I was at Camp Morice, a youth facility in Fort St. James.
I was known as “Brocko” and they and the other supervisors often would look to me to “get things going.”
But on this occasion I was pessimistic with the others.
In comes Bishop O’Grady.
As soon as he entered he sensed the despondent mood hanging over the entire camp, like a morning fog. I remember how I felt as he approached; judgment and conviction filled my heart. I just knew I wasn’t doing the Lord’s work in the way that he had coached me. I knew I wasn’t following his enthusiastic ways. My head went down.
“How are things going?” he asked.
I responded with a shrug of the shoulder and mumbled something to the effect of how the teens were not co-operating or not too interested or something which projected the blame away from me.
The bishop said to me: “Let’s get a hockey game going.”
I can’t remember my exact reply, but again I shrugged it off with some excuse of the kids not being too interested in playing. Seeing that I was not going to be any help at all, he turned to the director of the camp, who instantly ordered the game to be played.
“Come on, Brocko, let’s get the kids outside for a hockey game,” he said to me.
Reluctantly, I got up and mustered up whatever enthusiasm I could and got all the teens outside.
“OK, you go on this side and you go on that side,” I told the group of teens as I prepared to make up the two sides.
With eagerness in his voice the bishop said: “Drop the ball, Terry, drop the ball.” “I have to make up sides, bishop,” I complained.
A second time, the bishop said: “Drop the ball, Terry, drop the ball.”
Again, with frustration, I complained about making up sides.
A third time the bishop ordered me, with a voice as if from heaven: “Drop the ball, Terry, drop the ball.”
And so, with a wrenched gut and frustrated spirit, I dropped it.
That’s when the fun began.
The 70-year-old bishop took the ball, deked a few teens and, with a flick of the wrist, scored the first goal. Every young person raised his or her arms in a triumphant gesture and I would imagine not even the sounds of the Molson Centre could drown them out.
Needless to say, the mood changed for the better. Four words and despondency, frustration, boredom, anger, disillusionment came to an abrupt halt.
Why do I tell you this story?
Well, it took four words, repeated three times, to convert Peter into head of the Church.
“Do you love me?”
It took four words from Bishop O’Grady repeated three times - “drop the ball, Terry” - to change negativity into a very positive outcome.
The occasion and situation were a lot different, but similar.
I tell this story because I truly believe O’Grady was a great man who loved all people and mostly loved the First Nations.
Terry Brock
Prince Rupert
