Fr. Doyle, in our hearts

I write with a heavy heart.  I just received word that one of my dear priests has passed from this life to the next. Fr. Doyle was assigned to St. Theodore for, gosh, as long as i can remember.  Certainly since my formative years as an adolescent going through the Life Teen program over in good ole Moss Bluff, Louisiana.  He was elderly and had been ill for a little while, so it was no surprise that his time was at hand.  But it still hurts, it's still painful, to say goodbye to someone who means so much to myself and so many others.

He suffered a stroke years before i knew him.  Before he did, I've been told he could recite the order of the mass from memory, that he was incredibly brilliant, that he had rare credentials in studying Canon Law, that he wrestled anacondas and yetis in the amazon with a bowie knife.  I may have made that last one up, but more impressive than the stories of this man's intellect was the love i witnessed from his heart.  That's not to say i think that any time developing the intellect is wasted, by all means, intellect yourself!  I'm saying that the writing and preaching of philosophical and theological ideas pales in comparison to experiencing that which God has entrusted us to be to one another. That's why talking to people face-to-face is better than a phone call, e-mail or text. Speaking of faces, please do yourself a favor and  read Until We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis.  I'm pretty sure you won't regret it.

So yeah, i only knew part of the man part of his life, but i like to think i knew the better part of the man for the better part of his life.  He had a quick, dry wit (drier than Hawkeye liked his martinis), a charitable smile, wile hair and a sort of a John Wayne walk, nearly always with a dog and/or a prayer book.  He loved his animals, gosh did he love them.  And a i can assure you, without a doubt, he loved me.  No question.  I've been blessed to have been given incredible examples of love in my life.  So many people. It's not fair.  And he was definitely one of them.  He made sure and listen to anything i spoke, as difficult as it was for me to articulate my heart to him. He made sure a heart was heard and spoke simply and plainly, accordingly.  I often went to him for confession.  Each time he would stand up, give me a huge bear hug and tell me he loved me.  He never let me forget it.

and as selfish as it may sound, the source of much of this pain comes in knowing that i'll never again (in this life) see someone who loved me.  Because love is unique; each person gives and receives it differently.  Part of it's beauty is in the specifically unique dynamic of the persons involved. But as Ecclesiastes reminds us, there's a time for all things.

In closing, i'll leave y'all with a few of his quirky, dog bone dry Doyle-isms:

"Humility is my proudest possession."
"Love me, love my dogs."
"I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of what's in it."
"Thanks...be........to..............................God."
"Sometimes i just can't see how a 6 foot man fits into a little piece of bread."