thoughts shared by mark at his dad's funeral
we can't even put into words how much
we miss this man
_________________
Gratitude, Grief & Glory
My Tribute to My Father, Joseph Fedeli
Gratitude
When your father
is Joe Fedeli, the only right place to begin is gratitude. I am
grateful that before college he entered the seminary as a Franciscan.
He wanted to become a priest to become closer to God, but he also wanted
a family. I am especially grateful for that. His life was
the pursuit of a humble man running hard to the very end toward a priestly
vision that saw all life, all work, and all relationships as sacred
ministry. Dad saw people as made in the image of God, and He was
in awe of the gift of his own life. Awe of God and love of people—from
this starting point everything about my Dad makes sense.
“Sky time.”
As my cousin Mike Miller described so unforgettably yesterday, Dad would
say “Sky time” to you as he snuck up behind you, grabbed your elbows
and lifted you above his head to the ceiling.
Sky time was
the heartbeat of my father’s life. As I reflect on my father’s
time on earth, as I weigh all the love and discipline and laughter he
poured into my life, Sky time was the simple secret of his amazing life.
He knew the power of uplift, of elevating another person above yourself,
and he especially knew the impact this could have on children and on
those who are struggling in life. What I want to give you today
is a brief behind-the-scenes look into what made my father tick.
It has taken me 37 years to come to grips with it, but in my father’s
passing his secret has become so powerful and vivid and real to me as
to be unmistakeable…and completely compelling.
Make no mistake.
Dad had his flaws. He would be the first to tell you. The
man tucked in his sweatshirts. He may have been a little too willing
to trust people at times. But the fruit of his life points to
something undeniable: He was truly great. And his greatness is
in this room today, it is the impact his life had on you and me.
And the proof of this is the Sky time you all have given me this week
by lifting me up with so many kind words and stories of Dad.
Some public legacies
are not matched by a consistent private life of integrity and service
when no one is looking. I can tell you, as good as his public
legacy was, my dad’s private legacy was better. When I was little
he would often crouch down, look me in the eyes, and tell me, “Go
past me. Just like your pappy told me to go past him.” My dad’s
parents, not wealthy or powerful in any way this world would notice,
gave my dad what he needed to go further than them. It began with faith
in God, which produced in Dad the freedom to love others unconditionally—as
we all have felt. This is the source of Sky time.
Grief
This is also
why it is so incredibly painful to be without him. When I came
to the house, minutes after Joanna first found Dad’s body, the bottom
fell out of my heart and an immense grief rushed in. My father
was gone. I feel this grief ready to wrestle me down especially
after this week ends and life’s normal routines return. Yet,
along with grief I felt this incredible joy. He lay there in his
chair almost asleep, with no sign of struggle or pain, his glasses on
his face and flip flops on his feet, with one of his favorite shows,
the football program Friday Night Lights. I didn’t know the exact
cause of death, and I didn’t really need to know. I knew beyond
doubt that my father had passed from this veil of tears into sight of
his Savior, Jesus Christ. He broke the tape throwing his chest
forward. I also knew at that moment that his life had prepared
me for his death, that I would be given the strength to do just what
my dad exemplified—to entrust my grief to God and first serve others
around me who need uplift.
So I wept with
my sister, my mom and my mom’s husband Stephen. I talked to
the EMTs and the police. I spent a few moments with this incredibly
kind man, Father Regan, who led us in prayer as we wept again together.
Then I escorted everyone upstairs. And then I went back down to
my father’s feet and wept like I have never wept, feeling the loss
of just being in my Dad’s presence and especially making him smile
and laugh. And here is where I will feel the most loss moving forward.
To lose my father was to lose the man who made any and every sacrifice
he could to make me a man, and to go past him. This is an amputation.
Dad was the one
I look to to know if I am on the right road. Dad had this subtle
way of letting me know I was too self-confident. Overconfidence
was probably the single thing he focused most on in his training of
me over my whole life. I am so prone to it. That’s why when
I was about 10 years old my Dad gave me the book “My Utmost for His
Highest” and encouraged me to “wake up early each morning and recognize
your nakedness before the Lord, since he sees you as you truly are.”
Sky time. A daily practice with God.
So as I move
forward in grief before the God of my father, I find his example most
compelling and challenging to me. I am the kind of father inclined
to control or hover over my kids for fear of something bad happening.
Know what I’m talking about? But when Dad saw his children overconfident
in our own ways and not trusting God, he didn’t try too hard to control
us. Instead, he increased his outpouring of unconditional love
through kindness, he prayed more fervently, and he stood firm in recognizing
the mystery that God only knows all the work He is doing in people’s
lives. In our very last conversation this past Sunday, we talked
about his concerns for someone he loves dearly. He restated to
me what he has said dozens of times: “I don’t know what the Lord
is doing, but I don’t want to stand in His way.” He didn’t fear
the grief that could come from something bad happening to one of us.
Sky time.
Dad and I were
planning a trip to go to Italy, maybe as early as this Spring, which
I initiated just to learn more at my father’s feet. He called
it “the passing of the baton.” He said I was ready. But as
this fallen world would have it, I must wait. Julie Jakopic was
right yesterday when she said “It is OK to be angry about this.”
This is not how God designed the world to be. But death does not
have the last word, does it?
Glory
Perhaps like
me, you have regret not spending more time with this amazing man. I
wanted to restate the wisdom shared with me earlier this week and at
the wake yesterday by my Uncle Rich Fairley, who lived with us when
I was young and became one of my heroes growing up, as he still is to
this day. He said he felt the same regret too, but he recognized
my dad wouldn’t want the attention on himself, but instead to go lift
up the next man as he did. Those wise words of
my uncle, whose life has become so much like my fathers, my grief this
week has fundamentally changed. This isn’t the last stop on
the journey. In the past 24 hours, one of dear friends suddenly
lost her father also. There are so many people who need to be
listened to, laughed with, and lifted up, just like my father showed
us. Can you find those people and love on them? I know you
do this already. You know the secret to a great life.
Dad left us a
rich legacy, but his work is not complete. Dad knew to his bones
that he was participating in the broader redemptive work of God through
Jesus Christ, to bring love, restoration and healing to troubled people
and hard places in this fallen world. It was no accident he chose
the Juvenile Justice field. It was no accident he and my mom embraced
foster care of young children. They knew the heart of God who
had adopted them in Christ, and from that they were overjoyed to adopt
my wonderful brother and my amazing sister. Glorious. It
was no accident that in my father’s final days he was beginning volunteer
work with Prison Outreach Ministry and was just matched as a mentor
for a man recently released from jail. And it was no accident
my father died when he died or the way he did.
So I say to you
here as I did yesterday at the wake, as Jesus himself did after telling
the story of the Good Samaritan: “Go and do likewise! Give your
life in the service of others until your last breath.” And I say
to you, Dad, “Sky time. In your life you made me a man, and
in your death you have lifted me to see heavenly things, so I can bring
them to this earth while I am here. You are truly great, and I
cannot wait to see you and laugh with you again.”
