Joseph W. Psaila writes:

There is, I dare say, a sort of armchair missionary – one who does not leave family and friends for the unknowns of foreign lands and cultures but stays at home and makes the support of the missions a daily commitment. That was the path taken by Therese of Lisieux who, although having never left the cloister, has been, because of her constant apostolate of prayer, proclaimed Patroness of the Missions. This is the path also taken by Tarcisio Gauci, who passed away to eternity on July 29 at the age of 77.

Tarcisio was an avid stamp collector. However, he did not keep the myriad of stamps which he collected over the years exhibited jealously in gilded albums. Instead he sold them and donated the proceeds, several hundreds of euros every year, to the missions. In the era when the Junior Lyceum exams were the tail that wagged the education dog, parents craved to have their son or daughter in his Year 6 class. Year in year out, his pupils’ success was close to 100 per cent. Tarcisio could have made a handsome fortune from private lessons. His services were much requested; and he, indeed, did hold Junior Lyceum classes for lessons at his home. The proceeds, however, were without fail forwarded to the missions.

During the months of COVID-19, I used to contact him by phone and he would answer encouragingly from his hospital bed. I am sure that in his suffering, the missions were still on his mind. He knew ‘this’ end was near – but only ‘this’ –and he was ready to accept the will and mercy of the Father. Can there be a more receptive state for sanctifying grace?

Tarcisio and I were classmates throughout all the years of our primary and secondary education. I still remember the day, in our very early teens, when he convinced me to attend the Praesidium Sedes Sapientiae of the Legion of Mary – what a name loaded with meaning, if one stops to think about it. Tarcisio persevered and tried his best to honour that name for the rest of his life. Tarcisio had a very uncommon peculiarity.

He had an extraordinary memory for dates. He could remember the dates of birth of all his friends and acquaintances: of all our classmates, of some teachers, once his colleagues at Valletta and Victoria primaries and at the Gozo secondary schools, and of some of the members of the staff at Sannat and Nadur primaries where he served as head of school for several years.  His list was surprisingly long. When someone on this list, incidentally, met him in the street, Tarcisio enjoyed divulging the data to the person concerned, by way of introduction to further conversation.

It is our turn now, for us who have known him, to compensate by remembering in our prayers Tarcisio’s date of birth to eternity. Ultimately, it is the one that really counts.

My sincerest condolences to his brother, Fr John, to his sisters Marisa and Luigia and to the other members of his family.