I had just finished getting dressed for the game and walked out of the tunnel to find Fr. Bruce sitting at the end of our bench. I shuffled up next to him and grabbed a seat, lacing up my shoes and watching aimlessly as Wooden award winner Doug McDermott and his Creighton teammates warmed up for the game ahead. In just a little less than an hour, what seemed like the entire city of Omaha would converge on the arena and watch as their Blue Jays throttled us into submission for a tough non-conference road defeat.
I looked at Bruce and he seemed his usual self – legs crossed, a wry smirk spreading across his face. He always had an air of peace and contentment that prompted him to slightly push his head back and direct his eyes upward as if he was calmly signaling thanks to God for his life he was living. His cane rested on his leg and he looked at me through his large-framed glasses and squinted eyes:
“Eggy. What can I do for you?”
He always said things in a way that put me at ease. I looked at him and squirmed for a minute. My eyes moved from his and darted back to the court then to the stands where the students were filing into their seats. Sheepishly, I looked back at him and asked, “Bruce, can we say confession?”
By that time, I was almost two years into my stay at Saint Joseph’s and had fallen in love with St. Ignatius and the Jesuits. Ignatius’ assertions that God could be found in all things had prompted me to believe that basketball could be a perfect conduit to experiencing life and the Divine in a manner that I couldn’t anywhere else.
Despite that conviction, the time and location of the impromptu confession request made me feel a little silly because let’s face it – we have all seen players pray before games but, good Lord, confession? He would probably think me to be a bit neurotic rather than repentant.
His response settled me immediately, though. Without a stir in his posture, Bruce glanced at me and smiled again, saying, “let us pray.”
By the time I had met Bruce, he had cemented himself firmly in the administrative ranks of Jesuit higher education. He had been the leader of prestigious preparatory high schools and had finished extensive research and teaching in the sciences. He directed campus ministry and alumni relation departments and now worked as the head of advising in the business school at SJU.
Beyond his career, he had suffered greatly with medical illness whose effects stayed with him in a permanent manner. Cancer in his oral cavity forced removal of part of his tongue and treatments meant to cure him of his tumors had singed the nerve endings off of his feet. As a result, he would always walk slowly and quite gingerly, swaying back and forth in a manner that made one raise a hand cautiously behind his back just in case a fall would occur when walking with him.
But to be quite honest, Bruce didn’t really seem to care about any of that stuff. Yeah, it shaped him and it guided his words and actions. But like so many of his Brothers that held such esteemed professional credentials, he barely spoke of them. Accordingly, the only traces of his illnesses came through the physical reminder he walked and talked with each day. No indication of his suffering or ill will towards it could be sensed through his tones or expressions.
He was just peaceful. And I was lucky to have him guide me as I spent my time at SJU.
We talked and shared time in hotel conference rooms and jammed basketball arenas. He looked back and smiled at me on our charter bus as we heard the news of his Jesuit brother Jorge Bergoglio being named Pope Francis. He escorted me and others to the steps of the Gesu cathedral in Rome and sent me off on a solo journey to visit the grounds that the Basque Spaniard used to found the Society of Jesus. Like my teammates, like my coaches, he became the literal home I was looking for as I played basketball at St. Joe’s.
As I found out that he had passed, I became visibly shaken and kicked myself for not seeing him more than I did since I graduated. I shut the door behind me and collapsed in my chair. For the first time in a while, warm tears strolled down my cheeks and I closed my eyes, ignoring how openly distraught I would look if anyone peered inside my office window.
After a few moments, the pain remained visible but I reopened my eyes. Strangely, a faint smirk rose in the midst of my tears as a spontaneous inner peace arose within me that eclipsed the sadness I was expressing.
Simply put, I had realized that no, I didn’t get to see Bruce as he died. But I did get to speak with him now in ways that I never had before.
After having understood this, I dialogued with my brother and the notion that this conversation would be a continuous one prompted that smirk to grow.
An inkling to lounge further with my legs crossed, head slightly tilted and eyes gazing upward to give thanks to God rose stronger within me.
Apparently, I had learned well from my dear teacher.