Click here to view Fr Kevin Peek's homily at Fr Joseph Peek's funeral.
Click here to view Msgr Hugh Marren's eulogy.
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
Friday, March 25, 2016
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
It is Finished March 13 into early March 14, 2016
“It is finished”
As each hour passed, and it became apparent the Fr. Joseph would more than likely never wake up, the family continued to pray and keep watch. Fr. Joe was fortunate to have a tabernacle set up in his walk-in closet. A big picture of the Divine Mercy image hung above the tabernacle. An LED lighted flickering votive candle stood sentinel above the tabernacle. A soft kneeler and a large, overstuffed chair were placed in front for all prayer warriors. It was my favorite place to be when Fr. Joe was sleeping. From the closet, I could hear if he was awakening, but more importantly, I could feel the peace that only Christ can give.
As each hour slipped by, I prayed, I surrendered, and I prayed some more.
Many family members were able to come and be with Fr. Joe. Two of his nieces sang a beautiful Latin hymn for him. Sisters prayed by his side.
Around 11:00 p.m. Fr. Kevin said he would be offering Sunday Mass at Fr. Joe’s bedside. My parents, two siblings, two nephews, and a niece were present. Songs were sung, and Mass was celebrated while Fr. Joe slept before us, his breathing becoming more rapid. When communion time came, Fr. Kevin, ever so thoughtful of his older brother, shook some particles from the host into Fr. Joe’s mouth. Every so often, saliva would collect at the back of Fr. Joe’s throat, at which time he would have an immense-sounding swallow. After some time, I heard him swallow and knew he had received Jesus in the Holy Sacrament of the Altar for the last time.
Feeling Fr. Joe’s hot forehead, my sister Margaret took his temperature which read 105.6. We had already removed one of the two blankets that covered him. We wanted to hold his hands, so we slightly lowered the only blanket now covering him. We were surprised to see that his hands were folded in prayer position. Normally, when Fr. Joe would lie down to sleep , he placed his hands in such a way as to hold the blanket away from his wounded mouth and his wounded shoulder. I can never remember a time during his illness when he had them folded as they were now. We placed a crucifix in his hands, and then added his rosary that I would often use to pray with as he slept. Lastly, we put the front of the scapular that he was wearing next to the crucifix.
I got to thinking that Fr. Joe’s last attempt to hydrate was 1:00 p.m. A few years ago, a friend of mine contracted Guillaine-Barre syndrome, a sudden paralysis of the body. When she finally regained her ability to talk, she said how thirsty she had been and how she wished she could ask for water. I thought my brother had to be thirsty but did not have the energy to even speak. So I mentioned to Margaret that there was a lollipop-type sponge used for quenching thirst in a package near his bed. I suggested that maybe we should try to quench his thirst. She agreed and put the sponge in some water. She then placed it on his tongue and then around his wounded lips. I sensed he was still thirsty, so she repeated the procedure.
After Mass, we pulled up a singing version of the Divine Mercy Chaplet - a favorite prayer of our family. While praying, we would all touch his hands, his face, his feet - something we could never do while he was alive because of his painful wounds. One of his caregivers once brought up the fact that his hands never had wounds on them, and the likely reason was because his hands held the Body of Christ.
For some reason, the chaplet was on repeat, so after praying it once, we kept it rolling for a few more chaplets. We then searched on the computer for the Ave Maria. Again the computer would repeat between the Benedictine monks singing the Ave Maria to an order of nuns reciting the Ave Maria in Latin. We jokingly said that our older sister, Sr. Mary Agnes of the Immaculate Heart of Mary - a Carmelite cloistered nun in Erie, Pennsylvania, was with us.
Ironically, one of Fr. Joe’s caregivers, a young lady named Jordan, had spent the weekend with our sister in Erie. She was to fly back to Atlanta yesterday, but between flight delays and wrong turns on the highway, she didn’t make it back until close to midnight. The Carmelites, in honor of Lent, do not write or call until after Easter. So we were surprised - not really - to learn that Jordan came back with a letter from Sister to her beloved brother Fr. Joe. Jordan thought it was too late to bring the letter by the rectory, but God’s timing is always perfect. The letter was brought, and Fr. Kevin read our sister’s beautiful parting words to her little brother, Fr. Joe. The time was now around 1:00 a.m.
My parents are elderly and staying up past midnight or even 11:00 is a bit late. We encouraged my mom to rest in the side bedroom and promised her we would get her if anything changed. Fr. Joe’s often repeated request, unbeknownst to my parents, was to have both parents present at the end.
A while ago, Margaret had printed out a Resignation to Death prayer for us to pray quietly whenever we were with Fr. Joe or thinking of Fr. Joe. I had probably prayed the lengthy prayer only two or three times prior to last night. Something made me get up, go to my prayer bag, and find the prayer sheet. My copy looked a bit tattered, not because of usage, but because the water bottle I bring to school always leaks.
We pulled out our flashlights in the dimly lit room and sat on the floor around his bed, Dad in a chair beside him, and begin to earnestly and fervently pray the prayer of Resignation. It is a beautiful, beautiful prayer. An additional prayer to St. Joseph, Mary, and Jesus was written on the back of the prayer sheet, and we prayed that as well.
Upon finishing the prayer, we looked at Fr. Joe, and he appeared to be no longer breathing. I was caught off-guard - we all knew the inevitable would happen, but Fr. Joe’s indomitable spirit, his strong will to live, always seemed to win. My sister woke my mom, and we were now all gathered by his side. We all knelt up and touched Fr. Joe. When I put my hand on his forehead, he took a long gasp of air. It is said that the cause of death at a crucifixion is from exhaustion and asphyxiation. Fr. Joe, exhausted and barely able to breathe, had reached Calvary; he had reached his end.
After about six to ten seconds, another long gasp of air. While he struggled to breathe, I would repeat, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, have mercy on us. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, we trust in you. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, have mercy on Joe’s soul. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, have mercy on Joe’s body.” The whole time he was taking his final gasps, Fr. Kevin was praying prayers for the dying, a prayer of Apostolic Pardon, and so many more. My two medical sisters - a doctor and a nurse - felt for a pulse in his wrist and feet. Upon their touching his feet, he took one more long gasp, and that was it. All I kept thinking is this is how most people would want to die - not the suffering part, but the being surrounded by loved ones, celebrating the Mass, praying the Divine Mercy and other prayers, with a priest who happens to be your brother praying your soul to heaven.
At 1:25 a.m., my brother was hugged by Christ.
Shortly after Fr. Joe’s death, Fr. Kevin celebrated Mass for Monday, once again around his bedside. We sang songs before and after.
While alive, Fr. Joe, who appropriately was born in Corpus Christi, Texas, had wounds that would bleed out beyond the bandages. I would ask him if he wanted new dressings for his wounds or if he wanted a wet washcloth to cleanse the dried bloodstreams. He would always say no - just submitting to whatever happened to him. I longed to cleanse him, and now, after his passing, I could.
Margaret and Kathy trimmed his beard and mustache. Margaret cleansed the dried blood on his disfigured face. I cleansed his wounded feet and his legs. We laughed because he hated when we touched his ticklish, sensitive feet. Kathy, Margaret, Fr. Kevin, and I then surrounded his bed, grabbed the quilts under Fr. Joe’s body, and re-positioned his body centering him on the bed. I then remembered the frankincense in Fr. Joe’s bathroom and how my sisters used the oil on their little stillborns before their funeral, I got the oil and began to spread it on his head, his chest, his feet. We then opened the windows and turned on the lights, as the gates of Heaven were opening and our brother would finally see the Light of God.
P.S. Fr. Joe passed on the feast day of St. Matilda, the patron saint of parents with large families.
This is written by big sister.
Saturday, March 19, 2016
I Thirst (Sunday March 13, 2016)
“I thirst”
On Sunday around 11:30 a.m., Fr. Joseph awoke from his morning slumber. Whenever he awoke, he would need an arm and a hand to assist him from the prone position to the sitting position. Once he was seated, I ran to the small refrigerator in the kitchen in his room to round up the usual menu choices: lemon-lime Gatorade, white Vitamin-D organic whole milk, organic chocolate milk, and A&W root beer.
Because it was difficult for Fr. Joe to raise his head and eyes, I would sit on the ground so that I could look up into his eyes that spoke volumes especially when he couldn’t. The menu choices were placed beside me so that he could non-verbally indicate what his selection would be this morning. He usually chose Gatorade, so I held that up. After receiving no indication of interest, I asked him if he was getting tired of Gatorade, and he shook his head, “Yes.” When I held up the chocolate milk, he indicated that was what he would have for his lunch.
Whenever Fr. Joe drank, he used a straw in order to suck up the fluid because he no longer had a lower lip to help keep the fluid in his mouth. He now needed more assistance in helping him to hold the bottle and straw to his lips. This time, however, he pulled the straw out. I thought to myself that maybe he was not having a lucid moment, so I said, “Joe, I think you need the straw,” and I put it back into his drink. He proceeded to pull the straw back out and then struggled to lift the bottle to the side of his lips to drink from the corner of his mouth.
It then dawned on me that he was so, so thirsty and no longer had the energy to suck the fluid up into his mouth, so his engineer mind was trying to figure out how he would quench his thirst. I held the bottle, and Fr. Kevin placed a mat on his lap to catch any overflow or spillage. As I held the bottles and caressed his hands, I also held two washcloths around the bottle to catch what I thought would be the typcial drips, only this time, the drips became a deluge. What liquid he tried to put in his mouth came pouring out on the other corner of his mouth until we had a puddle on the mat and had to get a thick towel to catch the rest.
Again, my mind went to Christ on the cross.
“After this, Jesus, knowing that all things had already been accomplished, to fulfill the Scripture, said, "I am thirsty." (John 19:28) And yet, His thirst, which had to be a physical one after all His body had endured, was more a spiritual one - a thirst for souls. Fr. Joe could not and did not quench his physical thirst at what would be his last meal on earth. But I think he knew all things had been accomplished. It was time to complete his mission.
Fr. Joe’s body started to shake slightly, and I worried that he was cold. Fr. Kevin said it was his overall physical fatigue. The body could not do it anymore. So we helped him lie back down. As we placed a clean blanket over his body in such a way as not to drag it over his wounds, I noticed his eyes - his big, baby-blue eyes. They looked intently at the blanket as if it were a shroud descending upon him, and again I thought, “I wonder what this must look like from his position. A big blanket descending upon you to cover you up and not being able to control if the blanket hits a wound in the wrong spot - submitting to whatever happens.”
Fr. Joe liked to lie on his side and at times - although seldom - on his back with a small pillow to hold up his wounded head. He chose to lie on his back, so I tucked a pillow under his left shoulder to give him a bit of a rise on his side to avoid causing more pain to the wounds on his back.
Fr. Joe fell asleep at 1:00 p.m. and never woke up again.
By big sister
On Sunday around 11:30 a.m., Fr. Joseph awoke from his morning slumber. Whenever he awoke, he would need an arm and a hand to assist him from the prone position to the sitting position. Once he was seated, I ran to the small refrigerator in the kitchen in his room to round up the usual menu choices: lemon-lime Gatorade, white Vitamin-D organic whole milk, organic chocolate milk, and A&W root beer.
Because it was difficult for Fr. Joe to raise his head and eyes, I would sit on the ground so that I could look up into his eyes that spoke volumes especially when he couldn’t. The menu choices were placed beside me so that he could non-verbally indicate what his selection would be this morning. He usually chose Gatorade, so I held that up. After receiving no indication of interest, I asked him if he was getting tired of Gatorade, and he shook his head, “Yes.” When I held up the chocolate milk, he indicated that was what he would have for his lunch.
Whenever Fr. Joe drank, he used a straw in order to suck up the fluid because he no longer had a lower lip to help keep the fluid in his mouth. He now needed more assistance in helping him to hold the bottle and straw to his lips. This time, however, he pulled the straw out. I thought to myself that maybe he was not having a lucid moment, so I said, “Joe, I think you need the straw,” and I put it back into his drink. He proceeded to pull the straw back out and then struggled to lift the bottle to the side of his lips to drink from the corner of his mouth.
It then dawned on me that he was so, so thirsty and no longer had the energy to suck the fluid up into his mouth, so his engineer mind was trying to figure out how he would quench his thirst. I held the bottle, and Fr. Kevin placed a mat on his lap to catch any overflow or spillage. As I held the bottles and caressed his hands, I also held two washcloths around the bottle to catch what I thought would be the typcial drips, only this time, the drips became a deluge. What liquid he tried to put in his mouth came pouring out on the other corner of his mouth until we had a puddle on the mat and had to get a thick towel to catch the rest.
Again, my mind went to Christ on the cross.
“After this, Jesus, knowing that all things had already been accomplished, to fulfill the Scripture, said, "I am thirsty." (John 19:28) And yet, His thirst, which had to be a physical one after all His body had endured, was more a spiritual one - a thirst for souls. Fr. Joe could not and did not quench his physical thirst at what would be his last meal on earth. But I think he knew all things had been accomplished. It was time to complete his mission.
Fr. Joe’s body started to shake slightly, and I worried that he was cold. Fr. Kevin said it was his overall physical fatigue. The body could not do it anymore. So we helped him lie back down. As we placed a clean blanket over his body in such a way as not to drag it over his wounds, I noticed his eyes - his big, baby-blue eyes. They looked intently at the blanket as if it were a shroud descending upon him, and again I thought, “I wonder what this must look like from his position. A big blanket descending upon you to cover you up and not being able to control if the blanket hits a wound in the wrong spot - submitting to whatever happens.”
Fr. Joe liked to lie on his side and at times - although seldom - on his back with a small pillow to hold up his wounded head. He chose to lie on his back, so I tucked a pillow under his left shoulder to give him a bit of a rise on his side to avoid causing more pain to the wounds on his back.
Fr. Joe fell asleep at 1:00 p.m. and never woke up again.
By big sister
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
2007 Profound words of Father Joseph
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3npPyGEbTk
Thank you God for all the things you taught us through Father Joseph Michael Peek's quiet witness of redemptive suffering.
Thank you God for all the things you taught us through Father Joseph Michael Peek's quiet witness of redemptive suffering.
Monday, March 14, 2016
Father forgive them
Fr. Joe "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do."
“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”
Whenever Fr. Joe awakes from his slumber, he attempts to sit up, but he now requires an arm and a hand to help him to the sitting position. Once at the seated position at the edge of the side of his bed, he takes a few minutes to awaken himself, check his wounds, and then attempt to drink.
After he finishes what he can from his drink, we try to figure out a way to get his bottom to move more to the center of the bed before he can position his body to lie back down. Otherwise, he would roll off the bed. There were five of us in the room all discussing the best way - the way with the least amount of pain - to move him back. In the past, he would dig his fist(s) into the bed to help raise himself slightly, but now he is too weak.
Waiting for his signal of readiness since he can no longer communicate verbally, we continued discussing and planning - everyone with some opinion or other. All of a sudden, Fr. Joe, almost as if to say, “Enough,” put his fists into the mattress and managed to move on his own to the center of the bed in order to lie down for some much needed rest - rest for his body and rest from our craziness.
“Father, forgive them for they know not what they are doing.” :)
“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”
Whenever Fr. Joe awakes from his slumber, he attempts to sit up, but he now requires an arm and a hand to help him to the sitting position. Once at the seated position at the edge of the side of his bed, he takes a few minutes to awaken himself, check his wounds, and then attempt to drink.
After he finishes what he can from his drink, we try to figure out a way to get his bottom to move more to the center of the bed before he can position his body to lie back down. Otherwise, he would roll off the bed. There were five of us in the room all discussing the best way - the way with the least amount of pain - to move him back. In the past, he would dig his fist(s) into the bed to help raise himself slightly, but now he is too weak.
Waiting for his signal of readiness since he can no longer communicate verbally, we continued discussing and planning - everyone with some opinion or other. All of a sudden, Fr. Joe, almost as if to say, “Enough,” put his fists into the mattress and managed to move on his own to the center of the bed in order to lie down for some much needed rest - rest for his body and rest from our craziness.
“Father, forgive them for they know not what they are doing.” :)
Thursday, March 10, 2016
Join us for the novena to Saint Joseph
favorite Saint Joseph prayer from the Pieta prayer book.
Pray this prayer for 9 consecutive days leading up to the feast of
Saint Joseph on March 19th(start today- 3/10). Please join us by
making your intention a peaceful death for our brother and for all of
his family to accept God's will and His perfect plan.
O St. Joseph, whose protection is so great, so strong, so prompt
before the Throne of God, I place in you all my interests and desires.
O St. Joseph, do assist me by your powerful intercession and obtain
for me from your Divine Son all spiritual blessings through Jesus
Christ, Our Lord; so that having engaged here below your Heavenly
power I may offer my thanksgiving and homage to the most loving of
Fathers. O St. Joseph, I never weary contemplating you and Jesus
asleep in your arms. I dare not approach while He reposes near your
heart. Press him in my name and kiss His fine Head for me, and ask Him
to return the Kiss when I draw my dying breath. St. Joseph, Patron of
departing souls, pray for us. Amen.

The novena to Saint Joseph starts today. Here I have pasted my
favorite Saint Joseph prayer from the Pieta prayer book.
Pray this prayer for 9 consecutive days leading up to the feast of
Saint Joseph on March 19th(start today- 3/10). Please join us by
making your intention a peaceful death for our brother and for all of
his family to accept God's will and His perfect plan.
O St. Joseph, whose protection is so great, so strong, so prompt
before the Throne of God, I place in you all my interests and desires.
O St. Joseph, do assist me by your powerful intercession and obtain
for me from your Divine Son all spiritual blessings through Jesus
Christ, Our Lord; so that having engaged here below your Heavenly
power I may offer my thanksgiving and homage to the most loving of
Fathers. O St. Joseph, I never weary contemplating you and Jesus
asleep in your arms. I dare not approach while He reposes near your
heart. Press him in my name and kiss His fine Head for me, and ask Him
to return the Kiss when I draw my dying breath. St. Joseph, Patron of
departing souls, pray for us. Amen.
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
Unbroken
When people ask me, “How’s your brother doing,” I never know quite what to say. “He’s dying,” seems to make most uncomfortable.
I have had some people say, “Wasn’t he close to dying a while ago?” I know they mean well, but again, I am not sure what to say. I feel like they are waiting for an apology of some kind for his still being alive. One look at Fr. Joe and you can only wonder how much more his poor body can take, and how HAS he survived the slow decay of his body?
I started thinking about Fr. Joe through various events of his life. When he was younger, he was extremely curious. Hiis curiosity would often times get him into trouble. He would get in trouble for taking an alarm from one of the many BigWheels in our garage and strategically set it up in his high school locker. I am not quite sure how he rigged it, but one day, the alarm just went off at a random time, and no one could shut it down until that Joe Peek was found. On another occasion, unbeknownst to Mom or Dad as well as the rest of us, he decided to see if he could bike from our home in Decatur all the way to the airport and back. Oh, by the way, it was around midnight when he successfully attained what he set out to do.
When he would get punished, he never seemed phased by whatever punishment was doled out to him. Not that he was being defiant or disrespectful. Joe has never had a malicious bone in his body. It’s just that he never allowed his spirit to be broken.
I also remember when he was with the Navy Air and Sea Rescue unit. He was sent to a mock POW camp where the powers that be try to break you - in order that you be prepared for the future possibility of being taken by an enemy camp. When he would tell us some of the ways they would try to break his spirit, he would have a sense of pride that no matter what they did, they could never break him. His spirit was indeed unbreakable.
I also remember a year ago, when I looked at Fr. Joe and wondered how it could get any worse. And yet, with each passing week, the condition of his body worsened and continues to worsen. When I look at him today in amazement of what his body has gone through, I think about his spirit.
I think he must be approaching this like he has approached every other hardship in his life - with an indefatigable spirit. His spirit is definitely willing as his flesh continues to weaken and disappear.
Fr. Joe has often been compared to Christ, not just because as a priest, he represents Christ, but also because of the many wounds covering his body. The wounds on his feet, the wounds on his arms, the wounds on his back, the wounds on his side, and the horrible wounds on his head and face. But this week, I saw two other ways Fr. Joe resembles Christ.
After Christ was beaten up by the soldiers, mocked and spit upon, scourged, and then crowned with thorns, I would wonder during my mediations, how did His body endure all of that and then go out and carry the cross. Any other person in Christ’s situation would have died way before the carrying of the cross. And yet, Christ had to fulfill His mission - to die on the cross to save souls. Christ’s spirit was unbreakable because like Fr. Joe, He had not yet completed his mission.
There was another aspect to the suffering Christ endured during His Passion and that was humiliation. When He reached Calvary, Christ was stripped of His clothing - a painful experience both in the reopening of His wounds as well as in the humiliation of being bare before all.
A week ago, Fr. Joe had wound care, something he used to have three times a week and now is barely able to do once a week. He puts on a swim suit and then gets into a tub to debreed his wounds so that new dressings can be applied. This is not only an extremely painful process for him, but it is also an exhausting one. This past week he was so wiped out by the whole deal that a few times, he had to take oxygen from a machine to get him semi-through the process. I say, “semi-through,” because after the wound care, he was physically unable to get out of his swim suit. He was physically unable to put on his UnderArmour which he wears to hold the bandages on his back in place. An UnderArmour was cut up the front to form a vest so that he could slip his arms in and pin the front. However, he has lost so much weight from being unable to eat for over two months now that a week later, the UnderArmour was no longer holding the bandages in place. A week later, he was still in his swim suit.
Watching him struggle to sit up, stand up, and hobble to the bathroom while only in a swim suit and a barely-hanging on UnderArmour would break the heart of even the toughest soul. I know this must embarrass him at some level, but he takes this humiliation like Christ did - in silence. Looking at Christ on the cross with little more than what looks like a swim suit and looking at Fr. Joe, one can see many resemblances.
Louis Zamerini, star of the movie Unbroken, once said, “Where there’s still life, there’s still hope.”
Fr. Joe perseveres because of his hope in Christ - whatever God’s will may be. As Fr. Joe nears his own Calvary, his tireless spirit, his unflagging spirit, remains unbroken.
