"I chose you and I commissioned you to go out and to bear fruit, fruit that will last."
My Lord Bishop, my dear friends,
We gather this evening to remember, to seek healing comfort and to give thanks.
In remembering, we mark the passing of the first month since the death of John
Thornhill, brother, uncle, pastor and friend. We commemorate also the forty-ninth
anniversary of his ordination to the priesthood - for his family the memory
of the happiest of times but a memory also tinged with sadness and regret for
the commemoration we might have had in one more year. For there is sadness and
a sense of loss, not only in John's family but also among his people and his
friends here in Youghal, in Cobh and further afield; among the Bishop and priests
of a diocese he loved. Our hearts are troubled by the enormity of this loss
and we miss him, we mourn him and so we gather on this special evening to seek
the healing balm of Gospel words, the strengthening life of Eucharistic food,
the reassuring promise of Jesus Christ that even in sorrow, his "…joy
may be in us and our joy be complete." That is the hope and consolation
sought by all who mourn - that there might be joy again - because death can
never overcome hearts that are filled with Christian hope. So we also give thanks
for John and we give thanks to him. There is so much cause for gratitude in
every mind and heart here. The details of John's priestly service at parish
and diocesan level and his many gifts and skills and talents have been recalled
over the past six weeks and many fitting tributes have been paid. Tonight we
gather these details and memories as we give thanks for the gift of knowing
John Thornhill, of learning from him, of having his example as a man, as a Christian,
and as a pastor of the flock of Christ.
When we celebrate the mysteries of our faith in the liturgy of the Church, we strive to make a connection between our own lives and experience and the central events of our salvation. The liturgical year gives us a pattern to explore those mysteries and to connect with them. For many of us here, the Passiontide and Eastertide of the year 2003 will long be remembered for the intensity of that connection. The people who gathered for the 8.00 am Mass in the Parish Church on Palm Sunday to hear the reading of Christ's Passion, witnessed the sharing in that passion of their Pastor whose own final journey to death was also beginning. The words concerning the carrying of the cross were fulfilled in their hearing. The week that followed was a Holy Week, if ever there was one, of "prayer and entreaty, aloud and in silent tears to the one who had power to rescue out of death". Holy Saturday brought a profound sense of entering the tomb, as all hope of recovery seemed lost. Our Easter Vigils were real fires of hope in a time of heavy sadness. The readings and prayers of the early weeks of Easter were food and water to hearts hungry for hope. When the end came we were about to celebrate the fourth Sunday of Easter and its image of Shepherd, who lays down his life for his sheep, was never more real, never more connected to our experience as a people whose shepherd had laid down his life, had given himself in service and dedication without counting the cost.
And throughout those weeks of Passiontide and Easter we shared in the experience of the apostles - frightened, confused, hopeful and doubtful, not knowing what to think. But we witnessed also the same examples of human greatness that we read of in the accounts of Gospel women. Family and friends - Susan, Catherine, Sr. Helena, and the nurses and doctors who kept vigil by his side - his sister Norah and brother Dick who waited also for some sign of hope, the people who prayed with earnest faith for their parish priest, the priests who brought him in their thoughts to the altar every day - all who did however much or whatever little they could for a man to whom they owed a great deal.
Reflecting on these past weeks helps us realise that the Gospel story is very close to the story of our lives. That makes very real and credible the words of Jesus: "I do not call you servants any more, because a servant does not know his master's business; I call you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have learnt from my Father." John Thornhill's family and friends can find deep comfort in knowing that his Christian journey, his life as a priest, had all the signs of someone who has found the way from being servant to being the friend of Christ. While allowing him the mystery of his own soul, we can speak of what we could see and we could see a man who seemed at peace with himself and with God - a friend of Christ whose friendship was proved by the daily conversation of prayer; a man who sought for nothing more from this life than to have done his duty as honestly and as well as he could. We give thanks for that example to every priest. And to all of us as human beings he leaves the legacy of strength and gentleness, of genuine kindness and courtesy in a world that is often coarse and brash. He leaves the remembrance of a man who had the kind of standards in his life and ministry that come, not from learning or piety or achievement, but only from the bedrock of a good and decent home.
If there is one last cause for thanks, perhaps it is this: That even though, were we to have gathered here next year for his Golden Jubilee of Ordination, we would have wished John many happy years of pleasant retirement, the Lord who knew him better than any of us, has granted to John to die in harness - even if it was before the changes were made! He had given everything and given gladly and he had reaped the reward of a happy, fulfilled and contented life. As he has reaped one hundredfold in this life, bearing fruit that will last, may he now come to the fulfilment of faith, hope and love, in the eternal life of God where his joy will be complete.
May his noble soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
AMEN