A Tribute to My Dad

David Burnham was a man of surpassing faithfulness to his church, family, and principles. As a husband and father he understood that he was the domestic priest who had a fundamental obligation to help every member of his family become a saint. He made the words of Joshua his own: "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord" (Joshua 24:15). As priest of the home, Dad exercised a vigilant watch over our spiritual development. He insisted that we receive the sacraments frequently and that we learn to really love and live our faith. He promoted daily prayer, and led the family Rosary. Every morning on the way to Mass, he would give a mini-sermon on the essential doctrines of our faith. Sometimes after dinner, he would read from the bible or a spiritual book. Dad loved and respected the Catholic Church. He would tolerate no criticism of priests, pointing out that only they could bring our Lord to us in the Holy Eucharist. Whenever possible, he took the whole family to daily Mass, then often told us, "any career that doesn't allow time for daily Mass, isn't much of a career." He stressed that just "going through the motions" of prayer, Mass, and other sacraments was no guarantee of sanctity. "Rubbing shoulders with Christ won't help unless He rubs off on you," he would say, "for Judas spent three years with Christ, and yet Judas probably lost." For my father, the family was his first priority. Early in his marriage, Dad set a goal to have a business that would support him without consuming him. For the last 12 years of his life, he ran a successful real estate company from his office at home, amid constant interruptions from the younger children, who were being home-schooled. Never too busy to give advice, never too tired to discipline, he poured out his life in service to his family. Dad often told us that he loved us, but he always did so after we were disciplined. He only spanked for two offenses: disobedience or a bad attitude. Being both willful and temperamental, I was notorious for receiving the lion's share of spankings. But I received a lion's share of affirmation as well. Dad taught us to communicate honestly, and to apologize promptly. He was always willing to listen-even in an argument-and if he was ever wrong, he would quickly and sincerely ask for our forgiveness. My father was generous with his time, money, and wisdom. He made time to counsel family and friends. He tithed to acknowledge the Lordship of Christ over his finances, and taught his children to do the same. He taught us to work when we were very young, to save money, and to be responsible for our own luxuries. My father was a pure man in a sex-soaked society. He was pure in speech and pure in mind. I never knew him to tell an off-color joke, or look lustfully at another woman. He taught his children modesty and chastity through the fidelity and respect he showed to Peggy, his wife of 27 years. My dad loved life. "Every day above ground is a good day," he’d quote from some otherwise forgettable movie. He loved being out in God’s creation: farming, fishing, flying, trail–riding, scuba diving, and skiing. He taught us that God’s creation can be enjoyed fully if it is used in His service. My father was full of joy. His greatest charm was that he truly loved people. He made friends everywhere because of his willing smile and genuine emotions. He had an anecdote for every occasion, and some of his favorites he told again and again (and again!) until they became family proverbs. My father was the most courageous man I ever knew. Friends and enemies alike regarded him as a man of integrity and principle. Dad had the courage of his convictions. He fought tirelessly for the causes he knew were right, no matter the consequences. As a member of the school board, he was often out-voted 4 to 1 as he fought against sex education, funding for faculty abortions, and the typical liberal agenda. On the Feast of the Holy Innocents, he took his family to stand in front of Planned Parenthood clinic to protest the slaughter of innocent unborn children. For many years he presented "pro–life" classes for the seniors at the local high school. Shortly before he died, he erected a billboard that still declares to 25,000 cars every day. "Adoption, Not Abortion." Even during his battle with cancer, Dad’s faith never faltered. He hated the thought of dying, but he did not grow angry with God. He fought death with every ounce of strength, but his war–cry was: "If God wants me to go, nothing can keep me; if God wants me to stay, nothing can take me." He told us the Tuesday before he died, that this was his Holy Week - he was going "home," and that we should pray for the strength to go on after he was gone. It reminded me of Christ’s words to the weeping women of Jerusalem, consoling them in the midst of his own terrible agony. While we children still lived at home, Dad would bless and kiss us each good night. As we got older, this simple ritual became a more and more precious way of saying "I love you." The last day Dad was at the hospital, as I was leaving, I leaned over his bed to kiss him goodbye. He weakly raised his hand and blessed me for the last time. I couldn’t stop the tears - he was a father and a family priest to the very end. We brought him home the afternoon before he died. He had received all his sacraments and the Apostolic blessing. That night we gathered around him and read his favorite poems. Dad died peacefully as we read from the Psalms of King David. While the cancer ravaged his body, it purified his soul and confirmed his faith. Even as his strength failed, his eyes grew more luminous. Dad often said, "The only mistake you can make in life is not dying a saint." Considering the way he lived and the way he died, I trust, by the grace of God, that he did not make that mistake.