This morning, I was terribly saddened to learn of the passing of Fr. Joe LeClair. He died surrounded by family on the evening of October 8, 2026. As many of you know from personal experience or from others who knew him, Fr. Joe touched countless lives throughout his priestly ministry. I’ve been at Immaculate Heart of Mary in Ottawa since I was a young boy, and Fr. Joe’s homilies are still among the most spiritually fruitful I’ve heard in person.

Indeed, Fr. Joe possessed a remarkable gift for preaching. His sermons effectively combined deep theological insight, humour, captivating storytelling shaped through his life experience, and a deep understanding of the human condition. His sermons often explored the struggles and hopes of the ordinary person. Although his message was always simple and centered on God’s love for us, his preaching was anything but perfunctory. Having listened to many of his sermons, he consistently challenged those in attendance with sometimes an unsettling message, but at the same time inspired us to live more holy lives. He spoke the truth without hesitation. Without a doubt in my mind, such was the impact of his preaching that people would travel from across the city to attend Mass at IHM specifically to hear his homilies.

One homily in particular, delivered on Remembrance Day in 2018 (it was actually at the 4:30pm Mass on November 10), left quite the impression on me, so much so that I subsequently referenced it in an article entitled The Sanctity of Life in Light of the Incarnation, published in Catholic Insight on December 28 (Feast of the Holy Innocents, Martyrs). In that sermon, Fr. Joe drew a poignant connection between the countless lives lost during the First and Second World Wars and the largely forgotten lives of unborn children. He challenged the congregation to remember those who never had the opportunity to experience life outside their mothers’ wombs. He also spoke movingly about his niece with Down syndrome and the tremendous blessing she had been to his family. Even though a simple and yet profound message, it was one that had never occurred to me for reflection upon Remembrance Day. He helped the common churchgoer to realize that human life should never be contingent upon convenience, ability, circumstance, or societal approval.

I also found inspiring his ability to communicate such a difficult moral teaching without reducing it to an abstract philosophical argument—something I struggle with as an academic. As I noted in my original article, the circumstances surrounding that particular Mass made his message especially meaningful, reminding me of the mysterious ways in which divine providence can work through individual encounters.

My memories of Fr. Joe extend beyond his preaching. I recall an amusing encounter involving my friend and colleague, Dominican priest and professor Fr. David Bellusci, who had encouraged me to introduce myself to Fr. Joe. When I mentioned Fr. David’s name, Fr. Joe immediately responded with enthusiasm: “Do I know him?! We are blood brothers!!” His response made me chuckle at the time. It showed a lot about his loving and charismatic character and of a person who genuinely knew how to love.

Today, as I reflect upon my own finitude, as I often do in situations like this, I am reminded as to the light Fr. Joe shined on a dark world. And that we must extend mercy and charity to others, particularly those enduring struggles that often remain hidden from view. His known struggles with alcoholism and gambling, which ended in conviction and a sentence for theft, remind us that frailty takes many forms: depression, addiction, loneliness, personal failure, and subtler spiritual troubles that hinder the way toward salvation and a lasting, loving relationship with God. As St. Paul writes, “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). Fr. Stephen Liang welcomed Fr. Joe into ministry at IHM when others were reluctant to do so. This exemplified charity and mercy in practice. Through welcoming him, a great many of us, myself included, got to hear a preacher who took the Gospel seriously, leaving us with an indelible spiritual mark.

Requiescat in pace, Fr. Joe.