~ by Father Ron Camarda

One of the reasons I went to Ireland recently was totally unexpected. It wasn’t my reason, and yet it might have been. I had planned to go to Ireland for two weeks in May, first to celebrate Sister Patricia’s Golden Jubilee in which our mutual friend Rebecca was a surprise guest. The second reason was to connect with my deceased grandmother who had died when I was fourteen, just four months after my family moved to Florida from Massachusetts.

My grandmother, Mary Josephine (Crowley) Duffy spent her first fourteen years in Youghal, County Cork before she was shipped off to America. It was a desperate attempt to alleviate the oppressive poverty. The only riches young Molly possessed was her family, and that seemed to have been stolen from her forever. However, with God, nothing is ever impossible. Her maiden name, Crowley, has a motto: ‘Spero in Deos’ – ‘Hope in God’. The year was 1905 and she was the oldest child. The family believed Molly would have a better chance in America and could possibly send money home to alleviate the oppressive situation of her family. At that time recessions or depressions were perpetual for the poor. The poor always suffer even when part of the world is in an economic boom. “Molly” was the oldest child of four siblings. The poverty of the time had penetrated and severed the tightly knitted Irish, Catholic and devout family bond. Within a couple of years, Molly’s mother and youngest brother would die back in Ireland.

In July of 1974, my family sold our home in Tewksbury, Massachusetts and moved to Daytona Beach, Florida with seven of the nine kids and all of our belongs in a station wagon and a U-haul. My Dad was searching for work in a terrible economy. We didn’t even have a place to stay when we arrived. I was just 14 heading into 10^th grade. It would be the last time I would see my grandmother whom we called, “Nanny”. Nanny died on November 4, 1974. This was almost too much for my mother to handle. I didn’t know how hard this was for me until recently.

Poverty did it again. The severance of a family was a crushing blow.

Our Blessed Mother, Mary, was only 13 years old when the poverty took a swipe at her family. Unwed and pregnant, Mary set out and traveled a long distance to her cousin’s home. “Ave Maria! Hail Mary!” And then Mary cried out:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord

and my spirit exults in God my Savior!

For God has looked with favor on his lowly servant.

.

From this day all generations will call me blessed:

the Almighty has done great things for me,

and holy is his Name.

.

He has mercy on those who fear him in every generation.

He has shown the strength of his arm,

he has scattered the proud in their conceit.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,

and has lifted up the lowly.

He has filled the hungry with good things,

and the rich he has sent away empty.

.

He has come to the help of his servant Israel

for he has remembered his promise of mercy,

the promise he made to our fathers and mothers,

to Abraham and Sarah and their children forever.

While at the Convent of Mercy in Clonakilty Ireland, I was called to the bedside of Sister Fachtna. Our merciful, loving and compassionate God must have planned this for many years. On Friday night I sang the Ave Maria as if I were Elizabeth and John the Baptist excited to greet Jesus and His Mother.

Being there was a blessing. I didn’t get the chance to be there when my grandmother died. But in a strange way, I had the chance now.

It was beautiful.

Beloved Sister Fachtna Mahoney seemed to be thrilled to finally meet me. I sensed that she knew me deeply. This all at the same time her breathing was belabored. Her eyes were so sky blue that I could see Heaven beyond. I knelt by her bed in awe and wonder. Angels hovered and were singing and dancing in the room. Sister Leila didn’t notice or she would have insisted that the other sisters come quickly to pray and anoint Fachtna.

I guess she didn’t want to alarm the others. This world is truly passing away. We are all dying. However, Leila’s heart was beginning to open like a new Rose in the morning…almost too slow to perceive without the eyes of the soul and faith.

Yes, that is how to express a death of one with great faith. While the body seems to wither on the vine, a life is opening in color, shape, perfume and texture. The rosary of life breaks forth. The soul is seen with the eyes of love. So many times I have witnessed the stunning beauty and awe of a soul born to eternity. Death truly is a birth and a right. There is absolutely nothing to fear, unless we are still attached to this world.

So many times I have witnessed the stunning beauty and awe of a soul born to eternity. Death truly is a birth. There is nothing to fear. It all began with little William at six years old during my second year of priesthood. I was there. That is all I had to do. Being there is so hard to do, but being there is the only thing we can truly do.

We are all, at least I am, way too preoccupied in this world of sports and shopping, anger and bitterness, power, prestige, positions, possessions and sexuality. We, or should I say “I”, need to just be, and discover the real self…my own real self and not another’s.

While with Sister Fachtna, I learned more about me, Ron. I anointed her, but I really anointed myself. My heart was exploding with joy. I knew she would die soon. The jubilee was to begin on Saturday at 2 pm in the Arus Muire chapel of the Clonakilty Convent of Mercy. This group of sisters of Mercy had been in my life even longer than I first thought. I recently learned that when Molly left Ireland, she ended up living in a Convent of Mercy to finish her education and then to work for the Sisters in the convent. For the past 20 years, the Mercy Sisters have been the sisters that influenced my understanding of what it means to be a woman religious in our very institutional aspect of our church.

So around noon, I had been reading about Saint Faustina of the Divine Mercy and her diary that I had transcribed into this current journal while I had sat before the Sacred Eucharist, when Sister Patricia came to my room to ask me about something for the Liturgy of the Jubilee. Sister Leila came running down the hall frantically shouting out, “Sister Fachtna is passing!”

I had been reading from Sister Faustina’s last journal entries before she died on October 5, 1938 at the age of 33 years. Faustina was born the same year that my grandmother, Molly, came to the United States.

Today, my heart trembles with joy. I desire very much that Jesus come to my heart. My longing heart is inflamed with an ever-increasing love…When Jesus came, I threw myself into his arms like a little child. I told him of my joy. Jesus listened to these outpourings of my love. When I asked pardon of Jesus for not preparing myself for Holy Communion, but continually thinking of sharing this joy as soon as possible, He answered that, “Most pleasing to me is this preparation with which you have received me into your heart. Today in a special way I bless this your joy. Nothing will disturb that joy throughout this day…” (1824)

Today, the majesty of God is surrounding me. There is no way that I can help myself to prepare better. I am thoroughly enwrapped in God. My soul is being inflamed by His love. I only know that I love and am loved. That is enough for me. I am trying my best to be faithful throughout the day to the Holy Spirit and to fulfill his demands. I am trying my best for interior silence in order to be able to hear his voice… (1825)

~Sister Marie Faustina

I ran to Sister Fachtna’s room to be there. She was in a chair beside her bed. Apparently the good sisters tried to get her to the hospital, but Fachtna wanted no part of that. Her body was clinging to her soul like a child holding onto a helium balloon. I knew I needed to get her back in bed. It wasn’t romantic at all. But what I saw with the eyes of my soul was astounding and breathtaking. I put one arm under her back and the other under her legs. I then lifted her backwards as I backed into the bed. When was on top of me for a moment. And then I slipped out of the bed as her head crashed sweetly onto the pillow. Before I could take a breath, her soul left her like the child in her excitement lets go of that balloon. Sister Fachtna’s body released her soul. She gave up her spirit. It was beautiful…being there.

It truly was.

The room filled with her Sisters and lifelong friends and angels. It was glorious. I kissed her soul over and over. We sang O Holy Night and Ave Maria and Holy is God’s Name. We also sang, The Lord of the Dance.

As I glanced up at her two closest Sisters, I noticed the Divine Mercy picture from the vision of Sister Faustina. It seemed like the rays of water and blood streaming from the Sacred Heart of Jesus were pouring out upon us. Jesus, I trust in you!

The party had begun and we had a glimpse of Heaven only because we were willing and wanting of…

Being there

Being there

Being there.

And my mother and her sister, Mary were both there. Many relatives, priests and friends who had died were there also. And most radiant, Mary Josephine “Molly”, my beloved Nanny, was there…

…and as I write, these beloved in Heaven are now being here and being. O my.

I love you Nanny!

Thanks for being there…O what a joy!

Love, joy, peace,

Ron Moses Camarda +

www.tearinthedesert.com

June 2011

Molly’s husband, my grandfather Moses, was a super husband, father and person from what I gleaned from my family. He died at 57 years of age on January 1, 1949, which is The Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God, in the same hospital I was born in on October 7, 1959 on the Feast of the Holy Rosary. I took his name for Confirmation and later discovered that there was a St. Moses who was a priest who died on January 1, 251 after being in a prison in Rome for eleven months and eleven days.

Father Ron Camarda is a retired Naval Chaplain and author of “Tear in the Desert,” a powerful book containing his memoirs of life and death at the Battle for Fallujah. Father Ron appears on EWTN and recently won the Silver Medal from the Military Writers Society of America.