Last week the Diocese of Arlington buried one of its
pillars – Monsignor John Cilinski. Ordained to the
priesthood in 1948, Monsignor Cilinski was a priest’s priest.
I don’t know of any priest, who disliked him, and every
priest who knew him had some sort of funny story to tell
about him – and this is especially true of the priests who
were assisted with him.
Personally I did not have a lot of close contact with
Monsignor, but on those rare times that I did he always
made me feel like an old friend. After he retired he
remained very active. Wherever there was a special
penance service he was there to hear confessions, and his
especial joy in retirement was hospital ministry. Always
cheerful and upbeat, he was, and continued to be, an
inspiration to his fellow priests.
Gathering with so many of my brother priests at St.
Agnes for Monsignor’s funeral Mass, these and many other
thoughts filled my mind. A priest’s funeral is an amazing
event. Presided over by the Bishop with as many priests
as possible, concelebrating, the Church of a priest’s funeral
is always packed. A priest impacts on so many people in
the course of his ministry (often in ways that he is unaware
of) who then wish to come and say thank you in some
small way, and join their prayers to others for his journey
home. Sometimes it is a sad event, as in the case of the
late Father Michael Kelly, who seemed to have been taken
before his time. But more generally there is a sense of
fulfillment, of completion. We can almost hear the words of
our Lord say to him, “Well done good and faithful servant.”
The hymns used are often ones that were chosen, in
advance, by the late priest himself, reflecting his own faith.
The smell of the incense evokes the memory of many other
masses, of Christmas and Easter Masses.
At the end of the funeral all the priests file out before the
coffin, and then line the walkway to the hearse. As the
pallbearers (usually other priests) carry the coffin out, the
assisting priests sing the Salve Regina.
As we all lined up for Monsignor Cilinski, the August
noon-day sun shone down on us, and there we were
singing the Salve for one of our own, knowing that one day
the Salve would be sung for each of us in our turn. At that
moment I couldn’t help but marvel at what a blessing it is to
be a priest.