I'm not sure exactly how to begin writing about a friend getting murdered. In some ways it hasn't sunk in at all yet. I was breezing through some Catholic news sites on Thursday morning and saw a headline that a priest had been murdered. Instantly saddened, I quickly learned that it was a FSSP priest. But then my head started spinning when I saw the name in the story. I am speaking of our dear Kenny, Fr. Kenneth Walker, who tragically was murdered Wednesday night in Arizona.
I still remember when I first met Kenny. It was at an opening day BBQ at the Academy. This was my first year there, and I didn't have a clue as to what to expect. So I was sitting around quietly at this BBQ when a skinny boy with thick glasses and a comb-over hair cut came trotting in. Instantly all of the girls in the place jumped from their seats and starting screaming and running over to see the boy. They were giddy and excited to say the least. "Gee," I thought, "is
he the Big Man On Campus here?... Where am I? What am I doing here?!" I soon learned that Kenny was a returning student, the only male returning student from the previous year, and he was essentially a brother to all the girls there. And that was all he would ever be, because I think after less than a minute from the first time I met him I already was informed that he wanted to be a priest for "the Fraternity."
It didn't take long to get to know Kenny. There were 11 of us guys living in the upstairs of the Academy. Kenny loved to talk (especially in Latin), play sports, serve Mass (especially for dear Fr. Kennedy), study, and to stay up late talking about anything philosophical or theological. One day some people, I will call them hotshots, came from nearby Dominican College in Ottawa to check out the Academy. They were either in their final undergrad year, or even possibly in a Masters program. It didn't take long for Kenny to get in a conversation with them about some Thomistic topic. I sat in amazement that night as Kenny, barely in his second year of studies, ripped the hotshots apart left right and centre on the subject they were discussing! Yet he did so with a gentleness and kindness that seemed almost like he was apologizing. Like, "sorry, but since I must defend truth, I must now destroy your arguments." What a brain!
He was quirky. He seemed like a Catholic from some past generation. One who genuinely sought holiness, "cost what may." But though he seemed from a past generation, he most definitely was aware of the world around him. His love for the Extraordinary Form Mass was not born out of wanting to stay in the past, rather it was for him simply the best possible way to become close to Our Lord. He loved beauty, and chant, and praising God the way the Church has for centuries. To him the Mass was to foretaste heaven, and he famously called the workings of the then parish contemporary choir (i.e. hippy music): "theologically ghetto." He would frequently repeat the story of how once at a Mass in a "modern" parish the priest, for the homily, simply played a violin. He would shake his head. But soon his face would return to its always smiling way.
I remember choir lessons with Kenny. Now he was one of those people who struggles to sing on key. Actually, he didn't struggle at all. He just belted out the key that he was in. It was the rest of the choir that was off key! But we discovered one day that when he sang a Latin chant on his own he indeed had the most beautiful and sincere voice around. Almost like a child. And same too when we frequently prayed the rosary together. I always remember that his voice changed when praying a Hail Mary. It was if he was speaking with his most precious dear Mother, and he wanted to let her know he loved her. Which of course was exactly what he was doing.
I think I remember most one night when Kenny and I, and a van load of other students, drove to Pembroke to watch a movie (more like to get out of Barry's Bay). Both Kenny and I weren't much for spending $10 to watch a garbage movie, so we walked around and talked for two hours instead. That's when I really go to know him better. He loved learning the faith. He thought about his family a lot. He couldn't understand why people spent so much time loving this world when we were to work for heaven. He worried and prayed for certain people. Most of all, he just wanted to be a priest. A holy priest. A St. John Vianney. Kenny was ordained in May of 2012. The first Academy priest.
So that gets me to la fleche. "Kenny La Fleche!" That is the nickname given by a French Canadian friend and myself for Kenny. "Kenny La Fleche!" La fleche means "the arrow." Why the arrow? Whenever Kenny walked, or ran, or walked and ran, he did so with a driving force. He put his whole self into it. He moved with purpose. He was like a driving arrow. Wherever he had to go, be it out for a walk, or even to get that soccer ball, he was on a straight path, and he was going to get there as quickly as possible, "cost what may." Well as we live, we die. Kenny's main focus was always heaven. It is fitting that Kenny La Fleche, the arrow, was called to leave this world so quickly. He knew his destination. There really could be no stopping him on his path.
And Our Lord always fills His quiver with the best.
requiescat in pace
