Earlier this week, I learned that one of our family friends, Rev. David Allen, S.J., passed away. The Jesuits have been an important part of my life for as long as I can remember, especially since my mother’s Uncle Miles was a Jesuit. But Father Allen is the Jesuit—and the priest—who was part of my life for the longest time.
My grandmother met Father Allen when he was serving as the chaplain at Good Samaritan Hospital. She asked whether my brother could assist him as an altar server there, and the next thing I knew, my sister was also lectoring every Saturday evening at Mass.
Somehow I inherited that lectoring role. I was terrified of public speaking, but there was no wiggling out of this assignment, which was mine to carry on from my older sisters—like so many other roles in my young adult life. I took it on, entering the sacristy with butterflies in my stomach every week. While Father Allen prepared for Mass, I would read over the words, hoping there was nothing complicated this time.
I remember once I mispronounced the word “precepts” during the Responsorial Psalm as half the congregation followed my lead and the rest tried to guide us onto the right path.
After Mass, Father Allen laughed about it and made me realize it didn’t matter. He was always genuinely thankful for the assistance at Mass, and I remember how much he smiled when my brother and I arrived each Saturday. I was an awkward middle schooler—later high schooler—at the time, and I just remember how he had a way of putting people at ease and making you feel seen and appreciated.
It’s Father Allen’s smile that I will always remember the best. Whether he was walking through the door to join us for dinner or joining us for a family wedding or a baptism, Father Allen was always welcoming and happy, ready to regale us with stories and just be with our family.
A hospital chaplain’s days must not always be full of reasons to smile, but Father Allen had an inner joy, a solid faith, and a clear love of life.
I remember once that my father asked him whether someone could be a Catholic and speak out against a Church teaching, and—in my memory—Father Allen said, “He’s still a Catholic, just maybe not a good Catholic.” I’ve reflected on that from time to time when Catholics try to shut others out of the Church over disagreements.
Father Allen was out of the country—I believe in the Czech Republic—when John and I got married, but I remember how wonderful it was to have him there for two of my siblings’ weddings.
And when we were adopting our sons from China, Father Allen and our pediatrician were on the short list of people I emailed from the other side of the world with questions and details about our return home.
Father Allen was always quick to respond with enthusiasm and assurance that he would be at the Cathedral of Mary Our Queen for the baptisms. He just needed to know the date and the time.
Baptizing a toddler who just heard his first words of English a couple of weeks prior takes a certain approach. But of course, with Father Allen, I had nothing to worry about. He approached the baptisms with joy and ease and genuine delight in these little boys who were new to our family. Everything went smoothly, and there were no tears.
Father Allen has been on my mind and in my prayers this week, and I wish I could have one more conversation with him to hear his laugh, see his smile, and hear one of his entertaining stories.
Today, as we celebrate our younger son’s baptism anniversary, I’m praying that he’s in heaven, praying for us as we pray for him. Maybe he’s even chatting with my grandmother.
I can’t think of any other priest who has been part of my life for so long, who watched me grow from an awkward middle schooler who was shaking every week as she stepped up to read the readings at Mass to a wife, mother, and professional. I’m so thankful to have known him.
May Father Allen rest in peace.
Father David Allen, S.J., former longtime Good Samaritan chaplain, dies at 87
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