Whispered Word Clearly Heard

Gene was an early acquaintance when I first joined our parish. He was one of the first to greet me and make me feel welcome. He often had a word of jest that emerged spontaneously.

One morning after Mass as I walked by his pew, he asked me, “Hey, are you married?”

I said, “No, I’m not.”

His immediate retort was, “How did you escape?” It confused me at first. Then I thought maybe it was a compliment. Whatever it was, Gene made me laugh.

Those brief sporadic encounters kept us in touch and were always punctuated with a smile. Everyone knew Gene and shared his stories. About a year ago, I heard through one of his friends that Gene had broken his hip and was hospitalized after his surgery. He recuperated and returned to Mass cheerful, but clearly fragile.

I missed our little chats while Gene was away. Gene was one of those folks who seemed to continue conversations even if there was a time lag between them. Gene was a well-spoken witness to the power of conversion and an ardent apologist for his Catholic faith. He recounted his love for his deceased wife Faye, and reminisced about their days as parish catechists and their love of teaching children. Gene was a captivating storyteller who had a way with words and a way with people. He seemed to have lots of words for God. He was a man of prayer, for sure.

When I read Gene’s death notice recently, I remembered the stories he shared, but most importantly, I recalled a lesson he taught me before his failing health required his move to a personal care facility. It was a short lesson, but memorable, nonetheless. In fact, this man of many stories just used one word!

I was just leaving our parish chapel after the daily evening Mass. A few folks remained to continue their prayers. I joined the others who quietly genuflected and gradually made their way out into the foyer. A few of the regulars stopped to greet one another and exchange the news of the day. We were so engaged that our conversation grew animated and loud. I didn’t even think about the folks who were still in prayer.

Gene was kneeling in the front pew, making his after-communion thanksgiving. He turned back, a well-worn prayer book firmly in hand, to identify the source of the distraction. He had a twinkle in his eye as he smiled a little smile and whispered, “Reverence!”

One word was all he needed to say. One word was all I needed to hear. Reverence said it all. 

I felt a bit embarrassed at hearing that one word. In the throes of that friendly, spirited conversation I realized that I had demonstrated little reverence for the Eucharist, the solitude of the chapel, or the folks at prayer. That single word, those three syllables, was a powerful reminder of where I was, Who was with me, and Whose I am.

True reverence and awe for Jesus in the Eucharist can often be overlooked. But Gene taught me that it’s our honor to give this respect to God Who loves us more than we’ll ever know.

Thank you, Gene, for sharing a word with me. Rest in peace and may heaven be your happy home.

“We adore You, Lord Jesus Christ, here, and in all Your churches throughout the world, and we bless You because by Your holy cross You have redeemed the world. Amen.”  - St. Francis of Assisi