Father Joseph Peek helped others until his last days

He wore plaids that didn’t match and buttoned up his shirts so the collar was tight around his neck.

“Why don’t you loosen that collar?” the other teenagers would say.

One younger brother, Kevin Peek, remembered, “I spent a lot of time trying not to be his brother. But in the end, all I wanted to be was his brother.”

He inspired such devotion, that when he died earlier this month, 3,000 people showed up for for Father Joseph Peek’s funeral, including 111 other Catholic priests, three bishops, his 10 siblings and most of his 37 nieces and nephews.

Not even his parents imagined that their first-born son — one of 11 children — would so inspire people, especially in the last years, with the way he bore his cross.

First, it was leukemia, discovered months before his ordination in 2002. Then his body reacted to a bone marrow transplant, which cured the leukemia but left him covered in sores. The bone marrow donor was his sister Kathy.

Bone marrow transplant patients who receive marrow from first-degree relatives are typically at lower risk for graft-versus-host disease, an adverse reaction to the transplant. That was not true for Father Joe. But he never questioned “Why me?” said those close to him, even as the reaction left up to 70 percent of his skin covered in painful sores that he had to bathe in water with bleach to stave off infection.

His response to the suffering was to joke about Kathy paying him back for being a pesky brother.

He counseled and prayed for others through his ordeal, inspiring many to look more deeply at their own walk with God.

The man seemed destined for it.

His parents’ names? Joseph and Mary.

He was born Aug. 9, 1965 in Corpus,Christi, Texas.

His mother noted that Corpus Christi means “body of Christ.”

His first few minutes of life were a drama and minor resurrection. He was seven weeks premature, and his body was black from lack of oxygen, Mary Peek said.

“I thought I’d heard his last breath” she said. The nurses and doctors thought so, too.

But Joe rallied. The young family moved to Atlanta, where the Peek clan grew to 11 children who would fill an entire pew at Immaculate Heart of Mary Church.

Joe served as an altar boy and once cracked the container that holds the burning incense used at some Masses. Bits of live charcoal flew all over the sacristy, the room where priests prepare for Mass.

“You can imagine how well that went over,” said his father.

After graduating from Lakeside High School in 1983, Joe went to Georgia Tech on a Navy scholarship. His grades dropped. He lost the scholarship, but was still obligated to the Navy, so he became a rescue diver and an aviation warfare systems operator.

While he was in the Navy he came home, and in his dress white uniform Joe escorted his sister Margaret to her senior prom. By this time, he was a handsome young man, and girls asked Margaret about her brother.

More than anything, though, girls were drawn to him because “he was the kind of person you could confide in,” said Margaret, now last name Boudreaux, married and a pediatrician in Cumming.

After Joe fulfilled his obligation to the Navy, he came home and worked as a waiter. As devout Catholics who prayed the Rosary with the family each day, his parents trusted his ability to discern God’s direction. Prayers were answered.

Joe felt called to the priesthood. But in February, 2002 — five months before he was ordained — the leukemia diagnosis came. He continued on the path, but his ministry changed. While he often was unable to celebrate Mass, he visited hospitals and clinics, praying with patients who had cancer and other diseases.

In 2011, Father Joe thought he might be getting better. He heard about a new 5K being organized at Winship Cancer Institute, where he had been treated for leukemia. He loved his doctor, Amy Langston, and the nurses and others there.

He also wanted to mount a comeback, however modest. He knew he couldn’t run the race, but maybe he could walk. He started a team called “Patient Endurance” and raised money for Winship. He finished and became an inspiration for others, said Dr. Walter J. Curran, Jr., Winship’s executive director.

“He was such a leader in spirit and in deed for our first Winship Win the Fight 5K Walk/Run in 2011,” said Curran. “Despite being physically disabled, he finished the Winship 5K that year, becoming an inspiration to the entire community and encouraging others to join the event as it has grown over the years.”

Not too long after, Father Joe was diagnosed with skin cancer. He developed a serious staph infection that is resistant to most antibiotics.

He kept on, ministering to the sick, celebrating Mass when he could, listening to anyone who needed it. He participated in the next Winship Win the Fight 5K by sponsoring his team again, even though he could not walk in it.

He got worse and weaker. Parishioners at All Saints Church organized teams to take care of his wounds, cook and clean.

He would joke with his visitors, but the conversations would be serious, too.

“We could ask him anything about theology, about Jesus, about prayer,” said Catherine Bova, nurse and a parishioner who helped care for him.

“I learned so much.”

Until his final days, he was helping others, said Kevin Peek, who followed Father Joe into the priesthood.

“I would hold the phone for him as he would lay there and listen,” he said.

Father Joe also was still giving singing lessons to his niece Christina, also his god-daughter.

Less than a week before he died, Christina visited. He asked her to sing a song she’d been rehearsing — “Let me call you Sweetheart.”

“And he was humming along,” said Bova.

In the early morning hours of March 14, Father Joe was dying but far from alone. Family gathered around. They sang, they prayed.

“Six of us were there, escorting him off the face of the Earth and into the Kingdom of Heaven,” said his father. “You could almost feel the room fill with angels.”