Friday, November 5^th, 1999
Address of Father Brian Joyce

Michael Collins, one of Monsignor’s favorite Irish patriots and heroes, said "Great age holds something for me that is awesome. I am much fonder of old people in the darkness than I am of young people in the daylight." Some commentators have added, "I wonder if you have to be a Celt, or Irish, to understand that."

When I think of Monsignor, the first thing I think of is Commitment and Dedication. For him, the most important day of his life was June 11, 1933, ordained to the priesthood at St. Patrick’s in Carlow in Ireland, and then went home for his first Mass and blessings. And the townspeople had designed a huge banner they stretched across the street that read "Cead Mille F`ailte" (A hundred thousand welcomes). He often commented to me that it was a long time before he ever again heard that praise or really felt that welcome.

Commitment and dedication led him to leave Ireland to come to the wild and wooly west in ministry. And he left at a time when transatlantic travel was not common. There were not even any frequent flier mileage plans yet. So he came with little hope and no assurance of ever seeing his family or home or homeland again. One nice thing: the Archdiocese of San Francisco booked his passage with his classmates, first class across the Atlantic. And when he arrived in the Archdiocese of San Francisco, there was no need for priests. So, his classmates and this learned young priest, who carried in his head and his heart Goldsmith and Keats and Shelley and Shakespeare and "Somebody’s Mother" and "Just for a Minute" and "An Old Woman’s Rosary" and "Lovely Lady Dressed in Blue", he was sent to St. Patrick’s Seminary in Menlo Park..... to improve his English. And there he stayed without salary and without assignment. He got one letter, after a few months, from the Archdiocese. It was the bill for the first class passage, and the bill for his tuition at St. Patrick’s Seminary.

About Christmas time, St. Mary’s in Stockton needed someone for two weeks. Let me tell you a few things about St. Mary’s in Stockton: wonderful people, wonderful parish, legendary pastor. Now this is no longer true, but, in those days, if you were a "legendary pastor", the only way you got that was to be very difficult to get along with. The second thing about Stockton was it was a lot further away, in those days, than today. And Monsignor had no car. He was to arrive Dec. 23rd, but he hitched a ride from a priest, got to Stockton Dec. 22nd, and Msgr. McGough, the pastor, met him at the door and said, "What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here ‘til tomorrow." Whatever happened to "Cead Mille F`ailte?" He spent two weeks in assignment there and then was told to stay until further notice from the Archdiocese. Eight and a half years later, he was transferred to St. Columba’s in Oakland. People in Stockton loved him, his commitment and dedication. People at St. Columba’s, the same. Pastor for a couple of years in Calistoga, and then back to St. Columba’s in Oakland where he did just wonderful ministry. And then, our treasure and our gift, 37 years here, here at Christ the King. So, the first thing I think of is his Commitment and Dedication.

The second thing is his priorities. They came together. God and people came first. God and people came first. He built a beautiful church at St. Columba’s in Oakland, but it wasn’t the building. It was the people he was concerned about. Along with great help from Father Gerry Moran, who actually now is in Fatima and Lourdes on a tour and celebrating Eucharist for Monsignor, he built this beautiful church. But it wasn’t the church building that mattered. It was the people. Last May 15, he and I were sitting on the bench, watching our school burn down. And people were coming by, consoling him. And he turned to me and he said, "Isn’t it great, no one was hurt. The children....The children are all safe." For him, it wasn’t the buildings. The school was the children and their families and staff. And, in his mellow years, he became more and more intentional about the people coming first. I remember, about 7 years ago, I came in one evening from a service and a meeting and he was nervously pacing up and down in his room. And he said, "I need your advice on something. I need your answer. A family came in for a funeral, and I don’t know what we can do, what’s allowed." He said, "They want a cremation." And I said, "That’s no problem." He said, "I know that. That’s not the problem. But, they want the ashes brought into Church. Does canon law allow that?" And, I said, "Well, technically, in most countries it does, but not in the United States. But, you know, if they have a serious reason, I think for a pastoral reason, pastoral judgment, it would be all right." He said, "Well, I told them ‘yes’ right away because I figured, even if I was wrong, it would make up for the many times we say ‘no’ when we should be saying ‘yes’ to people." Commitment and Dedication. God and people first.

The other thing that I think of with Monsignor is Humor and Joy, as Jane shared with us last night. Even at 94, he was always very boy-ish. And, you know, he loved to fool us and tell stories. His most famous one was, rushing in one morning, and he fooled every group: religious ed, school faculty and administration, parish staff. He was driving down the street and stopped at a stop light. There’d been an accident, was cleared up. He found a toe that was left there. And he went on and on, until we finally said, "What did you do?" He said, "Well, I called a toe truck." And he loved to try things. He would try anything. We’d visit a home and they have a new exercise bicycle. He climbs on it. He’s bicycling. We have a giant chair at the festival for children. He’s the first one in it. About the only thing he didn’t try was when we had the dunking booth at the festival a few years ago. And no hat was safe on the property. He’d try it on. He’d love sombreros, berets. If it really fit, you probably wouldn’t get it back. And costumes.... wigs at Halloween and costumes to the classroom.... and off the campus, he went to St. Pascal’s Convent to see the principal there, to St. Columba’s to see the pastor. But, to the person who answered the door, he was in his old clothes, coming from playing golf. He said, "I need some money to get to Bakersfield." And then he was absolutely delighted to tell the story of how at each door he was turned away, and "that bum was a monsignor..."

The other thing that I’m reminded of with Monsignor was he was Irish. Our conversations turned fairly green, with stories and history and politics and concerns about Ireland. Even, if they asked, about four days before he died, I went over to see him in the morning. His stomach was upset. He wasn’t feeling well. I said, "Well, what did you have for breakfast?" He said, "Well, I had the oatmeal. It was all right. But I think it was the British muffins." He returned home to Ireland whenever possible. When it wasn’t possible, he stayed in touch by mail and by regular phone calls. He did not forget them and they did not forget him. When he went back, this was six years ago, for his 60^th anniversary, they brought out that banner, which they had saved for 60 years: "Cead Mille F`ailte."

In the 11 years we were together here, we celebrated 11 anniversaries and 11 birthdays. And there were 3 things he always said at every homily on those occasions, and I want to repeat them. One was a tribute to the Clark family of Toledo, Ohio. When the economy was bad and he had to leave the seminary and there was no possibility for him to continue, distant relatives from Toledo, William P. Clark and their brothers, wrote to him and said, "We’ll subsidize you and put you through the seminary." They’re probably busy talking now about how it was the best investment they had ever made. The second thing he’d talk about was the priesthood. And he’d always say, "I became a priest and I’ve never regretted that a single day in my whole life," and asked us to pray for vocations. A few nights before he died, he was beginning to be a little confused. Went over to pray with him, and as we prayed with him, we said, "Let’s pray together," thinking we’d pray for him; and he said, "Yes. We pray for vocations." And the third thing he always said, and I hated to hear it, was, "I ask forgiveness of anyone I offended." All I could say, "Monsignor, that’s a very, very short list....very short list." I always called him "Monsignor." Family very often calls him "Father." Some of the priests call him, "Jimmy." He, I’m sure, appreciated being made Monsignor by Bishop Begin. But, I don’t think that title gave honor or stature to him. I think he gave stature and honor to that title.

"Youths shall faint and be weary. Many young men shall fall exhausted. But those who wait for the Lord with faithfulness shall renew their strength. They shall run and not grow weary. They shall walk and not grow faint. For their God will be their strength." Eleven years ago, when he was retired, the newspaper described him as the oldest active priest in California. Well, he’s been active ever since, and I would think he’s been the oldest active priest in the world. The week before, he celebrated Sunday Mass, confessions in the afternoon and the evening. I took him into the hospital, and when we got him in his bed, he said, "I want you to go across and visit a woman in the hall" because, in the same hospital, on the same floor, was a woman that he had taken a sick call to the day before and had driven over and had anointed her. He did not grow weary. And he taught us that it’s not medicine and Medicare or not even his tuna sandwiches that gives us real strength, but faith in God.

I am convinced that..."neither death nor life nor anything else can separate us from the love of God in Christ." Monsignor did not fear death one moment. In fact, when he heard of people who did, he came in and sat with me and said, "I don’t understand. How is it? I just don’t understand. Why would you fear death?" He taught us that the love of Christ casts out fear. And Christ says, "I am the Way, the Truth and the Life." Well, that was certainly true for Monsignor. He connected with Christ daily in prayer. There’s a seat in the last row to the left that is absolutely worn out with the hours that he spent praying there every day. The Eucharist and Christ’s presence was so important to him, in the Eucharist and in the poor. He teaches us that we should have Jesus as our Way, our Truth and our Life.

One thing we used to do a lot was go walking in the evening with the dog. We’d walk the dog. I came here, a little apprehensive. I didn’t know him that well. And, you know, retired pastor, new pastor... Is this gonna work? Are we even gonna like each other? And we’d go out in the evening, at least on occasion, when I didn’t have a meeting or he wasn’t busy with something else, and he’d say to me, "Let’s walk the dog." After about the sixth month, he said one night to me, "Let’s go walk the dog." So, out we went, we walked along talking about our families, talking about church, talking about the news. We turned the corner. We were on the way back, when I noticed there was no dog. We didn’t even need the excuse of a dog.

On June 26, 1996, Monsignor signed his funeral arrangements. And his last point was "I humbly appeal to ‘Our Lovely Lady Blessed in Blue’ to be my advocate, and that her Son greet me with a ‘Cead Mille F`ailte’." I’m sure that’s true. Great age holds something for me that is awesome. I’m much fonder of old people in the darkness than I am of young people in the daylight. You don’t have to be a Celt or Irish to understand that. You need only to have met Monsignor Wade.