Always concerned with the needs of others

A long-time friend, one who I have known for years, has finally completed his journey.  Today we prayed him into heaven: the place he has modelled for so many others during the years he was granted to live among us.

Funeral homily for Laurent Dumais

One winter afternoon at the end of January 1995, a new priest arrived in town.  He was young back then and totally unfamiliar with the finer points of life in small town Northern Ontario – only he didn’t know it yet.  The people were used to young priests.  They had trained more than a few of them to be effective witnesses of God’s presence to others, and this priest was no exception.  It only took a few hours before the people started to surround him with their characteristic warmth.  After the evening Mass, they served coffee and took turns introducing themselves to him; Laurent and Rose were there that night, I’m almost sure of it.

Throughout the time I served in Manitouwadge, Laurent and Rose would often be at the church, or I would meet them in their home, or any number of other local gathering spots.  They told me about their daughter Lise, and they often told me about others in the community who could use a visit or a word of encouragement.  On one such occasion, they pointed out a lady who was blind and encouraged me to consider reading aloud to her, since she loved to read but could no longer see the words.  I think that Laurent was the one who suggested one day – in his quiet voice – that I might consider paying a visit to Tim and Betty.  He set the scene by saying simply: It will do them well to meet you.  Although he never said it, I’m sure he knew that meeting them would do me well too.  You see, Tim was a long-time resident who was suffering from a rare disease - I think it was constrictive pericarditis -, and Tim's wife Betty was confined to a wheelchair,  but they were so comfortable in their own skin that a visit to them was as much a source of healing for the visitor as it was an opportunity for them to lavish hospitality.

Each one of us who had the chance to know Laurent and Rose in this life can describe such experiences that we too have shared with them.  They both had such a gentle way about them, but there was never any doubt that they were always dressed for action (Lk 12:35), always looking for opportunities to help others.  They never had to speak words in order to explain their belief in God; they lived and breathed their faith every day.  Every day they waited for their Master to return, and they were constantly ready to open the doors of their hearts, to welcome him and to serve in any way that was needed (Lk 12:36-37).

Many years passed before our paths would cross again.  It was four years ago, when I arrived here in this parish, that I found Laurent sitting in the pews.  I was overjoyed to see him, and saddened at the same time to learn that Rose was no longer among mortals.  Week after week, Laurent appeared, sat in the pews and prayed.  By this time, he had found another dance partner, yet he was still the man that I had known: quietly present to so many others, and always having a soft spot in his heart for those who are in need.  At the meetings of the Knights of Columbus, he would often be seen sitting among the ranks.  He took as much pleasure in sitting with strangers as he did with family and friends, and he was always looking for ways to make others happy, including sharing a small business card with a happy face and some simple words to brighten someone else’s life.

The other day, when I went to visit him at his home, he was unable to communicate.  The girls told me that just a few months ago, he had gone to visit with his son Rheal in Thunder Bay.  Though he may not have said it at the time, Laurent knew that this would be his final visit with his son.  Every visit was precious to Laurent, and every visitor was the focus of his attention, because he was always concerned about the needs of others.  Perhaps he was aware then - as he visited with his son - that his outer self was growing weak, wasting away but his inner self was being renewed day by day (2 Cor 4:16).  A few short months later, he fell ill.  No one who watched from the outside would have been able to predict that a few weeks later, we would be here celebrating his funeral, yet he more than anyone else was keenly aware that our physical bodies are nothing but earthly tents (2 Cor 5:1), temporary shelters that will one day be folded up, when our place in God’s house is ready.

That house is not made by human hands; it is an eternal dwelling in the heavens (2 Cor 5:1).  Each day that we spend here on earth is an opportunity for us to practice, to prepare for the day when we will enter our heavenly home and sit with the Lord himself at a feast of rich food (Is 25:6).  On that day, he will fasten his belt and invite us to sit down to eat, and he will come and serve (cf Lk 12:37).

Today, we can be confident that Laurent and Rose are both seated at that heavenly table, reunited once again and rewarded for the many years that they spent taking care of so many others.  In this life, they welcomed strangers into their home, sat them down at table and fed them not only with food for their bodies but more importantly with nourishment for their hearts and souls.  Now seated at the heavenly banquet, I can imagine Rose saying to Laurent: See, this is our God; we have waited for him ... This is the Lord in whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation (Is 25:9).