I have been carrying a wooden rosary around for several months now. It’s in my computer bag, and I haven’t used it once—so far—to say the rosary. It was one of the objects gathered from the apartment of the late Deacon Walter Johnson, who, in his mid-80s, died unexpectedly last year. Everyone who knew him was shocked by that news because Walter had appeared to be in good health and prided himself on being fit. He also had a mother who lived until she was over 100, so we naturally assumed Walter would follow suit.

Walter was a close church friend of mine, and I loved him. He was a handsome black man with an easy smile, a contagious laugh, and a deeply spiritual connection with the world. In his 60s, he became a deacon in the Episcopal Church and took the job of caring for his flock seriously. He was there for those who were sick or suffering and offered a warm hand, an easy hug, and an open heart to whoever needed it.

I gave the eulogy at Walter’s funeral and spoke then of his positive and healthy approach to life. He lived his faith, never spoke ill of a soul, and believed in the transformative power of God. He was also a lovely guy who knew the value of being present for others as a friend and in his official role as a deacon.

I carry Walter’s rosary in my computer bag as a sweet connection to him. I imagine his fingers touching each of those beads and can almost hear his voice reciting, “Hail Mary, full of grace.” He was my friend, spiritual buddy, and fellow server at the altar at St. Thomas the Apostle, Hollywood. He remains there for me in spirit even now, and with his rosary as my conduit, I feel linked to a man who was my brother in the best sense of the word.

May light perpetual shine upon you, my friend.

Walter’s Rosary