Father John's love welcomed them all

Father John's love welcomed them all

The Boston Herald

January 7, 1992

At the end of the dinner, after hundreds had approached him to shake his hand; after tears and hugs and dozens of "Thank yous" and "We'll miss yous" and "We love yous;" after speeches by colleagues and friends; after joyful applause and a standing ovation; after hearing himself described again and again as good and warm and selfless and kind, he stood at the microphone and looked out over the crowd and smiled and said: "I'm nothing special. It's all you people working together who've made me look good.

"I only pray I become something like the priest you good people have described," said the Rev. John Mahoney, pastor of The Family Parish of St. Martha's in Plainville for 18 years, to the crowd of 800 who had come to honor him.

He said more, of course. But it was this disclaimer that he had done nothing special, that he wasn't anything special, that stood out. What's the big fuss, he was asking? What have I done that everyone else hasn't?

They tried to tell him. The men and women, young and old, braved torrential rains Saturday night to say goodbye to a man who had married them and baptized their babies and supported and comforted and counseled and buried their loved ones for nearly two decades. All had a story to tell.

In whispers, away from the crowd, many talked about wanting to give back to him what he gave to them: unconditional love. Love shared grows, he had told them and it had. The proof was here, in this place, The King Philip Ballroom in Wrentham, filled to capacity with people of all professions and ages. The proof was here in the words every person spoke: "He's been good to us." "He's been like a father." "He's listened." "He's cared." "He's laughed with us." "He's cried." "He's made us a family."

Some of the family spoke publicly at this testimonial dinner and shared their love with everyone.

"Eleven years ago, when I was a very lost sheep, I never thought I'd find my way back to the flock," Arnie Casamenti, now head of the Parish Council said. He spoke about a day, when the world lay heavy on his shoulders, when he was outside painting. He heard a car stop across the street but didn't bother to turn around because he knew the car belonged to the priest who came to visit his sick neighbor every Sunday. Besides, he wasn't in the mood to even look at anyone. A while later he heard the priest walk out of the house, get in his car and drive down the street. Again, he didn't turn around. But then he heard the car stop, back up, the car door slam, and the priest's footsteps approaching.

"Hello, young man. I don't believe we have met. My name is Father John," the priest said.

It was only then that Arnie Casamenti turned around and looked into the priest's eyes.

"Those eyes said, `Come, follow me,' Casamenti said. And he has been following since.

So many have followed. The chairwoman of the Board of Selectmen, spoke about how "Father Dad" eased the pain of her father's death and made her sister's wedding a year later, a joyful occasion. The police chief talked about how 18 years ago when he only 32 and "didn't possess the inner strength" he needed to tell a mother that her 12-year-old son was dead, he telephoned Father John in the middle of the night. "He stood shoulder to shoulder with me," as he broke the news, the chief said.

It seems he has stood shoulder to shoulder with the entire town of Plainville.

He has served on the town's council on aging. He was chaplain to the police and fire departments. The Board of Selectmen has described him as a "loving, caring and compassionate friend and counselor to the entire Plainville community."

But he has been a friend not just to the important people, but to all. That's what every person said out loud and in whispers: that he is special because he treats everyone the same.

"He loves you and me no more than a stranger who might knock on his door some evening," Casamenti said. He doesn't hoard his love for just a chosen few. He doesn't dole it out carefully. He gives it away.

Like the fish and loaves that fed the multitude, this love has fed and strengthened a community. Today may be Fr. John Mahoney's last day to serve in Plainville. But it isn't his last day, really. For he will remain part of the church as long as the love continues to grow.

Like the fish and loaves that fed the multitude, his love has fed and strengthened a community. Today may be Fr. Mahoney's last day, but he will remain part of the church as long as the love grows.