Bob Baker
I had been raised Catholic, gone to Catholic grammar school, Catholic prep school, then left the Church in 1975 and went through divorce in 1978. One fine Monday — June 19 in 1995, to be exact — an itch of something-missing, an inherent part of me, got me to call the Our Lady Star of the Sea rectory here in Marblehead. I asked the deep-voiced man who identified himself as Father Burns if I could come by and talk with him. “Sure, Bob, come right on down,” he said.
I won’t go into detail on the discussion of the theological doubts that led to my separation from the Church, except to say that this little Father Dennis Burns man with the deep voice had me back on the team in a blink. Make it two blinks. He said, “We can and will, if you want, discuss those questions further, of course. But a short-term answer is that we call those things mysteries, Bob. And do you know why we call those things mysteries, Bob?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Because we’re not going to get the answers here on earth.”
Accompanied by what can only be described as a smile of relief, I said, “Ya got me.” And that quick, back I was. And in friendship with one of the most exuberant, informed, down-to-earth, good-hearted, witty, mischievous, playful-playful-playful gents to ever refresh the earth.
He was an incisive, engaging preacher of The Word and had a large post-graduate fan club of women from the years he’d taught and was chaplain at Regis College in Weston, Massachusetts. (From a former student’s bereavement note at the time of his passing in 2009: “I remember sitting in a class next door to Father Burns’ ethics class. In my class, I heard only the professor’s voice and pens scratching. My boredom was interrupted frequently by raucous laughter coming through the walls of Father Burns’ class.”)
He’d been one of the judges on the diocesan marriage tribunal, which provided guidance on matters related to marital matters and divorce. Two comments that he made to me in our private conversations give an insight into the nature of this wonderful priest man/man priest: “So many marriages were never meant to happen in the first place, Bob,” And, with a wink, “I can easily understand why some couples might find it difficult — even strange — to take marital advice from an unmarried guy wearing a dress.”
As I say, he had this wonderful booming voice. I remember one day walking by the side of St. John’s in Swampscott and hearing a booming voice coming through the walls. You couldn’t make out words, and it was the usual mellow-boom rise and fall of his voice, but you could almost feel its reassurance as well as hear it — even coming through the walls.
As an avid reader of books and appreciator of some of my writings, he’d seen, he was constantly urging me to “Write the book!” On two occasions, even as he was coming down the aisle at the end of Mass, as he neared my pew, this priestly elf, looked at me and said — in quieter-but-boom nonetheless — “Write the book!”
The last communication I had from my priest buddy, referred to as “beloved” in his obituary and so many who knew him, was a letter from the nursing home where he spent his last days. “Dear Bob — Thanks for the kind words and generous gift. I have indeed treasured your friendship.
Dennis P.S. Write the book!”
Yes, Dennis. Yes, leprechaun.
Thank you, God.
Bob Baker is an award-winning branding and creative services professional who draws inspiration from 1960s New York. He is currently writing a book.
