Among the many friendships I have had in life, I can say that at least one was a saint: Fr. Philip Bebie, C.P. A companion of my young adult years, priest, mentor, guide, counselor—Fr. Bebie was all these to me at a time when his formative hand was precisely what God wanted for me. His counsel to Laurine and I as we prepared for marriage—and his piercing words to us during our wedding Mass—have stayed with both of us and have continued to bear fruit through the years. And now … he was dying.
The utter "unreasonableness" of the spiritual life!
I recently comforted a colleague whose dear friend was brutally raped. The friend was 83 years old and in a nursing home! What can you say? It doesn’t fit in a neatly packaged spirituality.
Oh, there are several efforts by popular writers explaining why bad things still happen to good people. However, nothing answers the mystery. The reality of sin and the existence of evil are proven daily in a world wounded by the rejection of God.
Yet, somehow, even those who say yes to the invitation to love are wounded in the process.
These "wounds of love" are at the heart of the Christian life, because such a life is lived in a response to the God who is crucified Love. The mystery of this kind of "kenotic" or poured out love is not comprehended by the intellect. It is demonstrated in the lives of saints.
I had the privilege of calling such a saint my friend.
It has been many years since I last saw my friend Fr. Philip Bebie, C.P. But I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was a cold dark dreary day in the dead of winter—a day that continues to reverberate in my heart and in my life.
I had boarded a plane to visit my friend, before he died. I was gripped with fear, sorrow, hesitation, and yet resolve. This strange mixture of emotions surged through me, betraying my youthful inability to confront death—and my lack of understanding of the mystery of suffering.
I hadn't seen Fr. Philip since he was my confessor and counselor at the College of Steubenville. I first met him when I moved into an empty dormitory named after St. Thomas More. It had been set aside as a spiritual renewal center by the president of the College, Fr. Michael Scanlan, to help revitalize the campus.
Fr. Philip had accepted an invitation to minister on the campus and to build a small community of priests who would serve that mission. I had accepted an invitation to build a small community of students, a "faith household," who would also help foster spiritual renewal through our prayer, witness, and common life.
At the time, I was young, alone, full of zeal, and full of myself. I needed a pastor and a friend. Philip became much more.
He was six feet and seven inches tall, a man of great stature and dignity, with a heart of holiness and a tremendous love for God's people. He took me under his fatherly wing and helped me find a home in the heart of the Church.
Philip was deeply spiritual and fully human. He was as much a Christian in prayer as he was enjoying a Pink Panther movie—a penchant we both held in common. I still vividly remember the times we would share the simple joyful things of life, and he would erupt into a full belly laugh that quickly proved contagious.
God was good to me at such a young age. He gave me a priest, a pastor, a friend, a confessor, and a teacher—all together in this one marvelous man.
Philip played another significant role in my life during that formative time. After struggling with a vocational crisis, Philip's counsel helped me make my choice for marriage. He then prepared my wife Laurine and me for the sacrament, not only giving us good spiritual formation, but also sage and practical advice that still stands the test of time.
I will never forget the night that Philip sat with us during our last preparation session. Looking deeply into our eyes and probing into our hearts, he encouraged us, "Don't ever forget to tell one another, 'I love you,' to hold hands, and to hug." We laughed, surprised that he would give such advice to us. After all, we could hardly keep our eyes, or for that matter, our hands, off one another.
But sage advice it has proven to be! Five children and many years later, it is still providing direction in both its practicality and profundity. So is Philip.
As my college career unfolded, Philip moved on. A member of the Passionists, a religious community in the Catholic church, he sought to live the charism of the founder, Paul of the Cross, and imitate him by preaching the Gospel as an itinerant missionary. We stayed in touch over the years—but with decreasing success.
Fr. Phil wanted to motivate me as a husband and father—"in my vocation," as he would call it. Periodically, he would send me little reminders of God's love, and pictures of "his Lady," Mary, the mother of the Lord. He had a deep devotion to Mary and to the holy Eucharist. In fact, he always told me, in my zeal for ecumenism, that they were the paths to Christian unity.
That piece of wisdom, like much of what he sought to impart, was wasted on my youth but planted in my heart.
The greatest gift that Philip ever gave to Laurine and me was to preside at our wedding. We were one of only two couples whom he married during his entire priestly ministry, and he took great pride in his role in our life.
I will never forget Philip standing in front of Laurine and me as he preached his homily at our wedding. It was as though we were the only two people in the congregation. He admonished us on the holiness of the sacramental call we were undertaking, the paramount importance of our faithfulness for the whole Church, and the inevitable struggles and suffering that would come.
Fr. Philip, a celibate priest, understood the nuptial mystery of marriage better than anyone I had ever known. It would be many years later before I would understand why.
He knew it at the depth of its interior structure, because he knew how it reflected and imaged the spousal love of Christ for His Church. He, as a consecrated celibate, participated in a prophetic and immediate way in the one mystery of the Christian life!
Because he knew how precious marriage was to God, he knew how gifted he was when he received the call to forsake it for Christ, and offer it to Him as a gift of sacrificial love for the Church. He was espoused to Christ's bride, the Church, and he served her and her children with a fatherly and undying devotion.
After he left Steubenville, he would periodically emerge at critical times in our life as a family. For example, our second child, Keith, was born with severe colic. He would scream all day and all night. It was frightening. Even medication provided little relief.
Just when we were giving up hope, Philip appeared one day, and prayed, touching our son's head with a Marian medal. Keith slept through the night and never experienced colic again.
Over the years, our lives got busier—with my career, more children, and "ministry". Regularly, we would hear of Philip's apostolate. But one day we received the shocking news of what would become Philip’s greatest journey.
Philip had incurable cancer.
To be continued …
Copyright © 2000 Deacon Keith A. Fournier, Third Millennium, LLC
Keith A. Fournier, a graduate of the Pontifical Pope John Paul II Institute For Studies On Marriage and Family, and the founder of the "Common Good Foundation" and the "Liberty, Life and Family Institute," currently serves as Executive Editor For Catholic Affairs for Christianity.com. A Catholic Deacon, Fournier is also a constitutional lawyer and is the author of seven books, including A House United? Evangelicals and Catholics Together: A Winning Alliance For the 21st Century. A happily married man, Keith and his wife Laurine are the proud parents of five children.
