A bishop who cooked.

His signature was simple: Michael, preceded by a cross. We at the Secretariat for Family, Laity, Women, and Youth of the NCCB knew it was Michael Kenny, bishop of Juneau, Alaska. I used to imagine Paul of Tarsus similarly signing off, and first-century Christians of course knowing who it was. After all, he was unforgettable and (I imagine) unconventional.

So was Bishop Michael Kenny, who died unexpectedly of a brain aneurism on February 19, 1995, in Jordan, the land of Paul. Not long before his departure for Jordan, chancery staff had heard him singing "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore." And why not? He loved music and frequently sang on all kinds of occasions: in the workplace, grace before meals, during the Mass. But this time he said to several people that he wanted that particular song sung at his funeral. Now people recall the line about the River Jordan being so deep and wide.

He was only fifty-seven when he encountered the absolute depth of the Jordan River, and every one of his years was lived with energy and creativity. I always had the impression that he was delighted to be in the company of Jesus. Saint Irenaeus's dictum that the glory of God is man fully alive was a perfect fit.

From 1987 through 1993, Kenny was a member of the Committee on the Laity with special concern for the needs of youth and young adults. He would arrive for a meeting having left his documentation at home, in Juneau. I'd give him a new set which he would quickly leaf through while I presumed him unprepared. Then he'd discuss, thoroughly, the contents. It took a while for me to realize that, in fact, he had a near-photographic memory, not only of reading material, but of presentations that he'd heard, as I discovered first hand. In 1990, my husband and I journeyed to Juneau, where I was the keynote speaker for a diocesan convention. After the evening presentation, driving back to his residence, Kenny recounted not only the main points of my text, but the details, the flourishes, the small touches. He knew it all.

To be in Juneau in a setting of natural wonder (the Mendenhall glacier near at hand), where youthful optimism and adventure are woven into the atmosphere, is to see how suited the bishop and his diocese were to each other. With only a handful of priests in ministry, the diocese - a cluster of islands, each with a blend of ethnic culture and symbols, from Russian to Tlingit - depends on a dedicated corps of lay ministers. They - the laity - were treated as partners by their bishop who wanted more than anything a dynamic sense of mission for the church of Juneau. That relationship called forth loyalty and love on both sides of the equation.

We stayed in the bishop's residence during our week in Juneau; but the bishop was there for only part of the time. The first night our host, who it turned out was also a gourmet chef, prepared a feast to which he invited an array of lay leaders. His kitchen routine was as perfected as any ritual. One might sit in the kitchen, observing, but you entered the culinary action only if asked. Kenny served each guest, personally. A bowl of soup. A portion of salmon. A gift for you from him, for Christ in you. I was reminded of some wonderful convents with ancient ways (in Britain and Israel, for example) where the prioress brings food to each one, a service to the guests who are Christ-bearers. Whether in the convent or in a bishop's house, it is a deeply moving custom.

During the diocesan convention, my husband and I were queried: Are you staying with the bishop? Do you have a bed? Sheets? Towels? (Yes to all.) You're lucky, our questioners laughed.

The bishop himself slept on the floor, albeit with a mattress. He lived simply: very little meat, no alcohol, no tobacco, daily runs along Juneau's scenic pathways. Icons throughout his home were a constant invitation to prayer. The door to the residence was always open, literally. We noticed how life flowed on, whether or not he was present. People left books in his living room; he left notes and books for them.

A lover of the arts, Kenny served on the board of one of Juneau's theater companies. Each summer he did some serious theater-going, usually at one of this country's Shakespeare centers; occasionally in England. His deepened sense of drama informed his celebration of liturgy. One of his final dramatic gestures - a month before his death - was to open the crypt located at the Shrine of Saint Therese where the first bishop of Juneau, Joseph Crimont, is buried. He knelt for a while and prayed for his predecessor, and then announced merrily that he would be buried there as well.

A member of Pax Christi, Kenny held positions on peace and war that were consistent and unwavering, but he always focused on the welfare of real men and women. He opposed the Persian Gulf War, but traveled to Iraq to escort Americans to safety.

And then there were his nieces and nephews. Now young men and women, he devoted some time each year to them, traveling to the cathedrals of Europe and camping out, or visiting the museums of America. He listened to them, guided them, learned from them, loved them.

Every once in a while a person appears as the very embodiment of the abundant life of which Jesus spoke (John 10:10): with a passion for justice and beauty; committed to simplicity and honesty; a direct but gentle person. Someone who is at home with laughter, at peace with himself, and who cultivates the ground of peace for others.

Sometimes that person is a bishop.