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MYFAVORITEPRIEST
Feeding his sheep
By Catherine Antolino Mervyn
There is much about a priest that sustains a parish, but his presence among the people is absolutely vital. This is precisely what made Father Bernard Gatlin, an assistant pastor at Santa Clara Church several years ago, a "People's Priest."
The activities he initiated or revived are numberless, and his presence was seen and felt at each of them. No one needed wonder where he was because he was where he was meant to be-among the people.
By Father Gatlin's edict, a new custom was introduced in our parish as soon as he arrived: Coffee was to be served to weekday Mass attendants. With sober straight face he proclaimed the welcome tidings from the altar after each daily Mass he celebrated. His approach varied occasionally, but the message never failed to produce laughter or at least a robust chuckle.
"Coffee will be served in the parish center after Mass. You won't find better coffee anywhere. Ours is made with holy water."
With bent stride he preceded his flock to the parish center where he had prepared the coffee maker before Mass, and while people sat themselves at preset tables, he poured the hot water into the freshly ground coffee. In seconds the golden brew was ready to be served-by him. No one dared to move from the table once they were seated.
With the combined artistry of a chef and headwaiter, the man of God deftly wove in and out of the round tables he had ordered. Full coffee pot in hand, he filled coffee mugs to the delight of chattering parishioners. He served them cake, doughnuts, rolls, or whatever had survived a parish pot-luck, which had been contributed by caring parishioners or purchased by himself.
Father Gatlin could be found engrossed in preparing and serving food in the parish center, at a convention center, and especially at youth outings. He was as adept at the kitchen sink as he was at the altar.
"Don't mess up my water," he admonished a parishioner who offered to wash dishes one morning. With detergent water in one side of the double sink, and dish drainer on the other side, the anointed hands that raised the Body of Christ in consecration, now washed the dishes of his people.
Father Gatlin packed two aerobics classes and five Bible classes per week with people from almost every denomination. Like a mother fretting over her infant, he fretted over personalizing meaningful Bible passages.
"God loves you, unconditionally-period!" The tone of voice defined the message.
"Can a mother forget her infant?" he quoted rhetorically, with inspired conviction. "Even should she forget, I will never forget you." Our own exasperated Isaiah dug the fingers of one hand into the palm of his other hand.
"'I have carved you in the palm of my hand'-case closed!" A dramatic pause, a piercing stare, and profound silence.
The realities of our relationship with God were given the decisive aura of God's authority as the incredible priest put down some misunderstood form of devotion. "Oh, come on, give me a break, you can't bargain with God!"
Our omnipresent priest presented a perplexing personality. He was curt to the point of rudeness at times, yet humbly submitted to being taught the intricacies of operating a sewing machine. He could flatter and insult in one breath. He could ignore and acknowledge simultaneously.
Praises and Thank-you's did not come in obtrusive profusion from Father Gatlin. We had to look for them in subtle surprises. A gentle touch, a slight nod, a gruff "Hi!," a brief concerned phone call. His remarkable and appreciated "Thank you" was the gift of himself, his presence. It truly cast a "Giant Shadow" among us.
Father Gatlin was a caring, concerned priest. He did much himself, but left much undone so that there was always room for people to grow in charity toward God and each other. The doors to displaying one's talent were always open. A parishioner's skills were quickly discovered and utilized. Sometimes, to the parishioner's surprise, latent talents surfaced in a variety of ways-painting a mural, assembling a collage, leading a retreat or simply greeting people with a radiant smile. Subconsciously, people vied with one another to serve God under this priest's directive.
His sermons were memorably simple and instructive, always sprinkled with an appealing sense of humor. The examples he used seemed to flow from an ever-flowing fountain.
Shortly after Father Gatlin's arrival at our parish, a parishioner kneeling in a front pew found the worn soles of the priest's shoes distracting while he knelt at the altar, leading a Holy Hour he had established. The parishioner felt urged to send him a cash donation, and, to test his sense of humor, included a brief note suggesting he have his shoes repaired at his earliest convenience.
The priest held his peace for a few days. Then early one Sunday morning, he saw the opportunity to strike back. Present with him as lay assistant for the Mass he was to celebrate were the donor of the cash gift and another parishioner. With child-like grin on his youthful thin face, the priest directed his sermon's opening remarks to the congregation, pretending to ignore the donor in the sanctuary with him, he beamed with uninhibited candor.
"Do you know what he did?" he asked the congregation, lifting his chin toward the donor. "He sent me some money and told me to get my shoes fixed." A spontaneous burst of laughter filled the church. "My mom was very embarrassed when I told her," he added in feigned discomfort.
As usual, the priest of the people had mastered the situation; the brunt of the joke had fallen on the perpetrator.
Like all other assistants in our church, in time Father Gatlin was taken from us to serve another parish. Unlike anyone else, his absence has been felt for all these years, and his spirit remains with us in a thousand ways.