The Passing of a Humble Priest
A reflection on Father Cyriac Maliekal, pastor of Christ the Redeemer, my former parish
Christ the Redeemer in Milford, Conn., was my pastoral home for nearly two decades. It was a smaller parish, tucked away in the city’s northern suburbs — but it was a well-knit, active community: from the Summer Vacation Bible School, the annual parish picnics, the Ladies Guild, a Knights of Columbus council, roast beef dinners to even a short-lived kids band (called Redeemed).
After Sunday Mass and sharing in the Eucharistic miracle, parishioners would linger and chit-chat at the “Coffee And...” in the church hall. These small, quiet moments — over a cup of coffee and doughnuts — are where parishioners bonded. We were not simply passers-by fulfilling our Sunday obligation, giving a sign of peace to recognizable, yet unnamed faces, but brothers and sisters in Christ who cared about the lives of one another outside of the church’s doors.
This quiet, yet strong spirit was exemplified by Father Cyriac Maliekal, who humbly promoted this atmosphere in deed rather than word (public speaking was not necessarily his strength). Born in India, and ordained in 1971, he was inspired by his uncle — also a priest — to emigrate to the United States in 1978. His earthly pilgrimage took him throughout the northern East Coast, primarily New Jersey and Connecticut.
On June 3, Father Cyriac passed away at 79 years old, entering into his eternal reward.
He was our shepherd from 2006 to the parish’s closure in April 2021. In that time, he brought stability to a parish that had seen its share of less-than-stellar priests.
For nearly a decade, I had the pleasure of being an altar server under his stead until my freshmen year of college. During that experience, I witnessed his love for Christ — our redeemer — which was patient, soft-spoken, yet firm. Some yearn only for passionate evangelizers or intellectual giants to enlighten their hearts and form their faith. They certainly have their place in the universal Church. In my life, I have (and still do) gravitated toward those like Father Mike Schmitz and Bishop Robert Barron for spiritual and philosophical guidance.
But Father Cyriac showed me — and other parishioners — that God simply calls us to remain committed. To hold to faith day in and day out. And it does not need “bells and whistles,” so to speak, to sustain us, but requires duty and prayer.
His life (or near loss of it) also concretely affirmed that prayer has power and miracles are not ancient, far-away phenomena. They occur in our own neighborhoods and local parishes.
In 2011, after the final blessing on a spring Sunday, Father Cyriac — not known for any deviation — uttered “Go Huskies” before leaving the altar. The UConn Women’s basketball team had an NCAA Tournament game that afternoon. He loved the team. That was nearly the last time I saw him alive.
Later in the day, he collapsed outside the church after suffering a massive heart attack. Providentially, someone noticed him, called 9-11, and took him to the hospital. He required open heart surgery and, at least from the doctors’ outlook, a miracle.
There was no doubt he was on death’s door, as his family was called from India to say their last goodbyes.
Word among parishioners spread quickly. I remember my family receiving the phone call about him. Helpless, yet hopeful, the Christ the Redeemer community quickly gathered at the parish, united in prayer, begging God to spare Father Cyriac’s life. I specifically remember praying for our Blessed Mother’s intercession (whom he loved so much). I — and we — could not bear losing him, our good priest.
The raw emotion in the parish that night was palpable. And we were all witnesses to the awesome beauty of God’s mercy and love, for our community bonds were strengthened by turning to Our Lord in that desperate time. Father Cyriac survived — and he recovered, albeit after months of arduous recuperation. After one Mass (I can’t remember exactly when), I spoke to Father Cyriac via video since he was recovering in India. As I felt then as a late teenager and upon reflection as a thirty-one-year-old man, this tiny exchange was awesome. A gift beyond comprehension.
Father Cyriac returned to the United States, and continued serving the parish for almost ten years.
But why this priest? Why did God, in His divine providence, answer our prayer? Those are still questions I do not have answers for; but I know this: miracles may seem otherworldly — yet they occur every day. And they are local. To borrow from Willa Cather’s Death Comes for the Archbishop, miracles “rest not so much upon faces or voices of healing power coming suddenly from far off, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always.”
When one recognizes the miraculous, it allows us to see into reality, beyond our mere senses, as miracles provide a glimpse of God’s tenderness and the vastness of His creation. Christ the Redeemer parishioners were all witnesses to this truth — and as witnesses, this reality of God’s mercy must be shared. God’s love was shown not only in Father Cyriac’s recovery but also in the priest’s pastoral care.
When I saw Father Cyriac last, it was at a funeral several months ago. We talked about my family and his upcoming move to India. Sadly, he never got there. But I am confident he is in Heaven, the destination our hearts should be striving toward daily.
In a world of inconsistencies, Father Cyriac was consistent: a humble, dutiful witness to our parish community, Christ’s miracle in the Eucharist, and the hope of eternally dwelling in an everlasting, overpowering love.
May he reign with the Lord of the Universe, whom he adored. May he rest in peace.
Thank you for your kind words about my granduncle! It is a consolation to know life’s work was an inspiration to his parishioners.