Caught up in the crowd he appeared quite common.

His passion, energy and enthusiasm were hidden behind the mundane task of retrieving me from the airport. But given his playing field, and the enormity of the struggle that was his daily fare, he was anything but common.

He was, by title, a Priest, by passion he was a Missionary. Settled among the poorest, most remote villages near Lilongwe, Malawi, Father Emmanuel battled the demons that were every day life in Africa. After a decade on the front line, he was war weary and ready to quit.

In charge of an orphanage, school for the young, trade school for the teens, employment agency for the graduates, HIV prevention engineer, religious leader, guidance counselor, medical coordinator and full-time funeral director, time and the grinding punishment that is Africa have taken its toll of his goodness. Father Emmanuel was ready to throw in the towel. It was hopeless anyway, no reason to stay. A dozen funerals in a day, five-year-olds dying of AIDS, teens with eyes glazed in hopelessness, starvation you could set your watch by, and all alone in an area so remote there had never been a visitor.

He did like football though. Soccer was the western word. A game of endurance and discipline, a team motivated to pull together. I kind of saw him as the Keeper, the goalie if you will, in a giant struggle against all the calamities that man and nature could throw at him. He was the goalie, in the constant struggle to block every kind of shot put toward him. He fought the worst of things, a struggle against evil itself. Father Emmanuel was, as the sporting class would say, "God's Keeper".

Constantly on the move, challenging, charging, diving, on the ground, struggling, always reacting, never relaxed, clenched teeth and frayed nerves, always throwing his whole mass into the game, trying to keep his invisible team from losing. All he saw was the heartbreak of failure; famine, AIDS, poverty, young death, old despair, all the while never hearing the cheer when his team scored. He toiled to protect the net, saving souls, only keeping score of the losses, the ones he could not reach, and the ones that somehow got past him.

But on this day, and in that light, somehow the whole field became clear to him. In front of him and on his team were all the splendors of heaven. The Angels, the Saints, the Holy Martyrs, the Elect, the Elders, the Prophets and all those who have struggled for the sake of The Name since the beginning of time. And they were on his team, his offense, his line of forwards, all cheering for his work, jubilant at his saves and amazed at his efforts.

For the Keeper, the whole world was maneuvering to get past him, and he was exhausted seeing the world win. He did not know the impact of his saves; the elderly who lived with pride, the opportunity of young who were in his care, the teens in the vocation school that blossomed into productive lives based upon the skills taught by his classes and the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Students broadened their knowledge and hope returned to the community, teenagers did not become pregnant and AIDS became the rarity instead of the norm. Mothers had hope, families had stability, and the world was becoming a better place.

God needed a keeper, someone to battle and save the souls, someone who constantly got back up to block another attack, a keeper, a goalie, the point man in God's plan for mankind, a Saint in waiting.

When I see Father Emmanuel again we will talk of these things, as for now and in this time, I think of him constantly. Caught up in a crowd he appears common, but given the enormous job that has been his task in life, it is the ultimate pennant of honor that God has ordained him to be His Keeper.