The First Week of Advent always arrives with a quiet light of divine invitation, hope, and trust. This year, that light meets us through the shadow of a great loss. On Saturday at 6:17 p.m., the final hour of the last day of the liturgical year, our brother and friend, Paul Verderber, completed his journey home to God. The timing feels almost providential. As the Church’s year ended, Paul stepped into the dawn of God’s eternal day. It is difficult to hold the grief of his absence and the hope of Advent at the same time, yet Scripture today (Isaiah 4:2-6 and Matthew 8:5-11) invites us to do exactly that.
Isaiah’s Promise at the Edge of Grief
Isaiah 4 speaks of a coming day when God will purify his people. He will wash away sorrow and wrap his own in a shelter of glory, a cloud by day and a flaming fire by night. When I read those words today, I cannot help but see Paul’s life reflected in them.
Paul was not a man of noise but of steady, faithful presence. In the decade we worked, traveled, and prayed together, I saw in him the slow, patient work of God’s grace preparing him for “that day.” Even in suffering, he surrendered with a gentleness that revealed a heart being readied for the Lord. His final hour was not just the end of a life, it was Isaiah’s promise breaking through. A new dawn, a purified heart, and a sheltered soul resting under God’s glory.
The Psalm adds its own layer of meaning: “Let us go rejoicing to the house of the Lord” (Psalm 122:1). Today, those words carry pain and consolation. Our faith and hope are that Paul has gone ahead to that home we long for and toward which we orient our lives. He did not walk there alone. He was surrounded by Mary Ann, their daughters, their sons-in-law, and grandchildren. Family love formed a sacred canopy around him, much like the shelter Isaiah describes. In that circle of family, faith, and tenderness, Advent’s meaning becomes real. God draws near in human presence, even at the threshold of death.
Trust and Surrender
In the Gospel, Jesus meets a Roman centurion whose humility astonishes Him: “Lord, I am not worthy… but only say the word” (Matthew 8:6). The centurion’s faith becomes the model for Advent readiness namely, trust and surrender. Paul lived this kind of faith. He was an accomplished engineer and a capable leader, yet spiritually he carried the humble confidence of a man who knew that all authority ultimately rests in God. In his final days, even as his strength faded, there was a quiet “yes” in him, a readiness that resembled the very faith Jesus praises today.
Advent, then, becomes clearer through Paul’s life: it is a season of holy preparation. It isn’t about frantic activities and Christmas decor, but interior making-room. It is about trust in the God who turns endings into new beginnings.
As we accompany Mary Ann and the family in their grief, Advent gently reminds us that grief and hope are not opposites. Christian grief is threaded with expectation. The One we await has already opened the door through which those who die in him pass.
And so, we pray in the words of today’s Alleluia. “Come and save us, Lord our God; let Your face shine upon us, that we may be saved.” May this Advent be a time of deeper trust, readiness, and hope in the God who turns every ending into a new beginning. Amen.
Announcement for Paul’s Funeral
Paul’s Funeral is scheduled for this Thursday, Dec 4, at St. Eugene Catholic Church in Wendel, North Carolina, in the Diocese of Raleigh. Viewing will be on Wednesday evening at the same Church.
What a great loss for all of us! I am so very sad to hear of our dear Paul’s passing, but as you so beautifully attest here, Fr Maurice, in grief there is great hope too, and his death signals a passing into new glorious life. We pray fervently for his soul, and we pray that he is now in the presence of our Lord. Paul was such a kind and generous person. I will miss him very much. Thank you, Fr Maurice, for lifting us up and helping us to see that there is great promise “at the edge of grief.” Rest in peace, dear Paul.
Amen. Amen. Amen.