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 Fr. James Stephen Jenner, OP
Fr. James Stephen Jenner
was born in Seattle on June 26, 1925. He professed his vows as
a Dominican in 1948, and was ordained to the priesthood on July 16,
1951. Although these facts may have been a mystery, no one who
met James since his return to Seattle in 1999 could remain long in
ignorance of the address where he grew up. "Hi," he would tell
those coming to Mass on Sunday. "I'm Fr. James. I grew
up at 509 West Mercer and graduated from O'Dea High School!"
James' assignment to
Blessed Sacrament was a homecoming of sorts, the end of a long
priesthood and fruitful religious life that included teaching,
serving as procurator at St. Albert's, Tribunal work in Las Vegas,
being a hospital chaplain, chaplain to Dominican nuns, and associate
pastorates through Nevada, Arizona, and California.
But James was proudest of
the years he spent as chaplain in the U.S. Navy, serving—among other
places—in the Great Lakes Region, Vietnam, Perris Island, and Guam.
He was full of stories about life in the military, and loved to tell
how he was moved from one ship to another by means of a harness
suspended from a helicopter. We have a wonderful picture of
him grasping his Mass kit as he is being lowered onto the deck of an
aircraft carrier. On the back he wrote, "en route,
Mediterranean, 1962. They had their chance, but didn't drop
me!" He risked his life for those he served and they rewarded
him with a medal for valor.
When James arrived in our
community he made it clear he was not going to be a wallflower.
While the rest of us ate breakfast in silence, interrupting our
newspaper reading with no more than an occasional grunt, James
entered the kitchen after Mass each morning, steadying himself on
Br. Robert King's arm, ready to engage us all in conversation.
If we didn't respond he thought we were deliberately ignoring him
and proceeded to read aloud the headlines to get our attention.
James undoubtedly inherited
his frankness from his mother, who, throughout the Depression,
habitually fed the homeless men who arrived at the back door looking
for a meal in return for doing chores. When James asked his
mother who the strangers were that she was so generous to, she
replied, "I don't know, but one of them may be Jesus, and I don't
want to turn Him away!" this prompted the young James
to ask the next visitor, "Are you Jesus?"
 Alzheimer's Disease robbed
James of the ability to preside at Mass, preach, hear confessions,
and counsel people, and weaning himself away from these familiar
priestly duties was an unwelcome and painful transition. James
loved people and wanted nothing more than, in his words, "to be
productive." Fr. Reginald Martin and I tried to assure him
that his friendliness and warmth made a very productive contribution
to those who came to our parish.
James entered the hospital
for emergency surgery the day before Thanksgiving. Sadly, his
slow and erratic recovery foiled all our plans to bring him home.
Or maybe he simply wanted to do things his way—as he had for so many
years. He died just a few hours after Fr. Gus Hartman and I
visited him, praying with him and singing the Salve.
Sometimes, from nowhere,
our brother would blurt out, "Praise Jesus!" as if to remind
himself—and us—who ultimately it is in charge, and whom we are meant
to live for. At other times—as parishioners were leaving
church at the end of Mass, or when visitors left the prior—he would
call out, "Safe Home!" Now he's "safe home" and his mind, free
from all that confusion, is as clear as his bright blue eyes.
Praise Jesus! Praise Jesus!
—Fr. John Adams, OP
Seattle, Washington
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