Archbishop Henning Learned Much, Taught Much, Loved Much

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Over the past year, I’ve had the privilege of attending several liturgies with Archbishop Henning. One ceremony required a long drive from Providence along Route 138, which parallels the Rhode Island coastline. As we approached an array of sailboats gliding over Narragansett Bay, the Archbishop signaled our arrival on “Conanicut Island.” I grinned. “Bishop, that’s actually called Jamestown,” I said, disclosing my own parochialism. “I think you mean Conimicut, which is a village of Warwick.” With characteristic humility, the Archbishop simply smiled, thinking perhaps he mispronounced the island’s appellation; or maybe I misunderstood what he said. Only an incidental discovery later on would reveal both my own ignorance and the depth and breadth of Archbishop Henning’s knowledge of Rhode Island, which he mastered with lightning speed. Jamestown indeed sits upon an island called Conanicut.
I would surmise that, like me, few Rhode Islanders can boast as much knowledge about our beloved Ocean State as the cheerful New Yorker whom Pope Francis named the ninth Bishop of Providence. In many ways, Archbishop Henning’s episcopal motto — “Put out into the deep” — mirrors the way he learned about this state and its people. From the start, he refused to “stay by the shore,” as it were. He was all in. Every visit, every encounter taught him something new. From Woonsocket to Westerly, Archbishop Henning visited almost every parish church. Catholic school students could easily find their bishop cheering alongside their parents at a state track meet or CAL basketball game. Volunteers even stumbled upon Archbishop Henning alleviating their dish duty after a parish festival. These encounters taught him about obscure village names, proverbial figures in diocesan history, and even the secrets from a feast recipe or two. But they also taught him that amidst the challenges of a secular milieu, the Catholic people of this state love Christ and his Church. They offer their hands and hearts in service to the poor. They pray for their loved ones, the sick, and the lonely. And they love their parishes and their priests. This kind of knowledge certainly proved useful for the new Bishop of Providence. But more fittingly, these faces and figures made up the pages of an album about a family to which he belonged. Indeed, I believe Archbishop Henning learned much because he loved much. He loved—indeed, loves—the people of this state; and as Saint Augustine once opined, you cannot love what you do not know.
Specialists in education tell us that the best way to learn is to teach. Archbishop Henning has been a master at both. As he personally learned the joys and sorrows of his people, he taught us priests how to shepherd them. We witnessed him preach a year-long message of hope. He reminded us that no matter how dark the impending storm might seem, Jesus is Lord and the Eucharist is real. This scripture scholar brought to our attention the consoling words of Christ in the Gospel of John: “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.” Whether preaching in English or Spanish, or offering words of homage in Portuguese or French, Archbishop Henning demonstrated to us the goodness of God with an unflappable confidence: Yes, everything will be okay, because we’re not in charge. God is.
Archbishop Henning practiced what he preached. As a member of his staff, I recall with fondness watching the scores of lay faithful, priests, deacons, and religious, pour into his office to share their stories or seek his counsel over a coffee and some cookies (or, if you were lucky, fresh bagels from New York). In those meetings, one encountered a man with a rare balance of sharp intelligence and personal warmth. Archbishop Henning spent time with his people. He ate with his people. He prayed with his people. He cried with his people. He loved his people. He thus taught us priests, students of a good shepherd, how to love our people more ardently and serve them more zealously. In the end, he taught us what it looks like to be a father, and to seek daily the holiness that originates in God alone. While our good teacher and shepherd must now learn the villages and vocations of a new, and much larger, state and Church, I suspect he will still teach us a thing or two about the same Lord whom we worship at every Eucharist. And I have no doubt that, as he learns new islands and inlets, he will continue to put out into the deep.
Rev. Nathan J. Ricci, J.C.L., is the Vice Chancellor of the Diocese of Providence, Administrative Assistant to the Bishop, and Theological Adviser to the Rhode Island Catholic.