In early January, New York City led the world in celebrating the life of Det. Steven McDonald of the New York City Police Department.  His funeral Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral overflowed as friends and admirers paid their last respects.  Police, by the thousands, stood in formation outside.  Tributes were paid by political leaders, police officers, a spokesman for the New York Rangers (Steven was their most enthusiastic fan) and finally, the most-deeply moving, from his son, Conor, who now wears the blue NYPD uniform.

 

Thirty years ago, as a young officer, Steven was shot at point-blank range by a teenager, Shavod Jones.  The three bullets left Steven paralyzed for life from the neck down.

 

In working through his bitterness, Steven concluded, “hatred poisons, love brings life.”  Soon afterwards, when his wife gave birth to Conor, Steven electrified the world by his simple response to the three bullets fired by his assailant.  In three words: “I forgive Shavod!”  With that, he set out on his journey of forgiveness, saying, “bitterness imprisons, forgiveness liberates.“

 

Each of us has his special remembrance of Steven.  Here’s mine:

 

Year after year, Steven would accept my invitation to join our parish staff in preaching on the Seven Last Words on Good Friday at Good Shepherd Church in the Inwood neighborhood of northern Manhattan.  (With us were two of the best, Paulist Fr. Larry Boadt and Paulist Fr. Lionel DeSilva.)  Steven would lead off with the first word from the cross: “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.”  It was an afternoon to remember!

 

Steven would stay for the entire three-hour Good Friday service.  During the individual Veneration of the Cross, the long line moved slowly.  I observed it carefully.  As each parishioner joined the line, his or her body posture would often show impatience, expressed in a yawn or glance at a watch.  Halfway along the line, parishioners often would bow their head and close their eyes in an attempt to meditate.  As they approached the life-sized cross of veneration, they would find Steven seated beside it.  A miraculous change would immediately occur in them.  Infinitely more inspirational than a wooden cross carrying a massive image of Christ was the living presence of Steven: A miraculous human incarnation of our savior in his merciful forgiveness.

 

I should add that behind every great man is a great woman.  Steven’s wife is in a class of her own.  Steven would always say in jest, “Some people call me a saint.  All I can assure you of is that my wife is a martyr.”  How true!  If Steven’s life was changed by three bullets, equally so was Patti Anne’s.  She accepted her new role.  No sacrifice was too great.  No request was too small.  Together, they have given us their one son, Conor.  He is our reassurance that Steven’s legacy will live on!

 

---