Remembering Fr. John

Fr. John Campbell, S. J., was my spiritual director at a very pivotal time in my life. I had just become a Catholic, and there was much that was confusing to me. It was like stepping into dazzling brilliance from murky grey.

God had led me right to him, practically. He (God) had given me rather specific instruction to start going to daily Mass. When I finally heeded that call, I went to the 5:30 pm Mass at Gesu parish (on the campus of Marquette University in Milwaukee, which was about 8 blocks from my then-apartment). I remember the first Mass I attended at which Fr. John presided. I thought to myself "he might even be saved!" I didn't have any trust in clergy at the time, and almost none in anyone Catholic. (It was no big surprise that God had me wait almost 18 months from my initial conversion of heart to actually entering the Church, but that is another story.)

Fr. John preached intelligent, thoughtful homilies, and even then I could see that he was all about the paschal mystery.

But eventually one thing really started to bother me about dear old Fr. John. He was of the generation and place and circumstance where he just never called God "He." He didn't call God She, either, mind you; mostly just "God." I remember one Psalm response which became "God Godself is in the midst of God's people." It started to drive me nuts, and soon I started to avoid that particular 5:30 pm Mass and attend at a different parish when I could. Then one Sunday (mind you, this was all before I actually came into the Church, in 1992), he was the presider for the particular Mass I attended. I *almost* turned to leave to come back for the next Mass, when certainly another of the many Jesuits would be presiding. But something made me stay. Specifically, God kicking me in the butt. If the Holy Spirit can have a stern "voice", He told me ever so sternly to respect this man (and by connection, everyone participating in Holy Orders). Specifically because this man knew what it was to walk through the darkness by faith. I felt deeply chastised, humbled, and practically commanded to pray for and love this man.

What happened next, I will never forget. A Religious Sister started talking to me after Mass, a rarity. We chatted on and on, and then she suddenly said "have you met Fr. John? Let me introduce you." She led me over to where he was, and introduced me. He started telling her that I listened so intently to his homilies, and that it really helped him to pray. He was so gracious, so welcoming, so real, so accepting of me. I felt like slithering under the tiles in the floor. Now, he knew who I was.

I don't remember how long it was after that that I really really felt the need for a spiritual director. I felt like a kitten whom God was picking up by the scruff of my neck and depositing at Fr. John's door. At the time I was so extremely nervous about talking to strangers (and everyone felt like a stranger to me). It took a good long time, almost a year I think, and enough desperation, for me to finally call him. Again gracious, he returned my call with that jovial voice of his.

We met for spiritual direction for the first time in January of 1994. He had the great skill of making me feel completely at ease, and not at all strange for being an ex-Pentecostal struggling to make sense of myself in a Catholic context. We met monthly at least for the next nine months. I poured out my heart, we shared a few tears, and most of all, he listened. Listened. Listened very well. I don't remember much of what he told me, and I do remember some of it not seeming to make any sense at the time at all. But we were able to share in a kind of spiritual communion that was deeply healing to me.

Then, I went to Japan. It was really the worst decision I had ever made, and I made it during my third month in spiritual direction. He wasn't the type of director to say "now, Marie, are you sure this is a good decision? Are you sure this is what God wants for you?" Maybe I really needed to learn the hard way at the time.

And he was there when the whole Japan thing came down around my ears. I ended up being briefly engaged to a Japanese man, and that would have been such a disaster had we actually gotten married. I shudder to think of it. I was back in the States on "break" when I realized I needed to come home for good, and I was about to be stranded in Los Angeles -- long story there. Fr. John set me up with relatives of his who were so kind to me. When I finally washed up on shore to the US again for good, I saw him again.

And then I was off to Steubenville.

I had written to him frequently in Japan, and he made it clear he wasn't a correspondent and wouldn't write back, and I said that was fine. Once I got to Steubenville and started truly feeling alive again in many ways, I started writing letters of thanks to Fr. John. I think maybe once or twice a year I would just well up with the awareness of thanks for the gift God had made of Fr. John in my life.

After I got married, Fr. John eventually started writing back. My husband and I had lunch with him when we went to Wisconsin one Christmastime. That was wonderful, and strange too, for I still had a good deal of that painful shyness. Eventually, I would write at least at Christmastime, and so would he.

In Christmas of 2004, I wrote of our good news that we were expecting a baby in April, and that our son's adoption would finally be finalized. He wrote his news; he was battling cancer of the tongue, but he was looking victorious, although he'd been forced to stop preaching for several months.

My newborn daughter had this little half smirk-grin that reminded me so much of Fr. John. I so wanted to tell him that, and I thought of it every time I looked at her. It took me some time to get a picture sent off to him, though, with all the busyness of having a new baby. It was September when I finally did.

Around this time last year I got a card from Gesu Parish. I stared and swallowed when I realized it wasn't Fr. John's handwriting. It was from his superior. He had taken it upon himself to open my letter, and to let me know that Fr. John had passed away on June 26, 2005. The cancer had spread rapidly, the experimental treatments he had volunteered for were not successful. He welcomed his time to go home to the Father's house, at age 60.

I felt -- I feel still now, in a way, more alone in the world. Ah, but with friends in high places.

Fr. John, as always, I pray for you and carry you in my heart. Please, do the same for me.