Father Doiron
Born in Gardner, you were destined to plant many seeds,
Of Faith, Hope, and Love, -Psychological needs.
Good son of Alphonse and Evangeline, right?
Prompts me to quote lines I used to recite.
…’Lo, the door of the chancel opened, and Fr. Felician entered
Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence
All that clamorous throng, and thus, he spake to his people
“What is this that ye do, my children? What madness has seized you?
Forty years of my life have I labored among you and taught you
Not in word alone, but in deed to love one another!”…*
We’re guessing you learned that from your Dad and Mother.
Your Dad was from U.S., Mom, Acadian stock
You learned her perfect French as you started to talk.
In eighth grade, you were given a French theme of acclaim,
Memorized it, rehearsed, and recited same.
Holy Rosary’s pastor said, “Here’s where you should go!”
You were soon bound for Cornwall, Ontario.
For weeks before, you’d chat with your Station Master.
“Are we having fun yet? Where’s the first stop? Which train’s faster?”
The many miles, lonesome ride, did not make you shirk,
Much like pre-teen Christ, “About His Father’s work.”
You blended in. For a kid, it could be a real “bummer,”
Coming home only Christmas, then not until summer.
You continued on into Cornwall Classic College,
And became a “philos sophos,” loving wisdom and knowledge.
After two years, we think, you heard the Lord’s call,
Spoke to Bishop Flanagan, who said, “Montreal!”
Two more years in Montreal earned a B.A. degree.
You decided what type of priest you would be.
Your Theological leanings led to Belgium’s “Louvain”,
Four years later, minor orders, operative word was “ordain.”
Back to Gardner, Holy Rosary, -the anointing”, - First Mass.
Eleven new priests came from the ‘69’s class.
At St. Roch’s, Holy Name, St. Ann’s, you learned the ropes.
You found many people had broken, dashed hopes.
No parish priest had time or know-how to treat
Many sessions of therapy for success that’s complete.
Andover-Newton Seminary was next on your list.
You emerged Doctor of Ministry – licensed psychologist.
That’s the end of your school days. Sure, it did ye no harm.
Your degree list, ‘tis said, is as long as your arm.
Now you moved to St. Joseph’s, - worked on Grafton Hill.
You’ve had a few venues, but you‘re “on the Hill” still.
Pastoral Counseling’s “ecumenical”, - for all races and creeds.
No turned around collar, black shirt. Just casual tweeds.
It’s “pastoral.” Folks conjure up green grass, fluffy sheep,
And a shepherd who’s kind and has secrets to keep.
When the Lord, - Higher Power, enters in, - gets involved.
It’s amazing to see how problems get solved.
You realized counseling was a family affair,
How parents and children get from here to there.
You made house visits, witnessed each one’s reaction,
Worked from problems to peace to parents’ – kids’ satisfaction.
Family counseling’s a marriage ‘twixt religion,-/psychology.
Based, no doubt, on your training in Louvain Theology.
So, Father, - You’re a great counselor and director.
But the best, for us, is that you’re also our Rector!
Your liturgy’s super! You don’t really “preach”.
You cheer and admonish, story tell, explain, -teach.
It’s just like we all tried to learn back in school,
Introduction – a few jokes, - the message, - end. COOL!
We’re in Maine or Acadia each Saturday, Sunday,
As we hear you say things like, “Come, follow Me: - eh?”
One time I heard a gal loudly proclaim, “He did it again!”
(I’ll be namin’ no name.)
“(Ya know), - you can’t be bad, so try to be good.
God’ll love you – (ya know) – if you do what you should.”
Did you know we send you Paxton’s most secret treasure?
Our sunset’s presented for your viewing pleasure
Folks seek a donut, - cool breeze, - then they watch the skies.
“A thing of beauty,” – each night, - before your very eyes.
Fr. Kelly said Bishop Wright got a thought from Above
“Pax” ton, town of Peace, needs Columba, the Dove.”
We’re all peaceful and happy,
Hope you feel that way, too.
We’ll be “conspirators”, - breathing and praying with you.
Happy 40th Anniversary, Father!
*Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Evangeline