“You all send the strangest people down here,” a Congressman from Mississippi once told Barney Frank. The Mississippian was referring to Father Robert Drinan, who represented the Fourth Massachusetts Congressional District from 1971 to 1981.

Congressman Barney Frank included this anecdote in the eulogy he delivered at Father Drinan’s funeral Mass in Boston early this month. As Drinan’s successor in the House of Representatives, Frank has been well positioned to appreciate the many virtues of this colleague.

At the heart of Father Drinan’s service in the House was his demonstration of what a moral response to politics can be. The Jesuit priest recognized the dignity of every person, said his successor.

On another light note, Barney Frank observed that “Bob Drinan wrote more books than many members of Congress have ever read.”

Another skilled eulogist, Harold Koh, Dean of Yale Law School, recalled that he was six years old when he first met Father Drinan. The young boy’s father had insisted that his son wear a tie in honor of the event.

Of his longtime friend and inspiration, Koh said: “Father Bob Drinan was not one of those lawyers who love human rights, but not human beings.”  In response to people who asked how Father Drinan got so much done, Dean Koh cited his mentor’s succinct answer: “Celibacy.”

These remarks about Father Drinan indicate the respect and love for him that suffused the funeral. Everyone present in the church seemed to recognize that they were celebrating the life of an altogether extraordinary person. We mourned his loss but rejoiced that he had left us so much.

My friendship with Bob Drinan goes back to 1953, when we were both students at Weston College, then the suburban Jesuit seminary. In June of that year Bob had been ordained a priest while I was a student of Scholastic Philosophy.  

In January 1954, he came to my door with the terrible news that my father was dying.  Sharing information that had been entrusted to him by one of my father’s friends, Bob eased the blow with the compassion that he felt for me and my family.

In succeeding days, Bob continued to offer me support as my family and I grieved over our loss. He helped us deal with an event that had devastating consequences for us all.

The other moment that stands out in our friendship came in 1970, when he arrived one evening on my doorstep to ask me a question, presumably one that he asked of many others.

What would I think if he ran for Congress? At first, I was astounded that a fellow Jesuit could propose such a daring step. That, after all, was something a Catholic priest had never done. And he would have to challenge an incumbent entrenched in office for many years.

Recovering quickly, however, I embraced the project enthusiastically and urged him to run. Among other considerations that loomed large for me was my fervent opposition to the war in Vietnam. Knowing that, unlike the incumbent, Bob would work to bring that misguided American effort to a halt, I felt great enthusiasm for Bob’s candidacy.

In recent years my contacts with Bob were rare but I continued to follow his activities with interest. He impressed me as a model of flexibility when he resumed his career of law professor after leaving Congress in response to the edict of Pope John Paul II.

I felt little sympathy for the papal command but had to admire Bob for his conscientious decision to obey it.

In his role of law professor, Bob championed the human rights of people in many parts of the world. El Salvador, South Africa, and Chile were among the places where he traveled to press for those rights.

At age 86, Bob continued to teach enthusiastically. It was in the classroom that he collapsed, stricken with his final illness.

As many have noted, Bob cared about the oppressed wherever they were. That same spirit moved him to continue publishing books and articles at an impressive rate. He also understood that “unjust wars are immoral” and worked to halt them.

Calling attention to a central belief, Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi has said of him: “He believed that there was a spark of divinity in every person and he acted on that belief.”

I will always remember his face, in latter years at least, so bony and ascetic. In repose, he sometimes looked like a grim monk, but when other people approached, that look would be transformed into a warm smile.

Inevitably, the nation will miss his prophetic voice. He supplied to us all a dedication to the common good that we sorely need at this stage in our national life. I only hope that others, both public officials, and private citizens, will come forward and incorporate in themselves the spirit that animated Bob Drinan.

Richard Griffin