Where’s Father Emmanuel?

From the Pastor:    Where’s Father Emmanuel?

       Those of you who attended the TLM at St. Anthony back in the day, as well as those who were at Epiphany when the TLM first started here in August of 2015 will most likely remember Fr. Emmanuel Ndecihiro. He was from the diocese of Dodoma in Tanzania and came to the States to study advanced Mathematics at St. Leo University. I offered him a room at St. Anthony’s rectory and we became close friends over the years. He also stayed at Epiphany for a while before he finally had to return to his home diocese, where he has since been in charge of several parishes, missions, and schools. He has been trying to make it back here for a short break from all that has been heaped upon him and was expecting to arrive here this week. I planned on running this article (from long ago at St. Anthony) for his first Sunday back, both as a memory for him to recall and because I didn’t expect to have much time to write because we needed to do a lot of catching up. Unfortunately, he is not yet able to come, but here is an old story of his first Thanksgiving. Enjoy!

Fr. Emmanuel’ 1st Thanksgiving

    Several weeks ago Father Emmanuel asked me what “Thanksgiving” is. I explained to him about the history of the celebration and that, in practice, it is the most religious of all secular holidays we celebrate. We give thanks to God quite openly on this day, when we seem to be almost apologetic for mentioning God at Christmas or Easter. Then I told him about the great feast he could expect at a typical Thanksgiving meal. After spending the day (following morning Mass, of course) watching football games, drinking wine, beer or soda, snacking on chips, salsa, veggies, fruits and cheese, the real food would come. Turkey and ham, baked potatoes, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, squash, rolls, cranberry sauce, stuffing, salad, green beans and carrots. His eyes were wide as I listed all of the food. (In his limited vocabulary he didn’t understand “turkey” or ‘ham” until seeing photos on the web.) But I hadn’t even gotten to the dessert. Apple pie, pumpkin pie and pecan pie, all topped with ice cream and whipped cream. “Wow! How do you eat that much?” he wondered in amazement. 
    We simply loosen our belts a notch or two and stuff ourselves more than anyone could possibly imagine. Father’s response was to tell me of feasts in his home village. But there they have a saying that goes something like this: “You can only eat until your stomach touches your ribs.” Boy, would I be in trouble! My stomach passed by my ribs many years ago and does not seem to have any intention of ever going back into its proper place again. Anyway, last Thursday was Father’s first Thanksgiving and he got to celebrate it with my family. You know what craziness is when you read about my family get togethers, especially when I write about them before they occur.
    This year my brother-in-law took his boys out hunting before Thanksgiving and shot a wild hog for the main course instead of the traditional ham and turkey. Father Emmanuel, who grew up hunting for most of his meals back home, thought this was the best way to ensure good, fresh meat and was excited when he saw the large boar they got. It made him a little homesick but I didn’t know what he was going to do to alleviate that down and out feeling. Without telling anyone, he made a blowgun and snare and went hunting himself, as we found out Thanksgiving afternoon. We were roasting the pig in a large pit after burning logs down to hot ash and at one point Father Emmanuel placed his surprise catch in with it when nobody was looking. Not realizing there were hunting seasons and regulations, he had gotten up early in the morning and caught a wild turkey. He cleaned it and seasoned it and placed it into the firepit and waited with great excitement for our reaction when we would finally eat.
    Fast forward a couple of hours and dinner was ready. All the fixin’s were on the table, the first couple of football games were over and everyone was called in to eat. The boys had retrieved their hog and sliced it up nicely but when they did, they noticed a foul odor that they couldn’t quite place or explain. Meanwhile, Father Emmanuel had stealthily removed his turkey from the pit and kept it off to the side to spring on us once we were all gathered at the table. Once we said grace he asked us to wait and he brought in his surprise. It was a beautiful bird, with golden brown skin looking like something from a Normal Rockwell painting. But it was also the source of the obnoxious odor. As we would find out in just a little while the odor was so pungent that it permeated even the boar it was cooked with and made it inedible. The aroma was not from the spices he used. And the bird was, indeed, very fresh, yet it still smelled very strongly of what we now recognized as week old road kill. Father learned a very valuable lesson on his first Thanksgiving Day. There is a big difference between a turkey and a turkey buzzard.
    At least we still had vegetables to eat.

With prayers for your holiness,
Fr. Edwin Palka

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