Our Brothers

Just seven weeks ago, I was making my way to Mexico for the ordination to the priesthood of Fr. Jorge Gomez. I did not want to go. Not that I had anything against Jorge, quite the opposite, he had served the House of St. Mark well as prefect and had been a wonderful seminarian during his years with us. I was just a bit travel weary and traveling to Mexico was probably going to be a hassle. All of my consternation vanished, however, when I arrived in Durango, “Land of Scorpions”. The night journey to Jorge’s hometown of Jesús Agustín Castro proved to be an overland adventure. When I arrived late in the evening, the whole town seemed to be wide awake, preparing for the coming day’s festivities, The entire town was festooned with bunting and streamers, the church was decorated to the rafters and everyone seemed to have come out to help. Now my irritation was giving way to admiration. In the next days, I had the chance to witness a town in love, not only with their native son, but for what he now stood for as a priest. The ordination was beautiful. The mass of thanksgiving was wonderful. The mariachi band played into the wee hours of the morning. Canons were fired. Fireworks exploded. I returned from Mexico less weary than when I arrived. Once again, I was inspired by the beauty of the Body of Christ, lived in places around the world, places like Durango, “Land of Scorpions”.

Last weekend, just as Saturday night was giving in to the day of resurrection. Fr. Jorge and our Tulsa seminarian, Stanley Kariuki, were killed in a tragic automobile accident. The lives of two men were lost when a driver ran a red light at top speed and plowed into their car as they were returning from a Knights of Columbus function. In the Tulsa newspapers, their deaths were reported in a very matter of fact way. For us the matter was more than facts. They were our brothers. In his time at Saint Meinrad. Jorge was well-known as the informal ringleader of a band of disparate characters I called the United Nations. He had a gift of making others feel welcome. The United Nations included men from Mississippi, Bahamas, Philippines and all points in between. Jorge was a good friend. He cared about everyone. He was also a devoted man of the Church whose single desire was to serve Christ in his people. I can never forget the joy on his face as he was ordained a priest in Mexico. I cannot forget the joy on his dear father’s face and his family’s faces, the whole town’s faces. Jorge wanted to serve. He wanted to be a good priest who changes people’s lives. He had six weeks. I am sure he made the most of them.

Stanley Kariuki came from a small town called Molo in Kenya. In his youth he prepared to be a medical doctor, but his vocation came when he was serving with a group of medical missionaries in his native country. Eventually, Stanley left Kenya and he came to the United States with Glenmary. He came to Saint Meinrad, a town about as far from Molo as one can get. He came with a missionary heart and an open and willing spirit. Just last May he affiliated with the Diocese of Tulsa, but he had already endeared himself to the people of eastern Oklahoma. Stanley was a quiet, studious man with a ready smile. His patience and calm helped to alleviate a great deal of tension. He was passionate about his native culture and willing and eager to share it with all. Stanley was a gentleman in every sense of the word. In his life he already served the Church well by witnessing to the global power of God’s love and God’s will. It seems impossible that he is gone and we will never see his smile again.

Despite coming from opposite sides of the world they were brought together by a common love for Christ and his Church. Despite speaking different languages, they were brought together by the common language of call and service. Thrown together by their common experience as seminarians at Saint Meinrad, these men represented the best of us. They were bridges between worlds, bridges built in the name of Jesus. They were our brothers. They were not perfect men. Like the rest of us they could be a little whiney, a little hard headed, even a little troubling. Jorge had a way of getting his point across. Stanley was a well-known goat slayer. And they were our brothers. They were one of us. They taught us how to be good travelers in this life. Now Fr. Jorge and Stanley are united forever, not only in the fact of their death but in their now being bound together on another great journey. They are our brothers still. Ascending that seven-storey mountain they will soon come face-to-face with the Everlasting Father who calls of his children from the corners of the earth. We will miss them. We mourn for them and with their families and friends. We will see them again in that Kingdom of many colors, languages and cultures. Then there will be no more parting and we shall be brothers forever.