On Canons and Canons

The Rev. Canon Aaron Zook, ’12

The first person I met at Nashotah House was Steve Peay. I was walking through the grounds of the seminary, wondering what on earth had possessed me to go there in the first place. He was shuffling across a parking lot with a rolling suitcase and an armful of books and a tweed grouse hat pulled down tight. I was eager to find whether or not there was a place for me with people like these and I nervously paced the lawn, smoking cigarettes. As he neared, I nodded and said, “Good Morning.” He stopped and smiled, placing his load of texts on top of the suitcase. “Yes, it is,” he replied. “As full of purpose as every other. And as I’ve walked over here, I’ve been enjoying the smell of your tobacco. I was a pipe man for many years, though giving a portion of your jaw to something often leads to a change of heart.” I told him the cigarettes were ‘All Natural’ and the leaves were dried in old whiskey barrels. He smiled, saying, “Good on you! No better for your health, I’d guess, but certainly food for the soul! You fit right in, sir. To paraphrase Chesterton, ‘Nashotah is surely a place where the Pint, the Pipe, and the Cross can all fit together.’”

I would come to know Fr. Peay quite well over the following years. Bede+, (so called by some in recognition of the monastic name he was given many years ago) was my professor, but we quickly became friends. We shared a mutual love of good preaching, good beer, and Canon Law. He introduced me to Sertillanges, Toulmin, and Father Brown (I always thought of him as Brown and myself as Flambeau.) He grounded my philosophy of Anglicanism in a well-worn phrase, “Nothing new!” (He was always quick to point out that whatever anyone wanted to try in the Church had been "tried before by some sweet saint, so why reinvent, when one can simply build on their good works!”) He was quick to encourage, quick to laugh, and ready and willing to admonish in a manner that never left you deflated. He was always prepared to offer his help, no matter the problem or the location. He was respected for his knowledge and insight, but was well loved because he would always meet you where you were and share in your rejoicing or your lamentation. He would also always leave you with a suggestion to help you return to the path. That usually came in the form of a “heartily recommended” book. Ask anyone who knew Steve Peay, and they’ll each give you a similar response: that they shared a love of something and that he had introduced them to someone else. And that is the beauty of Bede+’s ministry: he was always building bridges.

He told me once that he had always wanted to brew his own beer, I suggested he try it. He told me the only hurdle was his dear wife, Julie, whom he loved too much to irritate that way. Not long after that conversation, he related that a friend had been brewing at home, but failed to properly clean his filters after a delightful Raspberry Saison. Apparently, the seeds from the fruit clogged some lines and it blew a hole in his garage! “After that,” he said, “ I’m afraid that dear women would never allow it, and rightfully so!” We made it up to him months later when a few us us converted a professor's basement into a full British Pub (complete with pool table.) He gratefully officiated a service to bless the space, including a full vested procession across campus. He loved being in that Pub because he loved finding those times and places wherein divisions fade and shared joys abound.

Bede+ and I shared a love for Canon Law. You’re probably thinking, “Who doesn’t love archaic codes and policies relevant to only the smallest subsection of people?” But Bede+ and I found real joy in them. We saw in Canon Law the continual evolution of our understanding of ourselves and of the Church’s role in human life and in the Salvific Arc. We could spend hours discussing how they worked and where they were lacking. Each of us worked in our own corners of the Church to build them up and took every opportunity to work with others as well. He introduced me to a certification program connected to the Church in Wales that studied their uses and philosophy. While in that program, I connected with people from all around the Anglican Communion. There were priests and lawyers and authors. They all knew Steve Peay. He loved Canon Law because it set the parameters of our expectations for ourselves and for one another. They are the poetry of our mutual standards and they guide us in our relationships to one another and to the Church. He saw them serving the same function I saw him serving: building bridges between people.

Bede+ and I were each installed as Canon in the Diocese of Eau Claire in 2014. He became the Canon Theologian for Evangelism and I became Canon to the Ordinary. It was a not-so-secret joy of mine when we greeted each other with an endless chorus of “Good Canon!” The last time I heard him say those words was unfortunately the last time I’ll ever hear him say them on this side of the veil. We would always discuss our families and our current struggles. We would also promise to buy each other a pint the next time we could. We would laugh and share and lament with one another. And after every conversation, I would leave with a sense of energy and purpose, with a clear vision of what to do next, and, undoubtedly, with a new book he suggested to help me achieve the goal. He was a man who saw my success and my happiness as his gain. I’m not the only one who felt this way. He became a father to so many of us in separate, yet incredibly similar ways. He loved us. He nurtured us. He rejoiced in our growth as people and as priests. He took us and our families into his heart and always readily offered his own in return. And given any opportunity, he connected us to one another, showing us our mutual interests and pointing to the ways we could help one another. Again and again he built bridge after bridge after bridge.

The Church is a sadder place for his death, but a much brighter and stronger place for his life and ministry. He connected so many of us to himself, then to one another. His talent for conciliation was unmatched and quite difficult to replicate. He truly loved his neighbors. Every last one of them. But it never felt like you were one of many; it always felt like you were the one he really wanted to be with. He loved us as only a father could: completely, unconditionally, and in spite of our failings. He was fond of saying that “God is reckless with His Grace” and Bede+ responded by being reckless with his affection. He gave it willingly, even to those who deserved it least.

I will miss my friend dearly, just as I have loved him dearly. I will lament not talking to him more often. I will continue to look for moments of conciliation, so I can share the deep legacy he’s left in my mind and heart. In this moment, I’m struck by something he used to say quite often. He used it in sermons, in lectures, and in conversation. It always introduced something incredibly important and it often prefaced something we’d overlooked or forgotten. What followed was always foundational to whatever point he was making, but the prologue itself was foundational to his life. Whatever concept was at the heart of his statement, he would always begin by addressing us as “Beloved” (always fully vocalizing the -ed.) It was a term of endearment as much as a term of address and it points to the way he saw us all; as people he loved dearly, people as precious in his eyes as we are in the eyes of our Maker.

This Church will miss you, Bede+, and look forward with hope to joining with you and the Church Triumphant. Well done, good and faithful servant. May you rest in peace and rise in glory. And, Beloved, leave a light on for us.

The Rev. Canon Aaron Zook, ’12, is a proud Son of the House. He serves as the Canon to the Ordinary and as a parish priest in the Diocese of Eau Claire, and also works as a freelance Canon Lawyer. He lives in Chippewa Falls with his wonderful wife and daughter and you can find more of his work at https://www.parsonofinterest.com/