Father Myron McCormick

Father Myron McCormick was ancient, completely bald, and had long, wizard-like fingers that accentuated his medieval brown robe (not to mention a solid collection of Mr. Rogers-esque cardigans).

I have always been a spiritual size queen,* and Father Myron was a man of enormous spiritual endowment. His eyes exuded kindness. He never failed to greet me enthusiastically, taking my hand in both of his. His manner was what you might expect from someone named Myron: he wore big, nerdy glasses and had an endearing spastic awkwardness. To be in his presence was like taking valium; immediately the restless spirit calmed and anger diminished. I couldn’t imagine him harming a housefly. Archbishop Seán himself had stopped by the Shrine for the express purpose of making his confession to Father Myron.

My love for Father Myron is balanced by my dislike of his politics: Father Myron was a rabid foe of gay marriage in Massachusetts.