Today is the feast day of St. Francis of Assisi, one of the most venerated of all the canonized saints. His life continues to be celebrated by the faithful from his hometown of Assisi, Italy all the way to San Francisco, California. Judging from this image, even in a town named after St. John, the people of San Juan, Puerto Rico also have a soft spot for this most beloved saint.
This week my family also marked the 9th anniversary of the passing of my wife’s father, William Francis Mach. Not only was my father-in-law given St. Francis as a middle name, he too is a saint. He was loved by everyone who knew him.
Many people believe that anyone who has entered the gates of heaven is considered a saint. Those that knew him recognize that Coach, as I respectfully called him, arrived at his destination safe and sound. Understand, I don’t think that St. Peter just waved him through at his appearance at the Pearly Gates. I suspect that Coach had some explaining to do.
First, there is the story of the painted cat. There is also the story of the commandeered bulldozer and hanging by his fingertips from the Homeville bridge while it was under construction near his hometown in West Mifflin, PA. I still don’t think that we have the whole story as to why he was asked to leave the seminary. Yes, he often dozed off during a less than inspiring homily during mass, my wife’s head leaning on his strong shoulder. He would also occasionally take the quick exit after communion to get home before the kickoff of the Steelers game. The bottom line is that St. Peter probably let him off easy and asked him to say a handful Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s. Then requesting that he try to keep the cigars and Drambuie to a minimum, gladly reunited him with his family and friends that preceded him.
The reality is that it is hard to let go of someone who made life on earth so much better. He was one of the most loving people I have ever met. He genuinely cared for people. He always made the conversation about you, never himself. He was the epitome of an educator. I was mesmerized by his ability to make and maintain friendships. The twinkle in his eye revealed his penchant for fun. He was a man of the highest integrity. He found solace in his unbending faith.
Whether you called him Bill, Daddy, Pops, Paps or Coach, his warmth is missed like the sun disappearing behind a cloud on a brisk October afternoon. It is impossible to replace his loss. However, his spirit remains in each of us who had the pleasure of his company. It is our responsibility to maintain his legacy of love, caring and friendship.
I want to conclude this blog with the Prayer of St. Francis, one of Coach’s favorites. It truly embodies not just the life that he lived here on this earth, but how he would expect us to live ours.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
