In the instruction for the Rite of Ordination for a priest it says, “Do your part in the work of Christ the Priest with genuine joy and love, and attend to the concerns of Christ before your own…seek to bring the faithful together into a unified family and to lead them effectively…”  As a fellow priest who very much loved and looked up to Father Dan, I can say unhesitatingly that these words capture the priest we say goodbye to today.

Father Dan and I quickly became close friends when we both realized that we had a lot in common, both formerly from religious orders, both from very Irish Catholic families with five children, both with very similar Celtic wit and attitude — some call it charm, at least I do; Dan didn’t. 

I think I was most drawn to him at an Episcopal Council meeting years ago when someone referred to the English speaking priests as “Anglos” and Dan was furious, and afterwards took me aside and said, “Keelen, I am not an Anglo. I am a Celt, and so are you!” 

Yes, Dan had a particular wit, even though he left the Bronx, it never left him in his outlook on life and in his response to it.  He had no poker face whatsoever, you always knew what he was thinking, especially if he didn’t agree, as his very white face got crimson red when he was ticked off.  But the frown would become a smile and a chuckle as fast as his facial muscles could move. Because he was immensely proud of his Irish heritage, he loved all culture and celebrated the diversity and beauty of culture being kept alive and strong, as his beloved parish community knows all too well. 

St. Augustine once said, “For you I am a priest, with you I am a Christian.”  Father Dan’s vocation had deep roots in his family of whom he was very proud and to whom he was so very close, his parents instilled a deep love of God and a drive to give and serve, his brother Patrick’s vocation as a Cistercian had a huge imprint on him, and although he tried that out, he quickly realized he needed to be out there, as he loved being in the midst of people and had a great desire to help the marginalized and underprivileged in any way he could. 

Inspired by people he met personally such as Henri Nouwen, and Dorothy Day, as well as a full-life, academic and ministry experience, Father Ryan never saw himself as ever being above anyone else; he truly understood what it meant to be a servant leader, and this was easy for him because it was in his DNA.  Father Dan always put others before himself, actually to a fault, I think.    Just before Christmas I gave a homily to our grade school children in which I talked about J.O.Y. There is a popular acronym using the letters J-O-Y; J –to put Jesus first, O to put others second and Y – yourself last.  Father Dan was great at putting Christ first and others always before himself, often at the neglect of himself.  He was always more concerned about others.  He truly and very deeply cared about his parishioners, about the priests in his deanery, and about his friends.  He was the most loyal of friends, a workaholic as a priest and pastor, and he cared deeply about justice.

Our second reading today from St. John, which is the reading of the day in this Octave of Christmas, says those who say they know Jesus but act otherwise are liars, and Father Dan had no tolerance for hypocrites.  He was passionate about people doing what they say they will do, following through, and being authentic and consistent.  He had no time for lip service; it was all about action and putting your money where your mouth is.  I truly admired his outlook on life.  He would always go the extra mile, was always most considerate, and would do anything for anyone.  He was way more thoughtful than I could ever imagine to be.  I’m sure there are hundreds of stories here today about things he did for so many of us without anyone even knowing about it or him wanting credit.

I’ll be honest, but like many of us priests, Father Dan struggled with loneliness and stress at times, he kept busy I think to avoid it as much as possible.  He had health issues, but kept most of that to himself, not thinking it important, not addressing his own needs when somebody else had worse issues somewhere.  But if you were sick, he’d be the first to visit or call. Or if it was your birthday, he’d be the first to send a gift.  But when it came to himself, he was not as responsive for some reason.  And even his death, perhaps, is a reflection of that.

But we are not here today to question his passing.  St. John goes on to say, “for the darkness is passing away, and the true light is already shining.” We are gathered here because Father Dan invested his whole life in that light that shines through all darkness, which carries us through moments such as this and even worse, toward new life and hope.  It is like nothing else this world has to offer.  It was that very hope that was being celebrated as born into the world the very night that Father Dan left it.  Like the Christ-child who was born in an unexpected place, in an unexpected way, at an unexpected time, Father Dan’s passing was most unexpected.  And just as Christmas did not look like the birth of the Messiah, we cannotlook at death for what it seems to be at face value, in fact we do not see death as an end precisely because Jesus was born, lived, died and rose again.  Father Dan is now receiving the benefits of his lifetime investment, the rewards for his loyal and loving service, and the fulfillment of the promise that he was given since his baptism 61 years ago this week at St. Helena Parish in the Bronx.

Our reading from The Book of Wisdom begins with “the just man,” and although Father Dan was most passionate about justice, other translations simply say, “the good man,” and there is no arguing that, it goes on, “the good man though he die early, shall be at rest.”  When Simeon beheld the Christ child, he prayed, “now Lord you can let your servant rest in peace,” his eyes had seen the salvation coming into the world, the light revealed to the nations, the salvation that Father Dan now receives in its fullness, the light that shines on us in the darkness of our grief.  And so we really do not say goodbye to Father Dan today, but ‘so long,’ ‘we’ll see you again,’ and though our hearts ache with grief and shock, there is still J.O.Y. amidst the sorrow, knowing the promises of God are true, Father Dan Ryan now rests in peace as his own eyes are seeing the salvation and the glory he so deserves.