FRANKLIN -- There is only one thing a priest up at 2 a.m. should be doing, says Father Bob Poitras, pastor of St. Mary Parish in Franklin: Praying.

At 2 a.m. on Oct. 24, wide awake after nine days of incalculable loss for himself and his parish, praying was the only thing Father Poitras could do -- and one of the most challenging things he had done in 18 months as pastor of St. Mary's and 20 years as a priest in the Archdiocese of Boston.

Eight hours earlier, on the evening of Oct. 23, Father Poitras was making final preparations for the funeral for Father Jack Sullivan, St. Mary's beloved priest in residence, who died on Oct. 13 at age 76.

"He was a good friend," Father Poitras told The Pilot. "We were able to share so many moments together, struggles, joys; all those kinds of things in a year and a half."

The two priests' personalities meshed perfectly, and they became fast friends.

"We ate, we had celebrations, we cried together," Father Poitras said.

Shortly before Father Sullivan's death, his sister died, and Father Poitras comforted him.

"We did a lot of crying through that together," he said.

The death of Father Jack, as his fellow priests knew him, was a crushing blow to Father Poitras and his parish community. It would end up being only the first. When Father Poitras stepped outside to open the doors of the church for the vigil, he heard a fire alarm. He wondered what house in the neighborhood the alarm was coming from, until he saw the strobe lights within the church. He checked the fire panel and saw that the blaze had begun in the upper sacristy. Going up the stairs, he saw flames licking the underside of the door.

"And I knew I couldn't do anything more," he recalled.

He thought about everything inside the sacristy -- the vestments, books, and supplies which were all lost. The Eucharist, however, was unharmed as it was stored in the tabernacle of the main church. Police and fire crews from five towns arrived on the scene. As his church was burning, Father Poitras assumed his duty as chaplain of the Franklin Fire Department and went to serve the firefighters running in and out of the blaze.

"We could see in through the windows, the church was starting to fill with smoke," he said.

The sacristy was completely destroyed, and the 100-year-old church was severely damaged by smoke. The financial extent of the damages is still unknown, but Father Poitras estimated it to be "very high."

"Even the organ has to be replaced," he said. "Everything has to be replaced. And now the great work in the church is from ceiling to floor."

Father Sullivan's funeral Mass was canceled, along with all Masses and events in the parish. Father Sullivan was interred at St. Mary Cemetery in Franklin on Oct. 24.

"The fact that we didn't have the chance as priests and parishioners to come and give him the funeral rites that he deserved, and to have such an abbreviated version for now, was very sad," Father Poitras said.

Local authorities determined that the fire was the result of arson. And so, at 2 a.m, with nothing else left to do, Father Poitras found himself praying for the person who set fire to his parish. He said that Father Sullivan would've done the same.

"Every day is a struggle with wanting to get stuck on the hard and dark parts of all of this and the chaos," he said. "It kind of just wants you to suck into all that stuff, but it's in prayer that God keeps reminding me: 'No. There's something much better, much higher, much more dignified going on here than chaos.'"

The challenge of listening to Jesus's command and forgiving the arsonist has kept him up for days since the fire. Father Poitras shared his path to forgiveness with his parishioners at an outdoor Mass he celebrated in Franklin on Oct. 27.

"My heart was dark against whoever did this," he said in his homily. "The Lowell kid in me wants revenge, but I know that's only the surface. The Holy Spirit is whispering deeper in my heart: 'Have mercy, have forgiveness.'"

He said that he is angry at the arsonist and hopes that he is prosecuted to the full extent of the law. However, like the arsonist, he himself is "broken and in need of God's redemptive love to make us whole."

"If we want peace, hope, and love in this difficult and confusing time, we'll never find it in hate and revenge," he said. "That's where darkness dwells. We'll only find peace, hope, and love in the light of God's redeeming and unconditional love."

He reminded the assembly that Jesus taught them to forgive, just as God forgives them.

"I want to say to whoever caused this damage and chaos, I forgive you," he said. "God loves you. Because of his love, I love you."

Over 900 people attended the outdoor Mass, slightly more than Father Poitras sees in the pews on a typical weekend.

"In a time where there's just been so much heartbreak, today was heartwarming and loving," he told The Pilot. "It was helpful and healing."

The Mass was celebrated in a clearing adjacent to the old St. Mary School building, framed by the branches of trees with orange and yellow leaves. For most of Mass, the sun was behind those trees, leaving the assembly huddled and bundled against the autumn chill. The church building loomed in the distance, retaining its majestic exterior despite the damage that had ravaged its insides. Burnt wood could be smelled from outside the church. Taped to the doors were notices that all Masses and events had been canceled. On the two lampposts on the sides of the stairs were bulletins in English and Spanish from the Arson Watch Reward Program, promising "UP TO $5,000 IF YOU KNOW WHO DID THIS." Father Poitras cannot imagine who would ever do such a thing, or why.

"My experience here in the last year and a half is this community is wonderful," he said.

In his homily, he said that God was present in the parish staff and parishioners who gave him phone calls, texts, emails, hugs, prayers, and food.

"I hope and pray in some way I can be that same presence of God's peace and hope for you in these challenging times," he said.

He also expressed his gratitude to the first responders who came to the fire, several of whom attended the outdoor Mass.

As the parish looks to him for guidance, he is looking to his fellow priests.

"That's the joy of priesthood," he told The Pilot. "We are brothers, and so many of my brother priests have come to the rectory to sit with us, just to talk and lift us up."

The Archdiocese of Boston reached out while the fire was still burning. Cardinal Seán P. O'Malley called from Rome to offer his support and prayers. Archbishop Richard Henning came to Franklin that night to pray with Father Poitras. He even offered assistance from churches in the nearby Diocese of Providence.

"Both of them have given such great support," Father Potiras said. "The RCAB offices have been extraordinarily helpful."

Franklin's Protestant ministers and rabbi also came to Father Poitras's aid, sometimes with simply a cup of coffee or a hug.

"That's the people that you go to in these times," he said. "They support, and they guide, and they lift you up."

During Mass, even after all that they endured, the assembly said Psalm 126: "The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy." That day's Gospel was from Mark, Jesus healing the blind man Bartimaeus.

"Recent events have turned each of us here today into a modern-day Bartimaeus," Father Poitras said in his homily. "Our events have blinded us and have us crying out to the Lord: 'Lord have pity on me. Lord, help me.'"

He said that after the "faith-blinding" events of the past weeks, he has asked the Lord to give him faith.

"I never lost faith," he said. "Friends, don't lose faith, even in despair. My faith has reminded me God is present, even though I was blinded, and God was hard to see through the thick, dark, smoke. My faith has reminded me God's here in the midst of all this chaos and confusion."

With no music, save for an impromptu singing of "Amazing Grace" at the end, the Mass was celebrated in silence. The only sounds during Communion came from the rustling of leaves in the trees and underfoot, and the eucharistic ministers saying "The body of Christ."

As they administered the sacrament, the sun came out.