Homily
Funeral Liturgy for Leo Ochs (grandfather)
13 April 2020
St. Lawrence Catholic Center at the University of Kansas
That tear in grandpa's eye.
I first remember seeing it at my priestly ordination. I met his eyes as I came down the aisle with dad, but not mom.
I saw that tear more often the last couple years during the few times I got to see him. It would come when he was missing someone. Grandpa always knew is someone was missing.
Shorty is known better for the twinkle in his eye. He got excited about a lot of things. You always knew when he was happy to see you. I'm sure grandma and the kids can tell you about his dark side, but I'm a grandson. I never knew it.
Happy memories came flooding back on Thursday when I learned the bad news. I can't turn them off, and I don't want to.
Cauliflower salad and goat terds as gag gifts. Grandma's foil-wrapped harvest burgers. A four-pound Ackerman catfish on the end of a fly rod. Doughbait. Ew. Roger's giggle. Or cackle. Or snicker. Whatever it is. Thanksgiving football. The wide-open canvas that is my western Kansas home. My Catholic faith. All because of my grandpa.
My life changed forever in 1st grade when I was dispatched to take grandpa and mom a pop on the dam at Cedar Bluff. They had to be a half-mile from the camper. Armed with slip bobbers and slipshot, they were perfecting the art of casting 30 yards into a 30 mile per hour wind without losing your shiner. They thought the world turned on one more crappie. They wouldn't even stop to pee. They were plum stupid crazy insane.
Anyhow, on the way with the pop I dashed my head on the rocks. I have the scar to prove it. After I recovered a started testing in the 99% in verbal intelligence, won the county spelling bee 3x, and haven't stopped talking like I know everything since. All thanks to grandpa.
I'll never be happier then I was in 1985 when grandpa's faith in the infamous experiment known as 'the dam' hit the jackpot, and I reeled in one 3 lb largemouth after another for 4 days.
Your stories I'm sure are better than mine, as most of you were closer to him than I was. I'm just proud to have been his grandson. The twinkle in his eye changed everyone who ever met him. Shame on us if we don't tell every story, as soon as we can, for as long as we can. He deserves it. He lived a faithful and fruitful life.
But I think I'll remember most the times that twinkle in his eye twisted forth a tear.
The real cross of Jesus Christ whom grandpa taught me to trust, is always that thing we least want, the thing we can't change, the thing that most isolates us, that thing that we know we can't do, but have to try. It's that place where we eventually give all of ourselves.
We can wax eloquently about how to offer up all the hard parts of life, but those things are just a shadow of the real cross.
The real cross is what grandpa just went through. Not knowing for sure how to do these last few years of life or what they were for, but giving it his best try. Wanting to be close to those he loved, but dying with all of that stripped away from him.
That's the real cross, and Jesus taking grandpa to Himself through it.
I'll remember most of all that tear in his eye whenever someone was missing.
Now that we all miss him, let's keep that tear in our eyes, until we can all be together again.
Funeral Liturgy for Leo Ochs (grandfather)
13 April 2020
St. Lawrence Catholic Center at the University of Kansas
That tear in grandpa's eye.
I first remember seeing it at my priestly ordination. I met his eyes as I came down the aisle with dad, but not mom.
I saw that tear more often the last couple years during the few times I got to see him. It would come when he was missing someone. Grandpa always knew is someone was missing.
Shorty is known better for the twinkle in his eye. He got excited about a lot of things. You always knew when he was happy to see you. I'm sure grandma and the kids can tell you about his dark side, but I'm a grandson. I never knew it.
Happy memories came flooding back on Thursday when I learned the bad news. I can't turn them off, and I don't want to.
Cauliflower salad and goat terds as gag gifts. Grandma's foil-wrapped harvest burgers. A four-pound Ackerman catfish on the end of a fly rod. Doughbait. Ew. Roger's giggle. Or cackle. Or snicker. Whatever it is. Thanksgiving football. The wide-open canvas that is my western Kansas home. My Catholic faith. All because of my grandpa.
My life changed forever in 1st grade when I was dispatched to take grandpa and mom a pop on the dam at Cedar Bluff. They had to be a half-mile from the camper. Armed with slip bobbers and slipshot, they were perfecting the art of casting 30 yards into a 30 mile per hour wind without losing your shiner. They thought the world turned on one more crappie. They wouldn't even stop to pee. They were plum stupid crazy insane.
Anyhow, on the way with the pop I dashed my head on the rocks. I have the scar to prove it. After I recovered a started testing in the 99% in verbal intelligence, won the county spelling bee 3x, and haven't stopped talking like I know everything since. All thanks to grandpa.
I'll never be happier then I was in 1985 when grandpa's faith in the infamous experiment known as 'the dam' hit the jackpot, and I reeled in one 3 lb largemouth after another for 4 days.
Your stories I'm sure are better than mine, as most of you were closer to him than I was. I'm just proud to have been his grandson. The twinkle in his eye changed everyone who ever met him. Shame on us if we don't tell every story, as soon as we can, for as long as we can. He deserves it. He lived a faithful and fruitful life.
But I think I'll remember most the times that twinkle in his eye twisted forth a tear.
The real cross of Jesus Christ whom grandpa taught me to trust, is always that thing we least want, the thing we can't change, the thing that most isolates us, that thing that we know we can't do, but have to try. It's that place where we eventually give all of ourselves.
We can wax eloquently about how to offer up all the hard parts of life, but those things are just a shadow of the real cross.
The real cross is what grandpa just went through. Not knowing for sure how to do these last few years of life or what they were for, but giving it his best try. Wanting to be close to those he loved, but dying with all of that stripped away from him.
That's the real cross, and Jesus taking grandpa to Himself through it.
I'll remember most of all that tear in his eye whenever someone was missing.
Now that we all miss him, let's keep that tear in our eyes, until we can all be together again.
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