NEWS AND VIEWS: Pastor will be missed in Toronto (06/27/99)

NEWS AND VIEWS

Pastor will be missed in Toronto

by Lubomyr Luciuk

When he leaves, which will be soon, some will miss him more than others. He's that kind of man. He's that kind of priest.

When I first met him I already knew that our group needed a man of God in our midst - not that we were religious. The chores we took on, such as countering propaganda about "thousands of Nazi war criminals" allegedly hiding in the Ukrainian Canadian community's midst, were political - profoundly so. Yet we were astute enough to appreciate that having a Ukrainian Catholic priest beside us as we did this work, worked. And so, he was there for many of our carefully managed events: for example, when we unveiled plaques recalling the unjust imprisonment of Ukrainians as "enemy aliens" during this country's first national internment operations, or honored Filip Konowal, Canada's only Ukrainian recipient of the Victoria Cross.

However, this Ukrainian Catholic priest did more than just accept our invitations to participate and pray. He strove to ensure that his fellow priests of the Ukrainian Orthodox faith came, too. And so not only the vestments he wore and the cross he bore, or the holy water he sprinkled, but his very presence helped sanction our causes and helped undermine the opposition.

So we used him. How clever we thought we were. For while I and I am sure most of my colleagues had been raised to believe in the Ukrainian Catholic Church as the reliquary of our embattled nation, most of us somehow had disconnected years ago from that Church.

Certainly for me, Catholicism appeared to be out of step with the real world: obscure doctrines of little relevance to the kind of man I wanted to be, or at least be seen as - a man of deeds, of passion, slaved to the notion of freeing Ukraine. So, while I knew that we needed a priest, and even as I found myself liking this man, I was nevertheless not above scoffing about "incense and incest" in the Church. Jokes at the expense of the clergy proved to others how very modern I was. Of course I got laughs. A good buffoon does.

In the years since we first met, this priest has, inevitably, had a chance to learn a lot about me. He has been there for good times, certainly, but more often when times were bad. Yet he was not repelled. Whenever asked, he answered our call to serve again, knowing who we were, who I am, what our group does. He did so willingly, always with good humor.

Why? What did he have to gain? Now that the prospect of his leaving has grown near I, like anyone facing loss, have had to ask myself that. And I have had to consider what his deduction from our ranks will mean. I know it will be a great loss.

For while that fraction of us who articulate our community's interests and defend it against defamation do not fear standing up for the principles that we believe in, our struggles are, in essence, secular. That makes them ephemeral, fleeting, all too soon forgotten. We have acted, and well, but always in the here and now, believing what we were doing was right. But for all of the sound and fury of our protests, and of our actions, and of our reactions, I have still often been left wondering: does any of what we do make a real difference?

And so I have started to compare our deeds with this priest's record. Others tell me that he revitalized more than one parish, that he has comforted the ill, brought consolation to the bereaved, joy to his congregation. Probably. I can't say. I was not usually a churchgoer.

But that changed in recent weeks. Sad to see this man go, I began to attend the divine liturgy, which he celebrates each morning. I wanted to better understand him and to show thanks. To my surprise, I have found myself pausing within the confines of the sacred space of his church to reconsider what role faith should play in the life of a middle-aged professor, by common account often a sinner. In doing so I have reminded myself about how moving I always found the Roman centurion's admission: "Lord I am not worthy to have you come under my roof." Christ was reportedly astonished at this veteran's faith, of a depth that He said was found nowhere else in Israel. Faith, yet found in a fighting man.

So I am trying to understand what faith is. Obviously, it is an act of trust, a self-abandonment. It is also a commitment to a guiding word. And it is the latter that remains difficult for me. For faith, I appreciate, must be a surrender, and that is not a word with which I have ever been comfortable.

And yet, this man of Christ, who stood by my side many times as I fought battles that needed fighting, was able to gently yet persistently demonstrate a certain truth. His own works have shown me that the submission he makes to his faith is not necessarily a bondage. It can be liberating. In many respects he is freer than I am because of his profoundly joyful, fulfilling faith. The funny thing is that I don't think this man set out to bring me back to the Church of my forefathers. Perhaps it was the priest in him who did.

Should I name him? There is no need to. He would certainly be content with simple, spoken thanks. But that would be unfaithful. So I offer public gratitude to Father Bohdan Lukie. God bless you for leaving me a better man than the one you found.

Dr. Lubomyr Luciuk is director of research for the Ukrainian Canadian Civil Liberties Association. He describes himself as "a revived Ukrainian Catholic."

EDITOR'S NOTE: The Rev. Bohdan Lukie, who served Holy Eucharist Ukrainian Catholic Church in Toronto for the past nine years, has been assigned to St. John the Baptist Ukrainian Catholic Church in Newark, N.J., where he was pastor in 1987-1990 and succeeded in revitalizing the parochial elementary school.

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