Eulogy for Phil

The first psalm in last Wednesday’s morning prayer begins:

My heart is ready, O God;
I will sing, sing your praise.
Awake my soul;
awake, lyre and harp
. I will awake the dawn.

The verse Phil chose for his memorial card is also from morning prayer, from the canticle the church sings daily:

In the tender compassion of our God
the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death,
and to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Darkness into dawn.
Death into peace.

Just over two months ago, many of us gathered in this same church to celebrate Phil’s Fortieth anniversary of priesthood. During the week before, he had learned that his third chemo regime had failed and that the doctor had no more arrows in his quiver. There was one faint ray of hope—reports that a new drug might soon be available for testing—and Phil clung to that hope until two weeks ago. But he understood his situation and he faced it directly, honestly, courageously. He shared the news with us on the staff, and at lunch that day we talked about it. One person finally asked, “How are you feeling, Phil, about Sunday’s celebration?” His eyes filled, his face reddened, and he said. “I have two enormous surges of emotion in me, and I’m just afraid they’re going to collide on Sunday.” I think we all shared his fear.

But when we gathered, here in this church, he greeted us by saying “Let’s just praise God”—and we did. And the celebration was transformed in our praying. He, and we, relished God’s goodness, the present moment, the memories shared, the outpouring of love, from family and friends.

The psalm translation I actually prayed on Wednesday morning read:

I have decided, O God,
I will sing of your glory,
will sing your praise.

Another familiar version reads, “My heart is steadfast, O God.”
On June 1st, we witnessed Phil, a man steadfast of heart. He clearly decided, chose, to praise the God who had chosen him, to believe in and through and despite those primal emotions surging through him. And in that decision he, our priest, led us into God’s transforming love.

Oh, we all know that Phil had extraordinary personal gifts—

• a critical intelligence that processed, retained, and creatively reconfigured amazing amounts of information
• a human warmth and graciousness that continually delighted us (every once in a while Sr. Theresa and I would exchange a knowing glance and say, “His mother trained him well.”)
• a remarkable spontaneity and generosity of spirit (those famous $100 bills he tucked into his wallet “just in case”)
• an awareness of social systems and a commitment to those most marginalized or oppressed by them (he never forgot that his mother was an immigrant woman widowed with four young children)
• an unshakeable belief in the power of good people gathered, networking, acting together, to create new, just structures in our world and even in our church.