Editor's Note: Fr. John Cahill, priest of the Diocese of Covington, was our chaplain for 12 years. He died on November 15, 2017 after 3 weeks in Cardiac ICU at St. Elizabeth Hospital. In his plans for his funeral liturgy he asked that our prioress Sr. Mary Catherine Wenstrup give the eulogy. This is what she said at the Cathedral Basilica of the Assumption on November 21.
The funeral liturgy offers
the opportunity for some words of remembrance on Fr. Cahill. I offer both mine
and those suggested by members of our community.
In the early ‘70s I was
assigned to work in the first diocesan Office of Religious Education under the
direction of Fr. Fleming who took staff members on a tour of several parishes in
southeastern Kentucky. One of our last stops was a memorable lunch with John’s gracious
mother in Drift, KY.
In 2005 I was working in the
marriage tribunal, housed then in the former St. Pius X seminary building. Sr. Rita Brink, our prioress at the time, remarked
one day that our chaplain was going to be transferred. Never having met Fr.
Cahill, I mentioned to Rita that there was no weekday Eucharist celebrated at Cristo
Rey, the Hispanic parish of the diocese where John was pastor. John became our chaplain on July 1, 2005
while remaining pastor of Cristo Rey.
John would often join us for
holiday or feast day celebrations and occasionally, in his healthier years,
fill in as a needed fourth player for a euchre or pinochle game. We, however,
really got to know him through his role as priest and celebrant.
John always came to Eucharist
prepared. It was common for him to draw on his academic background in
philosophy and theology. Aristotle, Thomas Aquinas and various scripture
scholars were obvious. After a few years, he would include teaching from the
Rule of Benedict. And I’ve been told that God’s
providence was often a theme when he
was chaplain for the Sisters of Divine Providence. He celebrated Eucharist
knowing his congregation.
From the beginning we learned
and experienced his commitment to, and passion for the Church’s teaching on
social justice. He used pen and spoken word to remind his readers and hearers
of the plight of the poor, immigrants and the powerless. Frequently John would
close his homily by extending his hand toward the altar—a gesture reminding us
of the connection between what we do outside the chapel and what we offer on
the altar at Eucharist. His commitment and desire to celebrate Eucharist was
last evidenced in his final days in St. E’s ICU when he told Sr. Colleen that
he missed celebrating Eucharist with us. He knew he was no longer able to do
so.
Floyd County certainly left its
mark on the person, John. Love of the land, coal mining and miners would occasionally
be part of a homily. In his later years at Madonna Manor he could be seen porch
sitting-- greeting neighbors and passersby. He worked on his flowers and
tomatoes in a tiny garden in front of his cottage. Next spring that tiny yard will
be filled with the hundred or so blooming crocus blubs he recently planted.
I surmise that John acquired
his commitment to learning and his love of nature, music, beauty, art and
travel at an early age. These formed him into a person who respected and was
comfortable with diverse cultures. That also may explain why he was a good
chaplain. Monastic life and women religious definitely have a culture all their
own. John had more than respect for us and our culture. He got it.
In John’s request that I give
this remembrance he asked that I tell you, and I now quote: “about my profound
respect and admiration for religious women . . . and the joy I experienced and
the inspiration I received while serving (and being served by) them”. And we
say, “The feeling is mutual.”
John’s life and service were
gifts to the diocese and its people. The hallmarks of his priestly vocation were
visible in his devotion and commitment to the Eucharist and in his work as
pastor, homilist, teacher, and advocate for those in need. He will be missed by
all whose who shared his culture, convictions, joys, sorrows, and his own very
interesting journey through life.
Sr. Mary Catherine Wenstrup, OSB
Psalm 8 puts it this way: “When I look at your heavens, the work of your hands, the moon and the stars which you created—who are we that you should be mindful of us, that you should care for us?”
My awe of God’s Creation has exploded to unimaginable levels by the findings of modern exploration of space about our galaxy, other galaxies, even perhaps those with planets capable of supporting living beings similar to us. Whoa! This is way beyond my imagination and I admit to being a bit humbled to even ponder how this great and awesome God would care for me. And yet I believe it to be. Not because my own limited understanding has it figured out, but because my forebears in faith have entrusted this message to me through the power of the Holy Spirit. And my companions in the company of Jesus share this faith with me.
