Very early in the morning, at 1:00 a.m. on June 16, 2003, Father Émile-Marie Brière died after a long bout with cancer. A close friend of Catherine Doherty, Father Brière became one of the pioneering priests of the Madonna House Apostolate in 1955. French Canadian and priest for more than 60 years, “Father B” served as pastor, seminary professor, chaplain, animator of religious and lay groups, and was the author of several books. The funeral was held on June 19, 2003 at Madonna House's St. Mary's Chapel, in Combermere, Ontario.
In honour of Father Brière, we thought we would share with you some excerpts from his book, The Power of Love:
Heaven is a place where nothing exists but love. Heaven is a continual state of love. Heaven opens its doors to lovers only, people who have struggled to die to selfishness and who have, by the mercy of God, acquired the capacity of being thrilled by the goodness and beauty of persons outside themselves. Everyone in heaven has been fashioned by God, whose name is merciful love.
The human heart opened by the Spirit is a vast house in which each man can find a room, his room, specially made ready for him, a room that has been waiting and longing for his coming, where he can be healed, cleansed, clothed in new garments. The human heart is a house where hundreds and thousands meet, really meet, and recognize each other at long last, and know each other as brother and sister.
Who shall heal the deep wounds of the Church and of the human spirit? We can, with the Lord’s help. He has given us this glorious power. We heal others by receiving their pain into our hearts, by allowing the Spirit to shape our hearts into tender hospitals, by letting him heal us of our sin. As I am healed of my arrogance and fears, every man is healed. For we stand as one before the Lord.
Truly God is the Friend of man. Who can deny it? Let the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of love and of truth, the Spirit of Christ, teach you the one truth that really matters and which contains all the rest: that God is love, and that he loves you passionately. May he be free to act in you. May you die and resurrect through the thrilling power of his ineffable love!
La Fond, Alberta, around 1923:
Archbishop Henry Joseph O’Leary, Archbishop of Edmonton, Alberta, is sitting in the rectory’s big chair. He has sat me on his knee. He asks, “Do you want to be a priest?” I answer, “Yes, I do. I want to be a Jesuit.” He asks, surprised, “Why?” I answer fearlessly, “Because they are priests of Jesus.” A pained look comes over his face and he says, “And who do you think we are?”
St. Edmund’s Parish, Calder (Edmonton, Alberta):
A young man faints in school. The reason—malnourishment. The family has had only some potatoes to eat for the last two weeks. I ponder this event and realize that on the one hand, wheat is being left to rot in the fields, while on the other hand, people are going hungry! This strikes me as an anomaly. I ask myself, “Who shall correct this wrong?” The answer: “Lay people.” “Who shall tell the lay people about this injustice? Who shall inspire them to do something about it?” The answer: “Priests.” At that moment is born my vocation to the lay apostolate—to be a priest of the lay apostolate.
Edmonton, Alberta, Jesuit College, 1934:
During a decision retreat, my excellent spiritual director, Father Alphonse-Marie Pelchat, S.J., tells me that I have no vocation to the Jesuit order, but rather to the Diocesan priesthood.
The summer of 1936—my last summer “in the world”:
I live it up in Montreal and other places of Quebec partying nearly every night until the wee hours since I am convinced that entering the seminary is nearly equal to entering the cemetery. In my mind, life in a rectory is dull, boring, spent mostly in edifying conversations with pious people.
St. Joseph’s Seminary, Edmonton, Alberta, 1936–1940:
It’s not really too bad. There are some fine, interesting professors—particularly Fr. Michael O’Neil, Father Paul Joseph O’Reilly, and the opportunity for invaluable friendships with seminarians from all over Western Canada—including the Ukrainian Diocese—and also, a lot of opportunity for research, for study of my favourite subject—history. Why history? Looking at the world around, I’ve been asking myself, “How did we get that way?” History provides a lot of answers.
St. Joseph’s Cathedral, Edmonton, Alberta, June 23, 1940, 9:25 a.m.:
Archbishop John Hugh McDonald has just imposed hands upon me, and anointed my hands of clay. The Master of Ceremonies, Fr. James Holland, leads me to the sacristy and there says, “Wash your hands Father.” The immense weight I’ve carried all along—mainly the fear of a dull, boring life as a priest—lifts completely, never to return again. A new life, a new enthusiasm, a new power takes hold of me.
Legal, Alberta, June 24, 1940:
At the banquet following my first Mass, the toastmaster invites me to speak. Archbishop McDonald whispers in my ear, “Now you may speak with authority!” I haven’t stopped talking since.
Harlem, New York, August 1940:
Catherine de Hueck kneels at the corner of Lennox Avenue and 138th St. at 10 p.m. and says, “Give me your blessing, Father.” Her faith in the priesthood reinforces my own faith mightily and sustains me all through my priestly life.
Clyde, Alberta, September 1940:
I sit in the confessional for the first time in my life. A centenarian is my first penitent. He says, “Bless me Father.” He is 77 years my senior.
Morinville, Alberta, November 1940:
We’ve managed to organize seventeen study clubs on adult education, cooperatives, credit unions, and a couple of topics of special interest to youth. This makes me realize how good people are, how willing to help each other. Several people open their hearts to me. I begin spiritual direction. My first directee is a very holy young nun. (Still alive, still my directee, still very holy in 1990). A local farmer teaches me True Devotion to Our Lady, according to the Doctrine of St. Louis DeMontfort. In the rectory, to my great surprise, I discover that life can be not only bearable, but considerably interesting and happy. My pastor, Monsignor Maxime Pilon, gives me a lot of wise counsel. My first baptisms are the children of the local bootlegger. My first marriage—people who have been shacked up and living hidden in the bush. My first Extreme Unction, as we used to say—an attempted suicide, a lady in her forties. (She lived to a ripe old age.)
April 11, 1941—Fiftieth Anniversary of St. John the Baptist Parish, Morinville:
We honour the pioneers. One tells me, “The only reason we stayed is because we couldn’t get away!”
I see the hunger for God. At a study-club, I talk about the doctrine of the Mystical Body of Christ—hesitatingly, tentatively, shyly. Afterwards, I ask, “What do you think of that?” A white-haired man answers, “In all my life, I’ve never heard of anything so beautiful.”
September 1941:
Archbishop McDonald appoints me to the staff of St. Joseph’s Seminary. I teach Logic, Latin, Homiletics. After reading several books on Homiletics, (preaching) I conclude that the whole course lies in two sentences: one—have something to say; two—say it. That is my entire course over a period of four years, once a week. Many seminarians come for spiritual direction. One of them arrives one night in a fury. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him—the rector, I mean.” When he cools down a bit, I say: “You have a choice between killing him or becoming a priest. Which do you prefer?” This seminarian is now the Vicar General of his diocese.
Edmonton, Alberta, Jasper Avenue—overlooking the Saskatchewan River Valley and the Municipal Golf Links at 117 St., September 1942:
Father Romeo Ketchen, Pastor of Immaculate Conception Parish, has asked me to become chaplain to the young Christian Students’ Group. I have attended several meetings. I feel increasingly uncomfortable. These girls are taking their religion seriously. They want to be Christians. They want to become saints. They want to be apostles.
Over several years, I discover among young people a burning desire to love God and serve their neighbour. It is a great joy to see the Holy Spirit so much alive and at work in so many, many people. A good number are connected with the Young Christian Workers, students, farmers, families, etc. As I overlook the river, it is clear that now I have to make a choice—either to live a cushy, bourgeois life, or to take God seriously.
A priest is a witness to the power of God in people. He brings their love to God and God’s love to them. Slowly, I discover that a priest has the power to bless, to expel evil, to heal—most of all, to forgive sin; most of all, to worship the Father through the Son, in the Holy Spirit; to bring His power to each person, to the 90 billion who constitute the human race in this world or in the next—to everything, to all creation, the whole universe at every Mass.
Since 1955, I have been intimately associated with Catherine Doherty, Father John T. Callahan, Eddie Doherty, Father Eugene Cullinane and the many laymen and women and priests who form the Lay Apostolate of Madonna House. A new civilization is in the making here, based on essential truths. God loves me passionately. I can love Him back passionately. I can lay down my life for others by humble service, day after day. The white martyrdom is lived out here—joyfully, relentlessly. The battle between good and evil is sometimes fierce; always present. In this battle, priestly spiritual power is eminent.
Priests need a lot of prayer. They need to be sustained by victim souls, people who unite their prayer and suffering with the infinite merits of the Lord Jesus Christ. As I prostrate myself before God in thanksgiving and adoration; as I thank Our Lady for her presence and constant care, I also remember, with unspeakable gratitude, the hundreds of generous people—priests, nuns, laymen, laywomen who have sustained the priesthood of Jesus Christ in me by their love, their fidelity, their faith, their hope, their prayer. May the blessing of the Holy Spirit descend upon them, and upon anyone and everyone who has done me good, upon my enemies, upon those I may have harmed, upon the whole of the human race, upon the whole of creation—and remain forever and ever. Amen.
Father Émile-Marie Brière
“He Passed it On.”
Born: July 28, 1917 — Ordained: June 23, 1940 — Died: June 16, 2003
“Go out to the whole world and proclaim the Gospel to all creation.” — Mark 16:15
2888 Dafoe Rd • Combermere ON • K0J 1L0
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