On the Passing of Charles Caldwell

Dear Father Joseph,
     Thanks for the opportunity to same something memorable and noteworthy about dear Fr Caldwell …   it occurs to me, only now, that Fr Caldwell was a strange mix of Yosemite Sam and John the Baptist, a personality just as likely to appear “cartoonish” (in the sense of being fun and filled with child-like joy), as to be a fiery-prophet appearing at the top of a hill to give warning to others.  He always reminded would-be “priests” to be stewards of the Gospel, protectors of what has been passed down to them … that’s what I remember from his sermon at my ordination.
I decided that, in order to do that, I needed to really be in the Church.  The Church does not deliberately run off the side of a cliff like a herd of pigs ….  That’s how one knows for sure that one is not in it.  So, I left that herd.  Before I knew what it was, Fr Caldwell indicated where it was.  Thanks to Yosemite Sam I laugh a lot more.  Thanks to John the Baptist I heard the call. Now, we’re both in the same place once again, not separated, “alive” or “dead” it makes no difference. We are the same.

Fr Gregory Harrigle   

Original article and Obit

“O see ye not yon narrow road,
So thick beset wi’ thorns and briers?
That is the Path of Righteousness,
Though after it but few inquires.”`
— Thomas the Rhymer

I walked through the gate and by the corn field,
and into the wood. Around a corner the leaves
crunched underfoot. I looked, and saw the green
carpet of trees rolling over the hills
without end. Just the right turn, and I
would be in that wood. You could not walk
with me, so I carried you in my mind as I peered over the edge.
When we could walk together, (I remember)
you pointed with your cane at the Remington,
and made the guard cringe, a lively Vulcan of words and thought,
a man of peace who floated on the surface, but saw deep,
and conversed with the angel of the lake.
On the last day you will have both legs,
and I expect to see you in that wood when, by mercy,
finally I go that way, your cane not for leaning,
but a pointer to those leaves and that sun.

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