HE PASSED IT ON

by Fr. David May

This is adapted from the homily at Fr. Brière’s funeral Mass.

Go out to the whole world; proclaim the Good News to all creation (Mk 16:15). This was the fire burning in Fr. Brière’s heart, and this is what he poured out his life doing. And we felt many times from him the force of that urgency that Fr. B, as we called him, was living with constantly.

One day, for example, I happened to be with him in Catherine Doherty’s cabin. He had just finished putting together a series of collections of the writings of Catherine that he wanted our whole family to study. A whole shelf was groaning under literally thousands of pages of material!

He looked at me and said, "David I bequeath this all to you." Thanks a lot Fr. B, I groaned to myself!

Fr. B had been touched by the Gospel in a powerful way, especially as he saw it lived in Catherine and in the spirituality of Madonna House, and he wanted to share it with the whole world.

Even when he first came to Madonna house, this desire for all of society to be filled with the gospel vision was nothing new. It went right back to the beginnings of his priesthood, to all his work with YCW (Young Catholic Workers) and YCF (Young Catholic Farmers) in the early days of the lay apostolate. And it was in his heart right until the end.

Very recently, he traveled to South Korea and to Colombia to do this. And even while planning to go to South Korea, he also had in mind visits to India and China.

Yes, there was a fire burning within him, a fire, as Catherine used to put it, to "pass it on." And what was the essence of what he wanted to pass on?

Around 1986, about a year after Catherine Doherty died, he and I were taking a walk. He was telling me about when he met Catherine for the first time. What was the quality in her that touched him most deeply? Mercy.

The first time he heard her speak, her words were like a wind that blew away guilt and shame and all those burdens that we are not meant to carry—burdens that had been put on him and countless others by the Jansenism of the Church of his day.

What Catherine spoke of was a gift of mercy, a mercy which was not sentimental but strong, a mercy which covered a multitude of sins, a mercy which was uncompromising, but which took away fear and called him to life.

He didn’t say it, but I could feel the unspoken Do you get it David? I noticed, too, that as he spoke, there was a tinge of sadness, a sense of How I long to hear that again! How I long to hear again those powerful words of Catherine about the mercy of God! I believe after Catherine died, Fr. B never lost that longing.

And he directed that longing to the rest of this family. He wanted to see in us and hear from us what he had heard and seen in Catherine.

That brings us to the passage from Ephesians that seems so appropriate as we reflect on Fr. Emile-Marie’s life.

Out of his infinite glory, may he give you the power through his Spirit for your hidden self to grow strong, so that Christ may live in your hearts through faith.

And then, planted in love and built on love, you will with all the saints have the strength to grasp the breadth and the length, the height and the depth; until knowing the love of Christ, which is beyond all knowledge, you are filled with the utter fullness of God (Eph 3:16-19).

The passage is filled with testimony to the power of the love of God to transform all creation. It goes from one superlative to the next.

Fr. B loved superlatives! He would come in on a Tuesday and announce at lunch: "This is the beginning of a new era in Madonna House!" It is? I would say to myself. Where was I this morning? Did I miss something?

Or he would say, "This is the most important day in the last fifty years of our community!" Then he would explain why he felt that way.

He loved superlatives, and so did St. Paul. St. Paul talked about the infinite glory of God and of the riches of the glory that the Lord wants to pour upon us. He talked about the power of love.

Literally translated, what Paul prays for in that passage is that we might be "mightily empowered," that we might be "extra-strengthened" to hold on to this gift which comes from the glory of God that fills all all creation with this presence of God in the Church.

Superlatives do have their place. And this infinite divine love is what Fr. Brière celebrated and lived from.

When I looked at this reading a second and third time, I had some questions. How can you have a superlative life? How do you get to the Superlative? How do you get to that fullness of life which God wants to give us?

The middle of the reading gives a hint. Planted in love and built on love, firmly rooted in love and established solidly on love (Eph 4:18).

How do you get firmly established on love and deeply rooted in love? It’s by being uprooted, it’s by being undone and unmade that we become remade and firmly established.

This is the mystery of our journey, and the mystery of the journey that Fr. B had to make. Right to the end, Fr. B experienced this mystery of drinking in the love of God and then being unmade by it.

The path that we must travel so that we are not rooted in our own life, in our own ideas, or in our own strength, but in God’s ideas, God’s life, and God’s strength, is a mysterious path. It is a path filled with joy and anguish, with pain and consolation, and you never know which will come next.

The last thing Fr. B said to me was, "David, pray for me." "What would you like me to pray for?" I asked. "Pray that I believe in the redemption, that I hold on to faith in the redemption."

To believe in God’s salvation is the essence of it all. One moment we have a firm hold on this, and the next moment, we don’t know where we are! But if we stand in faith, we persevere.

Fr. Brière was one of the pioneers of our apostolate. The root of the word, "pioneer," is French, and it means, "a foot soldier, someone who goes ahead, someone who clears the way, someone who does the fighting."

In our pioneers, in those who went ahead of us and cleared the way in our community, there was a very great suffering, an anguish. But through that suffering, and through their perseverance in faith has come great grace for many people. The presence of so many at Fr. Brière’s wake and funeral gives testimony to that.

So as I think about Fr. Brière, my heart is filled with tremendous gratitude.

I would like to conclude with that beautiful word from Ephesians: Glory be to him whose power working in us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine. Glory be to him from generation to generation in the Church and in Christ Jesus for ever and ever. Amen (Eph 3:20-21).

Combermere Diary

TWO WHO LOVED

by Paulette Curran

Fr. Brière’s dying, like Fr. Brière himself, was, by a gift of God, very, very gentle. As with Sean O’Callaghan, three months earlier, there was time to sit with him, to pray with him, to sing to him the songs he had written, to tell him that we love him, and to say our good-byes. And he was alert, at least part of the time, until almost the very end.

Sunday, June 15, the day before he died, was Trinity Sunday. Early in the morning, Mary Speicher, one of the caregivers at Visitation, wished Fr. B a happy feast and told him, "In just four hours, you’ll be able to celebrate Mass." To her surprise, Fr. B opened one eye and said, "Now!"

So, Fr. Louis Labrecque, who was right there, said Mass, and Fr. B, a priest right to the end, raised his hand at the consecration.

"I can’t tell you what joy filled the room that morning," said Cathy Mitchell. "It was like the resurrection before the Resurrection, a gift of joy for all of us present that continued throughout the day."

Yes, throughout that day, little things happened. Fr. B kissed one person, winked at another, and occasionally opened an eye or two or squeezed a hand. And he prayed aloud, "Jesus, I love you with all my heart. Mary, I thank you for everything," the prayer he had been saying for the last while.

And that Sunday, while some of us were keeping vigil with Fr. B, a number of others attended the funeral of someone else who had been a part of Madonna House, especially in the early days—Blanche Lepinskie. Blanche had been on the staff of Friendship House, the community Catherine founded before Madonna House.

Back then, people didn’t join for life, and while in Combermere, Blanche fell in love with a local farmer, a widower with four children. She married him and became our neighbor. They had four more children.

That she had deeply absorbed Catherine’s spirituality, whose essence is love, was palpable at her funeral. The parish church was overflowing with her numerous descendants, and with her many friends and neighbors. After the Mass, person after person got up and told of how her love had touched and influenced their lives.

Then early the next morning, Fr. Brière died.

During the time of a funeral, our lives totally center on that person. So while continuing to do only the essentials of our usual work, we spent our time in tasks and prayer for Fr. Brière.

We dug the grave, notified friends and relatives, visited with those who came, cut the grass, decorated, made displays of photos and of the books that Fr. B wrote, prepared lots of extra food, etc., etc., etc.

We had a simple service for the reception of the body, and then we took turns praying before the coffin, never leaving the body alone. We had two wake services and the funeral itself. Then we buried Fr. B next to Catherine Doherty at the parish cemetery. Afterwards we all visited together at a reception.

With Fr. Brière, as with Blanche, the funeral gave concrete evidence of what we already knew well—that Fr. B had poured out his life in love. For at the funeral Mass, our chapel had overflowed with people who had experienced his love—ourselves, of course, former staff, numerous directees and others who used to talk to him, friends, neighbors, priests, our bishop who cancelled other engagements to come, and some of the little children, now grown up, whose stories about him are in this paper.

Ordinarily on the night of a funeral, we also have "story-night" when we share our memories of the person. But this time, it was decided to wait, and we had it, together with a very special meal, which Fr. B had left money for us to have, a couple of weeks later.

By then we had gotten back to ordinary time, more or less, and a busy time it was, as it always is, in summer.

At the farm there was, among other things, the planting, the haying, and the weeding. (We’re doing some of our weeding these days in evening work bees, bees in which every available able-bodied person participates.)

Also at the farm, as the fruits and vegetables ripen, the women who freeze, can, and dry this produce—this year led by Diana Breezetare hard at work.

Cana Colony, our retreat-vacation apostolate to families, is in full swing. This is the fiftieth year that we have had it.

The gift shop having had a new addition built and a major refurbishing, is in its busiest season.

Everything was rearranged and re-displayed, and there’s more a feeling of space. Plus as part of the shop we now have an art gallery in which to display, among other things, the work of our MH artists. The whole shop is more beautiful than ever, and customers have been delighted with the change.

And, of course, as always in summer, there are many visitors. They include those coming to live our life for varying lengths of time, those on pilgrimage, (including a group of 40 from Michigan), and those who drop in for a tour.

And last, but certainly not least, as the saying goes, is our summer school. Our summer school is such a simple thing. We offer our guests what we always offer them—the opportunity to live our lives with us—and add a series of talks, most of them short, plus a few events.

This year the theme is: "Called to be Saints: The Luminous Road to Sanctity." It runs from July 6th to August 17th. Topics include: The Role of the Laity, The Dignity of Work, Stewardship, A Christian View of Men and Women, Discernment and Vocation, East and West, and Mary and the Saints. Many of the talks are also "witness talks," that is, individual staff telling the story of their vocation or of other ways in which God has worked in their lives. The events have included a picnic and a variety show.

So our ordinary lives, which certainly feel, much of the time like the simple, ordinary lives they are, continueathe same sort of lives that Fr. Brière as a priest and Blanche as a wife and mother, lived for a very long time.

The death of Fr. Brière has left a hole in our family. One of our pioneers, he is the last of the early leadership to die. He came in 1955, and the vast majority of us have never known Madonna House without him.

His constant presence, his warmth, his loving smile, his small intimate Masses, which we attended when we couldn’t go to the community Mass for some reason, and his ever-available blessings are among the things that are and will be especially missed.

But whenever someone here dies, a strange thing happens. It’s as if a veil is lifted and you glimpse in an entirely new way the essential spirit of the person, a spirit which was often hidden under his or her weaknesses and simple humanity and just the fact that you saw the person every day.

And just as God graces us in so many ways through the life of each of our brothers and sisters, he graces us through their deaths as well.

Stories

THE POWER OF LOVE

My earliest memory of Fr. B was his homily on November 3, 1977. I had just arrived as a guest at MH and Fr. B was the celebrant at Mass. It was the feast of St. Martin de Porres.

I knew nothing about this 16th century saint from Lima, Peru, and, as I sat on the chapel floor at his feet, Fr. B introduced me to him and to the power of love that can transform a human life.

Martin, he said, had every good reason to grow up to become self-centered. His mother was a freed black slave and when he was born, his father, a Spanish nobleman, seeing that he had his mother’s dark skin, renounced any relation to him.

Though his father later re-established contact with him, his baptismal entry read, " father unknown."

Martin, however, did not grow up unhappy or self-centered for he somehow learned that God loved him. It was a grace he received, and he was faithful to it. He became a servant of the poor, feeding the hungry and nursing the sick and telling them about God’s love for them. He eventually became a miracle-worker.

In subsequent years, I often thought about what Fr. B had said about the power of love and how it could and did transform human lives that surrendered to it.

by Charlie Cavanaugh

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Before we opened our house in Magadan, Russia, in 1993, Alvina, who is from there, met MH through our house in the Yukon. She ended up coming to MH Combermere to be instructed in the faith and baptized, and it is through her that we opened our house in Magadan. In this article she talks about Fr. Brière.

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I did not have a father. My parents were divorced when I was four years old, and I was practically raised by my grandparents. My grandfather (thanks be to God!) was like a father to me, but my child’s heart had always been longing for my real father. I remember the times when I cried for that reason.

I tried to attract my father’s attention, but he never answered my letters. When I was about to finish high school in Magadan, my father lived in Moscow. I phoned him hoping that he would invite me to Moscow to continue my studies. The telephone operator told me that he refused the call.

My pain of being abandoned continued. When I was 32 years old, I went to Moscow for a vacation, and my husband encouraged me to phone my father. So I did. My father picked up the phone. He asked a few questions and finished the conversation first. He told me he did not want to see me! I was rejected by my father again. It was such a shock! I wept for an hour.

So I had to live on with this pain. But how great God’s mercy is! At the age of forty-four, I came to Madonna House in Combermere and got acquainted with Fr. Brière.

On the first morning of my stay, I saw him in the basement. I recognized him immediately because I had seen him in the video about Madonna House that I saw when I visited Maryhouse in the Yukon. Fr. B smiled at me and gave me a good hug.

I loved Fr. B at first glance. I felt like a daughter to him, and we became very close. Fr. B became my spiritual director and when I was baptized, he was my godfather. We met every day and talked, talked, talked.

He mostly spoke about Catherine Doherty and taught me to love her and to distribute her writings in Russia. I understood Catherine so much better through him.

Through Fr. B, Catherine taught me a very simple truth: that God loves me. She taught me that in times of doubt, rejection, temptation, or persecution, we must return to this simple truth and foundation of our Christian life: God loves me.

That is why God chose me to translate Catherine’s writings into Russian. That is why he sent me to Madonna House to find Fr. Brière and experience fatherly love in his person.

Now I am asking myself a question: do I love God the way God wants me to? Do I accept my cross in life in whatever form it takes?

Am I able to love, to comfort, to be a light to my neighbor’s feet? Can I, like Catherine, tell people they are created to love and be loved? Can I, like her, pass on the tenderness of Our Lady? Can I, like Fr. B, carry the Good News in my smile, love, joy, service, and desire to make people’s lives better?

Fr. B’s heart was soaked in Catherine’s love and tenderness. He passed it on to me and to all his spiritual children throughout the world. He made us confident of his fatherly love, which was our heavenly Father’s love. This Father never rejects us.

I thank God for Fr. B and bless his name. May he rest in peace and joy.

by Alvina Voropayeva

SHE HEARS YOUR CRY

by Fr. Emile-Marie Brière

Fr. Brière loved Our Lady of Combermere very, very much, and as time went on, he talked about her more and more. The following is excerpted from an article in the July-August Restoration of 1997. It was the first in his column "Our Lady of Combermere," which ran in the paper for two years.

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Among the majestic pines that overlook the Madawaska River stands an eight-foot statue of Our Lady. Her arms are extended, her cape flying. She seems to be rushing through the woods to help her children in needelike a questing Madonna, like a mother running to the rescue of her lost or needy children. But is that what she really is?

Partly, yes. But she was first invoked in Combermere as a patroness of the ordinary, of the nitty-gritty of life. She was Our Lady, the homemaker, Our Lady of Nazareth.

Catherine wrote of her: "Madonna House stood alone with no buildings around it, not even a woodshed. Those were the pioneer days, the days of frozen woodpiles covered with a couple feet of snow that had to be brushed off and knocked loose before the sticks could be carried into our tiny kitchen. They were days of hard work and many inconveniences. Yet, they were glad and joyous days.

"When the pumps would not start, what could have been more simple and natural than to call on Our Lady, giving her the musical name of ‘Combermere?’

"We’d pray, ‘Please, dear Lady of Combermere, help us start this pump or this washing machine. Help loosen this wood or finish this long path in the snow. Dear Lady of Combermere, look after this bread and make it rise.’

‘Such little aspirations are so normal that anyone would understand them. Yes, it was easy to call her affectionately by a familiar beloved name. That is what we did among ourselves in our apostolic family, thinking nothing of it."

For Catherine and her followers, then, Mary became the mother of the MH family. But Mary didn’t want to limit her concern and protection to this little MH family or to the tiny village of Combermere. She yearns to spread the mantle of her love to every individual and every family, in every city and town and hamlet in the world.

This means, dear friends, that Our Lady of Combermere wants to become your mother as well as oursmto remain by your side throughout your life, as she does ours.

A mother always stays close to her children especially when they are small. So we should consider ourselves as her little children. As a mother, she is always there for us. All we need to do is to pray to become conscious of her presence.

She wants to be with us, helping us with each activity of our day, no matter how humble it is. She loves to assist in the menial tasks, the jobs done by the poorucleaning the house, washing the clothes, shoveling snow, greasing carts, building shelves, repairing machinery.

She loves the unassuming tasks that were the essence of her life and of her Son’s and St. Joseph’s in their most blessed home, that humble house, that divine abode in Nazareth.

As I write this article about Our Lady, there is a great urge in my heart that forces me to cry out:

"She is with you; be conscious of her! She is present to you, not far away. She hears your prayers, your every call, the cry of your heart, each complaint and sorrow and joy.

"She is present to help you, to assist you, to make your tasks easier, to take from your shoulders the many burdens you carry. She wants to carry them for you.

"She wants to relieve your heart of its pains, anxieties, concerns"to assure you that she’ll help you with all of them."

What does it take to establish such a relationship with her? Faith, and a trust that leads us to say:

"O Lady of Combermere, I believe in your love for me and in your power to help me. I believe God gave me to you, and you to me. I trust that you want to help me with absolutely everything"all my needsaso as to lead me more quickly to the heart of your Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, our Savior, our Redeemer, our Lover."

Yes, this is faith. This is trust. What else do we need? Patience, for at times we can be like spoiled brats, wanting our needs metYimmediatelylaccording to our will, in our own way.

But God, through Mary’s intercession, chooses to answer our prayers in his way, in his own time.

When we feel that we need something right away, that we can barely live without it, what greater gift can God give us than patience. It enables us to wait with quiet expectancy for the appropriate timeWthe moment of gracetwhen our answered prayer has its greatest effect.

For example, when we suffer pain and anxiety in our relationships with others, we can talk to Our Lady about it. We can trust her to take care of it.

We want to bring the matter up with the other person. Sometimes this helps, but at other times, it can lead to even greater misunderstanding. For sometimes words are powerless. At such moments we can say,

"Mother Mary, you love me and you love this other person. You see the distress we both have. I want to love this person, to forgive the injury, to accept the situation as my cross. Please obtain for me the grace of finding joy in it.

"Help me to realize that God is using this situation to purify me from my selfishness, from my desire to control others, from my desire to have my own way.

"In this time of waiting, you are emptying my heart of some of its garbage. Let me rejoice in this purification, so that the Holy Spirit may fill my soul and heart and spirit with an abundance of love."

As we pray in this way, a deep joy comes to reside in our hearts. And as our icy selfishness (or self-centeredness) is melted by the grace of patience, there is more room in our hearts for love.

WHAT REALLY MATTERS

by Fr. Emile-Marie Brière

Though the following was adapted from a homily for Pentecost Sunday, (May 14, 1978), its message is not limited to that feast.

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Jesus says to us today, as he said to the apostles, "Peace be with you." In this peace, which he gives us, we can find tremendous strength and tremendous comfort, as the apostles did on Pentecost.

Jesus had been with them after his resurrection. He had said, "Peace be with you," and he had forgiven their sin. Now they were sitting around together wondering what would happen next.

None of them had acted very beautifully at his time of great need. No, the apostles were not very beautiful or heroic or noble at that time. On the contrary, they were like most of us—sinners, cowardly, easily put off, easily turned off, easily forgetting who we are and who God is. Maybe they were still feeling guilty.

Now they were sitting around in the Upper Room with Our Lady waiting for the Holy Spirit, which the Lord had promised. I wonder how sure they were of whether or not he was coming, and whether or not they were really forgiven.

I think they probably had lots of lingering doubts. They probably weren’t able to praise God. They were probably sitting there tongue-tied, like we are so often—not knowing what to say to God or to each other. They were probably wondering what would happen next, wondering if anything would happen at all, or if it had all been a dream.

And then the Holy Spirit came upon them. Then they saw the truth. They saw who Jesus really was. They saw the true reality of their own lives. Most of all, they saw the reality of God. And they burst out of the room praising God and proclaiming his marvels, the marvels he had done for them personally, and the marvels he had done for all mankind.

They proclaimed Jesus. They said, in effect, "We have been changed. We who were sinners are now full of a new life. We possess this new life, and we want to share it with you. We want to share it with everybody." They came out of that room proclaiming that Jesus is Lord.

My brothers and sisters, look back on your own life right now and ask yourself, "Has God done marvels in my life?

As for me, the marvels of God in my life have been constant and abundant, beyond my wildest expectations. So when I’m dying, I won’t be able to lie there and say, "God, you haven’t been good to me." I won’t be able to be angry with him. I’ll look back and say, "God has been immensely good to me, all the time, over and over again. He has shown his love, his goodness, his mercy.

Can I proclaim the marvels of the Lord, now? Can you? What is your answer to that?

As you get older, you think a lot about death, and you wonder, what is really going to matter when you come to dieAat that moment when you know it is all over with.

The doctor says, "Look. This is it. You’ve got a few days to live." I ask myself, What will really matter then? What really matters.

I think that there is only one thing that will matter at that time. It will be how much I have loved God and how much I have loved other people. I think that that will be the only thing that matters.

Everything else—my sins and all that—I don’t think that will be very important. But love, that will be important. How much have I loved others? How much have I loved the person next to me? How much have I forgiven people, and how much have I asked for their forgiveness for my own idiosyncrasies and miseries and whatever. One thing will matter at that time: love.

So why not begin to love now? Which you have done, of course, a thousand times over. But why don’t we remember that love is all that matters? Why will I probably forget it a few minutes from now?

When the Spirit comes to us, what he really comes to do in us is love. For he is the love of the Father for the Son and the love of the Son for the Father. And the Spirit lives right in our hearts.

He is closer to us than our own spirit is. And our spirit kisses, embraces the Holy Spirit within our own selves, within our inner chamber where we really live. There is a constant, affectionate relationship going on and developing when we stop and think about him.

And what does he do all the time? He gives us the power to love, and he calls us to love.

He calls us to be a little more gentle with one another. He calls us to stop seeing all the faults of others and to concentrate on the beauty and goodness he has put in them and in ourselves and on the beauty and goodness that he is.

The Holy Spirit is in us. You hear him. You know very well what I’m talking about. What does he do all the time? You have experienced him a hundred, a thousand times, saying, "No! No! Don’t get angry at this person." "Love that person." "No! No! Don’t be harsh in your judgment." "Be gentle. Be tender." "Don’t put a burden on the other person."

And yet we do. We constantly put burdens on each other. We do this because we are human. So we have to forgive and forgive and forgive and forgive, and be forgiven all the time.

Beloved brothers and sisters, the Holy Spirit lives in us. Let us be filled with the peace of Jesus, because then we will be able to hear the Holy Spirit. May the peace of Jesus, the quiet peace of Jesus fill our hearts. Then we will know we are loved, and we will know we are forgiven beyond our wildest dreams. We will live with God and bathe in his atmosphere all the time. So peace be with you, my beloved brothers and sisters.

Stories

A CHILD’S SPECIAL PLACE

We were driving home from Combermere one day when my little girl, age six, suddenly burst into tears. When asked what the matter was, she said sobbing, "It’s not fair! You always talk to Fr. B about your problems, but I don’t have any problems I can talk to him about!"

By a mother

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Fr. Brière sometimes encouraged his directees (those who came to him for spiritual direction) to address their entries in their spiritual journals to God. In the case of one 7-year-old directee, he took the liberty of answering on God’s behalf.

Dear God,

I wish you could be alive. (I am.in your heart and other people’s too.)

Why do I have to have this cold? (There is suffering in our lives like in the life of Jesus. Look at the crucifix.)

Please make this cold get better. (I’ll do my best.)

Please bless Fr. B so he can get better. (I will.)

I wish I could sit on your lap. (Me too. You will.)

Why do people die? (I made them to be happy with me always.)

God, I love you so much. (I love you, too.)

You are the best. (That’s true.)

Why do people sin? (Because they don’t love.)

Why did you make Adam and Eve? (Out of love—so they would be happy.)

Why did they sin against you, God? (They wanted to take my place.)

Love, God (per Fr. B)

by another mother

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Many young children enjoy creating special places where they are able to play undisturbed and free. They are also places to retreat to get away from the world and to feel comforted and safe. When I was a little child, Fr. B allowed me to create such a place within the embrace of the Church.

When I was not quite six, during my summer vacation at our cottage near Combermere, I attended Mass in the upstairs chapel of MH every day. Fr. B and I would, as he said, "say Mass together."

He would invite me to come right up to the altar and stand on the platform on which the altar was raised. I was just tall enough to peek over the edge with my chin resting on the altar right next to the little wrought iron crucifix.

After Mass Fr. B liked to come, still in his vestments, out into the chapel to talk with the people gathered around. I would run up to him and hug him. As he raised his arms to me, I would embrace him around his middle. I would put my head on his tummy and would suddenly find myself under his chasuble.

That was my "special place." I can still feel the smoothness of his alb and the silkiness of his chasuble over my body. It was warm and cozy, and the fabric was translucent, allowing filtered light to brighten the space inside. "Outside" I could hear Fr. B’s voice and the voices of others. Instinctively, I felt safe and close to love, to God’s love.

Now I haven’t hidden under a chasuble for a long time, but I like to think that the gift of having a special place within the arms of the Church has remained with me. In my life, Fr. B personifies a loving Church, a place that is safe and beautiful, a place where one can be embraced in love and freedom.

Kathryn Zaleski-Cox

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To Maggie:

When I die: (1) Pray for me. (2) Ask me for anything because I will have greater love and power to help you. (3) May I suggest that you get another spiritual director. Love, love, love. Fr. B.

Fr. B to Maggie Duquin in 1992 when she made her First Communion

I’VE GOT TO TELL THEM

by Fr. Emile-Marie Brière

In December 1978 Fr. Brière accompanied Catherine Doherty to Houston, Texas for a Weekend of Renewal sponsored by the St. Nicholas Catholic Charismatic Center. On Sunday he preached the homily at the Mass, and was then asked to tell about himself. This is excerpted from what he said.

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My vocation to the priesthood began when I was fifteen years old. It was 1933 and in the middle of the Depression.

I saw people hungry, and I saw food rotting in the fields because it wasn’t "worth reaping." It wasn’t worth harvesting, because there was no price for it.

And I said to myself: There is something dreadfully wrong in this world, where people are hungry and the goods are not even picked up and brought to them. There is something dreadfully wrong.

There’s only one person who can do anything about this dreadful injustice in our world about the situation between the rich and the poorathis terrible injustice which should not be allowed to exist. There’s only one person that can do anything, and that’s the layman, because he’s in the business. He’s in the economic field.

But, I thought, you’ve got to have priests who are going to tell them that, because they don’t know it. Christians don’t know what it means to be baptized. They don’t know that they have the power of Christ within them. So I’ll become a priest.

And I did, by the grace of God. I studied the social encyclicals. I studied all the Church documents about labor unions, peace, and hunger.

But I felt very much alone in those days because nobody else that I knew of was particularly interested in all of that. The priests were not, the seminarians were not too much, and so forth.

So I hunted around, and one day I discovered a little newspaper which really brought hope and joy to my heart, a newspaper called, The Social Forum. It was published by one Catherine de Hueck in eastern Canada.

So I said to myself, By gor, I’ve got to get in touch with this dame. But I didn’t get in touch with her then.

Then in 1940, three months after my ordination to the priesthood, I went to New York City to the World’s Fair. Somebody had paid for my trip. When you get ordained, you’re really married to the Church and to God, and so this trip was like a honeymoon. It was a wonderful time.

When I was there, I went to see Dorothy Day at the Catholic Worker. The people there told me, "If you’re interested in this kind of thing, there’s a lady up in Harlem who’s doing the same kind of thing."

And I thought, Well, I don’t know, if I should go up there or not. I’d always been a little leery of holy women, if you know what I mean. They used to awe me when I was younger. They still awe me! Anyhow I said, "If there’s a holy woman up there, I don’t know if I can take it."

So anyhow, I had tickets to go to Billy Rose’s Aquacade, which was the big thing at the World’s Fair. Now, I want you to know that I gave those up and went to see Catherine Doherty in Friendship House.

She was in a storefront in a little library. It was in the evening and right in the heart of Harlem. It just so happens that the staff were away, and she was all by herself waiting for me, dressed in raggedy clothes.

I was very timid—just a newly ordained little priest—and here was this great holy woman that I was going to meet. She was at a desk, she put a chair in front for me, and I sat down. I wanted a cigarette but was wondering if I should, you know, "in the holy presence."

All of a sudden she started talking about the priesthood in a way that I had never heard before. This really was good stuff! I thought to myself: This is the kind of religion I really like!

So, I thought I’d be bold enough to smoke a cigarette.

I said to her, "Is it all right if I have a cigarette?" And I took out my pack.

She lunged across the desk. She lunged and grabbed the pack and said, "I don’t mind at all." Then she took out a cigarette for herself and put the pack in her pocket. In those days she used to smoke, too.

Then she said "As I was saying, Father, about ..… Let’s talk about the Mystical Body of Christ. You know, everybody is Christ to you, your neighbor is Christ." And she talked about that. After about half an hour, I said, "Do you think I could have one of your cigarettes?"

Then I went off, and by the grace of God I was asked to teach in the seminary. I taught in the seminary for fifteen years, but with one thing in mind all that time. It was to tell the seminarians that lay people were baptized, that they had a place in the Church, that without them, the Church was through.

In those days, the priests and nuns were doing everything, but as long as we had a Church of priests and nuns and bishops, we were through. Nothing would ever happen. We all existed for the lay people.

So, I got involved in the great movements of the day—social action, labor schools, marriage preparation courses, and the marvelous groups called the Young Christian Workers, the Young Christian Students, the Young Christian Farmers. Have you ever heard about them? Yes! They were tremendous in the ‘40’s. Really full of God, full of the Holy Spirit!

Then, one day, Catherine came to my town. She was on a lecture tour. And we talked about her opening a house on skid row in Edmonton, Alberta. Finally she came there, opened up the house, and then for the last 23 years I’ve been a member of her community in Madonna House in Combermere. For the last 21 years, I’ve been traveling the world with her. So, that’s my story.

THE SOURCE OF HIS COMPASSION

by Fr. Bob Pelton

One thing that strikes me about Fr. B is that, though he grew up in more traditional times than now, his story is very contemporary. He was born into a vibrant French Canadian culture that was both of Quebec and of western Canada, and his memories were filled with all that was best in that culture.

He grew up in the west, in Alberta, and he had many relatives in Quebec, and there was a lot of visiting back and forth. It was a culture that was intensely Catholic, and it formed in him the gifts of fun and celebration and in the enjoyment of life and family.

But his father died when he was a year and a half, and following this, he and his mother led a sort of merry-go-round existence—much moving around and staying with various relatives. His mother’s remarriage when he was about five was a huge shock, and then there was the major struggle of being a stepchild. When he was twelve, his mother died.

Though the details of his story may be different from ours, many of us have experienced those kinds of dynamics, and we know what happens as a result. Fr. Emile-Marie often said, "My big wound is rejection." And so it was. The cross he bore was very similar to the one many of us bear.

In his childhood, Fr. B was being prepared by God, not only to be one of the founders of Madonna House and Catherine’s friend, but also to be the compassionate priest that he was. His suffering, both in his childhood and later on, gave him great compassion for the suffering of others.

In the Gospel of John the Lord says, Love one another as I have loved you (Jn 14:34). Shortly after that, he says, A man can have no greater love than to lay down his life for his friends (Jn 15:13). Like Christ, Fr. B laid down his life(especially for Catherine, but also for each of us in the family of Madonna House.

We thank you, Fr. Emile-Marie, from the bottom of our hearts.

Stories

I’M LIKE 911

One morning Fr. B was walking across the yard looking very pleased with life. I called to him, "What’s the good news?" He shouted back, "That God is crazy about me!"

a staff worker

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We dislike many people and often we dislike ourselves. But God doesn’t dislike anybody. When we learn that, we can begin to like ourselves and other people, too.

Fr. Briere

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I used to meet Fr. Brière out walking around Madonna House. I was always very happy to see him and very touched. He would stop every time, greet me by name, and chat for a little while. He would call me "Sweetheart," then give me his blessing and sometimes pray with me.

Stella Yaraskavitch,

a neighbour

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I was aware, to a small degree of Catherine’s prayers and suffering during the night, and I prayed for her. And because I knew that Fr. B would be there for her, I could go to sleep in peace.

Her loneliness also weighed heavily on me, and I knew I could do nothing about it. But when I saw Fr. B pick up her basket and walk her home across the bridge, I was comforted.

Mary Beth Mitchell

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One day Fr. B told me we should be aware not only of the wrongs we have done, but also of the "little" works of love we have failed to do.

"This morning, for example," he said, "a friend came to me in tears to tell me about a great sorrow he was facing. I listened and said I was sorry, but I did not cry with him and he went away uncomforted.

Then another friend wanted to share with me a great happiness which made her want to dance with joy, but I was tired and didn’t dance with her. She left a little let down and less happy.

Now these are the "little" things that we should think about when we find it difficult to remember that we are sinners."

a staff worker

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Fr. B had many extraordinary human qualities, but if I had to choose only one, it would be his gift to have hundreds of best friends. I count it as one of the great gifts of my life to be able to say that I was among them.

I don’t know how many best friends he had from his perspective, but the ability to communicate to hundreds that he is their best friend is a remarkable work of grace and human goodness.

Fr. Bob Wild

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When I was a young staff worker, Fr. B used to let me sit on the floor in the corner of his room to drink in some peace as he worked at his desk.

Mary Beth Mitchell

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Once when I was on call to answer the phone during the night, Fr. B got a call at 2 A.M. I asked the person to phone in the morning, and then the next day asked Fr. B to let me know what times he’s available. "I’m like 911*," he said. "I’m available any time of the day or night."

Marie-Therese McLaughlin

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My experience of Fr. B over the years was of a man who continually and tenderly witnessed to the love which God has for each person. This was nowhere more evident to me than when he was celebrating the Eucharist in Catherine’s cabin, which he did every day in his later years.

His conviction of the greatness of the love of God and of the greatness of the Eucharistic sacrifice was tangible. And it was made personal. He always welcomed you with a smile and his graciousness was healing.

Charlie Cavanaugh

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Some years ago, I paid a visit to Fr. Brière, and as is only too common nowadays, the conversation soon turned to the problems in the Church. I was complaining of dissent in Catholic universities and how many young lives it ruins.

Fr. B said, "If you could persuade them that God loves them! That is what we must proclaim!"

I’m sure he’s said this many times to many people, but it struck me with a special power. I suddenly realized that this is what was needed, more than proving the dissenters wrong.

Fr. J.A. Ihnatowicz

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One day when I was still very new in the apostolate, two visiting priests came up to me and said, "Well, my dear, and how do you like this way of men and women living in the same community? Doesn’t it sometimes lead to trouble? What happens when you get to love one person too much?"

I was quite taken aback by this (I could not have been more than 22 years old at the time.) and did not know how to answer him.

Suddenly Fr. Brière appeared behind me and said, "Father, the problem is never that you love too much. The problem is that you do not love enough."

Réjeanne George

*In the U.S. and Canada, 911 is the number to phone in case of emergency.

The Pope’s Corner

THE CALL OF A PRIEST

by Pope John Paul II

The following is excerpted from the encyclical, "Shepherds After My Own Heart" (1992).

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By sacramental consecration, the priest is configured to Jesus Christ as Head and Shepherd of the Church, and he is endowed with a "spiritual power," which is a share in the authority with which Jesus Christ guides the Church through his Spirit.

Jesus Christ is Head of the Church, his Body, in the new and unique sense of being a "servant," according to his own words: The Son of man came not to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many (Mk 10:45).

Jesus’ service attains its fullest expression in his death on the cross, that is, in his total gift of self, in humility and love.

The authority of Jesus Christ as Head coincides then with his service, with his gift, with his total, humble, and loving dedication on behalf of the Church. He is the one true Suffering Servant of God, both Priest and Victim.

The priest is configured to Jesus Christ as Head and Servant of the Church. As St. Augustine once reminded a bishop on the day of his ordination: ‘He who is head of the people must in the first place realize that he is to be the servant of many."

Jesus presents himself as the Good Shepherd not only of Israel but of all humanity. His whole life is a continual manifestation of his pastoral charity or rather a daily enactment of it.

He feels compassion for the crowds because they are harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. He goes in search of the straying and scattered sheep and joyfully celebrates their return. He gathers and protects them and calls each one by name. He leads them to green pastures and still waters and spreads a table for them, nourishing them with his own life.

The Good Shepherd laid down his life for his sheep. By virtue of their consecration, priests are configured to Jesus the Good Shepherd and are called to imitate and to live out his own pastoral charity.

Christ’s gift of himself, the fruit of his love, is (also) described in terms of that unique gift of self made by the Bridegroom to the Bride, as the sacred texts often suggest.

Jesus is the true Bridegroom who offers to the Church the wine of salvation (cf. Jn 2:11). The Church is the Bride who proceeds like the new Eve from the open side of the Redeemer on the cross. (So) the priest is (also) called to be the living image of Jesus Christ, the Spouse of the Church.

Therefore the priest’s life ought to radiate this spousal character which demands that he be a witness to Christ’s spousal love, and thus be capable to loving people with a heart which is new, generous, and pure, with genuine self-detachment, with full, constant, and faithful dedication, and at the same time, with a kind of "divine jealousy" (cf 2 Cor 11:2), and with even a kind of maternal tenderness, capable of bearing "the pangs of birth" until "Christ be formed" in the faithful (cf. Gal 4:19).

The essential content of pastoral charity is the gift of self, the total gift of self to the Church, following the example of Christ.

Stories

WHO SAYS I’M GETTING OLD?

Perhaps the greatest gift Fr. B has given me is a sense of proportion. When I was a young priest, I was terribly serious about my problems and used to talk with Fr. B quite often.

On one occasion when I came into his room feeling very sorry for myself and ready to start complaining, I found him playing with his yo-yo, which he was very good at.

"Watch this, " he told me, and started doing one fancy trick after another. Soon he had me laughing, and by the time he was finished, I had forgotten what I was going to say. Or at least it didn’t seem so tragic any more.

a priest friend

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I was a new staff worker assigned to the nursing department, and Fr. B was my spiritual director. One day a visitor arrived on a big, beautiful motorcycle. Fr. B, who had never ridden one in his life, couldn’t resist asking to try it out. The visitor was very obliging, and Fr. B got on it and took off.

The problem was that, since he didn’t know how to steer it, instead of going toward the road, he went down a ramp. Crash!

I got a frantic call, "Come quickly. Fr. B just crashed on a motorcycle!"

I was so mad at him that at first I refused to go. He could have killed himself, and where would we all be without him!

Of course, I eventually did go, but not without letting Fr. B know how mad I was. I think I hurt his feelings a bit, but then he saw the humor of the situation. Years later he would tease me about it and, with a chuckle, tell people the story.

Marie Javora

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Fr. B had a kind of laughter that you really can’t describe, a laughter that you somehow knew was not directed at you, but was rather his spontaneous reaction to human weakness, including his own.

It was the laughter of someone who has learned to accept and love himself and to accept and love others.

When he burst out laughing like that, and you found yourself laughing with him, which you usually did, your sense of proportion was restored and your trouble no longer seemed so serious.

That is why, I think, his laughter was so healing. To have laughed at oneself with Fr. B is to have tasted the freedom of a child of God.

anonymous

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A recent comment: "Who says I’m getting old? Not me! I am getting younger every day. At the moment, I am about twelve years old."

Fr. Brière

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Fr. B had such a contagious laughter. Sometimes on blustery Sunday afternoons with a fire burning in the "little library," we’d move the furniture back and a group of us would sprawl on cushions on the floor listening to Fr. B read some of his favorite stories.

As he glanced ahead, he would convulse with laughter. And we joined in even though we had yet to hear the rest of the story, which we finally did when he’d come up for air and wipe his tears.

And there were more serious, tender moments when he introduced us to the works of Gertrude von le Fort and Kahil Gibran.

Mary Beth Mitchell

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Many years ago when I stayed for a few months at MH, Fr. B was very much into flying kites. One day when I was feeling quite upset with things and depressed, I went looking for him and found him up on a hill with his kite.

I watched him for a bit and then I said to him, "Oh, Fr. B, how wonderful it would be to be free and easy like this kite and just take off and fly above all the mess!" "Cherie," Fr. B replied, "You can never get above pain."

Stephanie Krasij

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Fr. B was a lover in the deepest sense of the word. He was a lover and a giver of life, in spite of his own weakness and his great struggle with the wounds of rejection and Jansenism.

It was this struggle which made him eventually a great lover of life—of good food, of wine, of song, of all the things that make us truly human and bring us joy. He eventually became a man fully alive, a man who knew happiness, peace, and great joy.

Jean Fox

THE FRIEND OF A PROPHET

by Fr. Emile-Marie Brière

Catherine Doherty loved, supported, and formed Fr. B, and he, in turn, loved and supported her. A deep friendship developed between them. In later years, God, building on this, gave Fr. Brière a new vocation within the vocation.

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In July 1976 I was on retreat at our house in on the island of Carriacou in the West Indies. I had been meditating on Catherine—her person, her place in the Church, her relationship with God. Then, as I sat looking out at the blue-green Caribbean Sea, God gave me a vision of Catherine Doherty’s pain and invited me to be a Simon of Cyrene to her cross—to be to her, in a new way, brother and friend.

The following is excerpted from the diary I wrote that day.

"Catherine is a genius, a passionate woman, and a prophet. As a prophet, she is constantly given a vision of the world and of people as God sees them. As a prophet she is compelled to shout the truth to the whole world.

"So often she has been tormented with pressure from God to speak. How often I have heard her say, ‘I have to speak. I can’t help it. I don’t want to but I have to.’

"The vision she sees is so all-absorbing, so exciting, and at times so frightful, that she bypasses the niceties every now and then. She is a woman in a hurry to speak passionately of the inspirations passed on to her by her passionate Lover.

"Her voice, strong and plangent, sounds forth across Madonna House and the world. This voice"constantly, daily, little by little forms the community, prods the conscience of the whole Church dynamically, influences the lives of many.

"What does she experience? The cross. She remains on the cross where her Lover is crucified—Christ in agony in each person until the end of time.

"And loneliness. Like Dorothy Day’s, Catherine’s also is a "long loneliness." Crucified, she longs for the company of other crucified people.

"Her great frustration also comes from her seeming inability to bring people to the fullness of truth and love, to a passionate love of her Lover, the Lord Jesus Christ.

"Hence she is as single-minded as a bulldozer, untiring as a tornado, relentless as the ocean waves beating on the shore, passionate as a tigress.

"How do I relate to a crucified person? By allowing myself to be crucified near her. To a prophet? By welcoming her into the inn of my heart. How do I live with a bulldozer? By standing by her side and letting her freely do her job. How do I live with a whirlwind? By not expecting her to always be a gentle breeze. (Much of the time she is a gentle breeze.)

"How do I associate with a tigress? By loving her cub, the apostolate. How do I respond to a holy, passionate woman? By cherishing her love for me, by accepting it—for truly it is divine.

"I am on retreat these months in Carriacou in order to be renewed in spirit so that I can better care for, love, support, and serve Catherine. My own love affair with God moves forward, and I want to surrender my whole self to him, to do his will, to love him passionately. This is the ideal of my life.

"Like Jesus who went up into the mountains to pray alone, the prophet, the visionary, climbs the mountain alone. But a friend can accompany the prophet and enter into a similar silence and solitude—making —Tto have helped in some way to make her loneliness more bearable—this has been the greatest gift of my life.

Excerpted from Katia, pp. 169-173, available from MH Publications.

Stories

BLESS ME, FATHER …

I was talking to Fr. B once about a problem I was having with a friend. I went on and on, explaining how I felt and what my friend did, what she said, and how it was not really my fault. Fr. B listened very patiently for quite a while, and then asked, "Did you want to go to confession by any chance?" He started to laugh, and I am happy to say, I laughed, too.

a friend

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Fr. B gave my daughter her First Communion and taught her what confession was all about. She loved going to confession to him. He always put her on his knee while he listened to whatever sins she managed to remember. Then when she finished, after giving her absolution, he hugged and kissed her. I think she thought that hugging and kissing were a necessary part of the sacrament! And perhaps it should be.

a mother

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Fr. B, I think, loved giving absolution more than anything else in his life. Sometimes, it seemed, he was prepared to go miles out of his way, just to find one sinner to forgive!

When I first met him, I thought he was a push-over and soft on sin. So going to confession to him was a piece of cake. Besides, surely, I was not really a great sinner and never had much to confess!

But one day, as I was telling him my sins, I happened to glance at his face. I don’t know if I had ever before seen a face so full of pain and so sad. After that, I never again imagined that my sins were "not serious" or that confessing to Fr. B was an easy way out.

another friend

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About twenty-five years ago, when, with the help of Fr. Brière, I returned to the Church and the sacraments, I remember how glad I was every time I went to confession to him.

For, for many years previous to that, like most of my contemporaries, I had tried to deal with my sins by analyzing them and by finding psychological and emotional excuses for them in other words, by excusing them.

I was, therefore, extremely surprised to realize how relieved I was to be able, at last, to accept responsibility for my actions, to acknowledge that I was, in fact, a sinner, and therefore able to be forgiven.

Fr. B never said, "Don’t worry about it, my dear, it was not your fault," as I think I half-expected, at the beginning at least.

He looked sad and said, "No, that was not good." Then immediately afterwards, he would smile and add, "But God loves you and I love you, and I absolve you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."

Fr. B taught me what it meant to be a sinner, but a forgiven one. He taught me the joy of repentance.

still another friend

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When I first met Fr. B, I had been away from the Church for over twenty years and had not been to confession for at least that long. But whenever I was in the Combermere area on summer vacation, I would often come to Fr. B’s Mass in the chapel upstairs. I felt a little embarrassed by this seemingly strange compulsion, but I still came.

I usually sat well at the back and just "observed." I often thought that I’d like to talk to Fr. B and explain things, but I never did.

This lasted for about six years! Then, one day, I met Fr. B on the road, and he invited me to come the next day for lunch and a visit. I came, though I was quite nervous about it.

After lunch, as we were sitting in his room, he said that he had noticed that I had not been going to the sacraments and asked me if I could tell him why. I started by explaining my problems with the Church but, before long, I found myself telling him about my whole life, about things that had hurt me, about things I had done and about things I deeply regretted doing.

He listened very attentively and seriously, and at the end, he said, "You have had a dreadful time, and you obviously feel burdened by many things. But I must tell you this: the only really serious sin I think you need to be sorry for is that, when God was calling you, you refused to trust him and accept his love. And I want you to know that any time you decide to go to confession, it will be the greatest joy for me to give you absolution."

At that moment, something strange happened. I suddenly heard a voice say, "Why not now?" I was stunned and quite frightened to realize that the voice and words were mine!

Fr. B looked at me for a moment, then got up from his chair, picked up a stole, kissed it and put it on. He turned towards me while I just stood there still stunned and shivering with fright. He put his arms around me and said, "It is all right, darling! God loves you, I love you, and there is nothing to fear!" He then gave me absolution, and it really was all right!