Introduction

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For more than a thousand years,                                                                             countless pilgrims have set out across southern France and into Northern Spain   to walk the Camino de Santiago de Compostela —                                                         the ancient road that leads to the city of Santiago,                                                         where the Cathedral of Saint James stands,                                                        

guarding the remains of the apostle.

 

Most pilgrims travel light, carrying only what they can place on their back —           a pair or two of comfortable shoes, a walking stick,                                                     and their own hopes and prayers.                                                                               Each day they walk through sunlight and shadow,                                                     sometimes thunderstorms and wind,                                                                                 but through prayerful silence and song,                                                                     they learn to trust in God’s providence.

 

There’s a greeting that is sometimes spoken between pilgrims: “Buen Camino.”
It means “Good Journey” or “Good Way.”
You may hear it from strangers who soon become walking companions.                     

There is another ancient exchange that goes back to the Medieval times,               so it’s not as well known:                                                                                                 one pilgrim calls out, “Ultreai...” (Go Beyond!)                                                               and another answers, “. . et Suseia!” (and go Higher!).

These are prayers to God that we keep walking, keep climbing,                               and keep trusting that God is leading us onward and upward.

 

Today’s Gospel is familiar: two disciples walking on the road to Emmaus;       hearts heavy, like ours today, uncertain where the road would lead.
As they walk, they recount all the events that had taken place,                                 and like us today, they try to make sense of it all.

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Brad knew that story well —                                                                                                 not just because he had preached about this story                                                     more than a dozen times,                                                                                                 but because he himself walked the Camino not once, but twice,                             and those journeys became the poetry of his vocation:

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Good Journey. Go Beyond and Go Higher.     

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Pilgrims Gather

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Today, Brad walks the Camino road once more—                                                         but this time he’s inviting us to walk along with him,                                               asking us to support him on this journey.                                                                       He turns toward us and points to a pond across the road.                                             He reminds us that every pilgrim needs a source of water.

For Brad, his pilgrimage began at the waters of baptism.                                   “Look,” he says, “over there — that’s where I was baptized,                                           at Nativity of Mary Parish in Janesville, Wisconsin.”

 

Brad was the eldest of seven children.                                                                           Faith and family wove together from the very start.                                           Around the age of ten, he would vest as a priest and preside over “Mass,”                 with his brothers and sisters in attendance.                                                                   His siblings were tasked with gathering raspberries from the backyard                     to make the “wine.”                                                                                                               And when Mass had ended,                                                                                               they even built a make-shift tabernacle to store the leftovers.

 

Brad learned early that service is holy —                                                                           the lighting a candle, the gathering a community together,                                           and the feasting on Wonder Bread and raspberry juice,                                                 all of these could be forms of prayer.

 

His parents, Henry and Carol, and his brothers, Peter and Matt —                             all of whom have already completed their part of the journey —                           now walk alongside us.
And with them walk all the teachers and mentors                                                         who shaped his gentle strength and quiet joy.

 

Brad turns to us once again and reminds us: none of us walk alone.

 

The Valley of Discernment

 

As we move beyond this point,                                                                                             we suddenly come upon the base of a mountain                                                           a place where the path grows uncertain and the next step requires trust.

 

There were times when Brad’s road seemed unclear:                                                 when he left seminary for the Diocese of Madison,                                                         when he worked as a lay minister,                                                                               when he listened — again and again —                                                                             for what God might be asking of him.

 

St. Paul instructs the Philippians to forget what lies behind,                                       and instead, press on toward the goal of what lies ahead,                                           the prize of God’s "upward calling" in Christ Jesus.        

 

One day, while in deep prayer,                                                                                         Brad looked ahead and realized something profound:                                                 “I can live without being a priest, but I cannot live without my faith in God.”                     

Ironically, that realization led him to the Paulists—                                                        a community that stood, as he loved to say,                                                             between listening to the world,                                                                             engaging culture,                                                                                                                     and preaching reconciliation and mercy.

 

He entered the novitiate in 1997 and was ordained a priest in 2000.
And on that day, as our brothers were laying their hands upon Brad,                    upon David [Dwyer] and upon me,                                                                                   God whispered into Brad’s ear: “Good Journey.”

 

The Pilgrim as Pastor

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As we start to move down the mountain and into the valley,                                     we see four side paths, each one returning to the main road.                                 Brad reminds us that in the Camino the walking itself becomes prayer                  no matter what path we choose.

For Brad, those roads were his parishes:

 

• At St. Paul the Apostle in Los Angeles, he served with quiet devotion               among the community in Westwood,                                                                       guiding hearts that balanced beauty, belief, and worship.

 

• At St. Luke’s University Parish in Allendale, Michigan,                                         where he became the founding pastor                                                                   and led the creation of a permanent Catholic parish,                                             he helped young students listen for God’s voice                                                   amid the complex and deep questions about life and vocation.

 

• At Old St. Mary’s in Chicago, he wove the old and the new —                         honoring tradition while opening doors to renewal.                                                 Our parish school in Chicago flourished                                                                     and was named a National Blue Ribbon School in 2019.

                                

• And finally, here at St. Paul’s in Horseshoe Bay,                                                         he came to shepherd a community,                                                                             and in a very short time,                                                                                                 this community came to appreciate his gentle presence,                                         and his thoughtful preaching.

 

In all of these ministries,                                                                                                       as the disciples discovered at Emmaus,                                                                             Brad helped us recognize that God was already near —                                         through his calmness, his listening heart,                                                                           or a simple word or single gesture that quietly rekindled our faith.

 

Arriving at the Sanctuary

 

With all of these communities we’ve encountered along the way,                           our pilgrimage group has grown!                                                                                   But no matter: we keep moving beyond.                                                                       And at last we arrive at the city of Santiago                                                                   and make our way to St. James Cathedral, the journey’s end.                

 

Brad leads us through the doors, and we walk down the nave.
But halfway down the aisle, we pause.
He turns to us and whispers,
“I need to walk the rest of the way by myself 
and step onto that sanctuary alone.”         

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For Brad, that sacred moment came quietly and unexpectedly,                                 in the place he loved most — the sanctuary of a church.
Elizabeth, a member of this community, found him [here]                                           just before the noontime Eucharistic adoration — lying before the tabernacle, facing upward, his arms gently outstretched in the form of a cross.

 

There’s something profoundly simple about that image —                                 almost scriptural: the shepherd in the sanctuary,                                                   resting quietly before the presence of Christ.                                                                  

 

I invite us all to shut our eyes                                                                                               and think about that moment and image . . .

 

And now, as we open our eyes, something has changed; something has shifted. We no longer see Brad,                                                                                                         but we recognize the One who has been with us all along.
Standing in Brad’s place is the Risen Christ.                                                                       But this time, rather than wonder bread,                                                                           he is taking, blessing , and breaking the Bread of Life and handing it to Brad:      

 

"Take and eat."                                                                                                                

 

And rather than raspberry juice, he is taking, blessing, and pouring the wine         into the cup of mercy, and handing this to Brad:                                                    

 

"Take and drink."                                                                                                                  

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Christ now turns toward all of us and says,
“This is a time for mourning; this is a time for weeping and crying.
And yes — this may also be a time to be angry                                                         about the events that took place last week.
One day, when you are ready, you too may need to move on.”

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At the Cathedral of St. James, when pilgrims complete their Camino,                   there is the ritual of the the Botafumeiro —                                                                     the great silver censer weighing 140 lbs.                                                                     This censer swings high across the vast transept.                                                             As it arcs through the air, it fills the cathedral with clouds of fragrant incense —     a sign of purification and of our prayers rising to heaven.

 

I like to imagine that Brad’s very life has become that incense—                               his years of prayer and dutiful service                                                                               rising in gentle fragrance before God.
All the roads he walked, all the people he loved, all the sacraments he celebrated —  lifted now in praise and thanksgiving,                                                                           and filling heaven’s sanctuary with the scent of his presence. 

 

Conclusion – A Pilgrim’s Blessing

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It is because of this, today we do not say goodbye, but “Good journey, Brad.”

It is because of this we thank you, Brad,                                                                         for showing us that faith is not a straight road but a living pilgrimage —                     a journey of encountering other members of the Body of Christ;                                 a mosaic of prayer and service,                                                                                         humor and humbleness,                                                                                                     the ordinary and the mystical.

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We thank you for setting an example of a Paulist priest:                                   listening to the world,                                                                                                     engaging with culture,                                                                                                           and preaching God's mercy . . .                                                              

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. . and, in your humble way, pointing us toward Christ,                                                   rather than ourselves.

 

As so we call out to you once more across the road,                                                       as pilgrims have done for centuries:                                                                                   “Go Beyond! Go Higher!”

And we will forever listen for your reply —                                                             gentle, but certain . . .                                                                                                                 . . and so full of grace!