Harry Fenner
Oct. 15, 2003
As we lined up to leave the Fenner house this morning, Susan said, “Wagons, Ho!” And I thought to myself, “How appropriate a saying for a man who was always on the move.” He kept moving forward whether it was in his car, or more recently in a wheelchair or a scooter. For many months he rode his scooter to Sunday morning mass. Dad kept going despite many obstacles.
In 1938, as a teenager he was asked to guard Northridge’s Furniture Co. during a hurricane. He watched as the wind tossed beer bottles off the next-door roof at Coney Island. Then he saw the roofs and the porches of the houses across the street fly by the store windows.
During WWII he faced many life-threatening battles in Leyte, Saipan and Tinian; hoping to get back to his new wife, Claire, whom he had married against the advice of their relatives. Everyone had been worried that if they married, she would become a war widow with a new baby. But God had reassured them and they had also promised to name their first daughter, Therese, in thanksgiving for his safe return. So he had gone forward into the South Pacific as a married soldier.
I can personally remember a time in the late 50s when Dad was sitting in the driver’s seat of his broken down car and leaned over to see what was wrong underneath. The car began to roll and he was dragged several yards on a gravel driveway. Mom spent many agonizing moments picking stones out of his raw back on that awful day. But he survived to drive many more cars.
Dad also survived Mom’s untimely illness and death in 1975. Instead of remaining absorbed in grief he took a step forward and decided to become a deacon. He survived all the reading, studying, and tests so that he could move forward into ministry. Just a few months ago he celebrated his twenty-fifth anniversary of ordination right here in this church, even though it required the use of a wheelchair, a walker, his scooter and the assistance of a few strong men.
Dad has survived many illnesses in the last few years of his life: kidney failure, congestive heart failure, cataracts, pneumonia, the insertion of several shunts, and the loss of both legs. In 1997 we were told that his heart was so weak and damaged that we should gather for his 76th birthday. When he looked around at all of us he remarked, “You must think I am dying, but I’m not!”
Another visit in 1998 stands out in my mind. Dad had an attack of sciatica and severe neck pain, which was debilitating enough to put him in a rehab facility for several weeks. As my family got out of the car and headed toward Providence House, we saw a shimmering rainbow that spanned the whole building, from one side to the other. I wondered aloud, “What does this mean?” Katie, who was ten at the time answered, “I’ll tell you what it means. It means that when we look at Grandpa, we are looking at a miracle, a miracle of God’s love.” It is this love that has kept him moving through all these obstacles.
But where is the miracle now? It doesn’t look like we will have any more miracles. All we have is a coffin. Where is the movement forward, where is the ability to conquer obstacles? As I have tried to answer this question for myself, I keep coming back to a day when I visited Dad in the hospital as he awaited the insertion of a new dialysis shunt. Every operation was dangerous at that point and so we prayed together. But I was surprised at his prayers. He did not pray for a successful operation or even for his own survival. What he did was pray for each of his children and grandchildren by name. Asking God that each one could experience God’s love in the same way that he had, so that we would be able to draw strength from that love. So that one day each of us could repeat St. Paul’s words to the Romans as if they were our own. “I am certain of this. Nothing in all creation, neither death, nor life; no power or principality; no bullets, car accidents or illnesses of any kind; not anything in the present, past or future can ever come between us and the love of God made visible in Christ Jesus, our Lord.” And I would dare to add, that nothing in all creation can ever come between us and the love of God made visible in Harry Fenner.