At the ordination of the seven today, Deacon Doug leaned over and whispered to me. It wouldn't be an ordination unless Doug leaned over and whispered something simply insightful, and often funny. He's been doing it at every ordination since ours two years earlier, and before that frequently during our five years of formation together.
"That deacon flies a jet," he whispered. Brilliantly understated, he captured in a few words the essence of the transformation that had just taken place in the Cathedral and at every deacon's ordination. "That deacon flies a jet."
Yes, he does; he's a pilot. And that one is a jeweler. The deacon two seats down is a farmer, and the one back there is a retired teacher, as is the one just across from us next to the retired autoworker.
That one works with prisoners, and that guy over there with students teaching them how to pray the Rosary, and the quiet one has a special place in his heart for the migrant worker.
We're everywhere, friends, serving the poor where they are found.
In the air and on the ground.
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