Who says that the Fathers are foreigners? Who says that the Fathers are no good? Who says that we are traitors because we profess the religion of the Fathers? Father Boissel lies dead before us, there, right now. His life is the answer to our questions and to our faith. If he is not good, why does heaven not thunder and the plague not gobble him up? Why was he moved with impatience and solicitude to join his children in the village of Hat-I-Et? Only his devotion for his children whom he loved urged him toward them, without thinking about his own blood, his flesh, his life.
You notables, you teachers who have known and visited Father Boissel, you know and remember that he was a good man, generous with the people and with the poor. Even though he was a man direct in words and who “sneezes loudly,” remember his goodness which he showed wherever he went. “The earth that covers the face for five hundred years cannot make us forget love,” says the poet, for Father Boissel was an example, a source of the love of Christ for us. Neither the rain which falls nor the waters that rumble can erase the bright red blood of Father Boissel which scars this Laotian land.
Homily of Father Pierre Douangdi OMI
for the funeral of Blessed Joseph Boissel, 8 July 1969.