"Voice of Quiet Love"

These are the words spoken by Monsignor Kenneth Lasch at the funeral of Father Ed Hinds. Thanks to Monsignor Lasch for saying these words and for posting them on his blog for all of us to read and reflect upon:

Death has a thousand faces and though we know it can happen at any time and may be prepared for it, we are never ready and it is never opportune. It is intrusive and unjust. And no matter the circumstances, it creates a void impossible to fill, a hole in our hearts, an empty place at our table.

But the tragic circumstances that resulted in Father Ed’s death also leave us with conflicted feelings of outrage and mercy—outrage at the unmerciful slaying of this gentle man of God and mercy for the man who became a victim of his deranged thinking. As Ed’s spiritual companion, I can state without equivocation, there was nothing in his life that could have provoked such a violent attack. In the words of one parishioner, “The only aspect of Christ’s life that Fr. Ed did not live out until this tragedy was Christ’s suffering and death.” As I reflected on her comment and Ed’s dying moments, it would not surprise me if I learned that he whispered the words of Christ as he hung on the cross: “Father, forgive him for he knows not what he is doing.” Another parishioner said it this way: “Putting on that white sacramental robe at Baptism 61 years ago was the most important reality for him because he certainly died with Christ on Thursday evening but how many people will know that he died with the sacred compassionate heart of Christ throughout his entire life.”

With Isaiah we believe that life does not end with death. We believe it is a passage to a new kind of life, to eternal life in which we are absorbed fully into the life of God – whole and complete. That is what salvation is about. It is for Father Ed, a solemn promise fulfilled because he lived in a manner worthy of his call – “with all humility, with gentleness, with patience, bearing with others through love, striving to preserve the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.” [Ephesians 4:1-4]

And so we will find a way not just to survive but to live fully in the light of the path paved by this humble shepherd who made such a difference in our lives with his ability to bring the Scriptures to life through his well-prepared and carefully delivered homilies and by his reverent celebration of the Eucharist that was the center of his live and ours.
Ed enjoyed a partnership with God in Christ that he took very seriously and though it takes some of us a long time to discover how our own partnership with God will unfold, Ed was quick to pick up the signs early in life. Father Gene Romano tells of Ed’s early desire to embrace the priesthood even as a young boy as he celebrated Mass at his home-made altar. But Father Ed was not a ‘hot house’ priest. Over time as he grew into his vocation, he became a wise mentor with an acute understanding of human nature and of the spiritual needs of those whom he served so well from the youngest to the eldest. He made time for everyone when convenient and inconvenient.

Father Ed tried to do his very best but he like us was not perfect. As many of you know, he found administration difficult at times and of late, he would wake early in the morning with those stomach butterflies we all experience from time to time when faced with a particularly difficult challenge or decision. He would be the first to confess his mistakes but that core spirituality implanted in his unique soul nourished so carefully during his early years with family gave him a resilience that enabled him to bounce back, never giving into defeat.

Ed mixed with the high and low. He made no distinction because in his view all people are God’s children.. He was very intelligent but modest and measured in his speech, never condescending. He shunned honors and accolades – no clerical bashes for Fr.Ed. He preferred instead to recognize the accomplishments of others. We would be hard pressed to find his photo in local newspapers or even in The Beacon. He needed no recognition for what he considered only his duty and responsibility. His dedication to this parish family was steady but his parish circle extended far beyond St. Patrick’s to Mt. Carmel in Boonton and St. Michael’s in Netcong. A loyal friend of the Dominican Sisters of Caldwell, he was a faithful visitor and celebrant at St. Catherine’s infirmary.

Sr. Jo Mascera of the pastoral care department at Morristown Memorial Hospital remarked to me on Wednesday how responsive Ed was to her call to cover for hospital emergencies when the parish ‘on call’ was unavailable.

Ed and I used to have monthly talks over tea and cookies. Whenever he came for spiritual direction, I always told him that he replaced my spiritual reading for the day —hot off the press, as it were! It was during these sessions that I realized how transparent Ed was and how pure his soul. He epitomized quiet love. He was blessed with a contemplative spirit and simple spirituality. I truly believed that he knew the God who lived at the core of his being, the God who was paving a path with him one day at a time and would bring all his hopes and dreams to fulfillment. I have no doubt that Ed’s hopes have been fulfilled and he is living his dream somewhere in this awesome universe.

But there is just one more testimony that I would like to share. It comes from a neighboring pastor:

Ed was a colleague, but more importantly, he was my friend, a genuinely nice guy; one of the last of a dying breed of gentle souls.

He fully respected the status of my ordination. He was a mentor, a role model, a confidant, a colleague, a friend.

If the entirety of our lives can be summed up in one story, here’s my story about Ed:
It was not long after the death of my daughter. I thought I was doing okay. The grieving process was progressing on course. “Thank you, I’m fine,” I heard myself saying, over and over again, to kind, caring people who asked how I was doing.

And then, one morning, I woke up and found that I couldn’t move my feet from the bed and put them on the floor. Neither could I take a full breath. My first coherent thought was, “I’ve got to get to Mass.”

The only place I could think of that was close by was St. Pat’s. There was an 8 AM daily mass there.

I got up and got dressed. I knew I wouldn’t be able to receive the sacrament in a RC Church but I was okay with that.

All I really needed at the time was to be in a small community of people who believed in the Resurrection. Who not only believed in but cherished the idea of Life Eternal. Who willingly and gladly entered into the paradox of understanding the Mysterium Tremendum et fascinans of God’s sacramental grace.

I pulled on my favorite old jeans and a hooded sweat shirt, put on my hat, coat and mittens and walked the block up to St. Pat’s and took a seat in the back. There were 8 or 10 people already in the church.

When it came time for communion, I sat in my pew, praying quietly to God, my head bowed, my knees bent, my hands and heart open.

Suddenly, I felt something being pressed into my hand. I opened my eyes and saw Fr. Ed standing before me, pressing the broken wafer into my hand, as I heard him say, “The Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven.”

I took the broken wafer into my hand, gobbling it like a hungry beggar who hadn’t eaten in weeks. I hadn’t known how hungry I had been.

Right there in front of God and the people of God, I was fed and nourished.
I had received a foretaste of the heavenly banquet which my daughter now enjoyed. I was one with her and she with me and I experienced a wholeness and a healing that surpassed sublime.

What really broke my heart open was the risk this man took for Incarnate Love. For the Gospel. Right there, in the Roman Catholic Church, in front of God and the assembled faithful, he broke a rule, to feed a hungry, broken woman a broken piece of bread that filled me with wholeness and holiness of Life”.


Ed did not break any rules. He knew the heart of Christ.

As we continue to mourn his passing, we will continue to celebrate his life as we thank God for making him a part of our lives. I reckon this prayer of Thomas Merton was often on the lips of Ed Hinds:

I beg you to keep me in this silence so that I may learn from it the word of your peace and the word of your mercy and the word of your gentleness to the world: and that through me perhaps your word of peace may make itself heard where it has not been possible for anyone to hear it for a long time.

He was the voice of quiet love and we will miss his gentle smile forever.