It’s still to raw for me to form a coherent remembrance of this good man that I loved. But for now, I’d like to offer memories of him that keep bubbling to the surface.
I remember one night at some parish banquet or event, I think it was a new years eve party. A waltz started playing. He went and got Khouriya Anne and they danced. They were both excellent dancers, I remember being surprised. What didn’t surprise me was the look of deep and abiding love that passed between them.
I remember Father James’ gift for story telling. He always had a story about something. He could make the phone book interesting. It never really mattered that the stories were often embellished, because we all knew it. What mattered was the good humor and love and joy behind them.
I remember sitting down with Father James and a bottle of good Scotch (NEVER the cheap stuff) and convincing him to teach me to swear (but not blaspheme) in gaelic. I also remember the hangover I had and he didn’t. Unfortunately I didn’t remember the gaelic.
I remember him spending a lot of time with me after I first became Orthodox. Weekly he had me over for lunch, always by his own hand cooking me a meal. It was always on a Tuesday or a Thursday so we could have meat outside of Lent. We usually had a steak, vegetables and a bottle of wine. During those times, in many ways, he became the father I wished I had.
I remember one year when Easter fell on the same weekend as Pascha. Some non-orthodox couple had decided that they’d do “Easter” at St. Elias because we had the latest service, not realizing our Resurrection Service was the night before and this was the Agape Vespers. So they showed up in all their finery, and here was the choir and most of the parishioners in shorts and jeans. And at the altar was Father James, in his cassock with black shoes and socks on, and his pasty white scottish legs sticking out, since he had black shorts and his collar shirt on underneath. I remember Father James rushing out to explain to them, while the rest of us tried not to laugh.
I remember the mentor who tried to teach me wisdom, both by word and example. I remember the careful and cunning thinker that he was, who brought home to me in his own person why God so loved Jacob because of his guile, not in spite of it.
I was his secretary for a couple of years. Even after I stopped being paid by St. Elias, I was still running errands and doing things for Father James. You just couldn’t quit the man. I am pretty sure that’s one of the reasons he convinced Archbishop Michael of blessed memory to make me a subdeacon, was so he’d always have me available to run errands. I never really minded.
As his secretary, I saw and heard things he expected me to keep in confidence and I always did. But that gave me some unique insights into Father James and his sacrices. He sacrificed so much of himself for his parish, much of which they never knew. Those stories I’ll not share here. Partly because they might open old wounds, but mostly because he wouldn’t have wanted me to. He bore those sacrifices and those wounds, not always gladly, but obediently and prayerfully. No better model of obedience and perseverence could ever be put before any young man.
I remember how unflappable he was. During our wedding ceremony, a huge storm was raging outside. During the reading of the wedding Gospel, the lights went out. Father James did not miss a single beat, he simple dropped the Gospel Book down a few inches so he could read it by the light of our candles and went on. And during the sermon, he used a particularly convenient thunderbolt to claim divine approval of the style of Orthodox marriage liturgies.
I remember how stoic and compassionate he was when we had to do a funeral for an infant killed in a car accident, because the mother had been holding it on her lap.
Most of all, I remember how much he affected me, how I wouldn’t be who I am today without him, how much I love him, how sad I am to know that he is gone from us, for a time. Father James Kenna was like a force of nature, a bit of a divine tsunami blowing through all our lives, leaving change, growth, and in the end, Joy in his wake.
Very Reverend Archpriest James Duncan Kenna, 1934-2009. Memory Eternal!
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