At my previous Parish, we had a beloved Monsignor. He was so good to everyone, and happy, and his Masses were beautiful. He had a great singing voice. He had homilies that were both accessible and scholarly. The parish was in a rural part of Georgia and every other denomination that was building a church were permitted to hold services in our large meeting hall. They were so gracious and grateful to him. I remember how Monsignor would often say to them "Oh dear brothers and sisters, I see you have with you a good Catholic book! (Meaning their Bibles)
He would then instruct them on translations and whatnot.
When he died, the State Police shut down the highway in front of the church in his honor, he had an honor guard of hundreds of bikers who were touched by his welcoming ways, 80 priests, and a choir made up of everyone who had ever sung in one of his choirs.
We had to have closed circuit television in the hall for the overflow. Funeral Mass was 2.5 hours. So many people wanted him to be buried near him that we created a special area in the Church graveyard and designated it for babies only, so he is surrounded by the babies and no one complains.
But what was at the heart of it all, was that he loved us and we, in turn loved him.
He loved the Eucharist. He deeply loved Our Lady. I recall he often recited the prayer “Lovely Lady Dressed in Blue” saying that his mother had taught it to him as a very small little boy. It was one of his fondest memories.
Cute story: one day, late int he afternoon, a man in a battered old pickup truck drove into the church parking lot with a truck full of statuary. Not Marian statues, not decorative pillars, but rabbits. RABBITS. Tall, skinny standing rabbits. It was all he had left, and no one wanted them. Monsignor invited him in, heard the story of the man’s children, sick wife, and newborn baby, and how he was trying to make a few bucks selling concrete. Monsignor said he’d buy some. The mad unloaded one. Monsignor said, no, I want more than one. It’s getting dark. Your wife will be worried, you’ve got to get back over the state line and home to the family. The man unloaded a second rabbit. Monsignor said, now son, hurry up and unload those rabbits! He bought them all, and gave him about $70 extra. The man cried. He said, Father, I’m not even Catholic! Monsignor said “You’re my brother in Christ and it’s my privilege to help you. It’s not like I’m getting something for nothing!”
So for years, we had oodles of those stone rabbits in the cemetery. Peeping out from behind monuments, and standing next to the Sacred Heart. Some thought it was silly, but it was a reminder of kindness and compassion. That was Monsignor Michael Reagan.
He was a fabulous confessor, and a great wit.
He is really missed. Many babies have been named Reagan in his memory.
