisingly, gave his homily on the topic of forgiveness. Our Lord decided to remind me that I still have so much work to do in this area that morning! Our very well-spoken visiting priest ended his homily with an invitation to recall and offer our communion that morning for those in our lives and in our past who we need to forgive. And while several individuals came to mind, one in particular stood out most. The man who was once my favorite person in the world.
On the way home that morning, my husband knowing that the topic of forgiveness is one I’m particularly passionate about, asked me who came to mind. I shared with him this priest and recounted “I still have some work to do in my heart with him.”
A couple hours later, after spending the afternoon sorting through the obscene amount of toys we have collected over the last 7 years since my son was born, I took a break and naturally began doom scrolling on Facebook. That’s when I found out my once favorite person in the world, the man I had offered my communion for on a random September Sunday, had passed away the night before.
Before that morning, I was completely oblivious to the unforgiveness that remained in my heart. I couldn’t even remember the last time he had been on the forefront of my mind. As the initial shock wore off, waves of sorrow hit me like a freight train. I suddenly remembered every good memory and the lost relationship that I used to value so much. I thought about what could have been had specific circumstances never occurred. I was overwhelmed with grief.
Realizing this grief was deeper than I hoped as days progressed, more than one friend suggested I make the 2000 mile journey to attend his funeral. After several days of wrestling with the reality that I would need to leave my three boys back in Pennsylvania and would run a very high chance of being in the same room with someone I absolutely did not want to see, the man who sexually abused me, I booked a flight out. After all, the difference between my abuser and I is marginal compared to the chasm that exists between me and God.
In the days prior to flying out, I was flooded with consolations, both in prayer and conversations I had with old friends. I realized as I landed in DFW airport for a layover that something strange was happening. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and purpose and recalled that this was the very airport I had once called the victim’s assistance coordinator for my home diocese to report the circumstance that would subsequently lead to anger with this friend I was flying 2000 miles to say goodbye to – Anger for his perceived abandonment and rejection of me after coming forward with something I had already spent years blaming myself for. His death reminded me that I had so many unanswered questions about what he really thought. And perhaps I myself had made some assumptions I should not have that only fueled more resentment. But the Lord was performing one of His famous reversals amidst my own uncertainties. This time I was letting Jesus do the work. He was forgiving in me both my friend and myself.
When I landed back home for the first time in over two years, I drove immediately to his Rosary. To say that this experience was a complete and total shock would be an understatement. But it’s exactly where I needed to be. And Jesus showed up through the comfort of old friends immediately.
I saw my old life through the lens of a 30-year-old woman and not the 16-year-old kid who was so desperate to be desired and loved. I saw the flashes of a time when my old friend gave me consolation in some of the most painful moments of my childhood, before everything changed. I remembered why I once loved him so much for being my spiritual dad and still do. While the anger I’ve held onto for so long had made me forget this love, Jesus is transforming this tragedy into communion through the prayers he sent me to pray and is continuing to ask for.
While it was never my place to know what his “greatest cross” may have been, maybe I can pray the greatest for the repose of his soul in however long I have left in this life.
Rest in Peace -Woof Woof.
