On The Passing Of Charles Caldwell

Dear Father Joseph,

Thanks for the opportunity to same something memorable and noteworthy about dear Fr Caldwell … it occurs to me, only now, that Fr Caldwell was a strange mix of Yosemite Sam and John the Baptist, a personality just as likely to appear “cartoonish” (in the sense of being fun and filled with child-like joy), as to be a fiery-prophet appearing at the top of a hill to give warning to others. He always reminded would-be “priests” to be stewards of the Gospel, protectors of what has been passed down to them … that’s what I remember from his sermon at my ordination.

I decided that, in order to do that, I needed to really be in the Church. The Church does not deliberately run off the side of a cliff like a herd of pigs …. That’s how one knows for sure that one is not in it. So, I left that herd. Before I knew what it was, Fr Caldwell indicated where it was. Thanks to Yosemite Sam I laugh a lot more. Thanks to John the Baptist I heard the call. Now, we’re both in the same place once again, not separated, “alive” or “dead” it makes no difference. We are the same.

— Fr Gregory Harrigle

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Original article and Obit
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For Charles Caldwell

“O see ye not yon narrow road,
So thick beset wi’ thorns and briers?
That is the Path of Righteousness,
Though after it but few inquires.”`
— Thomas the Rhymer

I walked through the gate and by the corn field,
and into the wood. Around a corner the leaves
crunched underfoot. I looked, and saw the green
carpet of trees rolling over the hills
without end. Just the right turn, and I
would be in that wood. You could not walk
with me, so I carried you in my mind as I peered over the edge.
When we could walk together, (I remember)
you pointed with your cane at the Remington,
and made the guard cringe, a lively Vulcan of words and thought,
a man of peace who floated on the surface, but saw deep,
and conversed with the angel of the lake.
On the last day you will have both legs,
and I expect to see you in that wood when, by mercy,
finally I go that way, your cane not for leaning,
but a pointer to those leaves and that sun.

— Michael LaRue

On the Passing of Charles Caldwell