Remembering Peter

The church is quiet now, but then again, that's the way he preferred it I think.

He has set foot in this place for the last time, his quiet voice is silent now. Where once he would be quick to jump at any opportunity to be of service to others, he can now rest from his labours. Untold numbers of others can each recount their stories of encounters lived, moments when he seemed to materialize just when there was some unfinished business and no one to finish it.

For some, he was nameless, just the person who served a meal to others who would not otherwise eat that day. For others, he was a trusted friend, one who could be trusted to always be there with a word of encouragement or a simple greeting.

For those who frequent the walls of this place, he was a fixture, always present and willing to undertake the most menial of tasks, never seeking his own agrandisement but always looking out for someone else who needed to find their way.

Once, he too knew what it was like to be a stranger in a foreign land. He'd arrived here from his native Holland, not understanding the language, not knowing too much about what he needed to do or what was expected of him. Yet, he never shirked his responsibility, to find his way in life, to gratefully accept employment and to devote himself entirely if quietly to making his mark on society.

The church is quiet now, his apartment is vacant now, his car will soon be sold, his family, still far away, now grieves his loos, his friends give thanks and pray, grateful for all he has accomplished, and hope that we can emulate even a bit of his goodness, inviting others to discover the depth of love that is our inheritance in faith.