A Searching Soul

My friend Matt died last Friday. Throughout his career, he was a brilliant researcher at Wright Patt AFB, and a self-proclaimed atheist who nevertheless met with believers regularly to wrestle with the concept of a religious faith. I came to know Matt about ten months ago when he attended Awakening Faith, here in our parish. This was a program for those who felt estranged from Catholicism but were looking for a way back. Matt was not one of these people, but he had a daughter who was Catholic, and she wrenched a promise from him that he would participate, even after she returned home to New York. (Matt once told me, “I raised both of my daughters to be atheists, then this one became Catholic a few years ago. I don’t know where I went wrong.”) So Matt did indeed keep his promise and attended the six sessions, enchanting each of us with his stories and the depth of his search for meaning. He shamed us Catholics by quoting scripture and giving us extended scholarship on certain biblical passages. Even as we felt that he was so close to accepting Christ into his life, in the end, these sessions did not challenge his position. For the following months, until shortly before his death, we would email and continue to exchange ideas. His thoughts were very cerebral, while my ideas came from a passionate faith coupled with experience. He was diagnosed with cancer about six weeks ago and his decline was rapid. I saw him last Monday as he lay in the hospital, telling me, with short, gasping breaths, that he just wanted to dissolve. But here’s the thing- his daughter sat at his bedside two days before his death and quietly recited the Hail Mary for her own comfort, and as she looked down at her dad, his lips were moving in recitation with her. And a few hours before his death, his daughter opened her bible and read the Beatitudes to him (the Sermon on the Mount was a favorite of Matt) and looked at his face, discovering there a tear in his eye. When I received notice of his death, my heart ached even as a half smile crossed my lips and the words, “See Matt? We told you so,” were repeated in my mind. Rest now, my friend, in the joy and love and compassionate embrace of our magnanimous God. Matthew Kabrisky: 1930 – 2011.