A Heart That Beat for Others – In Memory of Peg McElroy

With the family’s permission, I share this reflection from the funeral Mass I was honored to preach for Marguerite “Peg” McElroy—a woman of deep faith, unshakable love, and quiet strength whose life continues to inspire even in her passing.

I had the privilege of walking with Peg over the final four months of her journey, serving as her hospice chaplain. And though I hadn’t known her for years, I can testify that time with Peg wasn’t measured in months—it was measured in grace. As I shared during her funeral liturgy, we were strangers only once. After that, she made me family. And today, I am honored to now be family with all who loved her.

Peg called me “her deacon.” She carried a special bond with the diaconate—her husband served as a deacon, her brother is a deacon, and one had visited her faithfully in Florida before she moved to Wisconsin. Then, in what I call God’s divine appointment, another deacon—me—was sent to accompany her home to her Creator.

Peg was a teacher to me. In her quiet way, she reminded me what it means to be a servant of Christ: humble, joyful, compassionate. Her obituary said it best:

“Her heart spent decades beating, not just for her, but for everyone she met.”

That’s Gospel truth. Especially when heard alongside Jesus’ words in Matthew 25, where our Lord tells us that we will be judged not by status, but by love:

“I was hungry, and you gave me food. I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.”

Peg did this—again and again.

She loved fiercely and faithfully. Her family, friends, neighbors, even strangers—she prayed for them, served them, gave without needing to be asked and never asked for anything in return. Even in suffering, she sought to bless others.

From the Book of Lamentations, we heard the reminder Peg lived by:

“The favors of the Lord are not exhausted; his mercies are renewed each morning.”

And in Romans 8, Paul proclaims a promise Peg knew by heart:

“Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.”

Not even death. Not even grief.

Peg’s heart may have stopped beating, but the love it carried lives on—in every person she touched. I saw it in the stories you told me. I felt it in the way she welcomed me—not as someone coming to give her something, but as someone she was called to bless.

In honor of Peg—a faithful deacon’s wife, a shepherdess, a prayer warrior, a friend—I ended my homily with a poem written just for her. I now share it here with you, in the hope that her life continues to lead, guide, and inspire:

He Who Stands with Grace

In honor of a faithful deacon’s wife who now leads with wisdom and heart.

She didn’t ask for titles or praise,

She simply loved through quiet days.

While others saw the deacon’s role,

God saw her heart, her steady soul.

Through years of service, joy, and tears,

She held his hand, she calmed his fears.

But now she speaks with voice made strong—

To guide, to bless, to right the wrong.

She tells the truth with love and light:

“See your wife—hold her tight.

Don’t miss the beauty by your side,

She is your partner, not your pride.”

She walks with wisdom, calm and true,

A shepherdess in all she’ll do.

A mother, wife, and faithful friend,

Whose quiet strength will never end.

“The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down.”

— Proverbs 14:1

Rest in peace, Peg.

And may we honor your legacy by doing what you did—loving with every beat of our hearts.

Four Years Later: Living the Legacy of Andre Sandoval

Four years have now passed since the untimely death of Andre Sandoval, yet his life and legacy continue to shine. At his memorial Mass, I reminded everyone that we were not gathered simply in sorrow, but in gratitude—gratitude for a life short in years, but rich in faith, love, and service.

Not long after his passing, someone asked me about Andre. My first thought was, “It was a short-lived life with a long list…” But I quickly realized it was more than that. Andre’s life was not a checklist—it was a litany of accomplishments. A litany, because it was a prayer of action, a rhythm of service, a song of love offered to God and to others.

Scripture speaks to us in our grief: “The Lord will destroy death forever; he will wipe away the tears from all faces” (Isaiah 25:8). Even in sorrow, we cling to this promise. And like Psalm 23 reminds us, even when we walk through the darkest valley, the Shepherd walks with us. For Andre, this was not just poetry—it was the way he lived.

Think of his joy, his laughter, his love for sports and for his dog Lola—but most of all, his heart for service. He traveled on mission trips with ACTS Youth Ministry, giving of himself in New Orleans, St. Louis, Chicago, and even the Dominican Republic. And I’ll never forget the youth work camp just before his passing. Andre promised he’d help for “one day.” That one day became two, then five, then the entire week—despite working early morning shifts at Dayton Freight. He could have gone home to rest, but instead he built porches, painted homes, and lifted others up. The porch he built still stands—a living testimony of his servant-leadership.

In the Gospel, Jesus says to the young man who had died: “Young man, I tell you, arise!” (Luke 7:14). We ache for that miracle, yet we believe in faith that Jesus has spoken those same words to Andre. He now lives with the Lord, his Good Shepherd, in verdant pastures. But Andre also “rises” in us—his light shines whenever we choose service over selfishness, compassion over indifference, love over hate.

That is why the call to Live Like Andre still matters. It is not a slogan, but a challenge. Four years later, we must ask ourselves: How have I lived like Andre? What choices have I made to serve, to love, to give?

We don’t just commemorate his death—we celebrate his life, his accomplishments, and the legacy still unfolding through us. May his memory inspire us. May his example challenge us. And may his legacy live on in us.

Live Like Andre—today, tomorrow, and always.