Noah Konuparampil Antony, Funeral Homily, February 11, 2017
Scott Hahn
begins his book called A Father Who Keeps His Promises with this arresting
anecdote that almost seems impossible, except that it actually happened. On
December 7, 1989, an 8.2 magnitude earthquake struck northwest Armenia that
flattened buildings and killed some 30,000 people. In the muddled chaos a
distressed father bolted through the winding streets leading to the school
where his son had gone earlier that morning. The man could not stop thinking
about the promise he had given his son so many times, “No matter what happens,
Armand, I will always be there.”
He reached
the site where the school had stood, but he saw only a hill of rubble. He just
stood there at first, fighting back the tears…and then took off stumbling over
debris running toward the east corner where he knew his son’s classroom had
been. With nothing but bare hands, he started digging pulling bricks and pieces
of plaster. One of the bystanders said in a surly voice, “Forget it, mister,
they’re all dead.” He looked up and replied, “You can stand there and grumble;
or you can help me lift these bricks,” but only a few pitched in, and most of
them gave up when their arms began to ache. But the man couldn’t stop thinking
about his son, and so he kept digging and digging for hours: 12 hours went
by…18 hours…24 hours…36 hours… Finally in the 38th hour he heard a muffled
groan from under a piece of wallboard, pulled it back and cried, “Armand!” From
the darkness came a slight shaking voice, “Papa?” Other weak voices began
calling out as the young survivors stirred beneath the still un-cleared rubble.
Gasps and shouts of bewildered relief came from the few onlookers and parents
who remained. They found 14 of the 33 students still alive. When Armand finally
emerged he also tried to help dig until all his surviving classmates were out.
Everybody standing there heard him as he turned to his friends and said, “See,
I told you my father wouldn’t forget us.”
Scott Hahn draws
this moral and spiritual conclusion, saying, “That’s the kind of faith we need
because that’s the kind of Father we have.” With that moving vignette Hahn sets
the stage not only for his book, but also for salvation history, and indeed all
human history. Our story – yours and mine – is of a Father whose love is
relentless, and who will stop at nothing to save us; no matter how many hours
he has to dig to reach us. I hope that story sufficiently sets the stage for
this funeral homily for Noah Antony, too. For all of you who feel trapped under
the rubble of sadness and pain and loss, remember Armand’s faith in his
father’s relentless love. “That’s the kind of faith we need, because that’s the
kind of Father we have.”
In the
second reading today, St. Paul is determined to describe to the Romans the same
tenacious and tireless love of God. He writes: “What will separate us from the
love of Christ?” And then Paul lists possible candidates who might stand
between us and God’s love in Christ, such as “anguish, distress, persecution,
famine, nakedness, peril, and sword.” But he goes even further and adds
spiritual obstacles like “death, life, angels, principalities, present things,
future things, powers, height, depth and all other creatures.” Can’t you almost
picture Paul, like the father in Scott Hahn’s story pulling back each of these
enemies of God’s love like those bricks and plaster; a relentless saint
desperate to show that “nothing will be able to separate us from the love of
God in Christ Jesus the Lord”? Paul wants the Romans to understand what kind of
faith we need because of what kind of Father we have. Paul’s particular point
is that Jesus embodies the Father’s love; he is the Father’s love in action; he
is the Father’s love on two legs. And this is the precise reason in the gospel
the Father looks down from heaven upon Jesus and says: “This is my beloved son,
in whom I am well pleased.” You’ve heard the old adage: “like father, like
son.” That ancient adage is never more true than when applied to God the Father
and God the Son.
A few days
ago I got to visit with Paul and Susan, and Noah’s family even via internet,
and a few of Noah’s friends from track and youth group. We sat around the
Antony’s kitchen table and we laughed, we cried, and we prayed as we remembered
Noah’s short but remarkable life. As I listened to the stories, it became more
and more apparent that Noah had a huge heart that beat with the same relentless
love found in the heart of that Armenian father, and in St. Paul’s letter to
the Romans, and which is always pleasing to the heavenly Father. I don’t mean
that Noah was perfect – Noah’s siblings, Isaac, Sophia and Isabella will
quickly agree with that! – and you’ll forgive me for any avuncular
exaggerations from his doting Achen. In his own way, I believe Noah tried to
remove the “rubble” for others, those obstacles and encumbrances that
eventually emerge between us and God’s love. Let me explain what I mean.
Noah
Konuparampil Antony was born on October 1, 1996 here in Springdale, AR to Paul
and Susan (Abraham) Antony. I had the holy honor to be able to baptize him here
at St. Raphael Church. It is no exaggeration to say that God the Father looked
down from heaven at baby Noah that day, and said again, “This, too, is my
beloved son, in whom I am well pleased.” Indeed, at the moment of baptism we
are all saints, even if we don’t stay very saintly for very long.
From an
early age, Noah wanted to share God’s love with others, and remove obstacles to
that love. His maternal grandmother, Tessie Auntie, recalled that Noah loved to
pretend playing priest at Mass at home. He would hand little potpourri to each
family member seated on sofas, his domestic church congregation. He invited
Isaac to participate, as the deacon, naturally. Isaac could be Dc. Chuck while
Noah would be Msgr. Scott Friend. When you’re the director of the play, you can
make yourself the leading role. He didn’t always pick on Isaac, though. My
brother Paul recalled when Isaac was born he was in the NICU for several days.
As the family was waiting to leave, a nurse came and said the doctor had
ordered one last test. As she was about to wheel the cart carrying Isaac out of
the room, Noah stood in front of the cart, put both his hands on the cart to
stop it defiantly, and said in a voice with all the force of Gandalf
confronting the Balrog on the Bridge of Khazad-dum, “You shall not pass!”
That’s exactly how he said it. Noah’s heart could not handle seeing his little
sibling suffering any more, just like Armand’s father couldn’t stand the
thought of his son under that rubble.
After Noah
received first Holy Communion he immediately served at Mass, his mom Susan
recalled. When Isaac was old enough, Noah trained him with Nazi-like precision
in all the details of serving. Noah’s child-like faith understood that at Mass
the Father’s love is poured out in bread and wine, and he didn’t want sloppy
serving to stand in the way or distract people at Mass. Noah’s child-like faith
was anything but child-ish. Why? Well, “that’s the kind of faith we need
because that’s the kind of Father we have.”
The obituary
mentioned many of Noah’s accomplishments in junior high and high school, where
he was a member of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, National Honor
Society, Har-Ber Debate, and how he graduated with Highest Honors. But his
friend, “Pollo” (which means “chicken legs” in Spanish) said how much Noah
prized “honesty” and “loyalty” to his family and friends. Because of their
camaraderie, their track team won basically everything (no exaggeration) and
broke the 30-year record in the “four-X’s” and that record still stands today.
Now, I really hate to add this detail, but it is true that Noah went through a
“Justin Bieber stage” in styling his hair. That was something his uncle Michael
called, “Bieber Fever.” Michael is a doctor, so he knows a fever when he sees
one. And Noah was not above a little
friendly rivalry either. When he was first getting to know Pollo he said, “Hey,
you should come over to my house more often because my dad likes you more than
Chris.” Noah was always pushing his friends forward. Chris remembered Noah gave
him the courage to speak in front of the youth group, something he was
terrified of. One of Susan’s memories was seeing the team hold hands and pray
before meets. Noah was a normal guy in many ways, but deep in his heart also
beat the relentless love of the Father: encouraging, pushing, uplifting, and
never resting.
Noah and
Izzie – not his sister Izzie! – were “an item,” as everyone knows. Izzie
remembered their long talks at Sonic where Noah shared his hopes, dreams and
fears of the future. He would always push Izzie to try to eat new things, even
though Noah just ordered steak. You probably saw on Facebook the letter Noah
sent to Izzie at the start of this semester, telling her to finish the semester
strong. He wrote: “1. Always sit in the third row. It's close to the front, but
not all the way there. It's the sweet spot. 2. Text your boyfriend every day, he'll
always have something nice to say about you. 3. Smile as much as you can. It
makes you approachable to anyone who sees you, and your smile is
gorgeous.” (I told him to write that, by
the way.) Noah was removing future obstacles for Izzie: rubble that hadn’t even
fallen yet around her.
Noah did
well academically at Baylor, too. One professor, Dr. Richard Edward, wrote a
recommendation letter in which he praised Noah’s leadership, saying, “I would
place him among the top five percent of students I have taught over the past
thirty years in terms of his ability to communicate effectively in public
speaking, interviewing, and interpersonal situations.” Noah was part of the BIC
(Baylor Interdisciplinary Core of the Honors College). Now, that’s what Noah’s
head was doing, but what about his heart doing? His heart was in a group called
the “King’s Club,” a community service group, where Noah played with Hispanic
kids after school like a big brother. He
saw these Hispanic kids had bigger boulders to remove in their lives than he
did, and he wanted to help. He was always removing the rubble.
Two years
ago in 2015, Noah went with the church group to see Pope Francis in
Philadelphia. Noah hoisted Isaac on his shoulders and carried him for 20 minutes
so Isaac could get a picture of the pope. He carried Izzie piggy-back style so
she could see the Holy Father. Noah’s own view of the pope was completely
blocked, so he simply told Izzie: “Just tell me what he looks like and what
he’s doing.” That was enough for Noah; he was happy that he had removed the
obstacles for others to see the Vicar of Christ pass by. If Noah had been in
Armenia during that earthquake, how long do you think he would have stayed and
helped that father remove the rubble? 38 hours doesn’t sound too long for Noah.
In perhaps
his most celebrated essay, called “The Weight of Glory,” C. S. Lewis wrote
these comforting but also somewhat confounding words, he said: “To please
God…to be a real ingredient in the divine happiness…to be loved, and not merely
pitied, but delighted in as an artist delights in his work or a father in a son
– it seems impossible, a weight or burden of glory which our thoughts can
hardly sustain. But so it is.” And that’s our prayer at this funeral Mass: that
God would be pleased with Noah, and Noah would be “a real ingredient in the
divine happiness,” even more than he was a real ingredient in our own
happiness. May Noah hear the Father’s voice today, like he heard it 20 years
ago at his baptism, “This, too, is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased.”
Praised be
Jesus
Christ!
