Ted Kennedy, RIP
It's raining steadly, softly, and sentimentally. It reminds me of Ireland. Teddy would have liked it this way. It was appropriate because the people in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts are mourning. Ted Kennedy's funeral was today. The Funeral Mass was beautiful.
Mission Churche is one of my favorite churches. I went there more than a few times for Father McDonough's services. I went to a couple of prayer meetings, too. My son's apartment was on top of Mission Hill, when he went to school. The Little Brothers live there. (They're the Franciscans who wear the denim habits.) I know the place, pretty well. I can see why Teddy was comforted, there.
We may not have always been in the same political camp as our late senator, but he was our senator. Massachusetts was always served well, as all the testimonies at his wake testify. He lived Matt. 25:35-36. One of the political analysts commentating on the funeral said his research gathered more than 60 pages worth of accomplishments.
Another commentator gave a shrewd opinion. She noted that Ted's death caused a halt to the Town Hall debates on health care. A much needed halt to the emotional shouting. This was a time out. After the burial, maybe both sides can get together and talk, not shout, and better, listen.
But for now, it's a time for prayer for Teddy and his family. Of course, there are those who can't get over his pro abortion stance, the Mary Jo accident, and other failings. But Catholics trust in the onmipotence of God. They know God is all merciful, just, and loving. We place ourselves and those we love, in His hands. And so we do with Teddy.
Teddy was like that too. He loved everybody. That included political enemies. Some people can't do that, and don't believe that there are people who can. That's their problem. Thank you, Lord for Teddy. We loved the sinner.
May I leave my Irish prayer for Ted:
May your neighbors respect you,
Trouble neglect you,
The angels protect you,
And heaven accept you.
Somewhere in Nantucket sound, the clouds are parting just a bit, to let the sun dip over the Mya's yardarm.