The Rev. Canon William Ward McCabe

July 26, 1917 – January 29, 2004

Surrounded by Evelyn and his children, our brother Ward McCabe’s death came quietly yesterday, following yet another stroke.  He had no fear of death and knew himself to be in love and charity with all the world (with the possible exception of some of the more pesky conservatives in the press!).  Ward was born in Versailles, Kentucky, and attended The Episcopal Theological School; he was ordained Deacon and Priest in 1948.  On October 29, 1940 Ward married Evelyn Dull and the couple raised three children.  Ward’s first call was to St. Andrew’s, Wellesley, Massachusetts as Curate.  In 1951 he became Associate Professor of Biblical Literature and the Professor of Philosophy at Madison College in Harrisonburg, Virginia.

Ward’s long and distinguished service to St. Mark’s, Santa Clara spanned the years 1959 to 1980 during which time he served the community as a founding Trustee of Good Samaritan Hospital, and the church on the Department of Missions, Program and Budget, the Commission on Ministry, Dean of Students of the California’s School for Priest Workers (1962- 1975) and, from 1973 to 1978, as Canon to the Ordinary, and as Archdeacon between 1985 and 1988.  Since retirement the McCabes have been communicant members of St. Jude’s, Cupertino.

Almost certainly the best read and most articulate man this Bishop has ever know, Ward was a continuing friend, advisor and source of wisdom for me and I already miss Ward higher than I can count.  May God be tender with Evelyn and the children and gather Ward to the birds and angels in everlasting Life.   Amen.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

The stars are not wanted now, put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to good.

 Wystan Hugh Auden