December 31 marked the end not only of the year 2021, but also of the earthly life of a man whose faith helped to shape my own. Deacon Thomas Spalding, retired permanent deacon of Our Lady's Church at Medley's Neck, passed away at the age of 95. Although I'll refer to his forthcoming obituary for biographical details, I'd like to share some simple reflections about how his words and example impacted me over the years, in hopes that they might be an inspiration to you as well.

Growing up at Our Lady's Church, I frequently heard Deacon Spalding speak, both from the pulpit and in the classroom. Even though I was much less mature in my commitment to the Catholic faith then, he always struck me as a person who was deeply in touch with God himself. When he spoke about God, often in stories from his own life, you could tell that he was not just drawing from what he had learned in textbooks, but from hours of intimate communion with the Lord.

Deacon Spalding never tired of sharing the story of his own conversion. As a young man, years before he was ordained a deacon, he had a significant disagreement of some sort with his boss. When the pastor of Our Lady's Church at the time warned him, "Tom, you have to forgive him," he replied insistently, "That day will never come!" From that time on, Deacon Spalding would explain, it seemed that there was a wall between him and the altar when he came to Mass. As he sat in the pews one Sunday, looking up at the picture of Mary and the Child Jesus that still hangs on the left side of the Church, he finally prayed, "If that's what it takes for me to be a part of this Mass, then with all of my HEART and SOUL I forgive that man!" - I can still hear his emphasis on the last words of that prayer. At that moment, he'd explain, it was as if a veil between him and the altar dropped, and he was united with Jesus in the Mass as if for the first time. Shortly thereafter, his boss approached him about his sudden change in demeanor at work, saying, "Tom, I haven't seen anyone change in a lifetime as much as you've changed in these past two weeks!" He just sat there, he'd say, "grinning like a Cheshire cat." Deacon Tom often said that he regretted not taking the opportunity to tell his boss why he had changed, but he more than made up for his silence over the years by repeating the story to others.

Deacon Spalding's love of prayer certainly influenced me. He told me that he and my grandfather, Pete Van Ryswick, many decades ago shared a shift of "Nocturnal Adoration" at St. Aloysius Church, routinely getting up in the wee hours of the morning to pray before the Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist. Being rather fond of sleeping, I was intrigued that someone would wake up in the middle of the night just to pray. He also spoke often about his love for the Rosary, but he said that he often couldn't get past the first few words of the Apostles Creed - "I believe in God" - before he'd be overwhelmed by the goodness of God, sometimes finding it difficult to continue. No doubt inspired by his own years of praying the Rosary, he once said he thought the words of the Hail Mary would be the background music of Heaven. Deacon Spalding spoke as someone who knew from experience that God was real and that there is no greater way to spend our lives than with Him. His example made me want to have that kind of relationship with God myself.

One day at daily Mass at Our Lady's Church, when I was home from college on a semester break, I proudly told Deacon Tom that I was planning to study theology at Christendom graduate school. He offered some simple congratulations, but then offered a kind of warning that surprised me: "I've heard from a lot of theology teachers that know a lot about God," he said, "but not a lot that seemed to really know God." Although I thankfully would have many professors who "knew God," his words were an important reminder that, although the Church has a need of scholars, she has an even greater need of saints, people who have encountered the love of God and have been transformed. Deacon Spalding was such a person.

My last long conversation with Deacon Spalding was several years ago at an anniversary lunch for Our Lady's Church. As always, he had some wisdom to share, which I made a point to write down: "Life is what you make it. He's always with us, but we're not always with Him. That message makes all the difference - At least it has for me." As those of us who knew Deacon Spalding remember his life, I pray that all of us can learn from his example, too, living our own lives with the God who created us and loves us.