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The faith of the huntsman: homily for the funeral of Gary Wenzel

The faith of the huntsman: homily for the funeral of Gary Wenzel

Last updated on: July 14, 2018 at 9:21 pm by Deacon Greg Kandra

The faith of the huntsman: homily for the funeral of Gary Wenzel 2018-07-14T21:21:11-04:00 Deacon Greg Kandra

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Last Saturday morning, my brother-in-law, Gary Wenzel, died suddenly after suffering a heart attack. He was 67. Gary was not Catholic, but he and my sister were married in a small country Catholic church—St. Michael’s, in Poplar Springs, Maryland — 29 years ago. My sister has been a parishioner there for many years, and so she asked the pastor, Father Mike Ruane—the same priest who had married them—to offer the funeral, a simple Catholic prayer service outside of a Mass. I had the privilege of preaching the homily, below.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.”

I know there are many troubled hearts here this morning.

I want to begin by expressing my condolences, my prayers and my love to my sister, Karen, and to Judy, Bruce, John and all of Gary’s family. I know many of you have come far to be here. It’s a great comfort to be surrounded by so many friends.

And it’s a comfort too, I think, to hear again these words of Jesus:

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.”

I know: On a morning like this, that’s easier said than done.

But I can’t think of anyone who followed that advice better than Gary.

I knew him for over 40 years—going back to horse shows, the Pony Club and Iron Bridge Hunt. I can’t remember a time when he was not a part of my life. I remember him when he had a full head of hair! I remember how he used to wear that beautiful green hunting jacket.

And I remember what a great storyteller he was, spending long nights into the wee hours of the morning regaling us with stories about the foibles of human nature. No one could make my sister laugh like he did. And what a blessing that was.

The thing is, I don’t remember a time when he was anxious or worried about anything. He would not let his heart be troubled.

Years ago, I heard that Garrison Keillor was going to be in New York for a reading and a book signing. Knowing how much Gary loved “Prairie Home Companion,” I went down to Barnes and Noble near Union Square to have Keillor sign one of his books. Hundreds of people had turned out, and we had to get in line to get his autograph. And when it got to be my turn, Garrison Keillor looked up at me and asked who the book was for. And I said: “It’s for Gary.”

And he looked at me over his eyeglasses and said, “Not Garrison?”

And I said no, just Gary.

He was always “just Gary.” No muss. No fuss. No frills.

In his heart, he was a country boy in jeans and boots and a polo shirt.

He hated attention and did everything he could to avoid it. He never wanted anyone to make a big deal over his birthday or any special occasion. He didn’t think he was all that special.

But every one of us here this morning knows differently.

He was.

Actually, Gary would probably be amazed at all the people here this morning.

He would certainly be surprised at the tremendous outpouring of love and prayer. Gary was not a man who liked to express his thoughts about either of those things, love or prayer.

But whether he realized it or not, he was loved.

He is loved.

And he is being prayed for.

Saturday, after I posted the news about Gary on Facebook, I heard from people all around the world, hundreds and hundreds of them—everyone from bartenders to bishops, priests and deacons, housewives and students…all offering their prayers for Gary, storming heaven with intercessions, remembering him at Masses, lighting candles for him. I know Karen experienced the same thing when she posted the news on her Facebook page.

He’s being well-prayed-for this week!

And that may be what would surprise him most of all.

After all, Gary was not anyone’s idea of a religious man. He grew up a quiet Methodist, like our mother. He was an usher at the Methodist church in Laurel where his aunt played the organ. But at some point, he just decided he didn’t need to go to church and didn’t want to.

We Catholics, of course, tend to be big church-goers.

But Gary wasn’t like that. Karen told me the other day: “I’d tell him I was going to church and he’d say ‘Why?’”

Gary just didn’t see the need for it.

But I believe he understood something a lot of us miss. He saw God in places most people don’t. Gary practiced his faith in another way, in another kind of church.

His was a church with a wide valley and rolling hills

Gary’s pew, his seat, was the saddle on the back of a horse.

The choir was a pack of hounds, raising their voices.

The incense was the mingled smell of autumn leaves and fresh-cut hay and saddle soap and manure and sweat.

And the sound that called him to worship wasn’t the bell in the steeple, but the clear cry of the huntsman’s horn.

This was Gary’s faith. His creed. His psalm. His canticle. He loved it, all of it, and he lived it.

A man who marvels at creation and loves God’s creatures cannot help but love the Creator.

I believe Gary saw God’s hand in all of it—something wondrous and sacred.

A huntsman named Stan Copeland from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, once wrote about foxhunting and faith. He made this beautiful connection to Christ, whom he called “The Divine Huntsman”:

“Our Divine Huntsman,” he wrote, “does for us what a true Sportsman-Hunter does for his special pack: He never leaves us nor forsakes us. The man would be no ‘Master of Hounds’ if he carelessly let a pup stray away from him, or simply rode away from the Pack and the Field, ‘leaving them to their own devices.’ Our Lord Jesus assured us, too: ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you…Behold, I am with you always.’ An earthly huntsman knows his animals by sight and by sound, whether near or far, and he always has their best interests at heart. Likewise, Jesus knows all those who are His. He knows our needs and our sorrows. He constantly cares for us. He carries us in His bosom when we are weak, weary, and wounded.”

Jesus did that for Gary. And he does it this morning for us.

He reassures us: do not let your hearts be troubled.

As much as we grieve today, our Christian faith tells us that this isn’t the end of the story. Death doesn’t have the last word. There is more.

And so my prayer this morning is that The Divine Huntsman is welcoming Gary back from his journey—back from the long ride across rolling hills, back from wading through creeks and jumping fences and clearing the obstacles of the fields — and the obstacles of life.

My prayer is that Gary has been welcomed back to a place of clear skies and still water, a place of peace and rest, where another hunt is planned for the next day — and the day after that, and the day after that.

That would be Gary’s heaven, his own “field of dreams.”

It’s a tradition at the start of the hunting season to have a Blessing of the Hounds. We’re a long way from hunting season, but this morning, I’d like to share the closing words of that blessing—words that offer us comfort and hope and words, I think, Gary held in his heart:

“Heavenly Father, in your love you sanctified all things by your word.

Grant mercy to us your servants and offer to us, our horses and our hounds, to all who share in this sport, your mercy.

In your love let us share in the spirit of love for each other so that the spirit of true sportsmanship may prevail among us.

And as we go, may the Lord bless us and keep us. May the Lord make His face to shine upon us. May the Lord lift up His countenance upon us and give us His peace.”

“Do not let your hearts be troubled,” Jesus said. “You know the way.”

I think Gary knew the way. He walked the way.

He lived the way. With gentleness and integrity, with generosity and joy.

And by God’s grace, he has found the way home.

After the funeral, the mourners walked across the road to the graveyard of the original church, where we then had the committal and final blessing.

photo: Bob Keller

In an age-old tradition, two huntsmen sounded their horns—the familiar call for the hounds to return home.

photo: Bob Keller

“Merciful Lord, you know the anguish of the sorrowful, you are attentive to the prayers of the humble. Hear your people who cry out to you in their need, and strengthen their hope in your lasting goodness. We ask this through Christ our Lord.” — Prayer Over the People, Rite of Committal

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him.

Rest in peace, brother. Rest in peace.

Photos by Bob Keller, Karen Kandra Wenzel and Deacon Greg Kandra

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