During the past few weeks I have spent as much time as my responsibilities permitted by the deathbed of my Dad. In his alert moments his humor and capacity as a great storyteller shone through. More importantly, his humble faith shone through. What a privilege it was for me to hear him renew his baptismal promises in those last days of his life, anointing him, granting him the Apostolic Pardon, commending his soul to the mercy of God, chanting the Litany of Saints, imploring the Blessed Virgin, the angels and the saints to intercede for him, and praying the Rosary and Divine Mercy Chaplet by his side. Most importantly, giving him the Eucharist each day during his final agony not only was a tremendous grace for him, but was a great source of consolation for me. The very last conscious act he made was receiving the Eucharist. This particular time of the liturgical year always reminds me how thin is the veil that separates heaven and earth. In these weeks we celebrate the feasts of Padre Pio, the archangels, guardian angels, Therese of Lisieux, Francis of Assisi, Bruno, Bartolo Longo, Faustina, the Holy Rosary, John Henry Newman, John XXIII, Carlo Acutis, Teresa of Avila, Margaret Mary, Luke, John Paul II, and many others. As we pass into the first days of November we celebrate All Saints and All Souls. I always have a sense in these days that heaven is not very far away at all. As I chanted the Litany of Saints at my Dad’s bedside, although deeply sorrowed that his earthly life was coming to its end, I knew that I was placing him in good company. I trust that what the Lord began in my Dad on the day of his baptism, he will bring to fulfillment now. We will place his body into the earth with faith in the Resurrection. Last Saturday before visiting my Dad, I celebrated a Nuptial Mass here. I still need to absorb the whole thing. Simultaneously, my heart was broken from sorrow for my Dad and filled with joy at the beauty of the Sacrament of Marriage and for that couple as they begin married life. After the Mass, I went to the hospital and, as I was crossing the street in Boston, this couple stopped me. “Father, are you busy?” Admittedly, I felt kind of annoyed because I wanted to get in to see my father. I smiled and said, “No.” Then they asked, “Could you bless our twins?” In their carriage were these beautiful one-month old infants, a brother and sister. It was the boy’s first time out of the NICU. I blessed them with a lot of joy. The couple explained to me that they were not married, but were trying to figure things out and to be a family. They said that they had been going to Mass recently and wanted to stay on track. Blessed be God. I thought of how 89 years ago this month, my Dad was an infant like that with his whole life ahead of him. Now, he was at the end of his life and here are these two beautiful little infants beginning their life. Their parents chose to give them life and are now trying to find a way to be a family and provide a Catholic life for them. I will pray for them. Some day, please God, those little infants will be old and will be preparing to depart from this life. I hope that they do so having lived a life of faith, nourished by the Sacraments. One of the privileges of priesthood, I believe, is that the Lord permits us at times to share in a unique way in his own Heart. This privilege is both beautiful and heart-piercing. It sometimes feels as though the Lord were putting one hundred gallons into a one gallon container! It is to feel intensely the Lord’s love for the good thief, his weeping at the grave of Lazarus, his joy at the repentant sinner, his joy for the little children, and his ardent desire that all might be saved. And quite often, the Lord does not share these things one at a time, but all at once. These days, I am feeling things intensely. I am grateful to the Lord for that privilege. Lastly, a word of thanks to all of you for your prayers and to the priests and staff of the parish whose goodness, kindness, and generosity have allowed me the privilege to be a son and a priest to my father. I am very grateful. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes

October 3rd, 2026, marked the 800th anniversary of what is called, “the Transitus” of St. Francis of Assisi. It is the date upon which one of the greatest loved saints passed over from this world to the next at the age of forty-four. Francis, as depicted on the cover of this week’s bulletin, asked that his clothes be removed and that he be placed upon the floor. He wanted to depart from this world with no material possessions whatsoever. A brother then lent him a tunic so that he would not be completely uncovered. The image reminds us that all of us leave this world with no earthly possession. I remember when I was a kid, one of the priests in our parish would often say, “I have celebrated many funeral Masses as a priest. I want you to know that not one single time was the Wells Fargo Wagon following the hearse to the cemetery.” St. Francis’ life and death invites us to examine ourselves and ask, “To what am I unduly attached? To what do I cling to in such a way that it hinders me from giving myself completely to the Lord?” Is it my pride, my success, my resentments, my bitterness, my pleasures, my possessions, my desire to be esteemed or honored, my free time, my money, my bodily health, my appearance? Sometimes when we go to a wake or a funeral, we see images of the person from when they were much younger and healthier. Those images can be both joyful and sobering. They are joyful because they remind us of better and happier days. They are sobering because we are confronted with how the things of this world pass away. St. Francis asked to be placed naked and upon the floor not because he was miserable, but because he knew that all of us ultimately leave this world possessing nothing. He joyfully embraced his poverty because he knew that all of us–no matter how much we possess–are, in fact, poor. He did not store up earthly treasures because he knew that his true treasure is in heaven. Last Sunday as I was looking out my kitchen window, I saw a young couple and their two little ones coming into church in the pouring rain. They didn’t know I saw them, but their simple little witness of faithful Catholic family life really touched me. They were like God calling down from heaven and saying to me, “Be faithful in your own vocation and in your own duties.” When St. Francis lay dying 800 years ago in a place few had ever heard of, he probably could not have imagined that 800 years later, his example would still be inspiring others to follow Christ and that he would be so loved. He was just faithful to what Christ was asking of him. That is true for all of us. We just never know how our obedience to what Christ calls us to will be used by the Lord for the building up of His Kingdom. St. Francis calls all of us to fidelity. If I may add one little plug! There is still time to sign up for the Pilgrimage to the Shrines of Italy this coming April. Among other places, we will go and be with St. Francis and St. Clare in Assisi (and also St. Carlo Acutis). It is such a deeply moving and transformative place. To all of you, who in varied ways live out your faithful witness, I want to say thank you. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes