In September 2007, Father Dexter Sutton Brewer became the fifth pastor of Christ the King. He came to Christ the King after spending 13 years as pastor at Good Shepherd Catholic Church in Decherd, Tennessee. Yesterday, I was blessed to attend what I believe was his final service in the beautiful sanctuary at Christ the King.
18 years at one Catholic Church is quite a run for a priest, even when it's attached to a parochial school, as is Christ the King. Normally, priests serve six-year terms, then they're moved by the Bishop to a different church. That's what happened at St. Patrick earlier this year, when Father Hammond left us to become pastor at Cathedral of the Incarnation. From a doctrinal standpoint, I am sure there is a reason, generally, that priests are moved around, but it's been disappointing to us, over the years, to lose Father Eric (Fowlkes), Father David (Perkin), and Father Hammond.
Although Christ the King is a long walk from our house, for a variety of reasons it never became our home parish. Perhaps it was a little big for me or perhaps we simply fell in love with Father Eric and St. Patrick, our little (but growing) church just south of downtown Nashville, but that's just the way it worked out. I wonder, sometimes, if the boys missed out on attending a bigger church, one with Sunday school, youth groups, and social activities. Shoot, maybe Jude and I missed out, too. It's hard to say. We love St. Patrick.
It's been reassuring, somehow, to know that Father Dexter has been down the street from us for all of these years, a half mile away. During the height of the pandemic, when everyone was terrified of Covid-19, we went to "outside church" at Christ the King on Sunday afternoons. Those services, outside, were singular, beautiful, and memorable, as parishioners sat in camping chairs on Christ the King's athletic field as Father Dexter led the service from a tent up front. It was one of things I will always remember - and miss - about the pandemic. Sitting with my family, outside, attending mass at Christ the King, with Father Dexter's small, cute dog trotting happily through the crowd, accepting treats from those who brought them for him.
Father Dexter is an accomplished runner, having competed marathons through the world. He used to lead a small running group in the neighborhood that, at one point, I almost joined. I would see him, early in the morning, running, and he once asked me to join the group. As I recall, I broke my hand playing softball shortly thereafter and was off running for a while. That was that, as they say.
Yesterday, I had to work and Jude was in Gatlinburg with Joe for the weekend, at a basketball tournament. JP had an ACT prep class, so I decided to go to the 8:30 a.m. service at Christ the King. I am so glad I did, because Father Dexter's homily was one of the most memorable I have heard since I joined the Catholic Church so many years ago.
He talked about the ascension of Jesus into Heaven after the Resurrection and what that meant, as a practical matter, to the apostles.
Then, walking up the aisle and into the congregation, as is his style, Father Dexter began to talk about how to know when something has come to an end. When it's over.
Sometimes it's easy to know when things end. Graduation from high school and college, for example. Those are clearly marked, definitive endings of a time in one's life. Getting married marks an ending, too, often times of living at home or of being single.
Other times, it's harder to know when something to end. He was talking, of course, of his his tenure at Christ the King. He started thinking about it three years ago, he said, and when he decided it was time to retire, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace. The same kind of peace, he said, that he felt when he decided to become a priest, an epiphany of sorts he had many years ago while living in a sparsely furnished apartment in the Paragon Mills are of Harding Place.
He talked, movingly, of how he had loved everything about being pastor at Christ the King. The church, the people, and leading the services. Father Dexter is such a brilliant orator, so comfortable speaking and able to relate the homily to his life and our lives. Father Eric Fowlkes has the same talent, as I recall.
What moved the most, I think, was when he told us that on those occasions at the beginning of a service when he felt unworthy or less than, he felt, again, that overwhelming sense of peace when he said to the parishioners, "Peace be with you." And we replied, "And with your spirit." That expression of love lifted him up, he said, every time at every service.
It made it more meaningful, yesterday, when I replied in unison with the other congregants, "And with your spirit," to him a final time. I think I'll often fondly recall Father Dexter in the future, at St. Patrick or elsewhere, when Father Nick says "Peace be with you," and I reply, "And with your spirit."
When I walked up to take communion, as luck would have it, Father Dexter gave me the bread. He blessed me as I took and I looked at him and said, "thank you."
For everything.
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