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Remembering Sarge

 

By Fr. Terrence Kardong, O.S.B.

This eulogy was given by Fr. Terrence at the wake of Fr. Raphael on September 7, 2007. Fr. Raphael died on September 5th of old age. He was the blood brother of Fr. Bartholomew of this Abbey and of Fr. Jordan of St. John’s, both deceased. In addition, his uncle was Abbot Mark Braun of St. Gregory’s Abbey, Shawnee, OK, and his aunt was Sr. Mary Mark Braun of Annunciation Monastery, Bismarck.

 

The first time I saw Fr. Raphael was in 1952 in the so-called Workmen’s Dining Room behind the Monks’ Refectory. I did not exactly “meet” him because he was a novice and I was a high school boy. Such people did not “meet.” He was waiting table like a good novice, and I was washing the monks’ dishes, like a good scholarship boy. Novice Raphael was one of three, the others being Alcuin and Damian. They made an interesting trio, since Raphael was about a foot shorter and 15 years older than the other two.

 

The relationship between these three fellows was remarkable, even to us students. Alcuin and Damian were whiz kids, full of clever ideas and energy. Raphael was the gruff old man of the group, who responded to their teasing with the appropriate snorts and disdain. When the three of them excavated the church basement, the bright boys spent days rigging up a motorized dragline, but Novice Raphael just kept shoveling and grumbling.

 

We noticed that they called him “Sarge,” and it turned out that he was indeed a veteran of World War II. Actually, he had some things in common with Sarge in the cartoon “Beetle Bailey,” which he always read with delight. Raphael was a soldier for a relatively long time. He enlisted in the infantry in 1941, so he was already 28 years old at the D-Day landing in Normandy. Not only that: he also participated in the terrible Battle of the Bulge six months later. That he survived at all shows how tough he was. Furthermore, he always looked back on the war as a high point of his life. He was all about service wherever he was.

 

My next encounter with Fr. Raphael was in typing class when I was a senior. This was a class that did not have much prestige in the Abbey School, but Raphael took it very seriously. We soon found out that there was to be no fooling around in that class, at the risk of a couple of good slaps. We also found out that it paid to do exactly as we were told because we actually learned to type! I don’t think any other class in high school better equipped me for my future work than this one. The little Drill Sargeant was the perfect instructor for that class.

 

One period in my life when I saw a lot of Fr. Raphael was in the mid-sixties when we were both on the faculty of the Abbey Prep. On nice days after school we used to play tennis, a game which he dearly loved. It was also a game that he was very good at. He really wasn’t built for tennis since he was short and stocky, but he made up for it in sheer skill. Indeed, I hardly ever beat him and we must have played hundreds of sets. He would sometimes let me come close, but then he would say “I’ll rally, I’ll rally!” And rally he did. I should have realized that he was just toying with me; there never was any question who would win.

 

Later we found out just how good he was. When he was pastor of New Hradec and chaplain of St. Joseph’s Hospital in Dickinson, he would regularly play with the best players in Dickinson, including the members of the tennis team at Dickinson State University. He did not always win, but it should be added that he was 60 or 70 years old! At that time, Dickinson was debating whether to build an indoor tennis facility or a hockey rink. He was quite irate when they chose the latter. The irony is that the tennis building was eventually built—the year Sarge died at age 91. He is now serving and volleying in heaven.

 

In addition to being an excellent athlete, he was also a terrific sports fan. In fact, he was a unique kind of fan, the kind who is completely loyal to his team. In his case, this was not easy because his team was the Philadelphia Phillies. I have no idea how he came to love the Phils, but I do know that he loved them with an everlasting love. Now the Phillies have to be one of the most inept of all baseball teams. Consider this: they won the World Series only once in the entire 20th century! And almost always they were deeply mired in last place.

 

I would say to him: “Look, Rafe, the Phils are 50 games back. It’s time for you to cut your losses. Get a new team! God will understand.” Such talk he would ignore. Never, ever, would he say an unkind word about the Phutile Phils. He would say things like this: “They got a good little shortstop—in Billings!” Never mind that these “good little shortstops” never seemed to become “good big shortstops.” The only time I ever saw him waver in his faith was in 1964 when the Phils, against all odds, led the National League for the entire season. Two weeks from the end, I said to him: “Six and a half games up with twelve to go: you’re home!” No, he said, they will still lose. And they did.

 

Fr. Raphael approached religion somewhat like he approached baseball. No hesitations, no doubts. He was no great intellectual, but he believed what he believed. He had no time for theological niceties, which he did not understand anyway. Actually, he was a “man of one book.” He told me several times that he read only one book: Christ the Life of the Priest by Abbot Columba Marmion. Although we are told to fear the man of one book, if you are going to limit yourself to one book, you could do worse than this one. Abbot Marmion was read by virtually every priest in those days, but most of us moved on to other books.

 

Although Fr. Raphael was no doubt what is called a simple man, I don’t wish to imply that there was no depth to him. Sometimes he revealed sides of him that were mostly hidden. One day I was astonished to hear him playing the classical guitar in his room. Since I dabble at that difficult instrument, I knocked and went in. We had a nice conversation which revealed that he had played for years. And his remarks showed that he understood a lot of things about the guitar that I still do not and never will.

 

For most of his life, Fr. Raphael was a “monk on mission,” that is, he served in various parishes and chaplaincies in the region. One of his longest stints as chaplain was at Holy Rosary Hospital in Billings. He liked it there because there were plenty of good tennis players. But Raphael was also an ideal chaplain for the sick. His upbeat temperament and energetic manner was surely a tonic for those with serious physical problems. These same qualities made him a popular pastor in various small parishes in the area. Indeed, it was hard to be sad around him because his good humor was infectious.

 

Perhaps he was so gregarious and so good at community life because he came from a large family and most of them were boys. He and his brothers must have loved each other because they regularly spent their vacations together. And no doubt his origins on the farm in rural Washington gave him a kind of earthy wisdom as well. He certainly had robust health, which he attributed to the consumption of raw onions. Maybe he ate too many of them, and then he couldn’t die....

 

Fr. Raphael’s last years were hard, very hard. He suffered a series of strokes about five years ago that made it necessary to have the full nursing care that we could not offer in the Abbey. But the staff of the Richardton Health Care Center took wonderful care of our dear confrere for all these years and for this we are thankful. It was hard at the end to know if Fr. Raphael was aware of his condition. One would almost hope he was not. But now he is with God and fully aware of a lot of things.

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