Montagnana (Modena) 19 gennaio 1916
Avon (USA) 22 marzo 2008
Death never comes at a convenient time, not even at the age of 92. Yet, in the case of Fr. Libero Ballestrazzi, there was something quite amazing.
Fr. Libero’s health started going downhill at the beginning of Lent, a few days after he celebrated his 92nd birthday, with a homemade dinner of gnocchi… During his stay at the hospi-tal and then at Avon Oaks Nursing home I kept him informed daily about the progression of the Lenten season. Every time, his reaction was: “Oh!”
On Palm Sunday I visited him right after church and gave him a palm branch that someone had turned into a little cross. “Do you know what day is today?” I asked him. He looked at me puzzled. “Today is Palm Sunday,” I told him. He looked intently at the palm branch, waited a few seconds as he was known to do, and then he said, “The cross…” That’s how he entered Holy Week, the last week of his life.
On Holy Saturday his condition worsened. I stopped to see him for a few minutes on my way to celebrate the Easter Vigil in Lorain. I told him it was almost Easter. He opened his eyes for a moment and said “I am…” I could not catch the rest, but I like to think he said “I am ready.” When I returned after the service and the alleluias, it was past 11:30 PM. I sat at his bedside. His breathing slowed down and then it stopped, peacefully. I looked at my watch: it was 3 minutes past midnight, 3 minutes into Easter Sunday. His Lenten journey had opened into the eternal Easter with the Risen Lord. No, there is no convenient time to die, but this death on Easter morning contained a message of great hope.
In the first reading, Job, deeply upset with the accusations of his so-called friends, proclaims his trust in God. “Even if I should end up into dust, I know that my Vindicator lives and will stand by my grave. Oh that my words be chiseled in the rock forever,” he says, “as an eter-nal witness to my fidelity”.
Fr. Libero did not chisel his words in the rock, but faithfully kept a journal in humble notebooks. His last entry is on February 2 followed by a series of “hieroglyphics” as his hand became unsteady and he could no longer write. His journal is filled with words of gratitude for the simple things of daily life, the sunshine, a kindness from his confreres, a note from a friend. It witnesses to his concern to be faithful to his commitments: the daily Eucharist, the breviary, the sacrament of reconciliation. One could almost say that fidelity was Fr. Libero’s middle name.
He taught for over 45 years in the schools of the Congregation of St. Joseph in Italy, serv-ng as principal in several of them. Those who knew him in those days report that he was a demanding teacher, but always fair and kind, a real educator in the spirit of St. Leonard. During his early years of teaching, he worked hard to obtain a doctorate in modern languages from the renowned Ca’ Foscari University in Venice. The school remained his passion during his whole life. When, following Vatican II, there was a push in the Congregation toward other ministries, he was disappointed. The story is told that during a provincial chapter in the early 70’s he rose to his feet from the back of the room where he was seated, and with a mixture of humor and sadness remarked: “You are telling me, ‘bene cucurristi, sed extra viam cocurristi!’” (“you have run well, but… in the wrong course”).
In the selection from the letter to the Romans St. Paul proclaims his deep conviction that our life belongs to the Lord. “If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord: whether we live or die we are the Lord’s.” Elsewhere Paul proclaims, “the life I live now is not my own… it is the Lord’s.” Sometimes people think of Jesus as a model. They ask, “What would Jesus do?” Paul is much more radical and much truer: Christ is not out there, someone to sim-ply look at and imitate. Christ lives in us, our lives are Christ’s, we are Christ. Fr. Libero’s life was indeed Christ’s. Orphan of both parents since the age of 7, he was raised by an aunt and, at the age of 14, was enrolled in the Istituto Sacro Cuore of Modena, the same where he will spend many years as teacher and principal. There was a seminary section in that school and he soon joined. He made his novitiate in 1933, his perpetual vows in 1940, and was ordained to the priesthood in 1944. It was the time of World War II and the Germans were making a stand at what became known as the “Gothic line,” not far from Modena. Fr. Libero was ordained in the crypt of the cathedral of Reggio Emilia, which he reached by bicycle in between bombing raids. He exercised his ministry in the traditional Josephan way, serving youth in the schools - and he was masterful in instructing and guiding young people. During these past days I called a number of people in Italy who kept in touch with him: most had been his students and ex-pressed great admiration and love for their old teacher.
Fr. Libero was exemplary in living his religious vows: he was a community man, interested in the life of the Congregation throughout the world, ready to serve wherever requested. Because of his wisdom and leadership qualities, he was repeatedly councilor and vicar of the Venetian province.
In 1985, as he was about to turn 70 and concluded his service as principal in Modena, Fr. Libero volunteered for the CSJ mission in Sierra Leone, West Africa. His superiors thought Africa might be too hard for him and suggested he join his brothers in the U.S. for a period of three years (which turned out to be 23 years). I was the provincial at the time. He wrote: “I have been told by the Superior General to put myself at your disposal. It is what I do with this letter, with my heart ready (I hope) to do what you will tell me.” In a follow-up letter he wrote: “I have always been in the school context, but I have also helped in parishes with preaching and confessions. It would seem that this type of apostolate would be more appropriate to my age and preparation.” And he added: “But it is only an indication. I am ready to accept any assign-ment.”
I assigned him to our parish in San Pedro, California and then to Holy Rosary Church in Cleveland. When in 1989 the Congregation of St. Joseph returned Holy Rosary to the Diocese, Fr. Libero was assigned to the Avon community from where he offered pastoral assistance first here, at St. Mary, than at St. Joseph, Lorain, always available for Masses and Confession in several other surrounding parishes.
His coming to the U.S. meant a big change for Fr. Libero, the life-long teacher and principal. No longer a teacher… he remained a teacher, scrupulously devoted to the schedule, concerned with good order (he had some trouble with noisy children in church…), his sermons delivered in a professorial style. And he enjoyed immensely the opportunity to teach some Italian to our novices and a few other interested people… rounding off those Italian words in a way that made of all of them a song!
Moving from the large Italian communities to our small, self-relying houses in the States, he had to learn to do his laundry, prepare his lunch, and help around. Never the most practical man, he struggled with these tasks of daily life, but he tried. Who will forget the times when he stood patiently by the washer waiting for the cycle to run its course… or the laborious enterprise of preparing his salad for lunch, drying each leaf of lettuce individually with a napkin?
Fr. Libero loved our house in Avon, especially the outdoors. While quite afraid of the cold during the winter months, as soon as the weather turned nice he would be outside, walking in our island, stretching out to catch the sun, with child-like delight in the beauty of nature. And he continued to read and study. While in Cleveland he regularly visited Protestant churches and synagogues and took frequent advantage of bargain tickets for seniors at the Cleveland Orchestra. Frequently challenged (somewhat jokingly) by his confreres about an author, a historical event, a piece of music, or a particularity of the Italian, or English, or French language he would consult encyclopedias and dictionaries until he found an answer. In one of my visits to Italy I bought for him a modern, voluminous Italian dictionary: he was so happy, it was the best gift one could think of.
Now he is in heaven, in the dwelling place the Lord promised to prepare for his own. The first day in the nursing home, surrounded by nurses, social workers, and therapists, he was asked whether he had any pain. He thought for a few seconds and then he said: “I think they are pushing me out of my job…” We looked at each other, then I understood. He was not sure where he was… surrounded by all those strangers… but he knew he was not in his room, with classical music blasting from his radio perennially set on WCLV (except for the BBC news at noon!). He felt he was being pushed out of his space, his home, his life. Now he has a special room prepared for him by the Lord, with angelic music sounding gently in the background, a whole shelf of dictionaries and encyclopedias, maybe a classic western from time to time… He does no longer need to struggle in finding the page in the prayer book, because he see our Lord face to face, the eternal Son shining brightly all around. I can only think of one reaction by Fr. Libero: “Oh!” (with one handclap)
Fr.Tosco Lawrence
USA-México vicesuperior
