This is a slightly edited version of the homily given on 9 October 2005 by Fr John Ryan, pastor of St Brendan the Navigator, Ormond Beach, Florida, on the fifth anniversary of the death of Columban Father Eamonn Gill, killed in an accident while working temporarily in the parish. Father Gill was one of the pioneering Columbans who came to Negros in 1950. He spent almost 50 years there, often in very difficult situations, but never losing his sense of humor.

This weekend, we remember the anniversary of the tragic death of Fr Eamonn Gill. I’m sure many of you remember Father Eamonn . . . So, what I thought I’d do was look over my homily from his funeral Mass and see what my thoughts were then. We keep memories sacred by telling stories about those who have left this life . . . today we remember with great affection the story of Fr Eamonn Gill.

It is perfectly obvious to everyone who knew Father Eamonn that he was deeply in love with God. He had a tremendously deep love for the Blessed Sacrament. Many of you know that early in the morning and at various times during the day you could find him sitting quietly here in Church praying before the Blessed Sacrament. He would spend nearly an hour before his morning Mass in silent prayer right there in the back of the church . . . and when he didn’t have Mass here in church, he would celebrate a private Mass in the rectory. So in love was he with his God.

When anyone is in love, nothing asked can be too much. And so, Father Eamonn responded to the love he knew, and took it to the Philippines for 47 years! Yes, he lived under the martial law of the Marcos regime and labored in primitive circumstances . . . for 47 years he said every day, ‘Lord, I love you so much that I offer this to you . . .’

Columbans in Negros, 1965. 
Seated: Fr Eamonn Gill, Fr John Blowick (3rd from left), Columban Co-founder.

So in love was Father Eamonn with his God.

I’ll bet that he never dreamed that in his retirement he would end up in Ormond Beach, Florida! But, even in retirement, he wanted to serve God and God’s people. So Father Eamonn came to St Brendan’s. Here, he endeared himself with his gentleness, his quick, dry humor and his evident holiness. He endeared himself to everyone. I know of absolutely no one who ever had an unkind word to say about Eamonn Gill. He dazzled us with his stories of ‘When I was in the Philippines . . .’ and his quips - and his lavish praise nestled in his ‘thank yous’ at the end of Sunday Mass are legendary! Father Eamonn loved the People of God . . . he had to . . . so in love was he with his God.

You see, Father Eamonn didn’t see any of what he did as ‘work’ or as the ‘stuff of priestly ministry’ . . . No, he saw everything he did as a loving response to the God he loved so very much. He was able to go past the ordinariness of daily routine and see God’s presence in every moment . . . whether that was enjoying a good meal, a conversation with a lonely shut-in, to whom his heart went out especially; whether enjoying a good Irish whiskey . . . or walking the shore as he did each and every evening.

I think Father Eamonn knew where he could find God . . . surely in the Eucharist . . . and in people and in prayer and Scripture . . . but he also know that God was somehow majestically and silently present perfectly in the beautiful beach and in the ocean that he loved.

And so, on Monday evening, 9 October 2000, after sharing a meal with Fr Harry Wallace, Sister Joyce Rohlik, Pat Murray and Stan Zerkowski . . . Father Eamonn went for his walk with God along the beach as he did each evening. It was a particularly cold October evening.

Colder than any October evening I can ever remember - it was 53 F (12 C) degrees that evening with a strong northeast wind. And we know that Father Eamonn was tragically killed - hit by a van during the course of that walk on A1A. If that were the end of the story, we would have tremendous reason for grief. But it isn’t the end of the story…

Let me tell you how I see it… Father Eamonn left the rectory at about 6:30 that evening. And as on every other evening, he walked with the Lord along the shore . . . and he enjoyed these walks! I firmly believe that during the walk, as Eamonn walked with God and talked with God . . . God looked into Eamonn’s eyes and said, ‘Eamonn we’ve been walking for 74 years . . . I think we’re closer to my home than yours . . . why don’t you just come home with me.’ 
And, of course, Father Eamonn said ‘Sure!’ And the rest is history.

Father Eamonn walked with God from the day of his baptism when God in 1923 promised him eternal life. And on Monday 9 October 2000, God kept his promise to Eamonn. And, if you think about it, it could have been no other way . . . it was at the shore that Jesus called his disciples . . . and isn’t God’s plan beautiful that at the end of Eamonn’s life God would call him, at the shore, to follow Him home into eternity?!

In a short time, Father Eamonn Gill preached a mighty powerful sermon to us here at St Brendan’s . . . and he rarely did it by talking.

Jesus told us that He is the Light of the World. Sometimes there are people who, just by their living, bring light to our lives. They don’t even have to say anything . . . I think mother Teresa was one of those kind people. And you know what? Father Eamonn was one of those people. He brought light - God’s light - to this parish.

If you look over there in the back of the church, on the wall near the sacristy, you’ll see a candle that flickers every time Mass is celebrated here. That candle burns in memory of Father Eamonn. It silently burns among us to remind us that even death can’t diminish light once it is shared. Father Eamonn’s light still burns here at St Brendan’s. It burns in the hearts of the children whom he would greet every day after school and to whom he’d pass out candy or a medal or a holy card. It burns in the hearts of each of us who remember him - each of us who remembers his holiness - his practical holiness . . . the kind of holiness that knows how to laugh and how to pray. And now, even if you never met Eamonn, his light burns in you because you’ve heard the story . . . the story of a slight little man who loved God and people so much that he was considered a giant among us.
. . . Truly, a giant among us. Amen.