We are his family

Our sons were just 3 and 5 when we first started attending Mass at St. Joseph’s in Cockeysville. We didn’t know anyone in the parish, but Msgr. Paul Cook was the pastor there, and he was welcoming and kind.

I remember one Epiphany Sunday we had brought a few pieces of chalk with us to be blessed so we could mark our door for the new year. Our boys were bouncing around on the sidewalk outside the church as Msgr. Cook patiently blessed the chalk and spoke with us. Even though I remember that encounter as chaotic, I also recall how patient our pastor was, smiling at these children who were getting their post-Mass wiggles out.

Whenever I think of Father Paul, I think of him smiling—that gentle smile that reflected his care for his parishioners and his great sense of humor. He retired from the parish not long after we arrived, but his presence shaped the parish. And the warmth of his welcome was important to us as a family with young children, trying to make our way through the tense marathon that Sunday Masses can be.

On the day Msgr. Cook passed away, my husband and I went to Sunday Mass at St. Joseph’s, where we all prayed for our pastor emeritus. Our pastor, Msgr. Rick Hilgartner, spoke briefly about his predecessor—describing the pastoral leader he was, the impact he had, and the legacy he has left.

Msgr. Hillgartner mentioned that Msgr. Cook is survived by his sister, Sister Mary Ann Cook, S.N.D de N. Then he added that Father Paul’s family was the St. Joseph parish community.

“We are his family,” he said.

Such a powerful reminder. A priest has his own family, of course. Through his vocation, though, he becomes part of a parish family and a Church family. And the parishioners truly were Msgr. Cook’s family. So, a few days later, I slipped into a pew at St. Joseph’s for the funeral.

The Mass was a beautiful celebration of the life of “a priest’s priest,” as Archbishop William Lori called him.

Msgr. James Barker gave a wonderful homily with one of the funniest stories I’ve ever heard at a funeral. He shared that when he was an associate pastor there in the 1980s, the parish council meetings were running long—from 7:30 p.m. until 11:30 at night.

So, Msgr. Barker and the other associate pastor went and bought new pajamas. And one night, when it got to be 10 p.m. and the parish council meeting was still going, they knocked on the door and told Father Paul it was getting late, that they needed to go to bed, and asked when he would be up to tuck them in.

The meeting ended five minutes later. Msgr. Cook thanked his associate pastors and they closed the evening with a drink together. And the meeting never ran late again.

I loved that story not just because it was so amusing, but also because it showed the friendships that Msgr. Cook had with his fellow priests. The pews and the altar were packed with priests and deacons who had come to celebrate the life of their colleague and friend.

It was incredibly moving watching them processing in and out of the church where Msgr. Cook spent almost 40 years of his priesthood. But even more emotional for me was hearing them pray the words of the consecration together aloud.

As Catholics, we believe that the communion of saints—everyone on earth, in purgatory, and in heaven—is there for that moment when the bread and wine become Jesus’ body and blood. And I got choked up thinking of how Father Paul was also with us then, joining in the prayer from heaven, in that timeless moment when we are all connected.

We are, indeed, his family. And I trust that he is praying for us from heaven as we pray for him from earth.

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