Emotional farewell to 'Brother
Joseph'
By TIM UNSWORTH
Special to the National Catholic Reporter Chicago
The 42-hour funeral rite of Cardinal Joseph Bernardin, Chicago's
seventh archbishop and fifth cardinal, eclipsed anything this city had seen
since the burial of the former mayor, Richard J. Daley in 1976. An estimated
100,000 people of all faiths braved the bitter cold in order to pay their
respects at Holy Name Cathedral to the man who had become known as "Brother
Joseph."
The cardinal, who died at 68 of pancreatic cancer Nov. 14, was
honored at the three-day funeral rites that began with a procession from his
home to his cathedral and ended with a two-hour funeral cortege -- taking
Chicago's high and mighty through some of the city's poorest neighborhoods --
to Mount Carmel Cemetery in Hillside, Ill.
Although the 377 parishes and some 500 other institutions in the
2.34 million-member archdiocese were urged to hold local services (most did),
the faithful traveled to the cathedral from all parts of the vast archdiocese,
often waiting upwards of three hours for a few seconds at his bier.
At 11 p.m. on the first night of his wake, 10,000 people were
still in line outside the church. At the Dunkin Donuts shop across Chicago
Avenue, sales of hot coffee were eight times the norm for that hour of night. A
fast food place near the cathedral carried a sign reading "Gentle Joseph, Rest
in Peace."
In the midst of the Christmas sales season, major department
stores ran full page ads to pay tribute to him. He had captured both public and
private hearts.
Inside the cathedral, a generous supply of memorial cards was
exhausted before the second night of the wake. Reliable sources said that there
were 12,000 requests for the 1,200 available tickets to the Rite of Christian
Burial.
The carefully calibrated procession of dignitaries was led by
ecumenical leaders of all faiths. They were followed by hundreds of diocesan
and religious priests, 157 visiting bishops and archbishops and nine American
cardinals, two of them from the Vatican. Eleven clerical masters of ceremonies
were required to herd the shepherds and ranking sheep into preassigned
places.
Cardinal Roger Mahony, archbishop of Los Angeles, presided at the
exquisitely planned liturgy -- one that bore the clear prints of Cardinal
Bernardin, who was famous among his administrative family for micro-managing
such events. (Had Bernardin not designated a principal celebrant, protocol
would likely have meant that Cardinal Bernard Law of Boston, now the highest
ranking U.S. prelate, to have led the ceremony.)
The assignments of significant participants -- from homilist and
close friend Msgr. Kenneth Velo to a pallbearer who tended the grounds at his
mansion -- bore a clear Bernardin mark and a statement about the people he
valued.
A man, who by his own admission was once enchanted by hierarchy,
now turned to close friends to see him to his grave. ("Sometimes during my
priestly life I made political decisions in preference to pastoral ones," he
once confessed to his priests. "Now I am trying to make pastoral ones.") For
his episcopal brothers, there was a coded message in virtually every aspect of
the Rite of Christian Burial.
Typically, when his body arrived at the cathedral following the
mile long walk from his home, the funeral pall was removed and folded by his
sister, Mrs. Elaine Addison, and five other women, just as it was women who
prepared Christ's body for burial. That was just one of at least a dozen roles
assigned to women during the more than two-hour liturgy.
Following Cardinal Mahony's greeting, Cardinal William Baum,
former archbishop of Washington and now a member of the Roman curia, who acted
as John Paul II's personal representative together with Archbishop Agostino
Cacciavillan, pro-nuncio to the United States, brought the Holy Father's
personal blessings and gratitude.
The lay assemblage included Vice President Al Gore and his wife,
Tipper, along with Secretary of Health and Human Services Donna Shalala,
Housing and Urban Development Secretary Henry Cisneros, White House Chief of
Staff Leon Panetta and Ambassador to the Vatican Raymond Flynn, together with
other high-ranking officials, Illinois Gov. Jim Edgar and Mayor Richard M.
Daley.
The delegation sat across the aisle from Elaine Addison, the
cardinal's only sibling, her husband, Jim, their four children and other
relatives from Columbia, S.C., Philadelphia, and Tonadico, Italy, Bernardin's
ancestral family home.
(Bernardin's mother, Maria Simion Bernardin, remained in a nearby
nursing home. The 92-year-old widow, who raised the cardinal and his sister on
a modest hourly wage, working as a seamstress for the Works Projects
Administration -- WPA -- following the death of her husband in 1934, had been
informed of his passing. But her mind is failing, and her caretakers could only
say they "thought she understood.")
Msgr. Kenneth Velo, the cardinal's executive assistant and now
president of the Extension Society, delivered a witty, insightful homily,
mercifully devoid of cliches. It was sprinkled with humor that brought laughter
and several bursts of applause from the congregation of clerical and lay
leaders as well as warmth to the hundreds standing outside the cathedral on a
portion of State Street that had just been named in honor of the cardinal.
The first homiletic outburst occurred when Velo said of the people
of Chicago: "They loved him." All in the cathedral clapped with the exception
of the stonelike men, including the nation's remaining cardinals, who sat in
the first few rows in the sanctuary, apparently unaccustomed to spontaneous
liturgical celebration.
"God has touched you through the life of Cardinal Bernardin," Velo
said. "He wanted to make common ground holy ground.
"Didn't he teach us? Didn't he show us the way?" Velo asked
rhetorically, while the congregation applauded for the last time. "Cardinal,
Eminence, you're home. You're home." This time it was a standing ovation.
The formal funeral rites had been preceded by a special liturgy by
his Pastoral Center staff, an ecumenical morning prayer service by local
Episcopal, Lutheran and Greek Orthodox communities, and a memorial by Jewish
leaders. Particularly moving was the Jewish service at which one speaker, Rabbi
Byron Sherwin of Spertus College of Judaica, said: "Had there been more people
like him during the Holocaust, there would be more people like us, Jews, alive
today."
The Rev. Kenneth Olsen, bishop of the Metropolitan Chicago Synod
of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, said that Bernardin "spoke to
the entire community about the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ."
Bernadin's last letter to the clergy was read at the special
liturgy for priests on the eve of the final rites. Bernardin, who had
administered the archdiocese for 14 years and had restored a great measure of
the shattered morale of the priest corps, urged the clergy to shun parish
pettiness and to de-emphasize administrative duties. "Get away from the
paperwork," he told them. "Ask yourself: When people come to church are they
finding Jesus? If they are not, you are wasting your time.
"People simply want us to be with them in the joys and sorrows of
their lives," Bernardin's letter told the 1,200 priests who packed the church.
"The things people remember most are small acts of concern and
thoughtfulness."
The letter to his priests will be part of his final effort at
writing, a task he loved. His last book, The Gift of Life, will be
released by Loyola Press in January.
"You have brought me to the gate," the cardinal said in his
letter, read by Fr. Jeremiah Boland, chairman of the Presbyteral Council. "I
will have to go in first. But know that I will carry each of you in my heart."
In an unprecedented reaction, the priests gave him a lengthy standing
ovation.
Following the Mass, a 100-car cortege, followed by at least a
dozen buses, made its way to Mount Carmel Cemetery through streets selected by
the late cardinal. He wanted to pass through neighborhoods that reflected the
diversity of his archdiocese. It took nearly two hours to cover the 17 miles to
the door of the bishops' mausoleum where an estimated 10,000 more mourners
waited in light but wind-driven snowfall. Some had been standing for hours in
the cold.
Above the bronze doors of the massive Romanesque building was the
single Latin word Resurrecturis -- to those who will rise again.
Back in 1988 Bernardin visited the mausoleum to select his niche.
He later confided to friends that he selected the space to the left of his
predecessor, Cardinal John Patrick Cody, adding that he had always been "to the
left" of Cody.
Bernardin, who rarely missed a funeral of one of his priests, had
a signature commendation that was recalled by Bishop Timothy Lyne, retired
auxiliary and vicar for senior priests. "We commend him to the God he loved so
much," he would say, "to the God he served so well."
Bishop Raymond Goedert, vicar general of the archdiocese, choked
as he delivered the final farewell. He was not alone.
Cardinal Mahony, the presider, was heard to say that he had never
witnessed such an outpouring of feeling since the death of John XXIII.
National Catholic Reporter, December 6,
1996
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