Bishop D’Arcy remembers
the life of a priest-friend
The going home of a dear friend
You always heard Father Ed Sviokla before you saw him: “D’Arcy, what’s happening?” he would say. His parents were born in Lithuania, and he was born in Brockton, Mass., a city where they manufactured shoes. There were lots of people from Lithuania in New England: strong in the Catholic faith, hardworking, a tribe that has known suffering. Ed was one of them. A mutual friend said to me about him recently, and it was true; he was very manly. He was always proud of the fact that he had played center field at Braves’ field, where the Boston Braves played before moving to Milwaukee and Atlanta. He was a baseball player in the CYO leagues and had been chosen because of his prowess to play in a game on a major league field. He never forgot it. He was a priest to the core and wanted you to know it.
For nearly 20 years, he came to a Notre Dame Football game along with other priest friends. He loved it and cherished several meetings with Lou Holtz. Talking a little football, but mostly talking about life; and the joys and sorrows that are part of it.
Every year, after attending a game and of course tailgating, we would return to the small chapel in downtown South Bend and have Mass with Father Sviokla, Father Jim Canniff, and Father Charlie Murphy and others, a simple Mass. Sometimes others would come, like Dee Dee and Mike Dahm; and Shirley and Paul Vorndran. They thought it was the best part of the day. There would always be a little prayer that God would allow us to be here one year hence; and so we were, year after year.
Finally, the big fella could come no more as his health began to decline, but he set out every weekend from Regina Cleri, the residence for priests in Boston, to offer Mass in a parish for a priest friend of his who was a pastor; “John, they can never take my priesthood away from me” he told me one time. He really loved being a priest, but loved life and joy and brother priests, and playing golf in Georgia in the winter. Finally, he could come no more. Then the word came some weeks ago that he had a stroke and they found him on the floor of his room. Rushed to Massachusetts General Hospital, he only lived a few days.
They buried Ed Sviokla at Immaculate Conception Parish, Everett. Everett is a gritty, industrial town north of Boston where football is the major sport in the high school; and hard work is part of the fabric. It’s an immigrant town: Italians mostly, but Irish and Franco-Americans as well. Ed served there with affection and love, as he had served earlier among poor people in St. Patrick’s, Roxbury. But I will remember him at Notre Dame, concelebrating in the small chapel downtown, praying at the grotto and concelebrating also at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart, where he was always overwhelmed with the number of young people at Mass crowding the aisles in the back of the church. He is one on the growing list that I shall very much look forward to see in heaven.
Safe home, dear Ed, safe home. May the angels lead you into paradise and may the martyrs receive you at your coming.
I’m off to my home town to visit my dear family and some priests — a chance to rest and a few nights at Fenway Park. See you soon. |
