My Mom died three years ago today. I originally wrote this article just before the first anniversary of her death. Today, it’s apropos to reprint it because the anniversary of her death falls on Good Friday. I reprint it here on Substack from my original site.>Last week, some friends offered to pay my way to Chicago and back to see Mass of the Ages 3 (henceforth, MOTA 3). I was featured in episode one and two, but not three, so I didn’t have a lot of reasons to come out. But a free flight and seeing friends who would be attending the premier sounded like it might be worth it. Besides the fact we all had a great trip, the movie was excellent. (There were a few caveats to this, like how the movie got wrong a major-premise to the current state of papacy, but that is not the point of this article.) What I didn’t expect is that the flick turned out to be an unexpected jaunt through the life of my own mother and what it means to be the mother of a priest.>

My mother (top right) grew up on the South Side of Chicago. Her four grandparents came from Ireland to Chicago and she grew up around her immediate and extended family. The first coincidence (or God-incidence) of MOTA 3was that I flew to Chicago to see it. As a few of you may remember, my family is coming up on the first [now third] anniversary of my mother’s death (3 Apr 2023.) Being in Chicago last week was both more difficult and more rewarding as I took so many unexpected strolls down memory lane. It seems so many of the people I love (including my own mother, my grandparents, my great-aunt, an uncle, my mother’s cousin, etc.) from the Chicagoland area have died. What does one do with such memories except pray for the faithful departed?

Originally published in Padre Peregrino. Read original article