 |
| Fr. Basil Atwell |
An incurable
eye disease intruded on 16-year-old Johnny Atwell’s life almost overnight. In October of 1974, the Glendive, Montana teen
faced inevitable blindness. Johnny did not plead with God for a cure, however. Instead,
he demanded one. God seemed not to be listening, but then something amazing
happened.
eye disease intruded on 16-year-old Johnny Atwell’s life almost overnight. In October of 1974, the Glendive, Montana teen
faced inevitable blindness. Johnny did not plead with God for a cure, however. Instead,
he demanded one. God seemed not to be listening, but then something amazing
happened.
Looking up at the chalkboard, Johnny squinted, trying to
clear the haze around the letters his teacher wrote. “I must need new glasses,”
he thought offhandedly, but did not bother to mention it to his parents. “ I
was too busy doing my own thing to worry about it,” he recalled now as the
adult, Fr. Basil Atwell, a monk and priest of Assumption Abbey, Richardton, ND. It hardly seemed urgent and besides, he knew his parents
had little money to spare for their family of eight.
clear the haze around the letters his teacher wrote. “I must need new glasses,”
he thought offhandedly, but did not bother to mention it to his parents. “ I
was too busy doing my own thing to worry about it,” he recalled now as the
adult, Fr. Basil Atwell, a monk and priest of Assumption Abbey, Richardton, ND. It hardly seemed urgent and besides, he knew his parents
had little money to spare for their family of eight.
In just a matter of weeks, however, the haze grew
dramatically worse, so that he knew something serious was happening. His parents took him to several doctors before
getting referred to the Eye, Ear, Nose, and Throat Clinic at the University
Hospitals in Minneapolis.
dramatically worse, so that he knew something serious was happening. His parents took him to several doctors before
getting referred to the Eye, Ear, Nose, and Throat Clinic at the University
Hospitals in Minneapolis.
“It was scary,” Genevieve explained in an interview from
her home in Glendive last spring, before she passed away on June 12. “We had no
money,” she said. “But my dad had old train passes and my mother took care of
the other kids.” The passes were expired, but Burlington Northern Railroad
accepted them in view of the circumstances.
her home in Glendive last spring, before she passed away on June 12. “We had no
money,” she said. “But my dad had old train passes and my mother took care of
the other kids.” The passes were expired, but Burlington Northern Railroad
accepted them in view of the circumstances.
Bleak Diagnosis
They arrived to see Dr. John Harris the following Monday
morning. As they walked down the long
hall filled with people using canes and “seeing-eye dogs” on their way to the
office, Atwell felt angry. “I don’t
belong here,” he thought. “I’m not one
of these.”
morning. As they walked down the long
hall filled with people using canes and “seeing-eye dogs” on their way to the
office, Atwell felt angry. “I don’t
belong here,” he thought. “I’m not one
of these.”
But he was. Corneal dystrophy was the diagnosis, a
disease that ends in blindness. “There’s
no cure, but there’s a 50/50 chance that surgery could help,” the doctor told
them. Surgery would mean transplanting
corneas from a cadaver hoping it would take.
disease that ends in blindness. “There’s
no cure, but there’s a 50/50 chance that surgery could help,” the doctor told
them. Surgery would mean transplanting
corneas from a cadaver hoping it would take.
Trying to squeeze back his tears, Atwell squeaked out one
question: “How long?” They would have to wait and see. It could be 1 year or
10; they would know more when he returned for another checkup in 6 months.
question: “How long?” They would have to wait and see. It could be 1 year or
10; they would know more when he returned for another checkup in 6 months.
The fear he had seen on his mother’s face tore at
Atwell’s heart. At home, the family
gathered and learned of the diagnosis, and then he informed them never to speak
of it again. “I told my parents: You cannot talk about it to anyone. I forbid
you,” he explained. “I didn’t want to be the subject of anyone’s pity.”
Atwell’s heart. At home, the family
gathered and learned of the diagnosis, and then he informed them never to speak
of it again. “I told my parents: You cannot talk about it to anyone. I forbid
you,” he explained. “I didn’t want to be the subject of anyone’s pity.”
Genevieve said that her husband was a great strength for
her during this time. “He would hold my hand and we would just sit and pray,”
she said. “I was afraid for Johnny. Whenever I get fearful, I turn to God
because I don’t know what else to do. I
would talk to God and pray the Rosary.”
her during this time. “He would hold my hand and we would just sit and pray,”
she said. “I was afraid for Johnny. Whenever I get fearful, I turn to God
because I don’t know what else to do. I
would talk to God and pray the Rosary.”
Encountering Christ
Atwell began a new nighttime routine after the dire
diagnosis. “Every night, on my bed, I
would say over and over: Father, take it away, I cannot do this! Father, take
it away!” It was never a request, but
always a demand.
diagnosis. “Every night, on my bed, I
would say over and over: Father, take it away, I cannot do this! Father, take
it away!” It was never a request, but
always a demand.
When three months had passed, one night Atwell said to
God: “Father, I can’t do this! I can’t go blind! You don’t understand,
Father!” But then, the ridiculousness of
what he had just said, sunk in. “’What
did I just say?’ I thought. ‘He’s God. He understands everything.’”
God: “Father, I can’t do this! I can’t go blind! You don’t understand,
Father!” But then, the ridiculousness of
what he had just said, sunk in. “’What
did I just say?’ I thought. ‘He’s God. He understands everything.’”
Atwell then began praying the “Our Father” out loud—a
prayer he had never said on his own before. “When I hit the words ‘Thy will’…, I was no longer in my bed,”
he said. “I was in the Garden of Gethsemane with Jesus. His head was bowed down
to the ground and he was shaking. I could see the glints of sweat and blood
through his hair and I saw the moonlight.”
prayer he had never said on his own before. “When I hit the words ‘Thy will’…, I was no longer in my bed,”
he said. “I was in the Garden of Gethsemane with Jesus. His head was bowed down
to the ground and he was shaking. I could see the glints of sweat and blood
through his hair and I saw the moonlight.”
Immediately, Atwell understood that Jesus had just said
to God the Father, “Not my will but yours
be done.”
to God the Father, “Not my will but yours
be done.”
“Jesus began
convulsing and weeping. I was in front of him, standing. The Father showed me
the Son at the time Jesus gave his will over, obedient to his Father’s will,”
Atwell explained. “I felt so ashamed,”
he said. “I started crying. All of a sudden it hit me like a ton of bricks,
Jesus had given everything and I
wasn’t willing to give my eyes. I told him, ‘I’m so sorry’.”
convulsing and weeping. I was in front of him, standing. The Father showed me
the Son at the time Jesus gave his will over, obedient to his Father’s will,”
Atwell explained. “I felt so ashamed,”
he said. “I started crying. All of a sudden it hit me like a ton of bricks,
Jesus had given everything and I
wasn’t willing to give my eyes. I told him, ‘I’m so sorry’.”
Suddenly, Atwell was back in his bed crying. “I am so
sorry,” he repeated. “You gave everything and I wasn’t willing to give you my
eyes.” A peace immediately filled him.
“Father, you can have my eyes…. You can have anything….You can have everything!” he prayed. “That’s when an
electric feeling shot through me,” Atwell explained. “I felt it
instantaneously, rising through me from the tips of my toes up to the top of my
head. It was over in a split second. My eyes were open and in my dark bedroom I
had absolute knowledge that I had been healed.
sorry,” he repeated. “You gave everything and I wasn’t willing to give you my
eyes.” A peace immediately filled him.
“Father, you can have my eyes…. You can have anything….You can have everything!” he prayed. “That’s when an
electric feeling shot through me,” Atwell explained. “I felt it
instantaneously, rising through me from the tips of my toes up to the top of my
head. It was over in a split second. My eyes were open and in my dark bedroom I
had absolute knowledge that I had been healed.
“Father, you aren’t going to take my eyes.” Atwell said
out loud.
out loud.
Then, he heard a human voice say clearly: “You have too
much work to do.”
much work to do.”
“Too much work to do? What does that mean?” Atwell asked.
The next thing Atwell knew, it was morning, his eyes fluttered open at the
light coming through the bedroom window. “I could see crystal clear,” he said.
The next thing Atwell knew, it was morning, his eyes fluttered open at the
light coming through the bedroom window. “I could see crystal clear,” he said.
Ecstatic, Atwell ran downstairs and told his mother to
cancel the appointment in Minnesota because he was healed. His mother was cautious. “You know they said
it doesn’t cure itself,” she told him. Despite his objections, his parents made
him keep his upcoming appointment in Minnesota.
cancel the appointment in Minnesota because he was healed. His mother was cautious. “You know they said
it doesn’t cure itself,” she told him. Despite his objections, his parents made
him keep his upcoming appointment in Minnesota.
When he did return to the eye clinic in May, one intern
after another examined his eyes in disbelief. One asked: “Do you have a twin
brother?” thinking a trick was being pulled. When Dr. Harris–the doctor who
had given the original diagnosis–was brought in, he looked through his machine
at Atwell’s eyes and moved the light back and forth. Then he flung it aside and
said: “I hope you realize this is a miracle.”
after another examined his eyes in disbelief. One asked: “Do you have a twin
brother?” thinking a trick was being pulled. When Dr. Harris–the doctor who
had given the original diagnosis–was brought in, he looked through his machine
at Atwell’s eyes and moved the light back and forth. Then he flung it aside and
said: “I hope you realize this is a miracle.”
Atwell was 17 at the time. It was that moment when he realized that he
was called to be a priest.
was called to be a priest.
The miraculous experience was something Atwell kept to
himself until he shared it with the formation director at the Benedictine
monastery when he joined as a monk in 1979 and eventually took the name
Basil. Feeling unworthy of and
intimidated by the priesthood, Atwell stayed a monk for 22 years until June 28,
2002, when Bishop Paul Zipfel ordained him a priest.
himself until he shared it with the formation director at the Benedictine
monastery when he joined as a monk in 1979 and eventually took the name
Basil. Feeling unworthy of and
intimidated by the priesthood, Atwell stayed a monk for 22 years until June 28,
2002, when Bishop Paul Zipfel ordained him a priest.
“When God
gave my eyes back to me, I then had no idea what would later be required of
me.” He said. “Now, I understand that a
priest must give all for the sake of all others, without deference and without
discrimination as Saint Paul put on the new self, created in God’s way, in
righteousness and holiness of truth” (Ephesians 4:22-24).
gave my eyes back to me, I then had no idea what would later be required of
me.” He said. “Now, I understand that a
priest must give all for the sake of all others, without deference and without
discrimination as Saint Paul put on the new self, created in God’s way, in
righteousness and holiness of truth” (Ephesians 4:22-24).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fr. Basil Atwell, OSB is a Benedictine monk and priest of Assumption Abbey
in North Dakota. With his abbot’s permission and appointment, he currently
serves at the pleasure of the Bishop of the Diocese of Bismarck as pastor of
the Catholic Indian Mission and its mission parishes, the Church of St. Peter
in Chains in Fort Yates, the Church of St. James in Porcupine, and the Church
of St. Elizabeth’s in Cannon Ball. He also oversees the mission’s K-7
elementary educational apostolate called St. Bernard Mission School. In addition, Fr. Basil serves as pastor of
the Churches of St. Philomena in Selfridge and Sacred Heart in Solen.
in North Dakota. With his abbot’s permission and appointment, he currently
serves at the pleasure of the Bishop of the Diocese of Bismarck as pastor of
the Catholic Indian Mission and its mission parishes, the Church of St. Peter
in Chains in Fort Yates, the Church of St. James in Porcupine, and the Church
of St. Elizabeth’s in Cannon Ball. He also oversees the mission’s K-7
elementary educational apostolate called St. Bernard Mission School. In addition, Fr. Basil serves as pastor of
the Churches of St. Philomena in Selfridge and Sacred Heart in Solen.
