One of the delights in doing

what I do for a living is meeting some of the most wonderful people on

the planet. Oh, you meet a few old dead heads and a small army of eternally

ticked off individuals, but, in the main, most people (even some Christians)

are pleasant to be around. Once in a while, you meet a person with whom

you just "click."

I first met Pat Cangemi a few

years ago when he was courting a lady in our church. Pat and Diane Grizzard

had met each other at work and had become friends. The friendship soon

blossomed into something deeper and the two were married.

Pat was a Yankee from New York

(if I recall correctly) and was raised Roman Catholic. I eventually forgave

him for being a Yankee and we became fast friends. He was friendly, outgoing,

always smiling, and was that type of individual to whom other men were

attracted. He was the definition of a "man's man."

In our conversations, we talked

about the ocean and fishing the Florida keys (which he loved) and the

bitterly cold New York winters (which he did not love). Pat was a science

fiction buff and thoroughly enjoyed attending services at church. But

Pat was in his element when the subject of cooking came up. Maybe it was

his European heritage, but Pat simply loved to cook. He could do anything

Italian, of course, but most people just loved to sink their teeth into

a Cangemi hamburger, with the special spices that Pat kept secret from

lesser mortals.

Over the past year, our small

but growing church conducted several workdays on the new church property.

Nearly every Saturday that a workday was called, Pat and Diane broke out

the grill and fed the tired, hungry volunteers. He always arrived in plenty

of time to heat things up and let the meat cook to just the right amount

of time before allowing the would-be construction workers to sample his

considerable skills.

It wasn't long before Pat was

recruited to be one of the cooks at the regular men's breakfast gatherings.

The knowledge that Pat was on the stove was sure to bring a few more men

to the Saturday morning table. His joy of cooking and his delight at being

with the guys was obvious to anyone who knew him in the slightest way.

In fact, just last weekend,

Pat and Diane were scheduled to be away at the beach for a well-deserved

day or two of rest. However, when Pat realized that Saturday was the men's

breakfast at church, he canceled the trip so that he could be present

to cook. Arriving two hours early, Pat prepared a feast of biscuits, pancakes,

sausage, and pastries. Those arriving would be greeted by the sounds of

sizzle, the aroma of sausage, and the booming voice of the outgoing cook.

On Tuesday evening, just as

we were finishing dinner at my house, Pat's stepson, Brack, called. Fighting

back emotion, this fine young man choked out the news that, during a rainstorm

a short time earlier, Pat's Corvette had hydroplaned on Ga. Highway 16

into oncoming traffic. My wonderful, powerful, delightful friend and parishioner

had been killed instantly.

As I drove the several miles

to the hospital to meet with the grieving family, I shed copious tears

of my own and prayed confused prayers. In fact, nearly everyone in our

church who received the news that night responded emotionally. Such was

the esteem and love for this man and his family.

I am still in grief and I am

still confused. Like everyone who loses a friend or family member, I am

repelled by the seeming unfairness of it all. Over the past several hours,

I have complained to God, argued my case, prayed for the family, and shed

more tears.

This morning, I fixed myself

breakfast. When the aroma of sausage reached my nostrils, all I could

see through my tear-blinded eyes was my friend Pat standing over the hot

stove last Saturday spending his last weekend choosing to serve other

men instead of choosing to relax at the beach.

Tomorrow, at his memorial service,

and again on Sunday morning, our church will gather around the Table of

the Lord. We will gather in the presence of "angels and archangels,

prophets, saints, martyrs, and the whole company of heaven, a multitude

that no man can number" before God's throne.

And, as is the teaching of

the Church Catholic for the last 2,000 years, Pat will be there too, remaining

a part of our church in the "great cloud of witnesses" as the

Church Militant on earth is united in a mystical way with the Church Triumphant.

We will be comforted and strengthened

shower the family with love and well-meaning words and expressions. But

we will still shed tears and grieve over our loss.

And, although I really do trust

the God whose "ways are not our ways," I still think it's terribly

unfair. The world needs more men like Pat, not less.

[David Epps is rector of Christ

the King Charismatic Episcopal Church in the south metro area of Atlanta.

He may be contacted at [email protected] or at www.ChristTheKingCEC.com.]

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