Bari Colombari
February 7, 1951–January 17, 2026
Born and raised in Baker City, Oregon, Bari earned his B.A. from Eastern Oregon College and later a master’s in education from Portland State University. He taught music in his hometown for a few years before moving to Portland to teach at All Saints Catholic School.
After leaving teaching, he turned to music publishing and flourished at Oregon Catholic Press (OCP) for 34 years before retiring in 2017. Tireless and dedicated, he served many years at OCP as senior editor and in several other roles in the company’s music and book publishing. Bari was a source of information for his musical friends and OCP customers. When asked for a hymn title or tune, he would immediately give it or call back within minutes with the answer. His memory of hymn texts, tunes, titles, authors and publishing history was massive. He was the keeper and knower of detail. The missing comma. The extra space. The word that almost worked but did not quite earn its place. Bari did not just practice attention to detail. It was part of who he was.
For the members of the OCP family, pastoral musicians and liturgists from across the United States and beyond, Bari was not just a coworker but a friend. He was someone whose voice, laugh and way of paying attention to the world became part of everyday life’s rhythm. Bari was one of those people who stayed with you even when he was not in the room. Bari wore many hats: copywriter, proofreader, editor, author and teacher.
He cared deeply about doing things well, thoughtfully, and with integrity. He was, without question, a grammar geek. And he owned it. Fully and joyfully. Bari loved language. Loved how words worked together. Loved how the smallest change could shift meaning entirely. Not to show off. Not to correct for correction’s sake. But because he believed clarity is a form of kindness. And then there was his calligraphy. Bari did not just write. He crafted words. Letters mattered. Shape mattered. Spacing mattered. Watching him work felt like watching patience take form on the page.
He was a skilled pastoral musician who played piano and organ for over three decades at local churches in the Portland metro area, including All Saints, The Downtown Chapel, St. Philip Neri and Sacred Heart. Bari always chose seasonally appropriate, singable music for the assembly. He collaborated well with various cantors and music directors, making sure they invited and encouraged full, active and conscious participation. He mostly played the piano but occasionally used the organ for more traditional music. As a pastoral musician, he did not treat faith as abstract. It was lived, sung, practiced and shared. He carried it with humility and passion. Never loud, never showy and always present.
He was proud of his 38 years of sobriety and recovery work, and he welcomed anyone struggling to join him for lunch bunch. All who attended knew his “Time!” would keep things in order.
One of his best attributes was his quick wit. He was always dependable and gracious. Bari was warm and loving, cared for others, and stayed involved in his community. He was deeply empathetic. He cared, and people felt that. Bari had a sharp, clever sense of humor, the kind that sneaks up on you. Sometimes it was a perfectly timed comment; sometimes a joke delivered so calmly you almost missed it, until you did not.
When Bari laughed, you knew it was real. He was warm, loving and involved. He showed up. He volunteered. He advocated. He stood with people, especially when it mattered. Social justice was not theoretical for Bari. It was personal. It was rooted in compassion, faith and dignity. Bari mentored so many. He taught not by lecturing, but by modeling. He offered guidance without ego and correction with grace. He made room for others to grow. And many of us did because of him.
And yes, Bari had his quirks. One of the most consistent was his wardrobe. Bari wore shorts year-round; the cold weather did not matter. The only exceptions were the OCP Christmas party, liturgy and funerals. Otherwise, short pants were the uniform. At OCP Christmas parties, Bari had a tradition: a strand of battery-operated, light-up Christmas lights worn proudly around his neck. Never subtle and never optional. Always Bari.
He chased the perfect bronze tan, like sunshine was a lifelong project. He was a jokester. A friend. Someone who knew how to lighten a moment without cheapening it. Okay, let us be honest. Sometimes he took a cheap shot. And we loved him for it. His office was its own universe: crosses on the walls, quiet reminders of the faith that grounded him. Mini water fountains bubbling, bringing calm and a little background music to the day. And then there was his collection of nun memorabilia and miniature nun statues.
Thoughtful, playful, reverent, unexpected. Pure Bari.
Tribute prepared by Michael R. Prendergast with advice from Bruce Bruno, Geri Ethen and Wade Wisler. © 2026 by Michael R. Prendergast. All rights reserved. Used with permission.