April 6, 2018 at 1:53 p.m.
EDITORIAL

Three departures: Leaving to begin

EDITORIAL



Three departures: Leaving to begin  

The cross that hangs in our office or home reminds us that death and life are ever entangled and involved, one the yin to the other's yang. Each second we live steps us closer to the end. Yet as Catholics we believe that the end of this life brings another. Christ crucified tells us, "Yes, death, but death unto life." So too we know that each moment, even one that closes a book or signifies a loss, contains within it the seeds of the moment to come. 

We have had many deaths and endings lately. Three - one priest and two churches - embody the Resurrection. 

Rev. John Jones served the diocese as a vice-chancellor and then, for 34 years, as cathedral rector. A model priest known widely as "Jack," he advised peers, bishops and homeless people with sympathy, wisdom and grace. A tall, stately man, he would incline his ear and make one feel as if the world had stopped to listen to your woes. 

He died July 10 and was waked that Sunday at St. Teresa of Avila in Albany, where he served for ten years in retirement. At daily and Sunday Mass, he delivered his trademark homilies: bright, glowing gems that urged Christ's love upon us with a persistent force. An old-school cleric in his youth, he embraced the reform and renewal of Vatican II in the early 1960s. "He followed the Church, and was faithful to the Church," said a friend.

In one moment at the wake, five contemporaries - frail, gentle men in pastel-colored pants and short-sleeved shirts - shuffled past, their appearance belying the huge legacy of service they represent. Then another sat next to the casket, held his face and simply sobbed. 

The greater the loss, the greater the contribution left behind. Jack's gifts live on in the Diocese and all its members. 

In that same church on June 19, St. Teresa's School held its last Mass (before a merger with Holy Cross yields the Academy of All Saints). Rev. Vincent Ciotoli asked we pray for all deceased graduates, parents and teachers. Their love and gifts live on in us.

But when a school closes, what lives on? Here's one thing: next at the Mass a young girl read from Hosea in a voice so clear and full of wonder that it sounded as if Scripture were being revealed for the first time. 

Father Ciotoli, in his homily, encouraged the children to often ask themselves in tough times, "What would Jesus do?" Then he promised, "And if you do you will have a wonderful, joy-filled Christian life." It was a message to carry the students into the rest of their lives.

A week later, St. John the Baptist closed after nearly 180 years in downtown Schenectady. While there's no perfect way to go, the congregation did so with class: a full day of services, slide shows and Irish, choral and other music. When a harpist played, her trills and cascades struck a note of elegiac sadness and beauty, a hope deep within the pain.

St. John's was a major presence in downtown and hopes to continue. Its old school is now a homeless drop-in center and the parish has asked that real estate proceeds be dedicated to charitable services. 

At the end, after evening vespers, Rick Johnson, parish council president, and the oldest member, 94-year-old Mary Pidgeon, locked the front door for the last time. 

Then they walked into the dusk that precedes the night and the dawn. 

(07/16/09) [[In-content Ad]]

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