LEAVING ON A JET PLANE: WHERE AND WHY?

I will be heading away for some private down time—to Assisi and Rome.  Yes, I’ve been there before (over 40 times to Assisi, for instance).  Why am I going again?  For that matter, why do I go at all?
 

For me, it’s a chance to have a breather from the sturm und drang of ministry—a chance to re-charge.  But why do I go to those places in particular?  I cannot answer without being more specific:  the churches of San Damiano in Assisi, and Sant’ Agostino, San Paolo fuori le Mura, and Il Gesù in Rome.  And I must also observe that it’s why I return to Chicago every summer—yes, to visit friends and family there, but my Job #1 is a section of Resurrection Cemetery in the suburb of Worth.  It’s all about prayer and connectivity.

My Dad always loved the Jesuits, and it was his encouragement that got me to St Ignatius HS.  Of course, he loved Notre Dame too, and it was his encouragement that got me there, but that’s a different story.  I remember him and myself together when I pray the Rosary in Il Gesù—the final resting place of St Ignatius Loyola and of (a part of, anyway) St Francis Xavier.  And I remember being in that church for the incredible Mass commemorating the 30 day anniversary of the martyrdom of the Jesuits, their housekeeper and her daughter in El Salvador in 1989.  I’m impressed by nothing in that church so much as the associations of family, witness and prayer.  And so I go back.]

That leads me to St Paul’s.  For whatever reason, in 1989, when I’d returned to seminary, my Dad who had died in 1986 was heavy on my mind, and so I went to this church to pray for him on his birthday.  Two things are true that will stay with me forever:  I prayed the Rosary for him in the Eucharistic chapel which was where Ignatius and his early companions spent a night in vigil, after which they took the vows that formed them into the original Jesuits.  But I had an epiphany that day at that church with a Gypsy woman.  She was begging, using her baby and toddler as “props.”  She asked of me, and I told her I’d see when I came back out.  And leaving the church after my Rosary for him, I wondered what my Dad might do, or want me to do.  So I sat down and talked with the Gypsy.  She was a beggar (a professional one), but she was not a thief.  And the children were charming.  I talked with her, talked with the little one, held the baby, and gave her some money, and she was thankful—and I’d touched the face of God.  And so I go back.

My Mom died in 2005, but she lamented over her kids enough to mimic St Monica, the Mother of the famous sinner-turned-bishop/theologian, St Augustine.  And her remains (transferred from a church in Ostia, outside Rome) are in a chapel near the high altar, to the left.  And for Mom I also pray a Rosary there.  Part of the original tombstone from Ostia is on that wall, as well as her sarcophagus.  I miss her as well (we’re truly orphans when both parents die, no matter how old we are).  And so I go back.
San Damiano is my own personal connection from the very first time I set foot in there, in 1983.  I was overcome with the prayerfulness of the place, and when I had the chance I would stay for Evening Prayer with the friars—a spiritual experience not to be missed.  It enriches me for its simplicity and beauty (like the Evening Prayer I used to enjoy with the Communità di Sant’ Egidio).  And so I go back.

The cemetery is where my Father and Mother and baby brother are buried.  I trim around the headstones, place roses, and I sit in my portable chair and pray the Rosary for them.  It’s what I do, who I am thanks to them, and I will continue to hold on.
Why do I go back?  How could I not?  We are a sacramental people, after all, and we instinctively understand the power and importance of things and place.  Are my prayers “better” in those places?  No—but they strengthen me more for their association, and that’s reason enough to return.

There are many churches that I love in these two places, churches that I have not mentioned in this context:  San Francesco and Santa Chiara in Assisi; St Peter’s, St Mary Major, St Prassede, St Sabina, and more in Rome (all of which have their own power over me, but different).  They are wonderful, but (no, not even St Peter’s) essential to my spiritual reality.  I’ll visit the others, to be sure, but don’t have to, not in the same way that I have to pray in those other churches.

And so I go back--of course I do.  Where do you go?

THE POPE AND HIS BUTLER

Item from the Vatican’s news service:

THE POPE GRANTS PARDON TO PAOLO GABRIELE

 

Vatican City, 22 December 2012 (VIS) - Given below is the communiqué released this morning by the Secretariat of State:

"This morning the Holy Father Benedict XVI visited Paolo Gabriele in prison in order to confirm his forgiveness and communicate in person his decision to grant Mr Gabriele's request for pardon, thereby remitting the sentence passed against the latter. This constitutes a paternal gesture towards a person with whom the Pope shared a relationship of daily familiarity for many years.
"Mr Gabriele was subsequently released from prison and has returned home. Since he cannot resume his previous occupation or continue to live in Vatican City, the Holy See, trusting in his sincere repentance, wishes to offer him the possibility of returning to a serene family life".

What would you or I do in such a case?  Ignoring the (perhaps self-serving) expectations of the media and the world as to what the Pope (any pope) should do, how easy do we think it was for him to offer pardon to his trusted former butler?

Of course, we have the precedent of Pope John Paul II’s pardon of his would-be assassin, Mehmet Ali Agca.  And yet, it strikes me that that forgiveness would actually be easier to offer than pardon for Paolo Gabriele.

He was, after all, a trusted member of the papal household, whereas Ali Agca was a complete stranger and putative enemy.  And there was nothing “personal” in the shooting—not in the same way that Mr Gabriele’s actions were:  leaking what was basically the pope’s and the Curia’s “dirty laundry” in public.  There was embarrassment and humiliation involved in this scandal that was not a part of the assassination attempt.

What documents do I have, or do you have, or recordings of conversations, or Facebook posts, or text messages, or e-mails, that would bring at the very least a deep sense of mortification to us?  This is at least in part what happened with “Vatileaks.” 

Like Pope John Paul II before him, Pope Benedict did not forgive in the sense of saying Mr Gabriele did not do anything wrong, nor did he suggest the former butler should have his job back (no one would have wanted to see the Pope give Ali Agca the gun back and insist he be released from prison, either).  But he did remit the punishment that was due to the crime (rather like an indulgence, after all, especially when I word the pope’s actions as I did). 

It is a good lesson in these last days before Christmas—is there someone in our lives that it would be good also to forgive?  Is there someone from whom it would be good for us to receive forgiveness?  If the celebration of the birth of the Prince of Peace means anything, it means the advent of forgiveness of sins.  Are we ready?

THE EVIL WITHIN US

Here is my take on the evil of the killings at Sandy Hook School, from this past weekend's homily. You can fast-forward to about 15 minutes in...

DIALOGUE AND LOVE

This past Sunday our General Intercessions (aka, “Prayers of the Faithful”) included a petition for Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew—why?  There was a hint (obscure enough) at the end of those prayers, when we asked the intercession of “Mary, Mother of Christ our King, St Andrew and all the saints in light.”  Yes, it has to do with Friday’s Feast.

In recent decades, thanks be to God, there have been exchanges of delegations between Rome and Constantinople (Istanbul) to recognize each other’s major patrons.  So the Eastern Orthodox journey to Rome for Saints Peter and Paul (29 June), and the Vatican sends its representatives to the East for:  the Feast of St Andrew (30 November).   It is a good-will gesture that has its roots in the fraternal embrace of Pope Paul VI and Patriarch Athenagoras, back in 1967—at which they agreed to drop the mutual bans of excommunication that were formally in place since 1054.  We still do not share the Eucharist together; we do not always like or trust each other; but we are able to celebrate with and pray for each other.  It’s a start.

As it turns out, it would take a VERY high authority to insert Pope Benedict’s name (or even Patriarch Bartholomew’s name) into the “Eucharistic Prayer” of the Divine Liturgy of the Orthodox; and I as a priest don’t have the authority to return the favor, either.  But I can (and did) insert that name into our overall “Bidding Prayers,” and I gladly did so.

This is all the more important after the delightful evening at Our Savior on 18 November, when there was a celebration of the Vatican II Declaration on Ecumenism, Unitatis Redintegratio, at which Greek Orthodox Fr Elias Stevens and I shared the rostrum for public conversation and questions/answers from the audience.  From meal beforehand to last comments, it was a wonderful evening.

My last year (I think it was) at St Bede, Orthodox and Western Easter dates coincided, and at the suggestion of Fr Demetrios, then pastor of the Greek Church in Montgomery, we celebrated the Vespers of Pentecost together, followed by a wonderful meal.  What is wrong with this picture?

What is RIGHT with this picture?  What ISN’T right about this picture??  Let me look into your eyes; let me say to you that I see a brother/sister; let me eat/drink with you and engage in communion (which will indeed be holy) with you.  Jesus Christ died and rose for you—why would I not love you?

CONVERTING AND CONVERSION

In his opening address of the current meeting of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, President-Cardinal Timothy Dolan quoted the words of the Synod of Bishops on "New Evangelization."  They are an appeal for metanoia.  These words are worth hearing:

 

"We, however, should never think that the new evangelization does not concern us as Bishops personally. In these days voices among the Bishops were raised to recall that the Church must first of all heed the Word before she can evangelize the world. The invitation to evangelize becomes a call to conversion."

 

"We Bishops firmly believe that we must convert ourselves first to the power of Jesus Christ who alone can make all things new, above all our poor existence. With humility we must recognize that the poverty and weaknesses of Jesus' disciples, especially us, his ministers, weigh on the credibility of the mission. We are certainly aware – we bishops first of all – that we can never really be equal to the Lord's calling and mandate to proclaim His Gospel to the nations. We… do not hesitate to recognize our personal sins. We are, however, also convinced that the Lord's Spirit is capable of renewing His Church and rendering her garment resplendent if we let Him mold us." (Final Message of the Synod of Bishops to the People of God, October 28, 2012)

If bishops need conversion, so do we all--the group most celebrated (if anonymously) in the New Testament is the poor, and specifically the "Anawim" for and by whom (scholars believe) the NT canticles were written-- praising the bringing of Good News to the poor, light to those in darkenss... 

We should all study the text of Isaiah 61 again, which Jesus read in the synagogue at Nazareth, and of which He procaimed Himself to be the fulfillment.  If this is who He is and is intended to be, and if we are to be His disciples and members of His Body, then what are the implications for bishops--and all of us?

How 'converted' am I, really?  What would Jesus do; what would Jesus want me to do--really?  Where does my (so-called?) life of discipleship require more of me:  in detachment, in discipline, in dedication? 

It is fashionable (and easy) to point a finger at bishops, or the pope, or tne overall institutional Church; what happens when the finger is pointed back at me?  "Bishops," or "papacy," or "the Church":  a nice, convenient, abstract collective noun; is "me" all too personal a pronoun to think about??

 

A MARQUEE MESSAGE

A local church marquee has the following message on its board:  "Live a life that matters."

A question jumped into my mind immediately when I read this:  what actually is a "life that matters"?

First of all, bad lives can truly "matter" in the sense of having great influence.  We don't need to think too far back to think of lives that "mattered" greatly, all for the worst.

But beyond that, what about a life makes it one that "matters"?  I think in part one has to ask, "Matters--to whom?"  And for too many of us, we think the answer to this question involves the quanity of those to whom we might "matter," rather than the quality of our "mattering."

My baby brother died at the age of six months; did he live a life that "mattered"?  If and when you get to heaven, you can ask my Mom and Dad...

When families endure the pain of a misacarriage or a stillbirth, or the death of a child in the first days after his birth, did the life of that unborn (perhaps pre-born) child "matter"?  Ask them, when they've returned from the cemetery after a graveside service...

Does "mattering" mean what one accomplishes on the big stage of the world?  Ask the parents of a child with mental disabilities...

Does it "matter" if you cannot fully function any more?  Perhaps the grandchildren of a man suffering from Parkinson's or Alzheimer's would beg to differ.

The tragedy is that when we see someone whom we think (God help us for our judgments!) cannot make a "contribution to society," we are willing to write off his/her life as not "meaningful." Really?

Catholic social teaching is clear that a person's fundamental dignity (aka, "mattering") has nothing to do with what one can "do," and everything to do with who one "is."  Who are you?

For myself, I don't want to be equated with what I can or cannot do; I want to be loved for who I am.  The Good News of the Gospel is that we are in fact loved by the One to whom we ALL "matter," and matter deeply.  He died for us, after all--out of love.  And if we are in fact truly loved, then we do matter:  in the most important sense of all.

JUST A THOUGHT

On Facebook these last few days I've seen a wide variety of "scary" costumed children and adults, especially vampires, but there have also been some dressed up as nuns and priests (and even as bishops!).  These are also scary--very scary...

But a consideration leads me to think that perhaps ALL of us priests should "masquerade" as bishops by signing our names as bishops do:  with a little + in front of the signature.

These days one sees this exclusively in front of the names of prelates, but the history of this custom is interesting.  What looks like an honorific cross is actually an abbreviation of a Greek word, [t]apeinos.  The Greek tau (letter "t") can easily look like a cross...

What does the word mean?  It is properly translated as "lowly, humble."  And wouldn't that be a good reminder for all of us clergy? 

Once upon a time, as well, clergy signed their names and added the word peccator after.  Yes, this means "sinner."  And aren't we all?

Again, these are good reminders of what we really are and reminders, as well, of what we are called to be:  we are sinners in need of a Savior (no surprise there!), and we are to be lowly, humble servants after the model of the great Servant who came to serve, not be served, and give His life as a ransom... (Mark 10:45).

If every time we intentionally added such a "tau-cross" before our names, and included the word "sinner" (no need to hide it in Latin) after our names, perhaps the message would sink in.  Lord knows it needs to...