Father John Price was a man whose presence filled the small, stone walled church with a sense of both reverence and strength. He wasn’t the kind of priest who spoke in soft tones or offered gentle reassurances. Instead, his sermons were like orders given on the battlefield direct, powerful, and impossible to ignore.

Price had seen more than his share of darkness, and it showed in the way he carried himself like a soldier who had traded his rifle for a rosary. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, seemed to see through to the heart of every sinner who walked through the church doors. He didn’t tolerate excuses or self pity; he expected you to confront your sins head-on, just as he had confronted his own demons.

Yet, there was a deep kindness in him, one that revealed itself in unexpected ways. After a stern lecture, he’d offer a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “You’ve got it in you to do better,” he’d say, his voice rough but sincere.