Saturday, the Holy Father died. I commented over at Amy Wellborn's Open Book that I felt an echo of the way I felt when my own father died, more than seven years ago. It's hard to imagine him not being there, even though he wasn't involved in my day-to-day life. Somehow, we'll survive.
Saturday evening we went to the vigil Mass, the whole family together, for the first time. Our pastor, Fr. Clemens, said a lovely homily about the Pope's life and the effect that he had on the world. It was a fitting service, and I especially enjoyed Father's homily since he was away for most of Lent on a forced sabbatical.
I was still feeling sad but at least peaceful until I opened the church bulletin, wherein the very first item announced that our pastor, effective July 1, will be the rector of the SS Simon and Jude Cathedral.
It didn't take long for Bishop Olmstead to recognize the ability and talent of our pastor, and it doesn't surprise me at all to see him being moved to this much more visible position. He's moving up, and I'm sure he will continue to do so.
I explained to the kids, "We can't expect to keep Fr Clemens all to ourselves here at St. Mary's, that would be selfish of us." But of course I want to be selfish and I'm nervous about who our new pastor will be. Mom and I attended a Mass at St. Andrew's a few years ago that was only barely recognizable as a Mass, and I would be horrified if the "new guy" came in and started "modernizing" things.
We'll survive, I'm sure. Life is change, after all.