Deep Roots of Love

AJ Wagner grew up with 17 siblings and “built a family wherever he went,” his daughter Aileen told a nearly full chapel at a memorial Mass at the University of Dayton.

“Family was his core, and he was our North Star,” said Joan McGuinness Wagner, his wife of 49 years, at his funeral Mass at The Church of Good Shepherd near their home in State College, Pennsylvania, a week earlier.

Both celebrations drew huge crowds, a sign of the deep love and respect so many felt for a gentle, kind man who taught us all “radical hospitality,” according to his obituary.

“It was like AJ operated on a 48-hour day,” said my son Ali, who flew home from Brooklyn for the Dayton service. “Cancer knocks people down, but he poured so much love outward when he was fighting for his life.”

The well-loved retired judge and public servant died from complications from leukemia just months after being diagnosed, but in AJ fashion he held court on his Facebook page, interspersing poetry with medical reports and concern for the world’s starving children with uplifting words for us.

“I certainly have it much better than the 8,000 PLUS children who will unnecessarily die of hunger today,” he wrote in one entry. Later, he posted, “When God wants me, God can take me, but God is responsible for the deep roots of love I have been given in this life so s/he’s going to have to pull hard. The roots are growing longer and stronger than ever before. …These roots will more than double their strength if you pray for some person or some cause without the roots I have.”

The causes? Starving children. Climate change. War. Disease. Gun violence. “So many of you are struggling with health issues more serious than mine, and you deserve prayer, too,” he wrote.

AJ cared more deeply about others than himself, particularly the hungry children of the world and youth searching for their calling.

After he and Joan moved to State College five years ago to be near their grandchildren, he founded Butterfly PAC, dedicated to ending child hunger and poverty through public policy. When they lived in Dayton, the couple welcomed hundreds of UD students of various faiths every year to their home, what students affectionately called “the big yellow house.” Over the dining room table — deemed “sacred ground” — they shared meals, stories and heartfelt conversations that lingered long into the night.

“Nothing made AJ happier than sitting in the kitchen, on the porch or in the living room talking to young people about faith and action. Every conversation would end with, ‘I love you,’” recalled Joan, UD’s retired director of Marianist strategies.

At that time, AJ befriended my son, listening to Ali’s dreams and fears during a vulnerable time in his life. When Ali helped the family pack for their move, AJ told him that he loved to dance with his wife in the kitchen every day, teaching our son to find joy, love and meaning in the small moments.

Through graduate school and Ali’s early career as a social worker in Harlem, the two kept in touch by periodic texts. When I broke the news of AJ’s illness to Ali, he poured out “treasured memories” and gratitude in a lengthy email that started with their first conversation at a coffee shop near campus.

“You listened like you had nowhere else to be,” Ali wrote. “I felt that you believed in me, and it radiated through every ounce of my being. You believing in me was the catalyst for the long, gradual process of me believing in myself. …Thank you for reminding me to be present and to believe in those around me, too.”

Even as he grew weaker, AJ took a moment to respond: “That day at Panera I was not just listening to Ali Rizvi, I was hearing the dreams of a life filled with compassion and empathy,” he emailed. “You are destined for greatness, Ali. Not because of your ability to bring your dreams to life, but because of your great love for others.”

These heartfelt words, shared by Ali’s dying mentor, brought tears to my eyes.

At his funeral, Joan shared that AJ “had a song for every occasion and “he sang them with gusto.” He was fond of sweeping musicals, particularly “Les Miz.”

“The final song has a beautiful line which AJ sang often: ‘To love one another is to see the face of God,’” Joan said.

“AJ showed the face of God to each of us in every encounter, in every interaction. His was a heart that stretched to touch as many people as humanly possible. His was a heart that pumped out compassion and love.”