Showing posts with label Bud Munroe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bud Munroe. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 13, 2022

Funeral

 



The funeral went well, with cowboys and cowgirls from all over the country descending on Waco to pay their respects. Quite a thing. I told them a short story in the homily, which went something like this.


Bud didn't suffer fools gladly though he was always good to me, and sometimes in a tough way. A few years ago I was laid up in bed with a broken femur, thanks to a mad Arab, and called Bud on Saturday to see if he'd lined up a priest to cover the Mass on Sunday.
"No," he replied. "Why not?" I asked, "Because you're going to do it." Not wanting to seem like a wimp I rolled up to church on a walker the next day and said the Mass. S took a photo and made a meme; there I was at the Altar on a walker with him alongside. And the legend? "When an old cowboy bullies the priest into saying Mass with a broken leg." We laughed but he was right, got me moving again.

 

And that was Bud. What a good man. We had a lot of fun over the years, mostly at church, where we'd go back and forth, "I'm going riding after Mass," I'd tell him, "Huh. Don't fall off." Well, you can't take that lying down, "Don't worry, if things get tippy there's always the pommel thing." A moment of silence, "We call it a saddle horn."

Again, "Why don't you genuflect anymore?" I'd ask. "Because I don't have any kneecaps," straighteye stare, "Maybe you're just a dangerous Protestant." He was, you understand, a faithful High Churchman and a catholic Christian. To say nothing of an outstanding athlete and really good man.

But I won't bang on. Rest in peace, my friend, and thank you all for your prayers.

God bless,

LSP

Thursday, April 7, 2022

Pray Hard Please

 



The text came in early this morning, "They think he's developed pneumonia. White blood cell counts are up and organs don't look good. We could lose him today." 

This was my friend and MC at one of the missions, a man I'd worshiped with at the Altar, Sunday by Sunday, for the past thirteen years. An outstanding athlete in his day, he's now on a ventilator. 

So I dropped everything and drove to an ICU in Waco to administer the sacrament of Extreme Unction, and offer the prayers of the Church. “Go forth, Christian soul..." and if it's God's will, return to health. I'll be honest, everyone's praying for a miracle and I''m asking you to do so too.




He was and is a good man. Nothing remotely fake about him, he called his shots as he saw them and if he didn't suffer fools gladly was always good to me, sometimes in a tough way.

For example, a few years back I was laid up in bed with a broken hip, thanks to a mad Arab, and I called my friend on Saturday morning, "Hey, have you got a priest to cover the Mass tomorrow?" A short pause, "No, I haven't." I thought for a moment, mind like a steel trap, "Why not?" A shorter pause, "Because you're doing it."




Not wanting to seem like a pathetic soy of a wimp I rolled up to the Altar the next day on a walker and said Mass, MC at my side. One his daughters took a photo and produced a meme, when an old cowboy bullies his priest into saying Mass with a broken leg. Ha. But hey, he was right, got me moving.

I say again, please pray for a miracle and in the absence of a sign, for the angels to escort this good soul to paradise.

LSP