My brother Tim.

The long awaited and much anticipated reunion of two of the three Lynch boys took place on Friday at Gate D11 at the Miami airport. I flew from Tampa to meet Tim and accompany him the rest of the way to Seattle, a trip of eight hours duration. He was so excited that we were finally on our way, having navigated by wheelchair from the curbside check-in counter through security to the gate. I had “cashed in” enough American frequent flyer miles and moved early enough to secure two first class seats on the flights from Miami to O’Hare and then on to Seattle. Tim said that the Miami to Chicago flight was on the largest and quietest jet he had ever flown on and then with something approaching “gallows humor” said that the next time he would be so far forward in an airplane would likely be when his casket was in the forward hold beneath where he was sitting. American did a great job of having wheelchair assistance waiting for him with his name specifically on it for transferring from gate to gate in Chicago and from gate to baggage claim in Seattle. It was, however, precisely at baggage claim that I began to really appreciate the challenges facing people with disabilities. Delivered to baggage claim and receiving her “tip” for the service, we were abandoned by the wheelchair person. At first I did not think that would be a problem because arrival pick up was taking place just a few steps from the carrousel. Then, struck with fear, I noticed no cabs nor any signs for taxis anywhere. I approached the American Airlines agent in the baggage claim are and she said, “Oh, the taxi’s are on the third level of the parking garage.” She then said you need to walk to an elevator, walk across and bridge over the roadways, walk through the fourth level of the garage and then take an elevator to the third level where the taxis could be found. I knew it would be too much for Tim and I could not manage his luggage and mine as well. It took two people to accomplish the transfer from baggage claim to taxi: someone handling the bags and a second person pushing a wheelchair. But we did it. Then out of the garage and right smack into Seattle’s signature climate: rain!

Arriving at the hotel at 1000pm EDT, our sole goal in life was no longer heaven, but something to eat and then sleep. We attempted to “dine” at the Pike Pub and Brewery across from the hotel but the wait time was 45 to 60 minutes so it was back to the hotel. I had two “sliders” evoking our memory of White Castles in Columbus, Ohio and Skyline Chili parlors in Cincinnati. Tim loved the day, the attention he received on the plane from various flight attendants who were drawn to him by his sunny disposition, paying little attention to the sour puss next to him.

Conversation was mostly about trains and our youth. Tim has very clear memories of his trip to and from Seattle for his service in Vietnam in the army – the troop ship out of Fort Lewis and the return from there. I do not pursue and he has always volunteered very little about his time in the war zone. My brother Jim and I surmise that those memories are just too painful. Every one is suspicious that Tim’s COPD situation results from a combination of smoking and, we think, Agent Orange exposure which the Veterans Administration is finally acknowledging is a source of veteran disability after years of denial by there VA officialdom. He does have a hard time breathing and even experienced some stress on the plane where the cabin is pressurized to 8000 feet. But we made it.

At dinner we talked a lot about railroads and about our Dad. Perhaps the most poignant moment of this special Friday for me will be when Tim said, with a tear in his eye about our father, “I still miss him terribly. . . I love him. . . I talk to him daily.” Later today a ferry ride on Puget Sound to Bremerton will be followed by the start of our eastbound transcontinental rail journey at 440pm on AMTRAK’s Train No. 8, THE EMPIRE BUILDER.

+RNL

If you read my previous entry on the death of Bishop Agustín Román, Auxilary Bishop of Miami last Wednesday evening, you will likely not be surprised that I still carry the image of that loving and deeply caring bishop with me. On Saturday, the Church and the people whom he loved and served said good-bye to him in a style and manner which would have clearly been an embarrassment for him. After long hours of people passing by his body which laid in rest at his beloved Ermita de la Neustra Señora de la Caridad (Shrine of Our Lady of Charity), his body was driven through the streets of Little Havana to the Cathedral of St. Mary for the funeral Mass and hundreds lined the streets throughout the procession route.

I was able to be present only by deeply disappointing the parents of and confirmandi at the first county-wide celebration of Confirmation in Citrus county history. Since I had asked for the favor of a combined ceremony, it was deeply embarrassing to miss it and I apologize to the parents, sponsors, confirmandi and priests of the county. But I felt I needed to be in Miami to prayerfully say farewell to a great man, priest and bishop. The liturgy was lovely, totally in Spanish, and the Cathedral full to overflowing. The relatively newly appointed Papal Nuncio to the United States of American, Archbishop Carlo Maria Viganò was also present representing the Holy Father which is unusual for anyone other than cardinals and archbishops of larger sees who die.

When the casket was carried into the Cathedral, the congregation welcomed it with vigorous applause. Several times during the homily of Archbishop Thomas Wenski, the congregation responded with sustained, prolonged applause for their dear bishop. I gazed at the body lieing on the floor of the sanctuary and thought to myself, +Agustín, your legacy is guaranteed and your love will not soon be forgotten.

In the earlier blog, I wrote one of many stories in my mind about the bishop being out very late at night. There was another time when the Spanish Cursillo group would hold large Masses in the Chapel of St. John Vianney College Seminary where I was Rector on Sunday nights. They filled the place every time and when it rained as it often does in South Florida, they thought nothing of driving their cars straight up the lawn from the front entrance to let off or pick up their family members leaving deep tire tracks embedded in the lawn carefully manicured and cared for by the seminarians on their work-list days. One night I had had quite enough and with umbrella in hand I was out scolding those driving on “my” lawn. I knew it would make little behavioral difference but I sure felt better. Bishop Román, the celebrant that evening watched me rant at the cars turning my lawn into a mudpit and when they had left he searched me out in my room to first apologize and then said, “but Bob, remember that grass grows anytime here but the faith was being cultivated tonight and it might not last past your upset.” He was right, as always, and gently chided I took to heart his words and never again thought about whatever they might or might not do when they came to clausura on their (not mine) seminary property. In a quiet moment, I looked down at his casket before the altar and on the floor and quietly said, +Agustín, come to rest whereever you wish.

I needed to be back in St. Petersburg by 6:30pm so a four o’clock return flight was essential. I could not stay with him through the final commendation and transfer to Mercy Cemetary. I shall always regret that in my remaining years. In the first year I was ordained a priest (1978), the crusty old Rector of St. Mary’s Cathedral in Miami, Monsignor John Donnelly, said to me once, “young man, you really find out who your friends are if they come to the cemetary. The funeral Mass is easy but the cemetary – there your true friends gather.”

Bishop Román was a saint. He likely will never be officially declared this by the Church but everyone who knew him, was around him, was ministered to by him – we all know it. He sets a standard for episcopal ministry so high that most of us do not have even a chance. I shall always be grateful that even if only for a short while in my priestly life, in Miami, he and I walked the same aisles, myself unworthy even to tie his shoe. Rest in peace, +Agustín.

+RNL

Retired Auxiliary Bishop Agustín Román in front of the Shrine of Our Lady of Charity in Miami, Florida. Photo provided by the Archdiocese of Miami.

I was enjoying a perfectly wonderful evening tonight when a phone call to a priest friend in Miami brought me the news that one of my episcopal idols had been called home to the Father earlier in the evening. Bishop Agustín Román, for thirty-one years the auxiliary bishop of Miami died tonight, reportedly in his car at the very Shrine to Our Lady of Charity, which he erected, staffed, and called home for over forty-six years. Eighty-three years old last night, he was to Miami’s Cuban community their “bishop.” They loved him, they adored him and they will miss him greatly. And already I feel his loss as well.

The Florida bishops (minus Pensacola-Talllahassee which is still waiting for a new bishop to be announced and installed) met in Miami on Tuesday as guests of Archbishop Thomas Wenski. It took us four hours to dispose of the business of the Florida Catholic Conference. Conference Executive Director Dr. D. Michael McCarron presented us with a lengthy agenda of action items about which there were no real differences of opinion but a need to know more about the challenges which face the Church in Florida in 2012. This state is so lucky to have a superb Executive Director who is assisted by a very able, competent and committed staff. The results of the Conference over the years in the public square far exceeds the per cent of the state population which is Roman Catholic and stands as a testament to prudent, respectful and appreciative engagement with past Administrations (Chiles, Bush, Crist, and Scott in my time) and legislatures.

From left, bishops who attended the Mass included: Bishop Victor Galeone, retired of St. Augustine: Bishop Fernando Isern of Pueblo, Colo.; Bishop John Noonan of Orlando; Bishop Felipe Estevez of St. Augustine; Bishop Frank Dewane of Venice; myself; and Bishop Gerald Barbarito of Palm Beach. Photo courtesy of Ana Rodriguez-Soto with The Florida Catholic.

In the evening we reconvened at the Cathedral of St. Mary in Miami to celebrate retired Archbishop John C. Favalora’s golden anniversary of priestly ordination and silver anniversary of episcopal ordination. I hope and pray that you remember kindly the five years that Archbishop Favalora served as our third bishop here in St. Petersburg. About one hundred and forty priests, nine bishops, and a good representation of the laity came for this special Mass of Thanksgiving.The Archbishop was both the principal celebrant of the liturgy and the homilist. I must say that St. Mary’s Cathedral has a music program to “die for” and as good as I remember it, it has never been better than this evening. The celebration took about seventy-five minutes which is not bad when one gathers that many bishops and others.

Archbishop John C. Favalora sits in the cathedra, a symbol of a bishop's authority, during the Mass. Photo courtesy of Ana Rodriguez-Soto with The Florida Catholic.

Archbishop Favalora gave a beautiful homily on the occasion, focusing not on himself but on the Lord’s call to serve in the priesthood. In twelve minutes (I time myself and everyone else who preaches because I firmly believe that the mind can not absorb what the tush can’t take) he gave a ratio fundamentalis or foundation reasons for what the gift of priestly ministry means in our own time. Only at the end did he quickly express his thanks to those gathered for nourishing his ministry in the past twenty-five and fifty years. At the conclusion, he was greeted with prolonged applause and standing appreciation, I believe not just for his lucid homily but for his many years of service. The Diocese of St. Petersburg is about forty-four years old now and its first bishop, Charles McLaughlin served for the first ten years, then Bishop W. Thomas Larkin succeeded him for just shy of ten years. Archbishop Favalora’s tenure was about five years and my own is soon to enter its sixteenth year. I think each of us has attempted in our own way to nourish and fashion a community of faith at the service of Christ’s Church. I have always been grateful that the Lord in his kindness allowed me to follow Archbishop Favalora because things were in great shape when I came. I only hope I can with God’s help leave them that way for my successor. In words spoken and written yesterday I extended to the good Archbishop the gratitude of the Church of St. Petersburg for his presence in our midst. He seems incredibly happy to be free of the burden of administration and I am admittedly jealous.

+RNL