The following eulogy was delivered at the beginning of Fr. Leonard’s funeral Mass on June 5, 2015.
When I found out that Fr. Leonard wanted me to speak here today, the first thing I thought was Wow, what an inspired choice! But now that we’re gathered together and I’m looking out at the great number of people who showed up this morning, I know in my heart – having worked with him for nine years – that Father would have wanted me to take a collection.
This is the part where in Catholic sermons and speeches I’m supposed to say a joke, quote something profound or use a didactic story or parable. So here it goes. The poet T.S. Eliot writes in “Little Gidding”
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
So for us, on this dry, cloudy morning, on the occasion of the parting of friends, we seemingly find ourselves at the end.
Or do we?
Reflecting on endings, Eliot continues:
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
I first met Fr. Len in an email. I had been freshly fired from my first job (I know, I can’t imagine why either). I sat in the rectory, in my father’s oversized suit and when I met Fr. Len I told him, “You know I’m only here as a favor, I’m not asking for a job.” He looked at me and said dryly, “I didn’t offer you one.” And then he listened.
He didn’t ask me about my resume or my cover letter or my very impressive college accomplishments such as working in soup kitchens and discovering Coors Light. He wanted to know my passions, what excited me, what were some of my fears. After an hour or so we left and I immediately called a friend and said, “I have no idea what just happened, but I think I got a job.” Two weeks later and after meeting these amazing colleagues of mine, I was hired.
The rest, as they say, is social studies.
My mother once said that October was the month that gods were born. Leonard and I both firmly believed that. But it took the God of love to humble us both, and to realize that the Holy Spirit is what guided each of us. Born a few days apart, separated by centuries—I mean decades and miles—we found each other at the perfect time. My loneliness and his neediness comforted one another. I remember that we both walked around the parish in the early fall, just months after I was hired, and when Fr. Leonard saw dust on top of a door frame he’d say, “This is unbelievable. Look at this. Am I the only person who sees this?” I assured him, “Yes, Len, you are.”
At some point in those early days I told him, “I don’t know about you, but I kinda want to do something big here.” And he said, “I was thinking the same thing.”
Leonard did big things. He demanded the best his entire life. He didn’t work in business; he was a vice president of a Fortune 500 company. He didn’t just throw RJ a birthday party; he shut down Tenafly. He didn’t just want a group of parishioners to go on a service project; he wanted 25 buses to take parishioners. He didn’t just eat delicious food; he had the one and only, talented and amazing Silva, the best housekeeper, working for him.
But, trust me when I say this: You, my parish family, were his best. You are the biggest and best thing that has ever happened to Father Leonard.
He did big things in his life and, to be honest, he lived three or four lives before living the way I know in my heart of hearts, he was happiest: as a Carmelite priest. I thank his brothers in Carmel for shepherding us today.
If my friendship with Fr. Leonard had a soundtrack, it would be the continuous cycle of arguing and laughing. Leonard and I laughed all the time—often inappropriately and at strange times. On Sundays, our weekly banter back and forth was always unscripted—my favorite moments would be while I was in the sacristy, he’d look at me and that’s all it took—I would have to control myself so I didn’t laugh too hard knowing people were praying in the other room. The altar servers know what I’m talking about—I told you, at times it was inappropriate.
There are so many incredibly important things that Fr. Leonard generously taught me.
For instance, when buying a man socks—stripes are great, polka dots are better—never gift another man Argyle. Argyle is a man’s personal choice.
When dining at the River Palm Terrace, always use a black napkin.
A great scrambled egg recipe: eight eggs, a ton of cream cheese and even more butter.
Get your car cleaned twice a month. It will make you feel like you’ve done something with your life.
A person should have at least two pairs of eyeglasses — clear frames and color because, you know, color is cool.
When celebrating, never drink a scotch younger than your youth minister.
Never tip valet drivers fewer than five dollars. Elliot, I’m speaking to you, never tip less than five dollars.
There’s clean and then there’s Gilman clean.
Leonard didn’t teach me how to argue, I already knew how, but he perfected my ability to do it. Be respectful. Stand up for what you believe in. Remember you can love someone even in anger.
Leonard taught me how to forgive. Not simply forgive and forget but to see through the transgression and truly see, using Christ-like empathy, where this pain was coming from. “Remember,” he would say to me, “the bully is a victim too.” This is the part where I get dramatic and I argue with Leonard.
Fr. Leonard was deeply complicated. He was wounded, broken, kinetic, ultra sensitive and visionary. He had an extraordinary work ethic. Leonard was difficult to work for, but I know he was desperately trying to make us better, because he knew better than any of us of the great work before us, namely building up the Kingdom of God.
Leonard taught us to take deeply theological ideas and make them simple. His last words to us were, “Be kind to one another.” Especially when you can’t or simply don’t want to, be kind to one another. Leonard told us to love, he modeled it with his own life: look who is in God’s house today!
A chubby 32-year old mission director, an Albanian housekeeper, a gentle and loved sister, a really old Irish lady (sorry Norah), a Korean-American college student and veteran. A retail executive. Greek theater patrons. A young Carmelite priest. A police chief and his sons. A humble carpenter. All of us, and many others, were Leonard’s family. I often looked around and said, How do I know all these people, what am I doing here? Building the Kingdom of God is what I was doing, and Len was showing me how.
To all of you, Leonard’s beloved family, I am so excited to be able to tell you that God loves you! That He is fascinated and excited by you, and today, as we celebrate Fr. Leonard’s life, Christ invites us to bring anything, bring everything to this altar.
Fr. Leonard’s life, not death, teaches us—convicts us—to serve one another. Mount Carmel, my beloved family, we must be better to each other. It has been said “Strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter.” I’m here to tell you that Christ is our Shepherd and he is right here with us. Let me be as clear as possible here—we will get through this together. But right now, everything stops. We’ll put our brother to rest and we will go on with our business. Our business now is the business of life.
I know Fr. Leonard deeply loved each and every one of you.
Of course, we all know this but it’s often hard to understand it. But when we realize this, then we shall know, as Julian of Norwich tells us, “And all shall be well and All manner of thing shall be well”
I miss my friend Len. But as his friend, I have never been more proud of him for teaching us:
No matter who you are, no matter what you’ve done, no matter where you’re from, no matter where you’re going, no matter how good or bad things seem, you are always welcome.
That is our mandate. Inspired by Christ, let our Lady of Mount Carmel be our model of service to one another and on behalf of the staff of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, welcome home.