Father Mike:
Magician, Mystic, and a Good Man.
*On Saturday September 12, at Saint Mary's Church in downtown San Antonio, the memorial service for Father Michael Levy O.M.I. was held. He had passed away on July 17 but due to the coronavirus pandemic, no memorial service was held at that time. Even though the September 12 service was still affected by the virus and mourners were socially distanced and masked, many attended in person or virtually to honor Father Levy -- a pastor, a teacher, a mentor, a coach, and a friend.
After the mass, several speakers eulogized Father Mike. What follows here are some (brief?) comments from my perspective as his student, as a player on his team, and as someone who got to know him in a deeper, richer way later in our life. I also have provided the link to the incredibly inspiring and joyful tribute to Father Mike by Michele Maxwell who directs the Marian Center of San Antonio. This was the highpoint of the memorial for me. Those of us who "got" Father Levy were thrilled to know that others will remember him, as Michele so beautifully said it, as one "who drank deeply of his earthly life, in his full humanity, just as Jesus did." Here is the link to Michele's tribute, followed by my reflections.
https://www.facebook.com/stmarys.san.antonio/posts/2739394966316414?__tn__=K-R
If you were (or still are) one of Father Mike Levy's "boys" -- that means you attended a Catholic boarding school in San Antonio by the not-very-surprising name of Saint Anthony's. And those boys, including his Reverend Doctor Highness Ben Camino, O.M.I.H.U.N.G.R.Y.(get it?), knew Father Mike as teacher (algebra and physics), coach (basketball, two state championships), and Prefect (head disciplinarian, and, therefore, he with whom one would rather not tangle).
Father Mike meant a lot to a lot of us. Some of us more than others, but to all of us he was the stuff of legend. His veins (or were they arteries?) stood out when he was angry with you for breaking the rules or taking a stupid shot. Unless your name was Bill Sain; Levy never got mad at Sain. If your name was Burkhart, it was a different story. Lots of Levy veins/arteries. By the way, that's the main way we disrespected Father Levy. Just calling him Levy. We didn't want to get caught by Levy with some witty disrespectful nickname in our mouths.
He had a wicked sense of humor, he used to make his students tape (audio) Notre Dame games for him if he was too busy to listen, and he was not only a great basketball coach, but a great fan of great players -- especially those who played the game with flair and showmanship. Mostly, he was "all in" on everything he did. Especially his vocation. Don't try to follow in his footsteps exactly. You wouldn't be able to keep up with his energy.
As I got to know Father Mike better the last few years of his life, visiting him at the Madonna Residence on the grounds of the Oblate College in San Antonio (not far from the gym at Saint Anthony's), I got to know him in a different way. We talked less and less about our basketball days and those great memories. We talked instead about how to pray, about the glory of the created world (as celebrated especially in the psalms and canticles), and about the majesty of God. And about what books he thought I should be reading.That may not sound very interesting, but it was to him. And he made it sound interesting to me as well. Of course I also brought him gifts from my sister (a knitted shawl he like to brag about) and I might have smuggled in some wine some (all) of the time.
In fact, I asked him once a few years ago about how to pray the liturgical hours the way I knew that the priests used to do (I sensed that things had changed, but I didn't know how). So he was responsible for encouraging me to use the book that has made a big difference in my life ever since, Benedictine Daily Prayer: A Short Breviary. After I bought one (well one for me and one for four or five other friends), I would bring it with me on my visits and ask him to read the psalms and prayers for the day. Anyway, or anyways as Jenny alway(s) says, I really could talk/write all day about Father Mike, but I won't. But I will tell a story I heard at the memorial mass.
It was Father Levy's first day as a teacher at Saint Anthony's. It was a religion class. The new teacher asked the room of young teenagers why they believed in God. They, of course, sat waiting for someone else to tackle what was obviously a trick question designed to show their theological ignorance. Father Mike helped them out and answered it for them. "You believe in God because he made everything out of nothing. Right?" Right, of course, yes Father. I'm sure it sounded good enough to the class, and I assume some of them even wrote it down in their notebooks. Only then did some of them notice that he had a cloth covering his left hand, about the size of a large handkerchief or wash cloth. Suddenly, he said a few words (Dominus Vobiscum?) and lifted the cloth up with his right hand to reveal that a globe had magically appeared in his left hand. He had made something appear out of nothing. Can priests be cocky? At least one I know was. The new teacher in front of his first class followed the line of reasoning down to its obvious conclusion. "You believe in God because he made something out of nothing? How about Father Mike Levy?"
As a pretty good basketball player myself, I take a little offense at what always comes next in this story. "For those of you who didn't already know that Father Mike was a magician, you just could look at his basketball teams, with which he also made something out of nothing." Come on, I don't know about the other guys, but I shot 50% from the field.
But, really, he was a magician. And I came to know him as a mystic. One time, not too long ago, I thought for sure he was sleeping in the chapel after mass because he wouldn't answer any of our questions. And, obviously, WE HAD COME TO VISIT HIM AND WE WERE IMPORTANT. Finally, I asked -- Father, are you praying? And he gently nodded his head. But didn't open his eyes. But he was also a good man. A pastor in the deepest sense; one who cared for his people -- whether a bunch of awkward, confused teenagers, a lively congregation in downtown San Antonio, or the school he ran and the street people of New Orleans he befriended in his years at the Cathedral there. And other folks that he'd met along the way. For many, he became their primary connection to the Good Shepherd, a vocation he took very seriously.
The First Reading from Daniel for the memorial mass surprised me. Sort of like one of those lines in Shakespeare that can mean two or three things, so you don't fully catch it until it's already passed. The point of the passage is the resurrection of the dead, especially that those who "lead many to righteousness shall be like the stars of heaven." That applied to him, for sure. But the passage actually begins, "At that time there shall arise Michael, the great prince, guardian of your people." I couldn't help wondering if that reading was intentional or just one of those miracles that seem to happen a lot the more you pay attention.
Michael, the great prince. He was a prince. At least, a member of a royal priesthood. And a disciple. I will always remember him as one who emptied himself not by becoming nothing, but by becoming so much and giving all that knowledge and concern and wisdom and energy away to others. Not by hating this life and waiting impatiently to escape it to a better place. But by loving this life, from basketball practice to running a school to preaching compelling sermons to helping a homeless amnesiac re-discover her identity and re-connect with her family. He loved the gift of his own life, his own energy, his own creativity, and then he used that -- giving it away -- for the sake of others.
In the liturgy at the mass, we said the following prayer. I wrote it down.
"In this world, Michael shared in the priesthood of Jesus Christ, leading others in prayer and worship. Bring him into your presence where he will take his place in your heavenly liturgy."
Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.
Can you hear me Father Mike? Are you asleep? Or are you praying? OK. I mean, Amen.
My Uncle.
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