SANDHURST Diocese vicar general
Monsignor John White was a close friend of Monsignor Duffus.
Last August Mgr John Duffus and I intended to fly to Darwin and return on the Ghan to Adelaide and then back to Melbourne.  Unfortunately that was not to be.
John had been diagnosed in July with aggressive, inoperable pancreatic cancer and advised not to travel too far from his doctors.
So John suggested that he and I go to Melbourne – stay with our good friend Fr Richard Shortall SJ for a few days, then visit the Oblates at Sorrento, catch the ferry to Queenscliff and drive along the Great Ocean Road to Warrnambool.  
You see, he wanted to make a pilgrimage to places and people that were special to him – places and people he knew he would, in all probability, never see again.
So we visited Xavier College where John was educated.  
We prayed in the chapel, wandered through the Great Hall, looked up at the rooms where he had slept and the classrooms where he had studied.  
His memory was sharp and he related many stories of his schooldays at Xavier and the great teachers he had.
We went to Corpus Christi College (now the Werribee Mansion) where he and I had prepared for the priesthood – we had met there in March 1955.  
We delighted in the beautiful building, the garden and grounds, and the rooms dedicated to telling the story of the seminary years.
There was a certain poignancy as we drove away, knowing that John would never visit Werribee again – that sacred place that meant so much to the seminarians who studied there.
But it was at Warrnambool that I was most conscious that this was a pilgrimage.  
John’s forbears had come from that district and we visited the cemetery at Tower Hill where many of them are buried.  
John soon found their graves and reading the epitaphs told me of their history and family stories and where each fitted into the family tree.  
As we stood there on a bleak August afternoon I am sure that John’s thoughts were very much on his own mortality – and his own part in the family history.
When we returned from our pilgrimage, John had an appointment with an oncologist to discuss whether treatment for his cancer was a viable option.  
John weighted the pros and cons and decided that he would live out his remaining days with palliative care – no treatment.
John told me that his
oncologist then asked him how he would mentally and psychologically adjust to his situation.  
John’s reply was classical “Duffo” – he said “in manus tuas Domine commendo spiritum meum” quoting Christ’s words on the cross – “into your hands Oh Lord I commend my spirit”.  
His reply showed the measure of his faith, the depth of his acceptance of God’s will.  
His words echo the words in the Second Eucharistic Prayer when we say of Christ “before he was given up to death, a death he freely accepted” as John truly accepted his condition and freely accepted his death.
I believe his oncologist then said to John “I wish all my patients had the same beautiful attitude when confronted with their condition.”
And I share with you the reason why John had that mindset – because he had a deep and personal relationship with God, a relationship nourished by his daily commitment to meditation, prayer and the Mass.
Over these past six years we had journeyed together overseas.
Prayer and daily Mass were always part of John’s program and we celebrated in places as diverse as St Peter’s Rome and a small chapel in a convent in Uganda with six barefoot nuns in attendance.
Whenever I stayed with John in the Cathedral presbytery, I would always find him early in the morning in the chapel, before the Blessed Sacrament at prayer.
I was reminded then, as I am now, of the frequent references to Christ in the Gospel “in the morning, long before dawn he got up and went to a lonely place and prayed there.”  
John’s place where he could be alone was his little chapel.  Alone with his God.
John was an inspiration to me in the way he lived his priesthood.  
He was an inspiration to many thousands he touched through his priesthood – administering the sacraments, offering Mass, preaching, teaching, missionary activity in Papua New Guinea – and to his fellow priests of the Diocese of Sandhurst and beyond.
He will be sorely missed in the diocese as the font of all wisdom on things matrimonial,
liturgical and pastoral.  
I will miss being able to ring for advice on all these matters, advice that was accurate and gently pastoral.
I will also miss the good times we had together here and overseas.  
In Europe it was Cathedrals by day and good restaurants by night.  
John enjoyed his food and wine and I can imagine him seated at the banquet –  
described in our first reading today – a banquet of  rich food and fine wine.
He was a man whose life was founded on love, love of God and love of the people of God.  
It was fitting then that when he came to die he was surrounded by an outpouring of love from family and friends.  
From shortly after Christmas till his death last Friday night, John’s family, fellow priests, friends and professional carers filled his room with love.  
I have never experienced anything quite like the depth of that love.  
Mass was celebrated in his room each day but progressively he was unable to mouth the words or raise his hands in benediction.  
He received his Lord and Saviour in Communion almost to the last day of his earthly life.  
At other times there was
always someone near him praying the Church’s prayer, silently holding his hand or talking softly to him.
John’s last days also echo Paul’s words to the Phillipans – “I want to be gone and be with Christ, which would be very much the better, but for me to stay alive in this body is a more urgent need for your sake”.  
John served that urgent need for 74 years of life, 45 as a priest – now he has gone to enjoy that better part, to be with his God.
One Monday night the priests of the Western Deanery gathered in his room, prayed together, sang the hauntingly beautiful Salve Regina and then each one lovingly made the sign of the cross on his forehead.  
We said our goodbyes to a good and true friend.
And now we say goodbye in this Cathedral which was part of his life for 30 years.  A building he loved.  
Well John we have loved you and we will remember you at the altar of God until we meet again in heaven.
His Emmaus journey is over, he recognised his Lord and Saviour in the breaking of bread – he now sees him face to face.