The Father’s Love Through Fr. David: The Mystical and the Heroic

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“The Father’s Love Through Fr. David: The Mystical and the Heroic”
In thanksgiving for Fr. David’s priestly ministry and in honor of his priestly anniversary on this day, Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul, June 29.

What tenderness, what gentleness, in the Father whom St. Thérèse so confidently loved. She wrote as a child who would climb into her Father’s lap. She was blessed with a loving earthly father, and it was easy for her to see God the Father in this way.

St. Teresa of Avila wrote a series of beautiful and powerful meditations on the Our Father.

Mother Angelica’s path was different. She struggled to see God as Father because she did not grow up with an earthly father. Yet I believe the Lord more than compensated. She came to possess a profound trust in the Divine Providence, love, and care of God the Father.

She inspires me.

My own relationship with my earthly father has been challenging. Yet, like God the Father, he excelled in sacrifice and provision for his family. I am grateful for the ways he has been there for me, and I pray for him daily. He is elderly now, and likely it will not be long before he enters a nursing home.

Yet I still carry deep wounds from my upbringing. The Lord continues His healing work through prayer, therapy, the Sacraments, and spiritual disciplines. We are all broken people coming from broken families in one way or another. And often, the places where we have been wounded become the very places where God teaches us how to love others.

Daily mental prayer and frequent reception of the Sacraments have been among the greatest channels of healing in my life.

***

In prayer tonight, I reflected with great fondness upon the name “Father.”

Immediately, my thoughts turned to Fr. David.

My spiritual director.

My dear friend.

A spiritual father for many years.

I saw again his humility, his gentleness, and his love. I remembered the depths of prayer that flowed from him. Prayer so sincere, so recollected, that it seemed to rise from the very core of his being. Prayer formed through years of suffering, missionary labor, and intimacy with God. From aches and cries born of wrestling with the Lord through many years of missionary service.

At seventeen years of age, Fr. David lay for months in a hospital bed, vegetative, after a devastating car accident left him with severe brain injuries.

Yet God brought him back to life.

That crucible forged within him a heroic perseverance that would sustain him through seminary, the priesthood, missionary life, and countless battles yet to come.

Serving the poorest of the poor.

Serving souls whom many others would never meet.

As a young Franciscan missionary, he experienced what he later described as a call within a call.

A new mission.

A poor branch that would have to raise its own benefactors and trust deeply in Divine Providence.

While traveling through the mountains of Peru, he caught sight of a mysterious dirt path winding upward toward villages hidden high among the clouds. Something stirred within his heart. His founder gave him permission to serve these people.

***

The villages sat so high in the mountains that simply breathing could be difficult. Clean water was scarce. Usually, there was hardly any water at all. Few plants survived. Few animals. Life itself was a struggle.

Food was scarce high in the Andes. Travel between villages took months. Much of the time, his only nourishment was a single bouillon cube and a gulp of water. Little by little, his body became severely emaciated. Yet the Lord sustained him through this rugged mission.

Along narrow mountain paths he traveled by jeep or by an old donkey so thin he could count its bones.

During those long journeys, he even learned to fall asleep sitting upright on the donkey, traveling for hours between villages.

The roads were dangerous. People sometimes fell from the cliffs and lost their lives. Travel between villages could take months. Yet Fr. David loved these people.

He called them simply,

“My people.”

One dear friend in Peru in the city welcomed him every several months. There, he was grateful for a warm meal, a bath, a bed, and the comfort of friendly conversation.

The rest of the time, he often went for many months with very little to eat, without the comfort of a bed, or even the opportunity to bathe. Yet he embraced these hardships for the souls the Lord had entrusted to him.

He truly believed he would one day die there among them.

The poorest of the Peruvian poor.

But God had other plans.

For decades afterward, he would share the wisdom, experiences, and contemplative fruits of those years.

Through parish missions.

Through retreats.

Through spiritual direction.

Through friendships.

Through countless conversations with those who crossed his path.

At seminaries.

At retreat centers.

In parishes.

In everyday life.

From time to time, if he scraped up enough funds, he would return to the United States to visit his family and community.

He would often give a local parish mission, sharing stories from his years as a missionary, illustrated with camera slides from Peru and Brazil. The Holy Spirit so filled his preaching that people came from all around. The church would fill until there was standing room only.

The miraculous day the only seat left on an airplane had been reserved for a late arrival.

A prestigious man from Mexico.

By God’s grace, he found himself seated beside Fr. David. As they spoke, the man remarked that Fr. David was the first priest who had ever spoken to him as an equal. He was so moved by that simple kindness that he asked to make his Confession.

Before the flight was over, he was led into sacramental Confession. Fr. David later spoke of seeing decades of sin evidenced lifting from the man’s soul. The change was visible. The burden was gone. God had touched him with His mercy and healing grace.

Throughout his life, people were drawn to Fr. David. He spoke to everyone as an equal. There was never an air of superiority, despite the many gifts the Lord had entrusted to him. His humility was profound.

Wherever he went, he simply sought to love, to listen, and to help the person the Lord placed before him.

The time an elderly family friend, gravely ill in a hospital back home in the States, saw Fr. David visit her and pray over her. His prayers were answered. She recovered fully and returned home.

All while he never physically left Peru.

His mother was quite confused by the whole matter until she gradually came to understand the gift God had given him.

I could never fit all his stories onto these pages. But I caught glimpses of the depths of his heroic charity.

One story especially remains with me.

A young Peruvian boy named Deolindo (“God’s beautiful”) was suffering terribly from parasites. Fr. David cared for him with whatever medicine and supplies he could find. Even something as simple as his beloved Johnson’s cream became a gift of mercy.

One day, he held Deolindo in his arms as the boy lay dying.

Deolindo called him,

“Father.”

And through tears, Fr. David called him,

“My son.”

That memory never left him.

People in those villages often did not live beyond thirty years of age. The conditions were that difficult.

When Fr. David was eventually sent back to the United States, he was gravely ill.

Emaciated.

Barely one hundred pounds on a five-foot-ten frame.

Dying from an agonizing cancer in his vertebrae.

And he hadn’t bathed in months as often was the case.

Someone finally found him and brought him down from the mountains to a hospital. The doctors did not know what to do.

Praise God, a dear friend arranged for him to return home to the States.

Months followed in hospitals and recovery. His body had been pushed far beyond its limits.

Yet the deeper wounds were not always physical.

He carried memories.

Traumas.

Sorrows.

The nightmares of Dolindo dying in his arms.

The young boy with gangrene whose leg had to be amputated without anesthesia.

The baby he was forced to deliver and baptize with a water mixture because nothing else was available.

The dangerous times running down the mountains of Peru, trying to escape the gunfire of criminals.

Many men carried guns.

Fr. David carried the Chalice and Paten on his body, placing his trust not in weapons, but in Divine Providence.

The time in Brazil when government officials took him to jail for interrogation. And through prayer, he was led to walk out the doors invisibly in daylight.

Once again, the Lord and his devoted Guardian Angel “Fidelis” protected him through His Providence.

The early years in Brazil when he felt so alone, unable to speak the language, far from home and struggling to find his place. The loneliness weighed heavily upon him. There was no one with whom he could speak in his own language. No one to reminisce with about his beloved baseball team back home.

It was one more sacrifice the Lord asked of him as He prepared him for the mission ahead.

In that isolation, loneliness, and darkness, he often felt abandoned by God. Yet the Lord was quietly leading him through dark nights of purification, drawing him into a deeper union with Himself.

Years later, Fr. David would often remark that he never imagined a “crazy missionary” could become a contemplative.

When he returned home, Sr. Theresa recognized what God had been doing within his soul. She helped him discover the gift of contemplation. From that hidden work flowed a ministry of teaching Carmelite spirituality, contemplation, and holiness to the laity.

The years there when he was severely beaten night after night by seminarians who could not understand him and mistakenly believed he was a spy. The nights spent in that time crying out to God in chapel trying to make sense of suffering and rejection.

At various times throughout his life, Fr. David endured physical attacks from the enemy of souls. Perhaps it was because his faithful service to Christ and to souls made him a particular target of the enemy. Yet the Lord never abandoned him, but strengthened him through every trial.

The late night in Peru when a drunken feud swept through the town and he was beaten nearly beyond recognition. Bruised and battered, he dragged himself and crawled up the mountainside, high beneath the night sky.

There, in the darkness, he cried out to God in prayer.

And the Father gently consoled him.

Assuring him that He only wished him to experience something of what His Son endured while saving the world.

So many moments of Fr. David’s life became a sharing in the sufferings of Christ.

And also a sharing in His love.

The poor parish he served in Brazil.

The heartbreak of his beloved dog whose life was taken in unjust retaliation.

The misunderstandings.

The hardships.

The losses.

Over the years he endured a devastating car accident, repeated spinal meningitis, cancer, hepatitis, violence, physical attacks, gunfire, and severe psychiatric suffering from seizures near the end of life.

Many believe his life was a participation in Jesus’ Passion in saving the world.

All this, and still, he remained faithful.

Still, he loved.

Still, he prayed.

Still, he gave himself away.

This man of faith, this man of God, was deeply influenced by the holy example of his founder, a man known for extraordinary holiness and miracles.

Even for changing the course of a river!

Yet what impressed me most was not miracles.

It was love.

***

Fr. David came from a devout family. They were people of virtue. Hard work. Prayer. Sacrifice. And the daily Rosary.

Many sensed, even from his youth, that God had set him apart. The religious sisters at his school noticed, and one teacher remarked that he seemed different, believing he might one day be called to the priesthood.

Yet the call did not become clear in his own heart until his young adult years. He was serious about marriage, when the Lord began a quiet, interior struggle that lasted a whole year.

Finally, God made it known that he would find true peace and lasting happiness only by following His will.

Like every wise soul who surrenders to Divine Love, he finally said yes.

Perhaps because of this, he was prepared for the suffering that would come.

At seventeen years old, he suffered a terrible automobile accident.

The injuries were severe.

His brain and face were severely injured.

His optic nerve severed.

Vision lost in one eye.

Many believed his future was over. Some thought he would never recover.

But God had other plans.

He recovered.

Worked on a highway crew.

He attended a Dominican college.

Entered seminary.

Became a priest.

Yet the road to the priesthood would bring many more trials. Even in the seminaries, the Lord was preparing him for the heroic life ahead. He endured misunderstandings, hostility, food that was scarcely edible, and the challenge of leaving home for Brazil without knowing a single word of Portuguese.

Years were spent learning new languages, adapting to unfamiliar cultures, governments, enduring fleas in his bedding, and even escaping a dormitory engulfed in flames.

He battled much.

He lost much.

Yet the Lord met him in his deepest sorrows, using every trial to prepare him for the mission that lay ahead.

And eventually served in Brazil and Peru for fifteen years.

Grace often accomplished what nature alone could not.

Though completely blind in one eye, the Lord taught him to ride donkeys, horses, and to drive vehicles.

Again and again, God proved Himself greater than every limitation.

He beat the odds because grace does that.

***

As I reflect upon my own father wound, I remember how Fr. David rescued me from many spiritual attacks that sought to pull me away from my Carmelite vocation.

He was and remains a steady force in my life.

More than anything, he became a healing balm.

One memory especially stands out to me.

He was always there for me in a fatherly way.

One winter evening, I found myself stranded at the hospital with a slight concussion, a black eye, and no way home. It was dark, and a light snow was falling. I called him, and without hesitation he drove down to bring me home.

Many times, he was only a phone call away, checking in, offering encouragement, or simply making sure I was doing alright. Through countless acts of kindness and care, he reflected something of the Father’s love to me.

In gratitude for the saving grace he was in my life, I sought to be a loving instrument of the Lord, anticipating his needs in little ways and big ways. It was my joy to be there for him, though never able to outdo him!

And it was a great sorrow when this precious season passed away.

Memories still surface, and tears still fall, yet gratitude remains, for he forever holds a precious place in my heart.

His tender love.

His gentleness.

His patience.

His faithful service through the Sacraments.

Private Masses.

Monthly Anointing of the Sick during seasons of severe illness.

Regular Confession.

Spiritual direction.

I will forever be grateful for the gentle care with which he received my whole-life confession. In his loving, patient, and nonjudgmental way, he allowed me to unburden the sins and wounds of many years, gradually, over the course of several weeks.

Not because they could not be forgiven at once, but because the Lord was bringing deeper healing, greater peace, and reconciliation with my past.

No one else could have guided me through that journey with such gentleness and my heart in such peace.

I remain profoundly grateful for this very special priest and dear soul.

Surely, the Lord holds him very close to His Heart.

Through all of these, he helped me see Christ more clearly. He helped me know Christ’s love more personally. He helped me tangibly experience the mercy, compassion, and gaze of the Father.

As the writing charism blossomed, Fr. David became my greatest cheerleader. He encouraged me to keep writing and gave me the freedom to flourish in a blogging ministry to souls in need.

Through his heart, and through the heart of Sr. Theresa as well, I learned what profound contrition looked like.

And sounded like.

He would apologize for the smallest things as though they were matters of great importance. Such was the sincerity of his heart.

The heart of a father and a friend.

It was something I had not often known growing up. I came from a past that was afraid of men. At times, I would leave a room if someone reminded me of painful memories.

Fr. David became one of God’s instruments for healing those deep wounds.

When I write about the love of Jesus, or the love of the Father, I write from love experienced.

The Father has been so compassionate to me that He sent Fr. David into my life for seventeen years.

I will never forget the heroism.

The gentleness.

The mercy.

The sacrifices.

The prayerfulness.

The selflessness.

He lived his vow of poverty with remarkable simplicity. Even after his missionary years, while living with his community back home, he would willingly forgo numbing shots during dental work, content to spare cost and to embrace even small sufferings for the love of Christ.

The smile.

The twinkle in his eye.

The contemplative manner in which he celebrated Mass.

Especially during the Consecration.

The readings.

The homily.

I will never forget the depth of his preaching.

Simple.

Clear.

Prayerful.

Heartfelt.

Encouraging.

Yet filled with profound wisdom.

He had a deep love for the Holy Eucharist and often exhorted others to love Him more. Once, during a parish homily, he spoke of watching people enter the church while passing the Tabernacle without so much as a glance toward Our Lord.

Then he asked in a homily,

“If this is how you treat Jesus on earth,

how will you treat Him

when you meet Him

face to face?”

His words struck many hearts and led to a renewed reverence for Jesus in the Holy Eucharist.

He was so sensitive to the movements of grace. Often in spiritual direction or Confession, he would speak under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. If I later asked him to repeat what he had said, he would simply smile and reply,

“That was the Holy Spirit.

I don’t know what I said.”

It was a beautiful reminder that he desired to be only a humble instrument in the Lord’s hands.

So often Fr. David would sum up what his whole life rested upon. He would gently cup his hands together and say,

“We are in good hands…

in God’s hands.”

Simple words—yet they carried the quiet confidence of a man who had spent a lifetime entrusting everything to Divine Providence.

Holiness radiated through every part of his life.

I will always treasure those moments in the nursing home, squeezing his hand, never wanting to lose him. Wanting to treasure his loving presence a little longer, a precious gift to my life.

So often he longed for Heaven and would ask God why He had not yet taken him home.

In his latter years, he also endured a season of distressing doubts concerning the Holy Eucharist. Yet even there, the Lord did not leave him without consolation. He recounted a heavenly visit from St. Carlo Acutis, whose words brought him great encouragement and renewed peace.

During past near-death experiences, he heard the Lord say:

“I love you,

and I accept you

as you are.”

Words that brought him great comfort and calmed his fears.

Now in old age, amid the aches, limitations, weaknesses, brokenness, and great longing, he would often remember a dream his friend Sr. Theresa had received years before. In it, she was given the assurance that God would take him home when he was holy (and so we hope).

It brought him comfort.

And greater fortitude to carry his crosses with love for God.

Many may remember him for infused contemplation.

For profound wisdom.

For healing.

For bilocation.

For speaking six languages.

For reading hearts:

Sensing who is in grace

and who is in sin.

For heroic suffering.

Or heroic virtue.

But I remember him most for his love.

Many see Fr. David’s life as a remarkable example of white martyrdom. His years of missionary poverty, hunger, illness, loneliness, dark nights of the soul, persecution, physical attacks, and persevering love without seeking recognition all reflect that tradition of daily self-offering to Christ. Only God knows the full holiness of the soul, but the life he lived can inspire us all to take up our crosses and follow in persevering love for Jesus.

***

God of all loveliness, how beautiful You are.

How beautiful the reflections of Your Fatherhood You place within our lives.

How precious these fathers, priests, mentors, and spiritual guides are to us.

Thank You for every soul through whom You reveal Your tenderness, Your mercy, and Your care.

May You be honored and praised always for Your goodness to us.

Amen.

“My vocation is love.” – St. Thérèse of Lisieux

Kindly remember Fr. David in your daily prayers. He would often remind us not to forget to pray for him.

May we pray for him, as he prays for us.

--Lindsey at AdoreHim.com