By Cheryl Antao-Xavier  |  He would prance back and forth at the front of the class, his white cassock swaying, gesticulating animatedly to the rhythm of the poem he read—the way he insisted poetry should be read—“with expression and gusto.” This is how I will always remember Rev. Fr. D’Arcy D’Souza.

It has been many years since that English Lit class in St. Jude’s High School in Nazimabad, yet those were defining years for me and many others who were fortunate to have been taught by Fr. D’Arcy. Like all good teachers and mentors, his influence was fundamental in the development of our youthful self-esteem, and ultimately, in the course of our lives.

I remember vividly the youth retreats at the Friary, where he would conduct workshops on spirituality. He made it such fun, with spontaneous bursts into song, honest sharing, and a perpetually upbeat mood.

As a priest and our religion teacher, he was one of the best, simply because he was ‘different’ in the nicest way. He humanized Bible-teaching for us so that even the diehard irreverent among us forgot to be bored, listened, and were engaged in the program. The timid ones blossomed under his gentle encouragement.

He was perennially positive, spreading goodwill with joyous abandon, his catchphrases “Praise the Lord!” “Jolly Good!” “Good-O!” so indicative of his character and faith. His Charismatic beliefs blended perfectly with his good nature to make him a great ambassador of the Church and servant of the Lord. Sadly, there were many among the clergy and laity who didn’t understand this different method of bearing witness to the faith, and I have no doubt he had more than his share of cross-bearing in dealing with their hostility and archaic preaching expectations.

In hindsight, we know Fr. D’Arcy to have been a precursor of what is the preaching norm today. He listened to us, his students, his parishioners, as though what we said really mattered—validation we rarely received in those days.  His generous praise was the positive affirmation we needed to realize our own potential. In the weeks since his death, I’ve often wondered how many lives must have been influenced by this gentle, unassuming, profoundly spiritual man.

I know that I would not be who I am today had I not sat in the front row of his English Lit class all those years ago in St. Jude’s High School, mesmerized by his sheer enjoyment of literary classics and infectious passion for the written word.

As my English Lit teacher, Fr. D’Arcy taught me to appreciate the beauty and power of language and encouraged me to write. Two decades later, I gave him my poetry manuscript to edit. His feedback was invaluable. Another decade later, I published my first book of poems in Canada, acknowledging his influence on my writing career in the foreword, and sent a copy of the book to him.

I am deeply indebted to my dear friend Annette Menezes who included my poetry in her readings to him, when he could no longer read himself. I can’t thank her enough for sending me a photograph of Fr. D’Arcy holding my book. That picture is one of my cherished memories of him.