Uh. No.
I got there early, maybe I could help set up a table or something. Uh, No. There in the church basement was an army of volunteers. Some standing guard over the platters of food, some over by the steam table full of hot dishes, some getting ready to pour coffee from the four urns, some handing out the commemorative pens, some putting the finishing touches on the stacks of cookies and more people over by the big screen projection of what can only be described as An Unending Series of Thousand of Pictures of your brother/cousin/uncle Brian. Did I mention the commemorative pens? How about the long list of sponsors on the handout?
The people started coming through the doors at three. First, Brian was greeting them down by the hot dish tables, but someone mentioned that the line was out to the sidewalk, so he moved down to the middle of the hall and then they had him move all the way down to the stage, but the line of people, his people, kept growing. Few people in this life get to see a real community of love in love. I did today. I’ve never been prouder of anyone. Brian greeted every person by name, every one of them one of his favorites, every word important to him, every goodbye heartfelt, every wish he-didn’t-have-to-leave smiled at in a special way. On they came, the little old ladies, of course, but also some tough looking teary-eyed codgers and tall, strapping young men with families trying hard to find words to say without choking up. They did choke up a little. There were women holding the hands of babies, women holding onto their canes, women holding out their program for Brian to sign and kids, lots of kids, shyly getting a hug goodbye. It was hard to watch and a wonder to watch.
After an hour or so, the organizers decided it was time for some presentations. Brian went up on the stage. Nobody in the line moved. A fellow from the Knights of Columbus spoke a few words and there were some gifts opened, there was a plaque from the local police department thanking Brian for being part of the larger community of Seymour and a scrapbook from the fourth grade CCD class and a big book of remembrances from hundreds of people in the church.
Then they talked about the dumpster diving.
Apparently, unbeknownst to most of us but probably suspected by MaryEllen who just did a valiant job of helping Brian clear out his attic and closets of clutter for his move, the man is a trash picker, unable to walk by any large container of refuse without having a look-see. That’s where he found the window frame. A window frame, the bottom half of a window to be precise, and he brought it back the church after looking at it several times in a trash pile down the street.
Then it sat in the garage for a year. That’s when Alese, his devoted secretary, stole it.
They used it to frame a picture of the altar at St. Augustine’s which is perfectly appropriate and why there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. The altar, some of you may know this, is a combination of two other altars that Brian essentially found in trash heaps. Both the altar itself (hand carved marble Last Supper) and the solid wood backdrop, for lack of the correct word, were both lying discarded and unused in the basements of other Catholic churches. Brian rescued both and had them restored and installed at St. Augustine’s.
“I love this church and I love this altar and seeing it in this frame is a reminder to me,” Brian said to the crowd, “that when you get out of the way and let God lead, the wonders happen.” There was a nice explosion of applause.
I started watching all the pictures on the big screen. There was Brian with a beard, there was Brian without a beard, there was Brian with a huge hat, there was Brian wearing the oddest shirt ever sewn. Brian with kids, Brian with the people of Ghana, Brian in the statuary garden he made by the parking lot, Brian wearing a pink hat.
“He gave us back our church” people said to me, “He made us all feel like a family.” “And,” more than one said this, “He’s so much fun.”
Brian, meanwhile, was wrapping up the presentations by telling everyone the basics of his new life, yes, two parishes, some nights he doesn’t sleep at all, neither is air-conditioned—YET, and get this—they hand out the bulletins during mass---- the crowd roared----- family jokes, you know. Oh, and the cat is fine. When he started reciting his usual closing remarks from the end of mass the people recited it along with him laughing all the way to the “famous little table on the left.” More roaring. They were all with our brother/uncle/cousin because he has been their brother/son/father/uncle/listener/prodder/pleader/healer for all these years.
He went back to greeting people in the line. I don’t know when the line ended, it was just as long as it had been two hours before, and I had to leave for the city.
Tomorrow, Brian starts all over again up there in the corner of Connecticut.
Lucky them.
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