Liturgy Celebrating the Life of John Kavanaugh, SJ
Tuesday, December 4, 2012-12-06
Karen House
Song: How Can I Keep Form Singing?
Welcome:
God we come to you tonight, almost one month since losing John. We come before you surprised at our continued grief, the depth of our loss, and struggle. We come before you tired and sad; moving on because how could we do anything else, but still wondering how to live in a world where John is not at least physically present.
We yearn for his counsel, his smile, his encouragement, his wisdom, his voice, his song. We suffer the loss of his presence in our lives. To use John’s words, “love’s very self”. And yet, we have felt him. In moments of sadness and question. In kitchens over washing the dishes, in beautiful gardens, in our own rooms in the quiet of night, in prayer. Alone and together, we have felt his presence, even heard his voice. And we know that we are not alone. We are not forsaken.
Yet our grief breaks open before us still. And we know, that while John didn’t want eulogies – for the holiest and humblest of reasons- his story is not his alone anymore. Like God, John lives in all of us, and we feel compelled to share our spirit, our stories with one another.
So tonight we sing songs that John loved, but also songs we loved to sing with him. We hear a reading from John, consoling us in our grief and instructing us, gently as always, to be grateful. And we hear from Catholic Workers whose lives, formation, and very being were transformed by John's life.
Each of us in our own hearts has our own grief, our own story, our own gratitudes. We know that God is here, because we are here. For this reason we also know that John is here, in our midst, with us, present to us, with us.
Reading: from Faces of Poverty, Faces of Christ by John Kavanaugh, SJ and Mev Puleo
But there is now.
To kiss the falling leaves.
To embrace the trees.
The point is not to fear the regret of having meant so much to someone that absence might bring pain.
The point is not to protect ourselves from loving this present earth, this present face, but to let our hearts be indeed broken
by earthly departure,
by all dear separations,
by every aching distance.
For it is a breaking open, a wound, a poorness of love that fills us with Love’s very self.
As C.S. Lewis sang:
For this I bless you as the rain falls.
The pains you give me
are more precious
than all other grains.
Prayer:
John has joined our communion of Catholic Worker saints. He is in good company. And so we begin tonight by calling to our saints, crying out to those who now accompany John, as he and they accompany us. Let us name our CW communion of saints.
Reflection: Teka Childress
When I would comment to John Kavanaugh on his immense generosity and love, he would immediately
deflect the attention away from himself. Similarly, he did not allow us to give any eulogies at his Mass
of Resurrection. And yet, here it is the week of Thanksgiving, a time I know John treasured, and I find
myself like the healed leper, needing to return to give thanks and praise God. Perhaps in this context
John will forgive me this eulogy which I feel compelled to share.
John ended the book he did with Mev Puleo, Faces of Poverty, Faces of Christ, with this fragment of the
poem, As Kingfishers Catch Fire, by Gerard Manley Hopkins,
For Christ
plays
in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs,
and lovely in eyes not his.
John taught me to see this. When I took his class at St. Louis University on the philosophy of the Human
Person, I argued with him the first month or so. Being young and thinking of myself as already steeled
against some of life’s disappointments, I was not ready to yield to his vision of the possibilities of human
love and freedom. Then one day after he had been showing us the vision of a person comodified in
advertisement s and valued only for their physical beauty and relationship to things or power, he
showed us an alternative vision, the possibility of a person embodied by Christ, relinquishing power and
wealth and clinging only to love. I remember distinctly the moment I gave in and accepted this vision,
one I had hoped for and longed for and perhaps, known all my life. I decided to have faith in it and it has
shaped my life.
In John’s teaching and preaching, he inspired us with this vision but what made him believable was how
he looked at each of us individually as if he believed it about us. He saw Christ in us. Dorothy Day said of
Peter Maurin, another great Personalist, “Peter made you feel a sense of his mission as soon as you met
him. He did not begin by tearing down, or by painting so intense a picture of misery and injustice that
you burned to change the world. Instead, he aroused in you a sense of you own capacities for work, for
accomplishment. He made you feel that you and all people had great and generous hearts with which to
love God. . . “When I read this, just a month or so before John’s death, I thought of him immediately. He
always made me want to be a better person because he believed in my capacity to love, even more than
I did myself. I know I am among thousands who felt this way. And, to the end, he gave witness to that
about which he always spoke, the beauty of a person, at any stage of life, even in their letting go. In his
dying he was able to give and evoke great love.
He was an uncommon friend, family member and Jesuit priest. He loved his family dearly and always
talked of them. He loved his communities; the Jesuits, Kopavi , the Catholic Worker and St. Louis
University. He loved St. Louis and its places and he loved the world and its people, especially those who
were poor or suffering.
Since his death I felt such a great loss. But I have felt something else as well. Life seems possibly bigger.
In taking a test, I would have said I believed in life after death, but somehow it now seems more real. It
does not seem that even death could conquer his great love. In his life and in his death he has given me
faith. And so, John, for you dear, sweet and generous heart, for the ways Christ played in you, and for
the ways you saw him in us, I give the greatest of thanks and praise God.
Reflection: Diane Beckerle
I met John almost 25 years ago and was graced by his presence in so many wonderful ways through the years. He “gave me away” when I married; he baptized my children; I stood (along with many dear friends and family) at his bedside when he died. I’m quite humbled that he allowed me into his life . . and death. Last Christmas after receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation John asked me to reflect on the 5 Joyful Mysteries in my life as penance. He had asked me to write them down and share them with him as well. As I reflected, I quickly came to realize that he was one of my 5 Joyful Mysteries, so I included the following in my report back to him:
Joyful Mystery: John – (How I long to be skilled as a writer when it comes to trying to explain the joyful mystery you are in my life, John.) I so vividly recall my introduction to you first through your written word, then your spoken word, and then finally in person. The journey to actually meeting you took a couple of years but I knew I was on the right path as you had already proven to be a good guide, mentor, sage in my life through your words that resonated in me, igniting my yearning for truth, for Christ in my life. I heard you preach once, and while I had never seen you (and only having read Following Christ in a Consumer Society and some articles in the Review), I knew it was you. I felt quite bold when I finally called and asked to meet with you – and you were so very gracious with your “yes.” I was a stranger and you welcomed me. You were (and are) so well-respected and revered by so many, John, and yet you allowed me, an ordinary young woman from South St. Louis with no great skills or gifts. . . with really little or nothing to offer in return, to enter your life. Yet through God’s amazing grace, a most special relationship developed and you remain a wisdom figure, a dear friend, a dad.
The song “For Who Has Known” keeps coming to mind as I reflect on you as a joyful mystery in my life. How did it happen that our relationship grew into what it has become? A joyful mystery, indeed, that God has graced my life with you! What would I do without you, sweet John? You are my guide and my rock. You challenge me and accept me. You comfort me. You are always there for me. You are Christ for me. I spent my early adult years coming to terms with my parents’ mortality, but I’m not ready to come to terms with yours. Selfishly, I need you. You make sense out of chaos. You quell my fears. You ground me. You know me. You love me. . . as Christ loves me. Yes, John Kavanaugh, you are forever one of my most joyful mysteries!
Song: Take Lord, Receive
Reflection: Ellen Rehg
John was my director for both my Masters and Doctorate thesis. He warned me off of him as a director, saying that he was not that well respected in philosophical circles. I knew what he meant. I had listened to the talks he gave at the philosophy department, and saw how his theory of the person as embodied awareness of awareness was received. Some people thought there was a logical flaw in his thinking. I was not a good enough philosopher to understand this flaw (or maybe to care).
But I didn't know any other philosopher who was a pacifist and a personalist. His theory of the human person was not only consistent with living in solidarity with the poor, but demanded it. So I told him, "you're the only philosopher I want to be like." He continually taught me great things about philosophy. One time I was preparing a class and had heard people talking about how one's classes ought to be hard, so that students will respect you. So I told John, "I'm preparing my class and it's going to be hard." He responded, "Well, will your students be drawn to philosophy because it's hard, or because it's beautiful?" Ah, ok. Point taken.
A favorite memory of mine is one time when Gabe, Anna and I were visiting John when they were little. John loved kids, and loved to give them treats. We were in Jesuit Hall and John brought us back to the dining room to give the kids some frozen yogurt. There was a frozen yogurt machine that had a handle you pushed down to dispense the dessert. We had pushed it down and were filling up a couple of bowls of it when we realized that it was stuck in the on position. We started to panic, grabbing bowls to catch the overflowing stream of yogurt, laughing our heads off. Finally John got it turned off. I love this memory; it symbolizes John's love and God's grace that poured from it-an unstoppable stream of goodness. He wrote a song that had the line, "A banquet is prepared, and my cup runneth over." In this case, it was my bowl of frozen yogurt runneth over!
Reflection: Becky Hassler (from a homily she gave shortly after John’s death)
On a rainy, cold night November 5th I was with my dear friend, John Kavanaugh, as he died. He was surrounded by family and friends, singing to him, praying with him, stroking his head, holding his hands, whispering words of gratitude and love in his ears as he was taking his final breaths. It was a graced moment, without a doubt, one I will treasure always. His wake and funeral followed several days later, the readings and the songs all picked and carefully planned by John himself, readings speaking of love in order to console us. It was beautiful to be surrounded by this loving spirit of John Kavanaugh. The next morning at the cemetary was an amazingly beautiful November Saturday, and we sang our last song to John, a beautiful Kavanaugh rendition of the Irish Blessing. Though his death and funeral and burial were all profoundly graced, I have been carrying around a deep sadness since then, trying to imagine what my world without John will be like. The world on that rainy Monday, November 5th, truly lost an amazing and beautiful person. A Jesuit priest, scholar, prolific writer, philosopher and ethicist, musician, friend to many, voice of justice for the marginalized, the old, the unborn.
John has been a very significant part of my last 25 years. Half my life. His counsel, spiritual guideance, friendship and love have been a staple in my life. The thing is, as I looked around a very crowded College Church on the night of his wake and funeral, I realized that most everyone there will feel a tremendous loss in their own lives without John Kavanaugh. Many of you, I know, deeply treasure him and will miss him also.
I have been reading many of his writings these last few weeks, and, as always, he has given me the words I need to hear. I have chosen some of them for my reflections today...
This week's readings allude to the end times...This church year is drawing to an end...The days are short and dark...We begin to look toward Advent...This week we celebrate Thanksgiving... The seasons of our lives continue on. We pause this week to give Thanks. To be Grateful.
John's words on Thankgiving:
“Not so long ago, the day after Thanksgiving was the big shopping day, a mad rush to trigger christmas conseumer consciousness. Then some malls decided to start the spree at 12:01 Friday morning. Now, it seems, the day before Thanksgiving has been turned into the day after. Maybe soon we can skip Thanksgiving entirely. After all, the spirit of giving thanks is not very good for craving and buying. If you give thanks, you are focused on what is, not what is not, on what you have rather than what you do not have. That is why Thanksgiving may well be the most suversive national holiday. It centers on the present moment, on the ritual of families eating together and especially on the appreciation of life...Don't let go of Thanksgiving. Instead of lurching into the “30 shopping days left till Christmas”, why not extend thansgiving all the way through Christmas and even into the new year? Let Advent be not just a longing for God, but a savoring of all the ways God already enters our lives.”
In a commentary on the readings for today's liturgy John wrote:
“Conceivably, the text is not so much a warning about the end of the world as it is a commentary on living in it. This day, this moment, this life, is the time to bear the fruit. Another year hurtles by. Seize the day.
As our projects and pretenses mount, as our labors and tasks surround us, as our entertainment and doodling wittle away the time, we may forget the upshot of our lives. It is to love and evoke love, no matter where we may be, from nursing home to classroom.... It is to welcome the opportunity of each moment, each breath. Since we do not know the hour or the day, let this be the hour, let this be the day, let this be the time we live and die...
In this commentary John goes on to describe the life of dear Jesuit friend of his, words which I will now use to describe John himself...
”{John Kavanaugh} somehow embodied all of this for me. He made this Gospel passage from Mark come alive, as he did for so many texts, for so many people. Cherishing the past, envisioning the future, he was always in the present. Here we celebrate the mystery. This moment we accept the grace of God. Today we laugh and mourn. This place of sorrow we entrust. This instant of laughter we bestow...In the end, he was a wise man, offering truths not only to others, but entering them himself, as one diving into the depths. Thus, somehow, even in his sorrows he seemed to have a joy that glistened. Even in victories, he seemed to let it all go for something larger to embrace...”
John gave the homily at his dear friend, Ann Manganero's funeral. He said then:
“And so, what would Ann then say to us who grieve about this wide wound of death, over this great wound of space that separates us now from Ann and all those who have passed into the other world? I think it would be the words of a poem she wrote over ten years ago. Its final lines are these:
‘And all the space between us
Is filled and flowing with Love,
And the wider the space, by God’s
bounty,
The larger the grace thereof’”
John chose the following quote for his mass card...from Pedro Arrupe, SJ...
“More than ever I find myself in the hands of God. This is what I have wanted all my life from my youth. But now there is a difference; the initiative is entirely with God. It is indeed a profound spiritual experience to know and feel myself so totally in God's hands...”