Remembering Father Benedict

Father Benedict Groeschel, C.F.R., who died Oct. 3, used up everything he had in service to the Lord. His energy, time and talent went into his vocation; he seemed never to hold anything back. He seemed to be always in motion: preaching, distributing food and clothing to the poor, giving lectures, writing books, seeing visitors.

So when death came, I have no doubt that he was ready. Like St. Paul, he had run the race, fought the good fight, kept the faith. He had done much and suffered much, including the burden of disability caused by the accident that nearly killed him in 2004. It was time for his passage into the new life the Lord had prepared for him.

Many of us were fortunate enough to know him and hear him in person. I was one of them, and like all of us, I have so many memories.

Whenever he spoke to an audience, large or small, Father Benedict tried to put everyone at ease, often with humor. Once I covered a talk he gave at a gathering of 1,700 catechists from the archdiocese. Before he got into the serious side of his presentation, he talked about his struggle to lose a little weight. He couldn’t seem to reach the goal, and his doctor, trying to work out a reasonable compromise, asked him, “Well, what’s the least you ever weighed?”

“Seven pounds, eight ounces,” Father Benedict said. The audience roared.

Sometimes he used a simple comment to put his listeners into the right frame of mind. I recall one of the many times Father Benedict preached the Three Hours on Good Friday. Sitting in church and thinking about the meaning of the day, I was feeling tense. I think others were, too. Father Benedict stepped into the pulpit and greeted the congregation. He was solemn, yet down-to-earth.

“First, let’s relax,” he said. I wasn’t expecting to hear that on Good Friday, and maybe that’s why it worked. It dissolved the tension, and I think it made all of us better able to listen and to pray.

I’ve always liked Father Benedict’s approach to what he called, in his Irish grandmother’s words, a “pity party”—a low mood that settles down like a dark cloud. Help someone else, he advised. It works, and it’s helped me to get outside the “poor little me” rut.

After the accident nearly 11 years ago, Father Benedict himself needed a great deal of help. For such an active man it must have been torturous, but he seemed to accept his changed life with patience. Two years ago, on a damp, gray Ash Wednesday evening, I happened to drive past Trinity Retreat in Larchmont, where Father Benedict lived at the time. I glanced into the driveway and there, walking slowly on the arm of another friar, was Father Benedict. Spontaneously I called out to him.

Father Benedict replied in a voice that boomed, “Come in for dinner!”

It was a great meal, with a main course of fish on that day of abstinence. There were a few other guests, mostly priests, and the conversation, like the atmosphere, was light and warm. After dinner, Father Benedict rested a while. Then I saw him again, and he showed me an icon depicting the Virgin Mary and patron saints of his family members. It had been given to him for his 60th anniversary of profession as a Franciscan by Father Eugene Fulton, director of Trinity Retreat, and it was obvious that Father Benedict treasured it.

Many who loved him believe Father Benedict ought to join the company of canonized saints. It would not surprise me if he received that honor someday. In the meantime, I’ll remember him as the priest I knew: compassionate, laugh-out-loud funny, serious about faith and prayer, wise, patient, courageous in suffering—and devoted most of all to the Lord and to those whom the Lord loved best, the poor.

I think that Father Benedict, now united with the Lord, will remember us.