Driving to work one cold January day in 2016, I heard an announcement on the radio that the Bishop of the Diocese of Calgary, Frederick B. Henry, was officially announcing his retirement after 19 years as a bishop. I can’t say I was surprised, but I certainly felt a tug of sadness. 

Henry was the first Bishop I served under as President of St. Mary’s University in Calgary. He was chancellor of the university and as such we worked side by side on many projects for almost six years. Our projects included convocations, opening and closing term liturgies, five Bishop’s Dinners, fundraising events and more. In all of these, the diminutive giant as I called him towered good-naturedly over his community. He was, as many know, a fearless advocate for the faith, sometimes adopting a take-no-prisoners position, at others humbly tending to parishioners in their time of need. Through it all, his sense of humour knew no bounds.

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One of my first exchanges with Fred Henry was not what some might expect. I recall, at the very start of my presidency, sitting at my kitchen table with my children when the phone rang. The conversation went something like this: 

‘Gerry?’

‘Yes?’

‘This is Bishop Henry. You’re golfing with me at the charity tournament next week.’ 

I hung up the phone and looked at my kids: ‘I have to learn to play golf.’ 

That tournament was one of the most stressful public events I have ever attended. To suggest that my golf game was execrable is to be charitable, and not in a fundraising way. 

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In fact, as I moved towards the cart for the first time on that fateful day, someone leaned towards me pityingly and said, “He got two holes-in-one last year.” As we approached the first hole, I gamely suggested: “You’ll need to be a bit patient. This is the first time I’ve ever golfed.” Bishop Henry stared at me with those piercing eyes of his. 

“Charity is for the Church! This is golf. You’re on your own.’ 

But as he prepared to tee off for the first time, he looked back at me and said: “You know, I got two holes-in-one last year.” 

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Later, during the speeches, he singled me out for special mention. I was hopeful for words of encouragement about the heroic effort I’d made on the golf course. He said to the crowd instead: “There’s only one person who can help Gerry’s golf game. St. Jude.” One of my donors looked at me sadly: ‘That’s the Saint for Hopeless causes.’ 

On all other matters, Bishop Henry was unbelievably supportive. He loved students and encouraged them in their faith life, applauded their commitment to community service, and looked for ways to be present despite the crippling workload that all bishops carry. At the time of his retirement, I was asked what I would most remember about his time in office. What I said and wrote was that he was a man of principle, conviction and energy; a man of deep faith and goodwill; a man unafraid to speak his mind and defend the mission of the Church; someone who spoke up for the voiceless, advocated for the homeless and believed passionately in the importance of education.

My column celebrating his retirement ended: “But this is not a eulogy. Bishop Henry will remain a dynamic voice for the Catholic Church … I know that he will continue to champion our causes … to offer his prayers … except, possibly, on the golf course. There, you’re on your own.”

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Driving to work on a desperately foggy, chilly evening on December 3rd, 2024, I heard on the radio that Bishop Fred Henry had passed away. No tug, this time, just a crippling sadness, knowing that our diminutive giant was gone. 

If this is a eulogy of sorts, it is one that recognizes that he refused to go quietly into that good night, as Dylan Thomas once intoned, but rather ensured that his voice roared in our defence until his final breath. The grass has withered on all the fairways of the world. The candles flicker more dimly in all our places of worship. And our choral voices rise up in his name: choked with sadness and regret that we have lost him, but in gratitude that we had the honour of knowing him.