Eulogy for Jean Peters Pilch

preached by her husband, John, at:

Immaculate Conception Church, Fort Smith, AR - April 19, 1997

Copley Crypt Chapel, Georgetown University, Washington, DC - April 28, 1997

St. Matthew Church, Baltimore, MD - May 3, 1997
 
 
 

Readings:

Song of Solomon (Canticle of Canticles) 2:8-13

Romans 10:9-15

Luke 9:1-6

    Because I had to teach the next day, I was unable to attend the funeral. When Jacques returned he said Big George was very impressive. He greeted everyone in church, and at the grave side encouraged all to carry on, to continue with life, as he would.

    A short while ago, Jean, my wife and partner died after a three year battle against ovarian cancer. You see before you today only half the partnership. Perhaps with my comments I may be able to help you to know my partner better and to rejoice with me in the memories I cherish.
 

The Scripture

    The reading from the Canticle of Canticles was very special for me and Jean. The Hebrew inscription on our wedding bands (ani le dodi ve dodi li) is the text of Canticle 6:3: "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine." This was also the first reading at our wedding on September 20, 1975, and the theme of our nuptial liturgy.

    As a graduate student, I learned that the ancient manuscript discovered on Mount Sinai (Sinaiticus) had marginal notations by the Canticle indicating that it should be read aloud by a man (groom) and woman (bride) and a chorus. Later as a teacher, I discovered that all students of all times seemed to complain about having to learn scientific methods for interpreting the Bible, or memorize important dates in ancient history. I never yielded, but on the last day of class each semester, I would read this entire Canticle with one of the female students to demonstrate that only with appropriate background could one read this book of the Bible with proper appreciation. Jean was my first -- and then became my life-long -- reading partner.

    We also discovered that by playing Smetana's tone poem, The Moldau, in the background, and reading this poem aloud in a good tempo, the imagery Smetana intended to evoke with his music coincided with the verses of the poem. His hunt scene would sound when we read "Catch us the little foxes." His wedding polka resonates with the erotic sections of the poem. God's name is nowhere mentioned in this book of the Bible. It is a hymn to human love: vibrant, passionate, deep. But everyone knows that the raging flames of human love are but faint glimmers of God's love for us. What greater joys await us at the eternal banquet table. And Jean already has her place there.

    I will admit that I have accommodated the second reading a little. Paul reflects on Isaiah's comment: "How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who announce the good news." Jean was a beautiful person, who had beautiful legs, and loved shoes. She enjoyed wearing high heels and was disappointed when a foot problem forced her to begin wearing much lower heels.

    But beyond the accommodation, Father O'Donnell is right. Jean was an evangelizer. She loved the good news, and she knew it well. She was able to communicate it in simple terms with infectious delight. The sight of her entering a room to conduct a seminar or workshop, or approaching the podium to address a national conference brought joy to all who saw her even before they heard her message. Her words made the good news come alive in the hearts of her audience so that indeed they could say their hearts were burning within as she reflected on the Scriptures with them.

    In 1987, she created Kerygma Resources, an umbrella under which she wrote books and articles, conducted workshops, produced videos and television programs, and many more things. She conceived her logo (an angel) which Father Ed Hays, of the Kansas City, KS. Archdiocese, America's premier theological story-teller and artist, and our friend, drew for her stationery and business cards.

    The gospel reading is of course very familiar. Everyone knows how Jesus sent out the twelve he selected to teach and heal the people, to enlighten them and to restore or bring new meaning to their lives. Perhaps we don't reflect sufficiently often on Jesus' caution. If people receive you, well and good. But if they don't receive you, shake the dust off your feet and be off. It's a matter of life and death because without the protection of Middle Eastern hospitality, the harbinger of good news might be killed, even by people who think they are doing God a favor!

    In the recent history of the church (at the turn of this century), a very dark period developed. It was called Modernism, and Church leaders were seeking out, punishing, and even silencing scholars for sharing new insights about Jesus with all who would listen. One of these scholars, the Dominican priest Hugo Clerissac, wrote a poignant sentence: "It is easy to suffer for the Church. The difficult thing it to suffer at the hands of the Church." It was significant for Jean. I have found it written in at least five places in her notes and journals.

    Nowadays, we understand Church in at least two ways: the institution, and the People of God. Jean suffered at the hands of both. She was utterly ecstatic to achieve a life-long ambition as a religious educator and work in an Archdiocesan Office of Religious Education. Within the next ten years, she was devastated to become a victim of a "reduction in force," or a "restructuring" process within two large Archdiocesan Offices of Religious Education, which enjoy a reputation for championing the role of women in the Church. The majority of those who lost positions were women. With ten published books to her credit, over fifty published articles and reviews, and a more than twenty-five page resume of achievements, she could never understand how her position could simply disappear from an organizational flow chart. After the second experience, as she explored opportunities in other Archdiocesan offices around the country, it was incredible how many cautioned that they, too, were soon to be "restructured."

    The ordinary People of God sometimes were equally cruel. She served as director of religious education in one parish for five years. The first two years were superb as she was assisted by an able staff and a responsible, lay, parish religious education board of directors. Then two parishioners "got religion." A dentist and his friend decided they knew more than anyone else about how to teach children to know and love Jesus. They knew more than the Pope, more than the Archbishop, more than the pastor, and definitely more than the women involved in religious education in the parish. Jean suffered heavily in the next years. She left the parish disappointed that it had become so splintered. Eventually the dentist and his friend withdrew from leading the opposition. Their marriages failed, and they married each other's wives.

    Through all her suffering, Jean kept an even keel, even though specialists would very likely agree that such experiences took a heavy toll on her health.
 

Preparing an Evangelizer

The Peters Family

    The family was in business and traveled a good deal. She saw most of the United States as a youngster and developed a keen interest in American history, the West, and cowboys. She loved animals, and they were always part of the household.

    Another precious gift the family gave her was training in music: tap dancing to overcome shyness, and piano lessons. She appreciated both and made good progress. At the age of 13, she competed for and won a position as organist at Immaculate Conception, her home parish in Fort Smith. She took pride in her abilities and enjoyed this service to the Church at such a tender age.
 

The Benedictine Family

    The convent directed her into the educational ministry, first at the elementary level, but then into music. At one time she was the Director of the Benedictine School of Music in Amarillo, TX. She always laughed at the memory of having to play the organ at her own investiture or vows (I have them confused). And she relished the fact that the Sisters could tell by her touch when she was the one from the team of musicians who was playing for a given occasion.

    Then in the 1960's Jean's life changed dramatically. a friend invited her to attend a meeting in Kansas City, where Father Johannes Hofinger was speaking. He was a world-famous Jesuit priest who had developed new approaches to catechetics during his ministry in the Philippine Islands. He called his approach "kerygmatic," emphasizing the Good News of Christianity. To the dismay of many, Jean switched her undergraduate major from piano/organ, to religion. No, she never entirely abandoned music. Jean maintained her performing skills and sometimes substituted for the organist at parishes where she was the DRE. She also played the organ at other times, and in these last years, accompanied me as I learned songs for the Florentine Opera (Milwaukee), or the Baltimore Symphony Chorus, or for my voice recital.

    When Jean became enthusiastic about something, her eyes danced. I coined this phrase, because her eyes were always a give-a-way about her feelings. I imagine Hofinger made her eyes dance with his new approaches to teaching religion. I saw those dancing eyes often during our life together. During her illness when she didn't feel well, I'd say: "Come on, Jean, let's see the dancing eyes. We want to see dancing eyes, honey!" When she died, her mother and I stayed with her for a few hours. Here beautiful eyes were open, and I thought if I could perhaps snap my fingers or tell a joke, they'd start dancing again. But I knew better. Her eyes were already dancing in heaven at the sight of Jesus, with the experience of the fullness of God's love. And never again will they stop dancing.

    Jean earned her BA degree in a religion (with a minor in piano/organ) at Mount St. Scholastica College, Atchison, Kansas (where we met in 1969 when I taught the integrating seminar for religion majors, and Jean was one of the students).

    Communities of women (like men), can be as disempowering as they are empowering. A significant figure once told her not to worry about gaining a Master's degree, because she'd probably never need one. She didn't think Jean could earn one. Well, never say "never" to Jean. The year after she completed her BA degree, she enrolled in a program at Seattle University. For four consecutive summers, Jean drove from Illinois to Washington State, to study for the Master's of Religious Education degree. She paid for her graduate education with her own funds. One of my graduate school classmates, Jesuit Father John Topel directed the program at that time and was pleased with Jean's work. She beamed at her graduation, and I was thrilled to attend. She always wanted to show the degree to the woman who told her she'd never get one, but Jean was too diplomatic for that.
 

The Peters-Pilch Family

    The biggest challenge came our way in 1977, when our roles were reversed. Affirmative action in endless variations had prevented me from obtaining a tenure track teaching position when I completed my doctoral degree in 1972. The non-teaching, federally funded job I did have disappeared in 1977. I became the house-husband; she became the bread-winner. She met this challenge magnificently from 1977 until 1994, when her cancer was discovered, and a teaching opportunity opened for me at Georgetown University. I could repay her loving support at least in a small way during her illness.

    Religious Education is not the best way to be a breadwinner, but she did remarkably well at many levels. The parish in Milwaukee was headed by an eccentric pastor, but she nurtured the religion program to a high degree of proficiency. She was active and took a leadership position in the Archdiocesan organization of Religious Educators (MAREDA). At the state level in 1981, she was a member of the committee that planned and helped launch a state-wide organization of Directors of Religious Education for Wisconsin (WDREF), the first such organization in the United States. And at the national level, she was not only active in national organizations but was also a finalist for positions with the National Conference of Catholic Bishops, and the National Catholic Education Association, both in Washington, DC.

    At the same time, she continued her long association with Sadlier Publishers ultimately writing or contributing to ten books. She also wrote more than 50 articles for publications such as The Catechist Connection, PACE, National Catholic Reporter, and Celebration. In these last years she wrote cultural insights on the gospels for a publication intended for Young Adults. The first two of the four volumes to which she contributed will appear in the summer, 1997.

    On the personal level, we were a complementary, compatible couple. I'm from Brooklyn, NY, she is from Fort Smith, AR. I'm a Yankee; she, a rebel. I love sauces and mushy type foods; she preferred crunchy, crispy things. I'm an ethnic person, with Polish culture oozing out of every pore; she was true-blue Americana, with roots in New York and the Indian territory of Oklahoma. I belonged to the Franciscan tradition (only about 800 years old), while she came from the Benedictine tradition (more than 1,500 years old). The Franciscan tradition so rooted in the Bible, and the Benedictine tradition so rooted in the liturgy were a perfect match. She never let me forget that it was the Benedictines who gave Francis of Assisi his first church, St. Mary of the Angels (Porziuncola)! On the Meyers-Briggs scale, I am an ENFJ, and Jean was an ESTP, though in a recent testing she appeared to have moved closer to the Introvert side away from the Extrovert. Nevertheless, we blended our families, our lives, our spiritualities, our cuisines, our musical interests, everything fit together well. We enriched each other's lives and became better persons for our partnership. Though a man can't get ovarian cancer, we battled her disease as a team.

    In the last four years of her life, Jean joined a new family: Maryland New Directions, Inc. Her executive director and co-workers were loving and supporting especially when the disease struck. Jean worked even through her chemo treatments until a few weeks before she died. When I was unable, her executive director and co-workers took turns driving her for treatments, looking in on her at home. We never had such an experience of "church" before.
 

The Disease

    On the way back home, the immigration officer asked why our departure date had been changed. Jean explained that she had to return for another chemo treatment. The officer came around the podium and asked Jean: "What kind?" Jean said: "Ovarian." She said: "I have it too, but I'm frightened of surgery, and I get sick whenever we go to the hospital. The surgery has been postponed three times. I asked my husband to trick me so I wouldn't know." Jean, ever the evangelist, immediately began to exhort her to act on it, because modern science can help.

    In 1995, resistant cancer cells reappeared in the chest area attacking the right lung. She took another round of chemo treatments, and when the series ended in early July, we went on vacation. We drove up to Watkins Glen on Seneca Lake in New York to see the boarding high school I attended. We stayed at Castle Grisch owned by Tom Malina, a family friend and former school mate. We hiked the mile and a half "Grand Canyon of the East" (the gorge) at Watkins Glen, and a few days later, hiked a mile to and from Taughannock Falls in Ithaca, NY. She continued in relatively robust health.

    My Aunt Maryann Pilch died in August, 1995. My Father died in October, 1995. My younger brother died in March, 1996, and Jean still looked robust at his funeral. We planned to attend the celebration of the 100th anniversary of the founding of Our Lady of Czestochowa, my home parish and school in Brooklyn, NY, in late May. In early May she didn't feel well, and after the chemo treatment just prior to the anniversary week-end, she decided not to travel with me to New York. I cut my visit short when I called and she asked me to come home that evening.

    Events that week were shocking. The oncologist said her cat scan showed marked worsening in the lungs. Administering chemo would only delay the inevitable. He ordered oxygen for the home and registered her for the hospice. We turned to our prayer partners, family and friends, and test results indicated the chemo was still working! By mid-August, she had turned a corner again. That cat scan showed improvement over the previous one. So we began a new, experimental chemo treatment. Sister Death would have to wait.

    This new treatment was administered every six weeks, but appeared to have worse side effects than any chemo we had experienced since then. They showed up on the skin of the body: first the torso, then the legs, the feet, and finally the hands. Skin peeled continually. In November, 1996, she developed an implacable, dry, hacking cough. Nothing helped. Sometimes she'd cough for an hour before she could stop. She could only sleep in a sitting position. In January, 1997, we learned that the right lung had become so completely scarred, it was useless. The cells then moved on to gradually wear down the left lung. Cell activity would cause fluid to gather in the pleura. This would have to be drained every four weeks or so, but the volume began to increase to nearly 2 liters every four weeks.

    The end came quickly, thanks be to God. Friday April 11th was her last good day, with dancing eyes once more! Saturday, Dr. Minford raised the morphine level because she was feeling some pain. Sunday she went into a deep coma, and Monday morning, April 14th, around 4:30 am, she breathed her last, quietly, and peacefully.

    In recent years, the Baltimore Symphony Chorus provided me with a stipend to take voice lessons. Jean helped me learn my music. She listened to me rehearse and study while she rested in bed, and would give her "notes" when I came to bed. My recital on February 28th was the first that she ever missed. For the next recital on June 8, my teacher suggested a Jerome Kern melody from Roberta for me: "The touch of your hand."
 

I had hoped that our way would end,

Where the sky and blue horizon blend.

Yet, we've both walked our one last mile,

It's good-bye, for a while.

When you shall see flowers that lie on the plain,

Lying there sighing for one touch of rain.

Then you may borrow,

Some glimpse of my sorrow,

And you'll understand

How I long for the touch of your hand.
 

    The last chemo treatments ravaged her once beautiful, soft hands, with long, slender fingers. Those hands that could work magic in graphics and print with a computer keyboard and a mouse were now peeling. Those hands that could bring Chopin melodies to life for me on the piano keyboard or give Bach his due at the organ keyboard, were now swollen.

    In the last days of her life, her mother and I took turns at either side of the bed, holding and caressing her hands. She had always had cold extremities, so I resolved not to let go but keep her hands warm as long as I could. In our theology, we believe that the human soul once created is never without a body. As Jean was preparing to leave behind her mortal body which had held cancer at bay for three years but gradually got beat up in the process from the chemo treatments, she was already being invested with her new body.

    Our ancestors in the Faith believed that death was a year-long process. It would take this long for the flesh to rot and leave clean bones. They buried people with a spindle or an ink-well. God would use the spindle to weave new flesh or the inkwell to draw a new body for these bones. Jean is already enjoying her transformed, risen body, which will never again experience a dread disease like cancer.

    Jean, when God is ready for me to join you, I hope he sends you to call me. Stretch out your hand to me, Jean, the hand of your transformed, risen, body and take me with you to be with God, happy together forever at the eternal banquet. Jean, I will never forget the touch of your hand, and I wait patiently and longingly to feel it again in the world to come.

Copyright, 1997, Dr. John J. Pilch