Today is the feast of Blessed Pauline von Mallinckrodt (1817-1881). If one would have to choose only one or two words to describe Blessed Pauline it would be "heart" and "love." Even the habit of the order she founded (Sisters of Christian Charity) incorporates a heart in the veil around the face. Her rule for the sisters was this: "To give to the blind, and all the ones entrusted to our care, a happy heart."
Even as a young girl, she had heart. She got into trouble one day at school for being late. When the teacher finally got her to talk, she admitted that she had picked up all the broken glass on the way to school. "I don't want poor children who have no shoes to be hurt."
She was the oldest child and as such often had to care for her younger brothers and sister, especially after the death of her mother. She also had to attend and give parties and dances, especially as hostess for her father. She didn't care for all that, being a sensible and non-materialistic girl, but she said: "Of course, I know that God is served and glorified in any way, provided one acts out of pure love for him."
She was an attractive girl and had many suitors, one in particular whom she really felt an attraction to, but she felt called to a different vocation. When she finally broke off with him, a profound sense of peace flooded her soul, so she knew she had made the right choice. She knew she was meant to be a nun, she only had to find an order to join. Trouble was, none of them seemed to meet the immediate needs of the small children of poor, sick, or working mothers, especially the blind children of which there were many. So instead she struck out on her own, forming first a day-care and then a full-blown school for the blind at Paderborn. She was most up-to-date on teaching methods for the blind, and emphasized music and dancing. She also took in retarded children, some profoundly so. "Should an individual be regarded as a total imbecile because she has never been taught, or even been in contact with human kindness?" She was ahead of her time.
She needed help with the schools and was told to ask the Bishop for advice. He thought she should form her own order. Quietly, calmly, she went forward and in 1849 was able to start the Sisters of Christian Charity. Not content with just staffing the schools, she started soup kitchens for beggars and even washed and de-loused them herself. Some of her sisters criticized some of the poor who were coming twice in the same day. She famously said "Never mind. Give it to them if they ask it. And don't forget this -- the giving of alms never made anyone poorer."
She was caught up in turbulent times there in Prussia. When Bismark came to power, she was told she'd have to close down all the schools, day-cares and hospital unless her nuns agreed to put off the habit. She refused. "I could not accept your offer at such a price," she said. So she packed up her nuns and sent them off to North and South America. On one of her visits to the U.S. (to the cathedral in Philadelphia, in fact), she looked with satisfaction at her sisters and said, "See what he [Bismark] suppresses in one country is blossoming and prospering in another."
She died of pneumonia in 1881 and her last act was to donate all the money that had been saved for her memorial Masses to pay the sisters' debts. A priest friend, writing to her successor, said: "Reverend Mother has fought a good fight; it was the combat of love, with love, for love."
Monday, April 30, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Homily: Fourth Sunday of Easter: 2007
Brothers and sisters, today we are confronted with the very fact that Paul and Barnabas were Jews, good Jews, and that "On the sabbath they entered the synagogue and took their seats." Now, that brings up a very important ecumenical question. Should we pray for the "conversion of the Jews"? I think that the very beautiful prayers we say on Good Friday say it all: "Let us pray for the Jewish people, the first to hear the word of God, that they may continue to grow in the love of his name and in faithfulness to his covenant." This implies that they may be saved by faithfulness even to the Old Covenant. In any case, we pray for their continued "love of His name" and their faithfulness. That does not mean that we don't preach the Good Word and invite them to the "fullness of redemption." After all, Jesus said, "I do not come to condemn the Old Law but to fulfill it." (Mat. 5:17)
And I think that dear St. John's vision of heaven in which the ones "have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb" should give us great hope for our Protestant brothers, who have such great love of the blood of the Lamb. Should we pray for the "conversion of the Protestants"? Well, the ecumenical answer to THAT is that we pray for the unity of all Christians and that "all our brothers and sisters who share our faith in Jesus Christ may be gathered and kept together in one Church." Amen!
Is that all we can glean from the first two readings? By no means! I think of all my people -- Gentiles all -- who would still be languishing in the darkness of paganism were it not for the sacrifice of Jesus, the outpouring of the Holy Spirit and the intrepidness of the apostles, who were determined to bring the light of Christ to them. Thank you God!
And what of the holy Gospel? What is the good news there? I like the old translation of the third to the last line there: "No one can snatch them out of my hand." It is just a little stronger way of saying what we heard today: "No one can take them out of my hand." "Them" meaning us, of course, the sheep in his fold. How comforting are those words! Because I think sometimes we are overly aware of the strength of our enemies and the wiles of our tempters: the world, the flesh and the devil. And despite the power of those we do battle against, none of them can snatch us out of His hand! You know, the devil can not possess us unless we invite him in in some way. (And even then he must leave when commanded in the name of Jesus, if it's done in the proper way, and we in the Catholic Church have this proper way.) The cares of the world are not enough to snatch us away from him . . . unless we let them. And we don't have to let them, brothers! Nothing will separate us from the love of God: neither tribulation, nor distress, nor persecution, nor famine, nor nakedness, nor peril, nor the sword. (Rom 8:38). So take heart, fellow sheep, this reading is good news incarnate.
Let us now profess our faith.
And I think that dear St. John's vision of heaven in which the ones "have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb" should give us great hope for our Protestant brothers, who have such great love of the blood of the Lamb. Should we pray for the "conversion of the Protestants"? Well, the ecumenical answer to THAT is that we pray for the unity of all Christians and that "all our brothers and sisters who share our faith in Jesus Christ may be gathered and kept together in one Church." Amen!
Is that all we can glean from the first two readings? By no means! I think of all my people -- Gentiles all -- who would still be languishing in the darkness of paganism were it not for the sacrifice of Jesus, the outpouring of the Holy Spirit and the intrepidness of the apostles, who were determined to bring the light of Christ to them. Thank you God!
And what of the holy Gospel? What is the good news there? I like the old translation of the third to the last line there: "No one can snatch them out of my hand." It is just a little stronger way of saying what we heard today: "No one can take them out of my hand." "Them" meaning us, of course, the sheep in his fold. How comforting are those words! Because I think sometimes we are overly aware of the strength of our enemies and the wiles of our tempters: the world, the flesh and the devil. And despite the power of those we do battle against, none of them can snatch us out of His hand! You know, the devil can not possess us unless we invite him in in some way. (And even then he must leave when commanded in the name of Jesus, if it's done in the proper way, and we in the Catholic Church have this proper way.) The cares of the world are not enough to snatch us away from him . . . unless we let them. And we don't have to let them, brothers! Nothing will separate us from the love of God: neither tribulation, nor distress, nor persecution, nor famine, nor nakedness, nor peril, nor the sword. (Rom 8:38). So take heart, fellow sheep, this reading is good news incarnate.
Let us now profess our faith.
Today April 29
Today is the great feast of St. Catherine of Siena. It used to be tomorrow, but for some reason it has reverted to this day, the actual date of her death at age 33 in 1380. May all the Cathys in our life rejoice on this their feast day!
She was a good little girl and precocious as well. At age 6 she saw Our Lord in glory with St. Peter and St. John. Isn't that appropriate that she who considered herself later in life a bride of Christ, who counseled popes and who was a great mystic saw these three men? She scolded a small boy for shocking her out of her reverie by his grabbing of her hand. "You shouldn't have done that!" she said.
It wasn't the first time this uppity medieval (almost Renaissance; she died in 1380) woman scolded men. She lived to counsel her own confessor (who admitted he had nothing to teach her); the "bella brigati", her friends and disciples as it were, of which there were many men; her Dominican superior (she was a Dominican tertiary), Raymond of Capua; and the Pope himself (first Gregory XI, then Urban VI, and Urban's antipope back in Avignon). She was a contemplative, devout, ascetic woman who loved solitude -- which couldn't have been very easy when you are one of 25 (25!) children and especially so when your "shrewish mother" - Butler's Lives, sets out to punish you by never leaving you alone for a minute, even taking away your little bedroom. Sigh, Catherine responded with good humor and meekness. Her father eventually forced Mom to give in, allowing her her solitude and a chance to don the habit of the Third Order Dominicans. For three years she never left her room except to go to Mass and confession. But in response to a vision she came out again, rejoined family life and helped out doing even the most menial tasks. Now that she was not quite such a recluse, her reputation spread and that's when she acquired her "bella brigati," including many male platonic friends. They came from all walks of life, religious and secular, and at all hours of the day and night. Apparently it was quite a scandal. But Catherine and the brigade (now called the "School of Mystics") were undaunted. They remained friends until the bitter end. Her friend Alessia, a widow, held her in her arms when she died of her second stroke.
But all that came after her great adventure, which entailed both a stunning failure and a glorious success. She it was who got the pope to return to Rome from the self-imposed exile of the papacy to Avignon during the last 70 years. But she was unsuccessful in her suit for peace between Florence and the papal states. There was just too much wishy-washiness on the one side and too much rigidity on the other. She had more luck with his successor, Urban VI, who was blessed to live his entire reign in Rome.
She lived through the plague, nursing many (she is the patron of nursing), and helping out in hospice for many of its victims. She was a great mystic, saw herself in a mystical marriage with Our Lord, complete with a wedding ring that only she could see. And she was blessed with the stigmata, which only she could see (and feel), but which was evident to all when she died.
She left us (through dictation, since she was what you might call illiterate) a great spiritual document known as "The Dialogue" and 400 letters, mostly to friends, but also to popes and prelates -- all straightforward and practical, even "dictatorial" - Butler's Lives, but wise and clear, as befitting a doctor of the Church.
She was a good little girl and precocious as well. At age 6 she saw Our Lord in glory with St. Peter and St. John. Isn't that appropriate that she who considered herself later in life a bride of Christ, who counseled popes and who was a great mystic saw these three men? She scolded a small boy for shocking her out of her reverie by his grabbing of her hand. "You shouldn't have done that!" she said.
It wasn't the first time this uppity medieval (almost Renaissance; she died in 1380) woman scolded men. She lived to counsel her own confessor (who admitted he had nothing to teach her); the "bella brigati", her friends and disciples as it were, of which there were many men; her Dominican superior (she was a Dominican tertiary), Raymond of Capua; and the Pope himself (first Gregory XI, then Urban VI, and Urban's antipope back in Avignon). She was a contemplative, devout, ascetic woman who loved solitude -- which couldn't have been very easy when you are one of 25 (25!) children and especially so when your "shrewish mother" - Butler's Lives, sets out to punish you by never leaving you alone for a minute, even taking away your little bedroom. Sigh, Catherine responded with good humor and meekness. Her father eventually forced Mom to give in, allowing her her solitude and a chance to don the habit of the Third Order Dominicans. For three years she never left her room except to go to Mass and confession. But in response to a vision she came out again, rejoined family life and helped out doing even the most menial tasks. Now that she was not quite such a recluse, her reputation spread and that's when she acquired her "bella brigati," including many male platonic friends. They came from all walks of life, religious and secular, and at all hours of the day and night. Apparently it was quite a scandal. But Catherine and the brigade (now called the "School of Mystics") were undaunted. They remained friends until the bitter end. Her friend Alessia, a widow, held her in her arms when she died of her second stroke.
But all that came after her great adventure, which entailed both a stunning failure and a glorious success. She it was who got the pope to return to Rome from the self-imposed exile of the papacy to Avignon during the last 70 years. But she was unsuccessful in her suit for peace between Florence and the papal states. There was just too much wishy-washiness on the one side and too much rigidity on the other. She had more luck with his successor, Urban VI, who was blessed to live his entire reign in Rome.
She lived through the plague, nursing many (she is the patron of nursing), and helping out in hospice for many of its victims. She was a great mystic, saw herself in a mystical marriage with Our Lord, complete with a wedding ring that only she could see. And she was blessed with the stigmata, which only she could see (and feel), but which was evident to all when she died.
She left us (through dictation, since she was what you might call illiterate) a great spiritual document known as "The Dialogue" and 400 letters, mostly to friends, but also to popes and prelates -- all straightforward and practical, even "dictatorial" - Butler's Lives, but wise and clear, as befitting a doctor of the Church.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Today April 28
Today is the feast of St. Peter Mary Chanel, (1803-1841), one of the patrons of Oceania. He was for jealousy killed by the king of the island of Fortuna in the New Hebrides when the king found out that his son had been converted to Christianity by this Marist missionary. Up to that point he had been treated with friendship and welcome by the natives. Much of that was due, it must be noted, to Peter's natural gift with the sick, which he had cultivated in his little parish in Crozet, France, in which he showed great gifts of healing. But after the business with the prince, a band of the king's warriors set upon him with a club and machetes and hacked him to death. His blood proved indeed the seed of the faith for within a year's time the whole island was Christian. His feat is celebrated in the all dioceses of Australia and New Zealand.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Today April 27
Today is the feast of St. Zita. She was a maid all her life; well, practically all her life. She was a domestic servant from the age of 12. She was very devout, but a no-nonsense worker as well. "A servant is not good if she is not industrious: work-shy piety in people of our position is sham piety." She rose an hour early each day to attend Mass; she fasted in order to give part of her meals to the poor, she often offered her bed to a homeless woman and herself would then sleep on the floor. Dorothy Day would have liked her, I think. She died in the saddle, so to speak, in 1278.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Today April 26
Today is the feast of Paschasius Radbertus; how's that for a 4-dollar name? He was a monk at the abbey of Corbie and later became abbot. He was a poet, a writer of some note (his most famous work is De Corpore et Sanguine Christi, "The Body and Blood of Christ") and a musician. He was an orphan, a hunchback and a dwarf (from what I've read) and despite his unprepossessing appearance, he made the abbey of Corbie famous. After 7 years as head, trouble broke out there and to maintain peace, Paschasius made the sacrifice of stepping down. He retired to the abbey of St. Riquier at Centula, "flinging himself," he said, "into the arms of philosophy and wisdom, so as to be fed in the autumn of life with the same milk of the Scriptures which he had imbibed in the springtime." He died in peace in the year 865.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Today April 25
Today is the feast day of St. Mark. Mark is like a bridge connecting the two greats, Peter and Paul. Because scholars generally agree that Mark, "who had been Peter's interpreter" and who "wrote out carefully . . . as much as he remembered of the Lord's deeds and sayings" is the same guy as "John Mark," the companion of St. Paul, and that that man is the author of the Second Gospel. This Mark was also Barnabus' cousin.
We know Mark from his style and from the only physical description we have of him: he was "colobodactylus" -- "stumpy-fingered." Okay. This is kind of true of his style, too, being the opposite of the artistic temperament. Mark was rough and impatient, perhaps, but if he were that, he was also sincere and straightforward, which is a corresponding virtue sometimes. He makes no bones about certain unattractive things: for instance, the fact that the apostles were slow to grasp Christ's message; he even uses the words "so dulled were their hearts." (6:52). He doesn't hide their "discreditable ambition" - Angelus Book of Saints, and even of Christ Himself, whom he acknowledges in no uncertain terms to be the Son of God, he relates that "he could not do any wonderful works [in Nazareth]," was accused of imprudence and even craziness by some of His relatives, and was disappointed in His expectations of the fig tree. "With a historian of this caliber we are in safe hands." - Angelus.
His remains rest under the high altar of, appropriately, San Marco in Venice, brought back -- piously stolen as it were -- by Venetian sailors from where they were in Alexandria, where he died, possibly burned as a martyr. It is a tradition that he preached there, but if he was ever a bishop there it is doubtful (Origen and Clement don't mention it.)
I think it's neat to contemplate that he is a man of few words, of uncertain grammar (he mixes verb tenses all the time and overuses the word "and"), and of common expression (he uses the vulgar Historical Present 150 times compared with just 10 times in Luke's Gospel which is twice as long!). But he is the lion, you know, because he starts his Gospel with the "majestic desert voice of the Baptist." He is honest and integral, he is vigorous and vivid, a great historian and a great man.
We know Mark from his style and from the only physical description we have of him: he was "colobodactylus" -- "stumpy-fingered." Okay. This is kind of true of his style, too, being the opposite of the artistic temperament. Mark was rough and impatient, perhaps, but if he were that, he was also sincere and straightforward, which is a corresponding virtue sometimes. He makes no bones about certain unattractive things: for instance, the fact that the apostles were slow to grasp Christ's message; he even uses the words "so dulled were their hearts." (6:52). He doesn't hide their "discreditable ambition" - Angelus Book of Saints, and even of Christ Himself, whom he acknowledges in no uncertain terms to be the Son of God, he relates that "he could not do any wonderful works [in Nazareth]," was accused of imprudence and even craziness by some of His relatives, and was disappointed in His expectations of the fig tree. "With a historian of this caliber we are in safe hands." - Angelus.
His remains rest under the high altar of, appropriately, San Marco in Venice, brought back -- piously stolen as it were -- by Venetian sailors from where they were in Alexandria, where he died, possibly burned as a martyr. It is a tradition that he preached there, but if he was ever a bishop there it is doubtful (Origen and Clement don't mention it.)
I think it's neat to contemplate that he is a man of few words, of uncertain grammar (he mixes verb tenses all the time and overuses the word "and"), and of common expression (he uses the vulgar Historical Present 150 times compared with just 10 times in Luke's Gospel which is twice as long!). But he is the lion, you know, because he starts his Gospel with the "majestic desert voice of the Baptist." He is honest and integral, he is vigorous and vivid, a great historian and a great man.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Today April 24
Today is the feast of Euphrasia Pelletier and her given name was "Virginie" (the French form of Virginia). We love her because she was one of 8 children, lost her father at a young age, endured poverty and was bright, beautiful, "good, genuinely pious, also lively, impetuous and strong-willed." - Modern Saints. She went away to school and though she studied hard, she was very homesick, didn't receive the support she deserved from the men in her life, and had a hard time adapting. One woman teacher in particular could recognize the unusual quality of her character and encouraged her, becoming her lifelong friend. She was very drawn to the life and writings of St. Teresa of Ávila. When she entered the newly re-formed (not reformed, but re-grouped following the French Revolution) order of Our Lady of Charity of the Refuge, for fallen women and at-risk girls (founded by St. John Eudes), she wanted to take the name of St. Teresa of Ávila and was told that was too prideful. Sigh. So she took the name Euphrasia after an obscure Greek saint.
She had a way with the runaways and wayward women. "It is better not to preach too much; it only wearies them," she said. "It is better to keep them interested and try to be just and always kind." She recognized instinctively that lack of a good home was at the root of many of the girls' problems. She treated their emotional wounds with charity and strove to make them all happy. She also recognized that their deep ignorance of their faith was also to blame, so she was careful to teach them all the tenets of their faith. (They were all fallen-away Catholics.) She taught the Bible and the catechism vigorously and well; she strove to at least give them the tools to instruct their consciences even if it didn't kick in until later. But there was little hope of that for those mired in ignorance.
She had a great gift of organization. She whipped the convent in Tours into shape and thus was invited to open one in Angers. She had great success, but found the many independent houses of Refuge (as they were called) unwieldy and uncoordinated. so she decided to apply to Rome for permission to unite them all under one motherhouse, with all Refuges getting to vote for autonomy or integration. She was attacked for this -- calumniated -- but she pressed on, and interestingly the Pope argued:
"How many letters have been written against Mother Euphrasia?"
"Thirteen."
"And what has she said in her own defense?"
"Not a single word."
"Then, she is in the right." And he approved her suggestion, thereby founding a new order, the Good Shepherd sisters.
She expanded her operation all over the world, considering herself not French but Italian, English, German, Spanish, American, African, and Indian as well. "Every country is my own where there are souls to be saved." She had expanded to found 110 house (14 in the United States) and 3000 Good Shepherd sisters by the time of her death on this date in 1868. She suffered from cancer and pneumonia and was told to stay in bed. "Would you deprive me of my only consolation?" she said as she struggled over the chapel to receive the Holy Eucharist. Her prayers showed a great love of the Blessed Sacrament as well as Our Lady: "My poor little boat has so often been tossed to and fro, and I have been so opposed, but the mother of God has well protected it." And her patron, Mary Magdalene (one of MY personal favorites): "What a comfort St. Mary Magdalene has always been to me!" She died saying, "What are we in this world for, if not to love God and to help save souls?" She is, in my mind, a very modern saint. She was progressive in that she could see the social aspect of many of the problems of her charges. She got things done in the face of terrible odds and amidst opposition even from within the Church and from the very girls she was helping. "O God, have mercy on me. For the sea is so large and my boat is so small."
She had a way with the runaways and wayward women. "It is better not to preach too much; it only wearies them," she said. "It is better to keep them interested and try to be just and always kind." She recognized instinctively that lack of a good home was at the root of many of the girls' problems. She treated their emotional wounds with charity and strove to make them all happy. She also recognized that their deep ignorance of their faith was also to blame, so she was careful to teach them all the tenets of their faith. (They were all fallen-away Catholics.) She taught the Bible and the catechism vigorously and well; she strove to at least give them the tools to instruct their consciences even if it didn't kick in until later. But there was little hope of that for those mired in ignorance.
She had a great gift of organization. She whipped the convent in Tours into shape and thus was invited to open one in Angers. She had great success, but found the many independent houses of Refuge (as they were called) unwieldy and uncoordinated. so she decided to apply to Rome for permission to unite them all under one motherhouse, with all Refuges getting to vote for autonomy or integration. She was attacked for this -- calumniated -- but she pressed on, and interestingly the Pope argued:
"How many letters have been written against Mother Euphrasia?"
"Thirteen."
"And what has she said in her own defense?"
"Not a single word."
"Then, she is in the right." And he approved her suggestion, thereby founding a new order, the Good Shepherd sisters.
She expanded her operation all over the world, considering herself not French but Italian, English, German, Spanish, American, African, and Indian as well. "Every country is my own where there are souls to be saved." She had expanded to found 110 house (14 in the United States) and 3000 Good Shepherd sisters by the time of her death on this date in 1868. She suffered from cancer and pneumonia and was told to stay in bed. "Would you deprive me of my only consolation?" she said as she struggled over the chapel to receive the Holy Eucharist. Her prayers showed a great love of the Blessed Sacrament as well as Our Lady: "My poor little boat has so often been tossed to and fro, and I have been so opposed, but the mother of God has well protected it." And her patron, Mary Magdalene (one of MY personal favorites): "What a comfort St. Mary Magdalene has always been to me!" She died saying, "What are we in this world for, if not to love God and to help save souls?" She is, in my mind, a very modern saint. She was progressive in that she could see the social aspect of many of the problems of her charges. She got things done in the face of terrible odds and amidst opposition even from within the Church and from the very girls she was helping. "O God, have mercy on me. For the sea is so large and my boat is so small."
Monday, April 23, 2007
Today April 23
Today is the feast of the honorable and gallant St. George. Yeah, today is the feast of the Dragonslayer. That would make a good title for a movie. heck, it probably IS the name of a movie! I love this story. George may or may not have been a knight who may or may not have been from Cappadocia. He sure was martyred in Lydda in Palestine in 303. But the rest of the story is the delight. George was riding by the town of Sylene in Lybia one day and he encountered a dragon -- a real fire-breathing dragon. This fearsome dragon had terrorized the people of the kingdom for some time. At first they fed it two sheep a day to placate it, but then, as these things will happen, they ran out of sheep! They then drew lots to feed it a human victim each day instead. That very day the lot fell to the king's daughter, the princess. She was dressed as a bride to meet her fate and was understandably crying when George found her. She told him her plight and he challenged the dragon and attacked it, taking the princess' own little belt and slipped it over the dragon's neck and led it back to the city.
The townspeople were awed and he addressed the crowd. If only they would believe in Jesus Christ and be baptized, he would slay the dragon. They readily agreed and he slew the beast. It is said 4 ox-carts were needed to haul the carcass away. He bade them goodbye, not before telling the king and his 15,000 subjects (not counting women and children), four things:
1) Maintain churches;
2) Honor priests;
3) Always go to Mass; and,
4) Show compassion for the poor.
He died testifying to the truth of Jesus Christ and averring that the gods of the pagans are devils. He died from beheading but not before being beaten with cudgels, broken on a wheel and boiled in molten lead, all to no apparent effect.
The dragon part of the story, though ancient, can't be trace further back than the 1100's, but the whole martyr-in-Palestine thing goes back almost to the 300's. But still it is an important part of the story. As G. K. Chesterton said, "The important thing is not that dragons can be slain, but how they can be slain."
The townspeople were awed and he addressed the crowd. If only they would believe in Jesus Christ and be baptized, he would slay the dragon. They readily agreed and he slew the beast. It is said 4 ox-carts were needed to haul the carcass away. He bade them goodbye, not before telling the king and his 15,000 subjects (not counting women and children), four things:
1) Maintain churches;
2) Honor priests;
3) Always go to Mass; and,
4) Show compassion for the poor.
He died testifying to the truth of Jesus Christ and averring that the gods of the pagans are devils. He died from beheading but not before being beaten with cudgels, broken on a wheel and boiled in molten lead, all to no apparent effect.
The dragon part of the story, though ancient, can't be trace further back than the 1100's, but the whole martyr-in-Palestine thing goes back almost to the 300's. But still it is an important part of the story. As G. K. Chesterton said, "The important thing is not that dragons can be slain, but how they can be slain."
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Homily: Third Sunday of Easter: 2007
Brothers and sisters, what a treasure we have in today's readings. Mainly I'd like to focus on St. Peter's words in the first reading in answer to the chief priest of the Sanhedrin's accusation that he was clearly violating the law: "We must obey God rather than men." And that is just as true today as it was in the apostles' day. I think we can clearly see this if our civil government issued a restrictive law against people of a certain race or religion -- Jews, for instance -- that we must break the law in order to fulfill the higher. We must obey God rather than men. But what about if you are a doctor -- or other health care professional -- and are called upon to assist at an abortion? Well, you refuse that directive in order to fulfill a higher one. But what if your job is on the line? Well, I think the martyrs who preceded us had a lot more than a JOB on the line. As St. Paul said, "You have not yet resisted to the point of shedding blood." (Heb 12:4) What if you are a pharmacist called upon to give out contraceptives? Such would enable others to violate the sacred union of unitive and procreative in the marital act. The union, that is, of love (physical love) and life (procreation). Well, you break the law in order to keep the higher law. Or if you are called upon to execute a criminal who is not an escape risk (thus a possible harm to society -- since society does have a right to protect itself)? After all, John Paul II said it is virtually NEVER necessary to inflict capital punishment in modern times. You break the law in order to keep a higher. Or if you are called upon to do something that kills innocent civilians in time of war. You break the law in order to keep the higher. We must obey God rather than man. That doesn't mean we aren't patriotic. We are! But we can say with St. Thomas More: "I am the king's loyal servant, but God's first."
The second reading provides us with (among other things) a peek into heaven. And what does St. John, who had a vision of heaven, say? "I heard every creature . . . cry out, 'To the one who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor forever." And while this passage has many rich meanings (it's Revelation, after all), it raises the possibility that there will in fact be creatures of all types ("everything") in heaven. "Eye has not seen . . ." of course, but I think we have to at least consider the possibility that creatures other than angels and human souls (and later, humans body and soul) will exist in heaven to the glory of God. As C. S. Lewis said to the woman who wanted to know if her dear little dog would be in heaven, "Everything that will be necessary for our happiness will be in heaven and if your dog is necessary to make you happy, he will be there too." A profound thought.
The second reading provides us with (among other things) a peek into heaven. And what does St. John, who had a vision of heaven, say? "I heard every creature . . . cry out, 'To the one who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor forever." And while this passage has many rich meanings (it's Revelation, after all), it raises the possibility that there will in fact be creatures of all types ("everything") in heaven. "Eye has not seen . . ." of course, but I think we have to at least consider the possibility that creatures other than angels and human souls (and later, humans body and soul) will exist in heaven to the glory of God. As C. S. Lewis said to the woman who wanted to know if her dear little dog would be in heaven, "Everything that will be necessary for our happiness will be in heaven and if your dog is necessary to make you happy, he will be there too." A profound thought.
And finally, I think that Our Lord's acceptance of St. Peter's apology coupled with his prime directive: "Feed my sheep," "Tend my lambs," -- a pastoral imperative, leads to a remarkable not only prophesy but advocacy of following divine will rather than human will. "I tell you most solemnly [always a good point to listen intently when Our Lord prefaces something with those words] when you were young, you fastened your belt and went where you pleased, but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands and another will tie you fast and lead you where you would not go." And I think that's an evocative way to explain going along with God's will rather than our own (besides, of course, foretelling the way Peter was going to die, as is glossed in the text itself). It's often not what we want, we are often not in control, it can be full of suffering . . . but it is a "kind of life by which we will glorify God." What does it look like? Well, it's different for each person. For St. Peter it was accepting getting crucified for preaching in Jesus' name. For a priest it is accepting celibacy -- and the sometimes even more rankling obedience to legitimate ecclesial authority. For husbands and wives it means being faithful to each other and being open to children -- and responsible for children once they come. For singles it means being continent and courageous -- open-hearted and giving -- and a sign of contradiction in this wicked world. For all it means avoiding sin and aiding the poor. It means confessing the truth and proclaiming the Faith, even -- maybe even especially -- when it is inconvenient.
Let us now profess our faith . . .
Today April 22
Today, besides being the 3rd Sunday of Easter, is the feast of St. Leonides. Who is he, you say? Well, he is a sneaky way to honor Origen who is not and will never be sainted (because it is generally believed he castrated himself -- perhaps due to a vow of chastity -- soon after the death of his father St. Leonides; and because he is regarded as a heretic. But other than that, no problems! :) ). He is Origen's father and was martyred during the persecution of Septimus Severus in 202. Origen wanted to go to the execution but his mother prevented it by hiding all of his clothes. Neat trick!
But here's the thing. Origen wrote prodigiously, but since he fell into suspicion (after his death -- never during his life, which he gave for his faith), many of the works were destroyed, and those we have are in bad repair. "One thing we can say of him, and this will not change: that he deserves well the title of greatest scholar of Christian antiquity." - Wm. Jurgens, "Faith of the Early Fathers."
Yes, he suffered from an overly Platonic influence, especially in his work De principiis, usually translated as "The Fundamental Doctrines," and allegorical -- maybe too allegorical -- an interpretation of Scripture -- but where he put his own speculations he was careful to say that that's all they were, and would have to stand the test of time.
Ooh, I like Origen because he is clear and engaging. Too bad he mutilated himself and was a heretic. But c'mon, he knew Catholic doctrine, he presented Catholic doctrine, and we should just split the difference, I say: leave him uncanonized (and thus discourage all who would follow in his imprudent steps) but remove the label "heretic".
But here's the thing. Origen wrote prodigiously, but since he fell into suspicion (after his death -- never during his life, which he gave for his faith), many of the works were destroyed, and those we have are in bad repair. "One thing we can say of him, and this will not change: that he deserves well the title of greatest scholar of Christian antiquity." - Wm. Jurgens, "Faith of the Early Fathers."
Yes, he suffered from an overly Platonic influence, especially in his work De principiis, usually translated as "The Fundamental Doctrines," and allegorical -- maybe too allegorical -- an interpretation of Scripture -- but where he put his own speculations he was careful to say that that's all they were, and would have to stand the test of time.
Ooh, I like Origen because he is clear and engaging. Too bad he mutilated himself and was a heretic. But c'mon, he knew Catholic doctrine, he presented Catholic doctrine, and we should just split the difference, I say: leave him uncanonized (and thus discourage all who would follow in his imprudent steps) but remove the label "heretic".
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Today April 21
Today, although it is the feast of the famous St. Anselm (in whose great Proslogion he postulated the existence of God as "that which greater than cannot be thought"), we are going to go with Peter Abelard. He's actually not canonized or anything, but still he may be a saint. We did this same thing with Cornelia Connelly on Wednesday. He is Abelard of the famous Letters of Abelard and Heloise. And he was the pre-eminent philosopher of the 12th century -- a great philosopher and theologian, a sharp wit, a quick study, and a fearsome debate opponent, a tragic lover (he loved Heloise), and a poet and musician. He had total recall and advocated the use of reason in religion (Benedict XVI would appreciate that). He and another saint, St. Bernard, didn't see eye to eye, you know, but there is room for the progressive as well as the traditional for those who love God. While it is said Abelard never lost an argument (wow!) he has been somewhat over-shadowed by Bernard in Catholic circles -- probably because the Council of Soissons condemned 19 propositions it supposedly found in his works. He immediately obeyed its order imposing silence on him, and even reconciled with Bernard (that couldn't have been easy), but Abelard was exonerated by the Pope after Peter of Cluny championed him and asked for a retrial. Abelard's health had been going downhill ever since he left the Oratory called "Paraclete" (nice name) to Heloise and her sisters and went to a Cluniac monastery. He died among friends at the monastery in 1142.
He had strengths and weaknesses, of course. His greatest strengths were first and foremost, as a systematic theologian, and secondarily as a liturgical poet of great skill. His weaknesses were that he was a little too arrogant especially in regard to his intelligence and use of reason; he wasn't all that metaphysical (apparently), and he had nominalistic tendencies that led to subjectivism. He did actually hold to the primacy of Revelation in Christians's lives (a la St. Anselm), but he had a problem with the ontological dimension of human experience. But we love him anyway.
He had strengths and weaknesses, of course. His greatest strengths were first and foremost, as a systematic theologian, and secondarily as a liturgical poet of great skill. His weaknesses were that he was a little too arrogant especially in regard to his intelligence and use of reason; he wasn't all that metaphysical (apparently), and he had nominalistic tendencies that led to subjectivism. He did actually hold to the primacy of Revelation in Christians's lives (a la St. Anselm), but he had a problem with the ontological dimension of human experience. But we love him anyway.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Today April 20
Today is the feast of St. Agnes of Montepulciano. If you have been there, you may have seen her (partially) incorrupt remains in her tomb, presumably in the Dominican convent where she died many years ago in 1317. (She was perfectly incorrupt for years, but when they moved her body to another crypt where there was excessive moisture, she started to decay, except for her extremities.) St. Thérèse, who wanted to join a convent at age 15, might envy Agnes, because she blithely joined one at age 9. They were informally called the "Sack Sisters" because of the material of the clothes they wore. At 15, Agnes volunteered to man (or I supposed the more proper verb is "woman") the new convent at Procena, where she was immediately elected prioress. A special dispensation was needed (and was obtained) from Pope Nicholas IV to allow a 15-year-old to be head of a convent!
She was wise beyond her years, greatly given to prayer and penance, and miracles attended her. Often a mysterious white manna appeared covering her and where she had been praying. It looked like the aftermath of a gentle snowfall. Another saint even duplicated it at her tomb: St. Catherine of Siena said to her sister and nieces who were also venerating Agnes there: "What, do you not observe the present that heaven sends us: do not be ungrateful" and suddenly a flurry of the white manna fell from the sky. The artist in me is just enchanted that if you looked really carefully at each flake, you'd see it was in the shape of a cross.
Agnes got the chance to lead a new convent back in her home town of Montepulciano. I think she probably smiled at the irony -- and felt she couldn't refuse -- when she found out it was in a former brothel. Kind of like setting up your convent in Times Square, eh? :) Agnes decided to adopt the Dominican rule, since it provided the nuns with more permanence than they had had either as Sack Sisters or Augustinians.
Miracles attended her here too: numerous levitations, cures, and miraculous replenishment of the flour and the oil jars. (I like that miracle!)
When she finally died, she smiled at her sisters and said, "If you loved me, you would be glad because I am about to enter the glory of my Spouse. Do not grieve overmuch at my departure: I shall not lose sight of you. You will find that I have not abandoned you and you will possess me forever." If only we could hear that at the death of ALL our loved ones, for that is the way it is.
She was wise beyond her years, greatly given to prayer and penance, and miracles attended her. Often a mysterious white manna appeared covering her and where she had been praying. It looked like the aftermath of a gentle snowfall. Another saint even duplicated it at her tomb: St. Catherine of Siena said to her sister and nieces who were also venerating Agnes there: "What, do you not observe the present that heaven sends us: do not be ungrateful" and suddenly a flurry of the white manna fell from the sky. The artist in me is just enchanted that if you looked really carefully at each flake, you'd see it was in the shape of a cross.
Agnes got the chance to lead a new convent back in her home town of Montepulciano. I think she probably smiled at the irony -- and felt she couldn't refuse -- when she found out it was in a former brothel. Kind of like setting up your convent in Times Square, eh? :) Agnes decided to adopt the Dominican rule, since it provided the nuns with more permanence than they had had either as Sack Sisters or Augustinians.
Miracles attended her here too: numerous levitations, cures, and miraculous replenishment of the flour and the oil jars. (I like that miracle!)
When she finally died, she smiled at her sisters and said, "If you loved me, you would be glad because I am about to enter the glory of my Spouse. Do not grieve overmuch at my departure: I shall not lose sight of you. You will find that I have not abandoned you and you will possess me forever." If only we could hear that at the death of ALL our loved ones, for that is the way it is.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Today April 19
Today we revisit a saint we studied last October 19th, his other feast day. (Actually, he also has April 28th as another feast day, but that's also in the old calendar.) St. Paul of the Cross, with his ever-faithful sidekick and brother, John the Baptist, founded the Passionist Order. In light of the recent tragedy at Virginia Tech, and the issues of gun control -- and the larger issue of violence itself -- I think it's significant that after a brief stint in the Italian army (and seeing some action), Paul hung up his arms for good. As Chief Joseph of the Nez Percé Indians said: "I will fight no more forever." (Many saints find their faith incompatible with bearing arms.) For years he was at sea, so to speak, trying to decide what to do. The answer finally came to him (not from anything he himself did, although he was open to hearing it) in a vision. In it he saw a beautiful lady in black with a cross and the name of Jesus in white lettering and she asked him to start an order of priests whose mission should be centered on the cross and passion of Christ. And to this day, priests in this preaching (and missionary) order take their vows shouldering a life-size cross. (It's impressive to see.) Passionists are famous for their parish missions (kind of like traveling Catholic revivals) and now there are groups of nuns as well. (Paul worked hard to establish them and lived to see their rule approved.)
Even though he never left his little corner of Italy, he had a great desire to see England re-evangelized: "England is always before my eyes," he said, "And if ever again it becomes Catholic the benefit to the church will be immeasurable." He would be gratified to see not only the reestablishment of the Catholic hierarchy (in 1850) and the removal of England's status as a "mission country," but the interesting result of a recent poll that shows the number of Catholics exceeding those of the Church of England for the first time in 400 years or so.
Even though he never left his little corner of Italy, he had a great desire to see England re-evangelized: "England is always before my eyes," he said, "And if ever again it becomes Catholic the benefit to the church will be immeasurable." He would be gratified to see not only the reestablishment of the Catholic hierarchy (in 1850) and the removal of England's status as a "mission country," but the interesting result of a recent poll that shows the number of Catholics exceeding those of the Church of England for the first time in 400 years or so.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Today April 18
Today is the feast of Cornelia Connelly, not a "venerable," "blessed," or "saint," but a servant of God (as they say) and very possibly a saint nonetheless. Cornelia, an American, was sued in (ecclesiastical) court in England for conjugal rights from her husband Pierce, a Catholic priest and convert from Episcopalianism, and she a nun. She had followed her husband into his newfound Catholic faith, and even though she had her objections, agreed to become a nun when he took orders.
"[What he was proposing] implied, too, a very real deprivation. They could no longer live together. The Church, only in very rare cases gives the permission Pierce sought, admitted two alternatives: that the parties should separate, one becoming a priest and other a nun, or that the man should become a priest and his wife should make a public vow of chastity, continuing, for the sake of their children, to live under the same roof or separately, but not in a convent. The alternatives exist in their own and similar cases in theory only. The practical solution, if propriety is to be observed and scandal avoided, is that both parties should take religious vows."
She had three children: two sons and a daughter. The oldest son was so damaged by the personal weirdness of the somewhat fanatical faith he witnessed (including the separation of his parents) that he left the Faith entirely. Their daughter, though shaken, remained Catholic. The other son, Frank, didn't practice any faith, although if asked, probably would have said he was a Protestant of some sort. Cornelia died not long after the court exonerated her (after an initial unfavorable decision) and her oldest son Mercer died. Her husband had taken them away from her convent of the Holy Child Order she founded. She may not have wanted to become Catholic initially but she sure ran with it later!
Why did Pierce want her back? Because his petition preceded his apostasy and was in large amount responsible for it. He was still a priest; he said he didn't want his "conjugal rights" per se, but that was the only legal avenue he had.
"He had been happily married for too long not to miss it now. He wanted Cornelia to share his enjoyment, to tease and flatter him about his success, to laugh at his jokes in private while she upheld his dignity in public. He wanted to hear and talk about the children, to be comforted in his loneliness. In fact, he wanted a wife."
Pierce, formerly a Protestant minister, was no doubt sincere in his conversion to Catholicism, and no doubt on his reversal as well, at least according to Cornelia's biographer. He had taken his children to Italy as pawns to use against her and it was her realization of that that finally turned her against him, or, more precisely, strengthened her resolve to not only remain a nun but found her own (teaching) order on her own rule.
Even there, though, her domineering, if estranged, husband could not refrain from interfering. Cornelia's rule for the Holy Child nuns: moderate, progressive, kind (no corporal punishment allowed); was substituted by Pierce's rule of his own making, which he took upon himself to mail to Rome. This document was -- and remained -- a monkeywrench in the machinery of the order: getting it started, getting it approved, which ended up taking no less than 10 years.
One of Cornelia's nuns, Mother Maria Buckle, who took the name Joseph (good name) was: "opinionated, critical, and clever. But whereas Emily Bowles [another nun, one who ultimately left the order] suffered from impatience, a strong will, and a tendency to argue every inch of the way, Maria Buckle found herself continually undermined by her own sensitivity. Her generosity and high ideals found difficulty in surviving the self-analysis she subjected them to and the scruples that constantly worried her -- the dreary, frightening ghosts of her subconscious." (Isn't that an evocative description?) But she eventually did get over her demons and became one of Mother Cornelia's Holy Child nuns. She went out to the south of France to Toul to see her in her last days, after not having seen her for many years. Cornelia had changed so. Her hair was gray, her eyes sunken and without their former sparkle. But her humor, wit and great good sense were still there, despite the rather precipitous overturning of her rule by Bishop Danell and the substituting of his own! This new prejudiced and impetuous bishop reversed the work of 10 years in one day, but he was the bishop, after all, and so Cornelia accepted his authority with the equanimity she always had. "That Mother Connelly took all she has gone through as a trial especially sent to her from God, I can fully witness." - Maria Buckle.
And finally, I think we can be forgiven for being especially interested in and affectionate to our own countrywoman. There are so few American saints, comparatively. And when they mention our own country, we pay attention. Now I'm going to take this next line out of context and don't take it literally, but I think it may amuse you. [In a letter to her niece Bella]: "If I were you, I should rouse up from Texas and not get swamped there. Knowledge is power . . ." Okay, okay, she wrote this when she was most discouraged and to someone with whom she could truly let down her hair. Besides, she wanted her niece to avoid the pitfalls of marriage (she was in an unhappy romance) and come be a nun with her.
Cornelia returned to England and died there after a long illness, including rheumatism and galloping eczema (which destroyed her already-ravaged looks). But through it all she maintained her grace, her good humor and her resolve. Almost her last words were: "Doing the will of God is the only happiness and the only thing worth living for." (Her very last words were: "In this flesh I shall see my God.") God's will was the theme -- the very warp and woof of her life. She became a Catholic out of a sense of duty and a nun out of a sense of obedience. She said: "It is a great thing to know God's will and to be ready to do it generously." And THAT is why I think she is a saint.
"[What he was proposing] implied, too, a very real deprivation. They could no longer live together. The Church, only in very rare cases gives the permission Pierce sought, admitted two alternatives: that the parties should separate, one becoming a priest and other a nun, or that the man should become a priest and his wife should make a public vow of chastity, continuing, for the sake of their children, to live under the same roof or separately, but not in a convent. The alternatives exist in their own and similar cases in theory only. The practical solution, if propriety is to be observed and scandal avoided, is that both parties should take religious vows."
She had three children: two sons and a daughter. The oldest son was so damaged by the personal weirdness of the somewhat fanatical faith he witnessed (including the separation of his parents) that he left the Faith entirely. Their daughter, though shaken, remained Catholic. The other son, Frank, didn't practice any faith, although if asked, probably would have said he was a Protestant of some sort. Cornelia died not long after the court exonerated her (after an initial unfavorable decision) and her oldest son Mercer died. Her husband had taken them away from her convent of the Holy Child Order she founded. She may not have wanted to become Catholic initially but she sure ran with it later!
Why did Pierce want her back? Because his petition preceded his apostasy and was in large amount responsible for it. He was still a priest; he said he didn't want his "conjugal rights" per se, but that was the only legal avenue he had.
"He had been happily married for too long not to miss it now. He wanted Cornelia to share his enjoyment, to tease and flatter him about his success, to laugh at his jokes in private while she upheld his dignity in public. He wanted to hear and talk about the children, to be comforted in his loneliness. In fact, he wanted a wife."
Pierce, formerly a Protestant minister, was no doubt sincere in his conversion to Catholicism, and no doubt on his reversal as well, at least according to Cornelia's biographer. He had taken his children to Italy as pawns to use against her and it was her realization of that that finally turned her against him, or, more precisely, strengthened her resolve to not only remain a nun but found her own (teaching) order on her own rule.
Even there, though, her domineering, if estranged, husband could not refrain from interfering. Cornelia's rule for the Holy Child nuns: moderate, progressive, kind (no corporal punishment allowed); was substituted by Pierce's rule of his own making, which he took upon himself to mail to Rome. This document was -- and remained -- a monkeywrench in the machinery of the order: getting it started, getting it approved, which ended up taking no less than 10 years.
One of Cornelia's nuns, Mother Maria Buckle, who took the name Joseph (good name) was: "opinionated, critical, and clever. But whereas Emily Bowles [another nun, one who ultimately left the order] suffered from impatience, a strong will, and a tendency to argue every inch of the way, Maria Buckle found herself continually undermined by her own sensitivity. Her generosity and high ideals found difficulty in surviving the self-analysis she subjected them to and the scruples that constantly worried her -- the dreary, frightening ghosts of her subconscious." (Isn't that an evocative description?) But she eventually did get over her demons and became one of Mother Cornelia's Holy Child nuns. She went out to the south of France to Toul to see her in her last days, after not having seen her for many years. Cornelia had changed so. Her hair was gray, her eyes sunken and without their former sparkle. But her humor, wit and great good sense were still there, despite the rather precipitous overturning of her rule by Bishop Danell and the substituting of his own! This new prejudiced and impetuous bishop reversed the work of 10 years in one day, but he was the bishop, after all, and so Cornelia accepted his authority with the equanimity she always had. "That Mother Connelly took all she has gone through as a trial especially sent to her from God, I can fully witness." - Maria Buckle.
And finally, I think we can be forgiven for being especially interested in and affectionate to our own countrywoman. There are so few American saints, comparatively. And when they mention our own country, we pay attention. Now I'm going to take this next line out of context and don't take it literally, but I think it may amuse you. [In a letter to her niece Bella]: "If I were you, I should rouse up from Texas and not get swamped there. Knowledge is power . . ." Okay, okay, she wrote this when she was most discouraged and to someone with whom she could truly let down her hair. Besides, she wanted her niece to avoid the pitfalls of marriage (she was in an unhappy romance) and come be a nun with her.
Cornelia returned to England and died there after a long illness, including rheumatism and galloping eczema (which destroyed her already-ravaged looks). But through it all she maintained her grace, her good humor and her resolve. Almost her last words were: "Doing the will of God is the only happiness and the only thing worth living for." (Her very last words were: "In this flesh I shall see my God.") God's will was the theme -- the very warp and woof of her life. She became a Catholic out of a sense of duty and a nun out of a sense of obedience. She said: "It is a great thing to know God's will and to be ready to do it generously." And THAT is why I think she is a saint.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Today April 17
Today is the feast of St. Stephen Harding, O.Cist. He was born in Dorset and joined St. Robert at Molesme as a monk. He'd actually been a simple monk at Sherborne and sickened of the monastic life and left. He sensibly made a pilgrimage to Rome (perhaps to get his head together) and stopped at the abbey of Molesme on the way back home. He was so impressed with the zeal and level-headedness of St. Robert that he stayed and took the tonsure and white habit. If you think all was smooth thereafter, you haven't been paying attention to the lives of the saints very well! The majority of monks at Molesme didn't want to follow St. Robert's humble and austere ways and finally he was forced to either compromise or move . . . and so he moved out. He left Stephen and the slightly older St. Alberic behind to face the disgruntled monks -- they didn't want Robert but even less did they want him to leave!
What happened next is disputed. One account says Robert and Alberic left shortly after Robert did and both became hermits until the bishop told them to return to their monastery -- which they didn't, exactly, choosing instead to go to a deserted site a few miles south of Dijon known as Cîteaux, from which they got their name, "Cistercians," (from the Latin name for Cîteaux: "Cistericum.") The other was that they DID, in fact, return to Molesme, but then with a few hardy souls (including St. Robert), left to the new place.
And if you think it was finally smooth sailing NOW, well, you don't know the saints very well. Even the few hardy souls weren't all up to the take of building and living in an austere new abbey. The numbers dwindled down to almost nothing. Robert was called back to Molesme, leaving Alberic in charge and when he died in 1108, Stephen was chosen. He could have relaxed the rule, but he held firm. When all looked lost, the gallant St. Bernard of Clairvaux rode up on horseback with 30 companions, all of whom joined the order. Stephen wrote down the rule, encoding it in the Carta Caritatis ("The Charter of Love"), which called for asceticism, hard manual labor and a greatly simplified liturgy. Stephen took it to Pope Callistus II in 1119 and gained approval of it and the order. Stephen resigned in 1133 due to blindness and died in 1134. His influence was obscured by the glory that was St. Bernard, but its importance has been restored with more historical research.
What happened next is disputed. One account says Robert and Alberic left shortly after Robert did and both became hermits until the bishop told them to return to their monastery -- which they didn't, exactly, choosing instead to go to a deserted site a few miles south of Dijon known as Cîteaux, from which they got their name, "Cistercians," (from the Latin name for Cîteaux: "Cistericum.") The other was that they DID, in fact, return to Molesme, but then with a few hardy souls (including St. Robert), left to the new place.
And if you think it was finally smooth sailing NOW, well, you don't know the saints very well. Even the few hardy souls weren't all up to the take of building and living in an austere new abbey. The numbers dwindled down to almost nothing. Robert was called back to Molesme, leaving Alberic in charge and when he died in 1108, Stephen was chosen. He could have relaxed the rule, but he held firm. When all looked lost, the gallant St. Bernard of Clairvaux rode up on horseback with 30 companions, all of whom joined the order. Stephen wrote down the rule, encoding it in the Carta Caritatis ("The Charter of Love"), which called for asceticism, hard manual labor and a greatly simplified liturgy. Stephen took it to Pope Callistus II in 1119 and gained approval of it and the order. Stephen resigned in 1133 due to blindness and died in 1134. His influence was obscured by the glory that was St. Bernard, but its importance has been restored with more historical research.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Today April 16
Today is the feast of the great St. Joseph Benedict Labre. He is very different from yesterday's saint, in that he never accomplished anything a social worker -- or anybody -- could put on his resumé, but he was a great saint nonetheless. He it was who traveled Europe for 12 years, pilgrimaging from shrine to shrine til he expired on the steps of Santa Maria dei Monti church near the Colosseum. Benedict Labre was called "shiftless," "crazy," but above all "eccentric." Which ought to give us all hope. I can identify with him much more than Father Damien (much as I love him) in that I never built a church, never built a hospital, never even built a coffin, and I've never really had a job.
Poor Benedict tried joining the Carthusians, but after a brief stint there, he knew it wasn't for him. He tried joining the Trappists, but they wouldn't have him. For awhile he went back home and tried to live a "normal" life, but he got restless and set out for the first of his endless series of pilgrimages. Why did he go? Was it to beg God to let the Trappists finally accept him? Was it to grant him more strength and health (so that they would accept him)? Was it to know God's will? Was it to expiate his sins? He never said, other than: "It was His Providence that directed me to undertake this journey." It was one of his biographer's opinion -- and the one before him, Agnes de la Gorce -- who believed: "Labre is the great patron for all who are trying to find out what they are meant to do, for he spent his life trying to find that out for himself. It may be that only in the peace of the very end did he realize that he really had found it."
He was the oldest of 15 children smart but kind of unworldly, even as a youngster given to sobriety and introspection. He was untroubled by ambition, but he felt a strong calling from God. Continually frustrated in what he thought was perfect for him -- and what surely must be willed by God -- he still never gave up. "With God's help you can do anything, anything at all; you can even stand in the fire and not get burnt, like the 3 young men in the Babylonian furnace."
Poor Benedict! He suffered much from hunger and cold. He didn't care about his appearance. His clothes got shabby; his hair got shaggy. He suffered from lack of showers or baths; toward the end of his life he was positively verminous. But his beauty and sanctity shone through to those who could see. André Bley found him -- though he didn't know who it was -- in a crowd of beggars in Rome and chose him to model for Jesus for a painting. He refused twice, but on the third time had to accept for love of charity. You can see his suffering serenity in the picture, "The Call of Peter."
Benedict was directly implementive in the conversion story of John Thayer, an American traveler in Rome -- a Congregational minister, no less -- who was disgusted by Benedict's appearance and contemptuous of the overwhelming devotion to "il santo" by the whole populace at his death in 1789. Still, something moved him, and when he saw -- firsthand -- the miraculous cures wrought at the saint's intercession, he not only converted but became a priest . . . the first New England native to become one!
And finally, Benedict himself was witness to a miracle of the multiplication of loaves. On Maundy Thursday in Moulins, he was moved to gather 12 other beggars and bring them to his upper room, a shabby attic some Franciscans had found for him. He gave each a bowl and placed in each some few peas and a crust of bread. The beggars were derisive, but suddenly fell silent, because as he prayed, the bowls filled to the brim. One of them exclaimed, "It's a miracle." But Benedict smiled and said he had a generous patron who gave him everything he wanted.
Poor Benedict tried joining the Carthusians, but after a brief stint there, he knew it wasn't for him. He tried joining the Trappists, but they wouldn't have him. For awhile he went back home and tried to live a "normal" life, but he got restless and set out for the first of his endless series of pilgrimages. Why did he go? Was it to beg God to let the Trappists finally accept him? Was it to grant him more strength and health (so that they would accept him)? Was it to know God's will? Was it to expiate his sins? He never said, other than: "It was His Providence that directed me to undertake this journey." It was one of his biographer's opinion -- and the one before him, Agnes de la Gorce -- who believed: "Labre is the great patron for all who are trying to find out what they are meant to do, for he spent his life trying to find that out for himself. It may be that only in the peace of the very end did he realize that he really had found it."
He was the oldest of 15 children smart but kind of unworldly, even as a youngster given to sobriety and introspection. He was untroubled by ambition, but he felt a strong calling from God. Continually frustrated in what he thought was perfect for him -- and what surely must be willed by God -- he still never gave up. "With God's help you can do anything, anything at all; you can even stand in the fire and not get burnt, like the 3 young men in the Babylonian furnace."
Poor Benedict! He suffered much from hunger and cold. He didn't care about his appearance. His clothes got shabby; his hair got shaggy. He suffered from lack of showers or baths; toward the end of his life he was positively verminous. But his beauty and sanctity shone through to those who could see. André Bley found him -- though he didn't know who it was -- in a crowd of beggars in Rome and chose him to model for Jesus for a painting. He refused twice, but on the third time had to accept for love of charity. You can see his suffering serenity in the picture, "The Call of Peter."
Benedict was directly implementive in the conversion story of John Thayer, an American traveler in Rome -- a Congregational minister, no less -- who was disgusted by Benedict's appearance and contemptuous of the overwhelming devotion to "il santo" by the whole populace at his death in 1789. Still, something moved him, and when he saw -- firsthand -- the miraculous cures wrought at the saint's intercession, he not only converted but became a priest . . . the first New England native to become one!
And finally, Benedict himself was witness to a miracle of the multiplication of loaves. On Maundy Thursday in Moulins, he was moved to gather 12 other beggars and bring them to his upper room, a shabby attic some Franciscans had found for him. He gave each a bowl and placed in each some few peas and a crust of bread. The beggars were derisive, but suddenly fell silent, because as he prayed, the bowls filled to the brim. One of them exclaimed, "It's a miracle." But Benedict smiled and said he had a generous patron who gave him everything he wanted.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Today April 15
Today, besides being the Second Sunday of Easter, is the great feast of Blessed Father Damien. Blessed Father Damien de Veuster, SSCC, born Joseph, nicknamed Jef, was and is a popular and polarizing figure. Mia Farrow's father John Farrow, wrote a book about him and Robin Williams starred in a recent documentary about him entitled "An Uncommon Kindness." And what he did . . . freely . . . for the outcast lepers of Hawaii, banished as they were to the horrible and lawless island of Molokai was, indeed, uncommon. At first Father Damien only had to stay on a 3-month rotation with 3 other priests, but the Board of Health was unfriendly to Catholics and they forbid him from traveling to and from the island. They thought they'd seen the last of him. They thought wrong.
"Le bon gros Damien" as he was called in the Sacred Hearts novitiate was a hardy, straightforward and determined young man. Thought too dumb to be a priest, Damien worked very hard to learn French, then Latin, Greek and philosophy. It had been intended that he become a grain trader like his father, but he knew he had a vocation. Were it not for his older brother Pamphile who was already a brother in the same order, he might have given up or washed out. And were it not for the sudden occurrence of typhus in the same brother (he later recovered), he might not have gotten to go to Hawaii at all. He begged to take his place, barely got permission and hurriedly said goodbye to family and friends. He served his 2 district parishes in Hawaii well, visiting all his people by canoe and horseback. He had a hard time with the Hawaiian language, but he had an innate understanding of the Hawaiian heart. He knew their love of pomp and ceremony and so he was determined to have them have lots of beautiful churches and chapels, even if he had to build them himself. The construction skills he developed stood him in good stead when he accepted the leper assignment and even bowed to the Board of Health's challenge that made him a virtual prisoner there.
He engaged the people, meeting their physical needs first, then when he'd won them over, enlisted them in building churches and schools; eradicating prostitution (which was rife there); trying new treatments; starting bands, choirs and confraternities. Damien himself put his shoulder to the plow, so to speak, and built many of the buildings himself, said Mass daily, changed their dressings and even built their coffins, besides saying Mass or prayers over them at death. He had little help. Ira B. Dutton, known as "Brother Joseph," was a layman and civil war veteran who came and worked tirelessly there in reparation for his sins. A male nurse came out too, which was good, since Damien needed his help after he himself contracted the dreaded disease after 16 years working among the lepers. He discovered it accidentally when he plunged his foot into boiling water (which hadn't cooled off yet) and felt no pain. It was the onset of the disease. The next day at Mass he addressed the congregation in these words: "We lepers . . . "
Today leprosy, or Hansen's disease as it is more properly called, is entirely treatable with antibiotics and sulfone drugs. It is no longer the long and painful death sentence it once was. Father Damien brought hope and the sacraments to his people and through his high-profile activism helped lepers everywhere. He was misunderstood by some, even of his own order, which hurt him more than the leprosy he suffered. But he never stopped saying "Yes" to God.
"Le bon gros Damien" as he was called in the Sacred Hearts novitiate was a hardy, straightforward and determined young man. Thought too dumb to be a priest, Damien worked very hard to learn French, then Latin, Greek and philosophy. It had been intended that he become a grain trader like his father, but he knew he had a vocation. Were it not for his older brother Pamphile who was already a brother in the same order, he might have given up or washed out. And were it not for the sudden occurrence of typhus in the same brother (he later recovered), he might not have gotten to go to Hawaii at all. He begged to take his place, barely got permission and hurriedly said goodbye to family and friends. He served his 2 district parishes in Hawaii well, visiting all his people by canoe and horseback. He had a hard time with the Hawaiian language, but he had an innate understanding of the Hawaiian heart. He knew their love of pomp and ceremony and so he was determined to have them have lots of beautiful churches and chapels, even if he had to build them himself. The construction skills he developed stood him in good stead when he accepted the leper assignment and even bowed to the Board of Health's challenge that made him a virtual prisoner there.
He engaged the people, meeting their physical needs first, then when he'd won them over, enlisted them in building churches and schools; eradicating prostitution (which was rife there); trying new treatments; starting bands, choirs and confraternities. Damien himself put his shoulder to the plow, so to speak, and built many of the buildings himself, said Mass daily, changed their dressings and even built their coffins, besides saying Mass or prayers over them at death. He had little help. Ira B. Dutton, known as "Brother Joseph," was a layman and civil war veteran who came and worked tirelessly there in reparation for his sins. A male nurse came out too, which was good, since Damien needed his help after he himself contracted the dreaded disease after 16 years working among the lepers. He discovered it accidentally when he plunged his foot into boiling water (which hadn't cooled off yet) and felt no pain. It was the onset of the disease. The next day at Mass he addressed the congregation in these words: "We lepers . . . "
Today leprosy, or Hansen's disease as it is more properly called, is entirely treatable with antibiotics and sulfone drugs. It is no longer the long and painful death sentence it once was. Father Damien brought hope and the sacraments to his people and through his high-profile activism helped lepers everywhere. He was misunderstood by some, even of his own order, which hurt him more than the leprosy he suffered. But he never stopped saying "Yes" to God.
Homily: Second Sunday of Easter: 2007
Brothers and sisters, today's Gospel contains some of the most consoling words we hear in the New Testament: "Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed." And we should know that though we don't see Him the way the Apostles saw Him, we believe and we are blessed. Saint Teresa of Ávila said we should never be envious of those who saw Christ in the flesh because we have the Blessed Sacrament! And yes, brothers and sisters, this bread and wine after consecration becomes just as much the flesh and blood of the Man of Galilee as the body St. Thomas was invited to touch, and to probe the nail prints and wound in the side! I often ponder this great truth (just before or after receiving Communion). It kind of puts a new meaning to the old song "Put Your Hand in the Hand of the Man Who Stilled the Waters." But we do . . . we see Him, we touch Him, we receive Him. Talk to him, brothers, listen to him, in the silence and stillness of your heart. Reflect on the beautiful readings we have just heard. If you can take a few minutes, think about the "many signs and wonders" that were done in your own life this past week. It's easy if you try. Last week I told you about the great . . . I can't tell you how great . . . kindness done me by some good friends, and how like St. Simon of Cyrene (see how I just canonized him there?) it made me feel. Because the great good burden of responsibility -- both to pay them back, and since I know what kind of people they are, to "pay it forward" to others -- is like the Cross, the blessed Cross. It ain't heavy; it's my cross! Well, this week I found out, sigh, that those folks who helped me out actually did so before they found out that a check they thought was coming in April won't come til June. I hope they gave to me out of their surplus and not out of their want, but I came to the realization that even if this gift "costs" them, I can't afford to fall apart over it, but just appreciate it more! Respect them more; pray for them more. Don't, sisters, don't say "You shouldn't have!" when someone gives you a gift. Say instead, "Thank you!" and try to be worthy of it. That's what children do as they grow up. They accept what is given them in all simplicity, but they try to live up to what their parents expect of them. Not that it's always easy. Fathers . . . "easy to please; hard to satisfy."
Another "sign and wonder" in my life this week was my chance to talk with my oldest son as he and I moved most of our worldly goods from one storage unit to another. My husband is something of a woodworker, so we have these tremendously long wooden beams from all over the country. Some are very dense, very heavy. My son turned to me as we were dragging them, "This is just like when I carried the cross . . . you know, in the [living] Way of the Cross during that retreat. In fact, it's heavier!" I just laughed and said, "Yeah, these are probably more like the real thing!" But it made me proud to think that he had, in fact, carried a life-size cross through the streets of the place where he made his confirmation some years ago. That in itself is a sign. I think a lot of things that are hard and embarrassing -- especially those that are embarrassing -- are times in our lives when we are signs . . . signs for the good.
And what about wonders? Let us not say that the time of miracles and wonders are over now that the time of the first Apostles is over. Yes, stunning miracles were of importance to get the fledgling Church off the ground and established, however tenuously, in all the surrounding regions of the world. Perhaps some of those signs were meant for those times in particular -- praise God -- but still there are miracles. Not just those that my wisest friend calls small "m" miracles -- occasions in which after seeing or experiencing them, your mind immediately flies up to God -- but actual events that defy natural explanation. I'll tell you about one I told my CCD class. A poor woman with kids was broke . . . it was the end of the month and not only hadn't she any money, she hadn't any food. Her next check wouldn't arrive for a week. She looked in the cupboard, and it was totally empty . . . nothing. She wasn't a believer, but she was so desperate and so hungry, she prayed to God for the sake of her kids. Then, despite her better judgment, she looked AGAIN in the cupboard and there, there in the back was a box of macaroni and cheese she swore wasn't there before! Silently thanking God, she made it, and wonder of wonders, there was enough for all. There were even leftovers! And not only for the next day, but the next, and the next, and the next . . . the miraculous macaroni and cheese defied all natural laws to last for an entire week, until she got her check.
And one last word about St. Thomas. Abraham Lincoln, who was not a formal believer in any church, said something like: "I may be fated to go through life in this twilight of doubt, like the apostle Thomas". It is ironic that he chose the apostle Thomas to illustrate his doubt, his searching, his wandering, since Thomas is the one who exclaimed, in a very outburst of faith: "My Lord and my God!" If there is someone in your life who has lost their faith, who is wandering in a twilight so to speak, remember that "doubting Thomas" is in fact the one who proclaimed his faith so eloquently: "My Lord and my God."
Let us now proclaim our faith.
Another "sign and wonder" in my life this week was my chance to talk with my oldest son as he and I moved most of our worldly goods from one storage unit to another. My husband is something of a woodworker, so we have these tremendously long wooden beams from all over the country. Some are very dense, very heavy. My son turned to me as we were dragging them, "This is just like when I carried the cross . . . you know, in the [living] Way of the Cross during that retreat. In fact, it's heavier!" I just laughed and said, "Yeah, these are probably more like the real thing!" But it made me proud to think that he had, in fact, carried a life-size cross through the streets of the place where he made his confirmation some years ago. That in itself is a sign. I think a lot of things that are hard and embarrassing -- especially those that are embarrassing -- are times in our lives when we are signs . . . signs for the good.
And what about wonders? Let us not say that the time of miracles and wonders are over now that the time of the first Apostles is over. Yes, stunning miracles were of importance to get the fledgling Church off the ground and established, however tenuously, in all the surrounding regions of the world. Perhaps some of those signs were meant for those times in particular -- praise God -- but still there are miracles. Not just those that my wisest friend calls small "m" miracles -- occasions in which after seeing or experiencing them, your mind immediately flies up to God -- but actual events that defy natural explanation. I'll tell you about one I told my CCD class. A poor woman with kids was broke . . . it was the end of the month and not only hadn't she any money, she hadn't any food. Her next check wouldn't arrive for a week. She looked in the cupboard, and it was totally empty . . . nothing. She wasn't a believer, but she was so desperate and so hungry, she prayed to God for the sake of her kids. Then, despite her better judgment, she looked AGAIN in the cupboard and there, there in the back was a box of macaroni and cheese she swore wasn't there before! Silently thanking God, she made it, and wonder of wonders, there was enough for all. There were even leftovers! And not only for the next day, but the next, and the next, and the next . . . the miraculous macaroni and cheese defied all natural laws to last for an entire week, until she got her check.
And one last word about St. Thomas. Abraham Lincoln, who was not a formal believer in any church, said something like: "I may be fated to go through life in this twilight of doubt, like the apostle Thomas". It is ironic that he chose the apostle Thomas to illustrate his doubt, his searching, his wandering, since Thomas is the one who exclaimed, in a very outburst of faith: "My Lord and my God!" If there is someone in your life who has lost their faith, who is wandering in a twilight so to speak, remember that "doubting Thomas" is in fact the one who proclaimed his faith so eloquently: "My Lord and my God."
Let us now proclaim our faith.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Today April 14
Today is the feast of St. Justin Martyr. "Martyr" was appended to his name in honor of the witness of his manner of death. Justin was a philosophy major, a pagan who came to be dissatisfied with pagan philosophies including the Stoics, Peripatetics, Pythagoreans and Platonists. He was walking on the seashore one day contemplating a maxim of Plato's when an old man appeared behind him, called out to him, and told him of a still more excellent way: that of Jesus of Nazareth, foretold by the Hebrew prophets and then fulfilled in his person. The old man told the younger to pray for light that he might attain the knowledge that only God can give. He did study the Scriptures, as well as the eloquent example of the early martyrs themselves: "Even at the time when I was content with the doctrines of Plato, when I heard Christians accused and saw them fearlessly meet death and all that is considered terrible, I felt that such men could not possibly have been leading the life of vicious pleasure with which they were credited." How very philosophical of him! Although he was a Palestinian, he traveled a lot and was probably baptized in Ephesus or Alexandria at the age of 30.
He was a zealous and straightforward guy and I think neither the pagans (who felt threatened by him) nor the Christians (who were a little daunted by him) knew quite what to do with him. Although there HAD been a few Christian apologists before, none of them -- nor anybody else, it seemed -- shared about the secret rites of the early Church. Most Christians were simple and unlettered and content to put up with misunderstanding to prevent profanation of their Eucharists. Justin decided to blow the lid off all that, saying: "It is our duty to make known our doctrine, lest we incur the guilt and the punishment of those who have sinned through ignorance." He wrote 2 Apologies which are sometimes combined into a single work and "A Dialogue with Trypho the Jew" which have come down to us. It's striking how similar their meetings on Sunday were to our present Mass!
The Apology seems to have been addressed to the Emperor Antoninus and his two sons. It protests against persecution of Christians on the basis of their religion alone, as they were innocent of any other crime. He had to defend himself not long thereafter before the Roman prefect Rusticus. He declaimed that he had studied all branches of learning and finished with Christianity "because they have the truth." He explained his faith in the Creator, his son Jesus, the savior and judge. He explained that God is everywhere, so they needn't only gather in one particular place or temple. The prefect asked him, "If I have you beaten and beheaded, do you believe you will then go up to heaven?" "If I suffer as you say, I hope to receive the reward of those who keep Christ's commandments . . ." "So you think that you will go up to heaven, there to received a reward?" "I don't think it, I know it." "Very well. Come here and sacrifice to the gods." Justin: "Nobody in his senses gives up truth for falsehood." And thus he went the way of those fearless martyrs he had witnessed himself as a pagan. He was scourged and beheaded, along with 6 others, in the year 165.
He was a zealous and straightforward guy and I think neither the pagans (who felt threatened by him) nor the Christians (who were a little daunted by him) knew quite what to do with him. Although there HAD been a few Christian apologists before, none of them -- nor anybody else, it seemed -- shared about the secret rites of the early Church. Most Christians were simple and unlettered and content to put up with misunderstanding to prevent profanation of their Eucharists. Justin decided to blow the lid off all that, saying: "It is our duty to make known our doctrine, lest we incur the guilt and the punishment of those who have sinned through ignorance." He wrote 2 Apologies which are sometimes combined into a single work and "A Dialogue with Trypho the Jew" which have come down to us. It's striking how similar their meetings on Sunday were to our present Mass!
The Apology seems to have been addressed to the Emperor Antoninus and his two sons. It protests against persecution of Christians on the basis of their religion alone, as they were innocent of any other crime. He had to defend himself not long thereafter before the Roman prefect Rusticus. He declaimed that he had studied all branches of learning and finished with Christianity "because they have the truth." He explained his faith in the Creator, his son Jesus, the savior and judge. He explained that God is everywhere, so they needn't only gather in one particular place or temple. The prefect asked him, "If I have you beaten and beheaded, do you believe you will then go up to heaven?" "If I suffer as you say, I hope to receive the reward of those who keep Christ's commandments . . ." "So you think that you will go up to heaven, there to received a reward?" "I don't think it, I know it." "Very well. Come here and sacrifice to the gods." Justin: "Nobody in his senses gives up truth for falsehood." And thus he went the way of those fearless martyrs he had witnessed himself as a pagan. He was scourged and beheaded, along with 6 others, in the year 165.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Today April 13
Today is the glorious feast of one of MY favorite saints, the sweet and incorrupt Blessed Margaret of Castello, virgin (1287-1320 AD). She is also known as Margaret of Metola, from her birthplace. She was abandoned by both her parents in the parish church of Castello when she was 6 years old. Some church ladies found the poor blind girl wandering alone and took her in. She was hunch-backed and club-footed as well, but so lovely on the inside that everyone who took their turn as her foster parent (for they were all very poor) declared she was an absolute joy and no burden at all. There was a convent in town, so it was natural that the sisters also take her in, which she accepted with joy. It didn't last, however, for they were very lax and her holiness and devotion were a reproach to them. At first they were merely critical of the poor blind girl, then openly calumnious. For shame! They kicked the little saint out and she was back on the street.
Her old friend sheltered her and one family in particular took her in. There she stayed, a laywoman, all her life. At 15 she took the veil of a Third Order Dominican and became a religion teacher of sorts. She was good with children, being very simple herself, and devised little lessons and tasks for them which she helped them with. She knew all the psalms by heart (she was a quick study) and taught them to the kids as well. Her heart was pure and goodness just radiated out of her. She was seen to levitate during prayer, she stopped a fire in her foster parents' home with just her overcoat, and ironically she cured the blindness of another Dominican tertiary. She died in the odor of sanctity in her 33rd year and her body can still be seen today, supple and incorrupt. Many miracles were wrought at her tomb. Pray to her; she gets things done.
Her old friend sheltered her and one family in particular took her in. There she stayed, a laywoman, all her life. At 15 she took the veil of a Third Order Dominican and became a religion teacher of sorts. She was good with children, being very simple herself, and devised little lessons and tasks for them which she helped them with. She knew all the psalms by heart (she was a quick study) and taught them to the kids as well. Her heart was pure and goodness just radiated out of her. She was seen to levitate during prayer, she stopped a fire in her foster parents' home with just her overcoat, and ironically she cured the blindness of another Dominican tertiary. She died in the odor of sanctity in her 33rd year and her body can still be seen today, supple and incorrupt. Many miracles were wrought at her tomb. Pray to her; she gets things done.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Today April 12
Today is the feast of Blessed Angelo of Chivasso (1411-1495). Chivasso is a few miles from Turin in the Piedmont region of Italy (the far Northwest of Italy, near France and Switzerland). Angelo was a noble, had a degree in law, and became a senator. He served ably for years until his mother died, when he left the world for a Franciscan friary in Genoa. He was invited to be a priest and then embarked on a mission back to his native Piedmont. Up and down the mountain trails, to the poorest huts in the most remote villages he went, preaching and administering the sacraments. He was pressured to become bishop, but he refused. He was a happy man. Even when faced with danger in the form of Waldensians (who were NOT sympathetic to Catholics) in a more and more politically polarized situation, he did not show fear, he did not give up. Many heretics and former Catholics came (back) to the faith due to his preaching and example. He died, after resigning as vicar general, peacefully at the convent in Cuneo. He was beatified in 1753.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Today April 11
Today is the feast of St. Barsanuphius, also known as "the Great Old Man." He was a Desert Father who lived in Gaza in the early 6th century and died about the year 550. He was an Egyptian by birth and was both a remarkable ascetic and remarkably discreet. He advised all to eat, drink, sleep and clothe themselves sufficiently. He wrote many letters of advice and spiritual direction and was gifted with great discernment. His advice was rooted in Scripture and straightforward:
To a bishop: "Do not accept gifts from anyone; do not waver in your judgment; do not be ashamed in the presence of any ruler in order to find the guilty innocent and condemn the innocent. Keep avarice far from you; for it is the root of all evils. Indeed, this is said to be -- and is -- a second kind of idolatry. Do not be arrogant, so that you may learn from the Apostle, who says: 'Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly' (Rom 12:16). Do not try to please people; after all, you know what happens to those who do this. They are estranged from the service of Christ; for the Apostle says: 'If I were still pleasing people, I would not be a servant of Christ' (Gal 1:10)."
He could see into the future, he believed in sharing all he had with others, he comforted the penitents by forgiving their sins and even assumed upon himself the sins of others. I guess that makes him a so-called "victim soul," but he was neither self-righteous nor insufferable about it. He was eminently approachable, but he chose generally not to see anyone and to write all his letters through his abbot, Seridos. He valued his solitude. When Eustochius the patriarch of Jerusalem ordered his cell wall to be broken down, a mysterious fire blazed out, causing all the workers to flee. Later he showed emissaries of the patriarch where he lived, how he lived, and he even washed their feet!
400 letters of his are extant, containing a wealth of peaceful advice.
" 'In everything give thanks' (1 Thess 5:18), and let us not neglect to render thanks to God and remember the one about whom you once told the parable that he used to go and pray in church in order that food might be secured for him. Then he met someone who said: 'Have breakfast with me today, and then go pray,' but he replied: 'I am not going to come; for that is what I was going to ask from God in prayer.' "
Now, I'm not sure, but I think that's ironic. Kind of like the story of the man in the flood who when the water started getting deep was met by a rescue worker in a truck, whom he waved away, saying "God will save me." Then later when the water was higher still, a boat was sent, but he replied, "God will save me." Finally, he had to retreat to the roof. A helicopter came and the man still insisted "God will save me." Finally, the man drowned. When he reached the other world, he asked God, "Why didn't you save me?" God looked at him and said, "What do you mean? I sent you a truck, a boat and a helicopter!" :) Don't bother me with breakfast, I'm praying for food!
To a bishop: "Do not accept gifts from anyone; do not waver in your judgment; do not be ashamed in the presence of any ruler in order to find the guilty innocent and condemn the innocent. Keep avarice far from you; for it is the root of all evils. Indeed, this is said to be -- and is -- a second kind of idolatry. Do not be arrogant, so that you may learn from the Apostle, who says: 'Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly' (Rom 12:16). Do not try to please people; after all, you know what happens to those who do this. They are estranged from the service of Christ; for the Apostle says: 'If I were still pleasing people, I would not be a servant of Christ' (Gal 1:10)."
He could see into the future, he believed in sharing all he had with others, he comforted the penitents by forgiving their sins and even assumed upon himself the sins of others. I guess that makes him a so-called "victim soul," but he was neither self-righteous nor insufferable about it. He was eminently approachable, but he chose generally not to see anyone and to write all his letters through his abbot, Seridos. He valued his solitude. When Eustochius the patriarch of Jerusalem ordered his cell wall to be broken down, a mysterious fire blazed out, causing all the workers to flee. Later he showed emissaries of the patriarch where he lived, how he lived, and he even washed their feet!
400 letters of his are extant, containing a wealth of peaceful advice.
" 'In everything give thanks' (1 Thess 5:18), and let us not neglect to render thanks to God and remember the one about whom you once told the parable that he used to go and pray in church in order that food might be secured for him. Then he met someone who said: 'Have breakfast with me today, and then go pray,' but he replied: 'I am not going to come; for that is what I was going to ask from God in prayer.' "
Now, I'm not sure, but I think that's ironic. Kind of like the story of the man in the flood who when the water started getting deep was met by a rescue worker in a truck, whom he waved away, saying "God will save me." Then later when the water was higher still, a boat was sent, but he replied, "God will save me." Finally, he had to retreat to the roof. A helicopter came and the man still insisted "God will save me." Finally, the man drowned. When he reached the other world, he asked God, "Why didn't you save me?" God looked at him and said, "What do you mean? I sent you a truck, a boat and a helicopter!" :) Don't bother me with breakfast, I'm praying for food!
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Today April 10
Today is Easter Tuesday and the feast of a saint for our own times, Blessed Antony Neyrot, who died in 1460. He was a Dominican prior who was kidnapped off the Neapolitan coast of Italy from a ship bound for Sicily. He was sold into slavery in Tunisia. He procured his freedom but then began an open-minded study of the Qur'an, which proved dangerous. He converted to Islam and practiced his newfound faith for several months. Suddenly he had a mystical vision and repudiated his faith, but, alas, Islam is not big on religious freedom, at least among their own, at least not then. It was attempted to argue him back into the faith of Mohammed, then to cajole, then threaten and finally, to condemn him to death. He died praying with his hands and arms raised up as the charismatics do, proclaiming the religion of Jesus Christ as the one true faith. He was stoned and stabbed to death in the year 1460, beatified 1767.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Today April 9
Today is Easter Monday and also the feast of Blessed Ubald. He had been high and mighty in Florence, a leader in the Ghibelline war faction, and a real rake, apparently. He was struck to the heart by a good homily by St. Philip Benizi. He decided there and then to never again bear arms. . . and he didn't. He joined St. Philip's Servite Order and immediately undertook severe penances to atone for his former life and deliberately to break his proud and haughty spirit. He became so meek, the birds would sometimes alight on his head and shoulders when he was working in the garden. he performed miracles, they say, and when once he was sent to fetch water and his pitcher broke, he gathered up water in his cloak and it was enough for all.
He knew mystically when St. Philip was dying and he rushed to his side to hear his confession and give him comfort. When Philip wheezed out that he needed his "book," others rushed to get him his Bible or his brieviary, but Ubald knew to get him his crucifix, which was his only "book." He died gazing at it.
Ubald lived 30 more years there at the monastery of Mount Senario. He is invoked against rabies for some reason. He was beatified in 1821.
He knew mystically when St. Philip was dying and he rushed to his side to hear his confession and give him comfort. When Philip wheezed out that he needed his "book," others rushed to get him his Bible or his brieviary, but Ubald knew to get him his crucifix, which was his only "book." He died gazing at it.
Ubald lived 30 more years there at the monastery of Mount Senario. He is invoked against rabies for some reason. He was beatified in 1821.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Homily: Easter Sunday: 2007
Dear brothers and sisters, I believe our generation is, as Henri Gheon said long ago, an era "whose glory it was to have lost faith, hope and charity." We have lost faith, even though I personally don't feel, as the polls would have us believe, that 75% of church-going Catholics don't believe that the Communion they receive is really the Body and Blood of Christ. And I'll tell you why. Pollsters can so twist a question that they can manipulate most responders into giving any answer at all. For example, they could ask: "Are you in favor of putting a woman who has an abortion in prison?" and if the person says "No," they could report that that person was "pro-choice." And yet that was a trick question, a false dichotomy of possibilities -- you can be against abortion and still not be in favor of legally punishing the mother. You can, in fact, be in favor of a so-called third way, in which you favor offering financial, emotional and physical support for the distressed mother in order to make abortion less attractive. But you are still "anti-abortion"! However, I do think that due to the crisis of catechesis in this country, the pressures of this world, the dark night of the soul so many of us experience, the bad example of so many Christians themselves, this generation -- and the one immediately preceding it -- have lost, or severely weakened, faith.
And how can any doubt that many have lost hope? They see only a murky future before them, if they see a future at all. How many now say they are better off than their fathers (at their age)? Or hope to be better off than their fathers are now . . . materially, physically or spiritually? They see all the wars, the hatred, poverty, racism, cruelty, environmental disaster, totalitarianism in the world today that they hesitate even to bring a child into it.
And surely we would have to be blind to see this generation has lost charity. There is above all a crisis of love in this country. People live and go about their lives lacking the love they deserve from their parents, lacking the love they deserve -- and were promised forever -- from their spouses, lacking the love and respect they deserve from their children. Many lack close friends and don't even know their neighbors!
I put to you today's feast is the remedy to this great loss. Jesus Christ's resurrection from the dead -- the glorious defeat of death and opening of the gates of heaven -- is the answer. The answer to the loss of faith: this is the great rock to which we can cling, indeed, "[I]f Christ has not risen, vain then is our preaching, vain too is your faith." It is the promise of a new resurrection for all our dead and for us all. And not for our souls alone, but for our bodies too which will also rise, and for our hearts and minds right now.
Our Lord's glorious resurrection is the remedy for the loss of hope as well. For did any man suffer as He so suffered? And did He not die? He looked so very dead! Yes, He suffered as none of us have suffered and He really died, with all that that entails. But that was not the end of the story. We throw our lot in with those who have seen and heard and touched the living, risen Christ. It may be that we cannot see where He has gone, but hope is the faith in things not seen. And blessed are they who believe and have not seen.
And finally, today's feast is a remedy for this crucial loss of love. If Christ is no longer dead (nor any of those who live in Him), then neither the love we show for others nor the love we receive is in vain, for it is not to end in death. I think deep down we all realize this. The life we live in this passing world cannot be all there is, for the good MUST be rewarded -- and in their short lives on earth they often are not -- and the evil must be punished. As the father of Hans and Sophie Scholl, the doomed young people who dared to peacefully oppose Hitler back in those dark days in Germany, said at their trial -- shouted, in fact: "There is another justice!" And there is. Today's feast proves it. Alleluia.
Let us now profess our faith . . .
And how can any doubt that many have lost hope? They see only a murky future before them, if they see a future at all. How many now say they are better off than their fathers (at their age)? Or hope to be better off than their fathers are now . . . materially, physically or spiritually? They see all the wars, the hatred, poverty, racism, cruelty, environmental disaster, totalitarianism in the world today that they hesitate even to bring a child into it.
And surely we would have to be blind to see this generation has lost charity. There is above all a crisis of love in this country. People live and go about their lives lacking the love they deserve from their parents, lacking the love they deserve -- and were promised forever -- from their spouses, lacking the love and respect they deserve from their children. Many lack close friends and don't even know their neighbors!
I put to you today's feast is the remedy to this great loss. Jesus Christ's resurrection from the dead -- the glorious defeat of death and opening of the gates of heaven -- is the answer. The answer to the loss of faith: this is the great rock to which we can cling, indeed, "[I]f Christ has not risen, vain then is our preaching, vain too is your faith." It is the promise of a new resurrection for all our dead and for us all. And not for our souls alone, but for our bodies too which will also rise, and for our hearts and minds right now.
Our Lord's glorious resurrection is the remedy for the loss of hope as well. For did any man suffer as He so suffered? And did He not die? He looked so very dead! Yes, He suffered as none of us have suffered and He really died, with all that that entails. But that was not the end of the story. We throw our lot in with those who have seen and heard and touched the living, risen Christ. It may be that we cannot see where He has gone, but hope is the faith in things not seen. And blessed are they who believe and have not seen.
And finally, today's feast is a remedy for this crucial loss of love. If Christ is no longer dead (nor any of those who live in Him), then neither the love we show for others nor the love we receive is in vain, for it is not to end in death. I think deep down we all realize this. The life we live in this passing world cannot be all there is, for the good MUST be rewarded -- and in their short lives on earth they often are not -- and the evil must be punished. As the father of Hans and Sophie Scholl, the doomed young people who dared to peacefully oppose Hitler back in those dark days in Germany, said at their trial -- shouted, in fact: "There is another justice!" And there is. Today's feast proves it. Alleluia.
Let us now profess our faith . . .
Today April 8
Today is Easter Sunday! If I may be permitted, it is also the feast of St. Julia Billiart, foundress of the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur. Since my old friend Sister Barbara is a SSDN, I think we should study St. Julia and praise the good God. St. Julia "knew how to believe and how to love" - Cardinal Sterckx. She suffered through the Reign of Terror incumbent upon the French Revolution and it was during this traumatic time that she became paralyzed when a gunshot came through the window, scaring her though hitting no one. For 22 years thereafter she was confined to a wheelchair or her bed, and then after all the tension had settled down, after years of prayer and care of the sick on her part, after establishing an order for the education of girls, she made a novena at the urging of her spiritual director at Amiens. On the feast of the Sacred Heart during this novena, the priest said: "Mother, if you have any faith, take one step in honor of the Sacred Heart of Jesus." She did and she walked . . . a complete cure. Now, I am not one to disbelieve in miracles and I am more than willing to give all the credit to Christ, but I think that her original illness was psychosomatic and not at all a physical one. I don't know; I'm no expert.
She wasn't long to remain at Amiens, since intrigue followed her there. A young priest who became the new spiritual director of the order (technically called an "institute") wanted to change all the rules. He was a good man but rash and opinionated; when corrected, he turned against Julia. He had the ear of the bishop as well, and she was asked to leave the diocese. She and her teaching sisters (among whom there was no difference in treatment between choir and lay sisters, a radical departure at the time) departed for Namur, where the bishop and people joyously welcomed them. They were later invited back to Amiens, but found it too inconvenient to move, thus they became the Institute of Notre Dame of Namur.
She died peacefully on this date in 1816 after 7 years teaching in Namur. Her favorite expression was: "Qu'il est bon le bon Dieu!"
She wasn't long to remain at Amiens, since intrigue followed her there. A young priest who became the new spiritual director of the order (technically called an "institute") wanted to change all the rules. He was a good man but rash and opinionated; when corrected, he turned against Julia. He had the ear of the bishop as well, and she was asked to leave the diocese. She and her teaching sisters (among whom there was no difference in treatment between choir and lay sisters, a radical departure at the time) departed for Namur, where the bishop and people joyously welcomed them. They were later invited back to Amiens, but found it too inconvenient to move, thus they became the Institute of Notre Dame of Namur.
She died peacefully on this date in 1816 after 7 years teaching in Namur. Her favorite expression was: "Qu'il est bon le bon Dieu!"
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Today April 7
Today, besides being Holy Saturday, is the feast of Blessed Henry Walpole, S.J. Poor Henry was arrested just 24 hours after his feet hit his native English soil as a priest! He had waited so long, trained so hard, studied so carefully all over Europe . . . and poof! He was captured at York and then taken to the notorious Tower of London where he was tortured 14 times. He was thrown on the floor of his cell with not even any straw on which to lay his head and not even a shred of a blanket to cover him in the winter. It was damp and rat-infested, that on top of his chilling tortures of thumbscrew and rack. He wavered a bit under torture, but he never apostatized and he never gave up any names.
After a year of this, he was condemned to death for treason. He never denied he was a Jesuit and there to win souls. He was sentenced to be drawn and quartered with Father Alexander Rawlins, a secular priest, but they were not allowed to talk to each other on the way. Rawlins suffered first and Henry was made to watch. Then Henry mounted the platform with bravery and grace. He died in 1595.
After a year of this, he was condemned to death for treason. He never denied he was a Jesuit and there to win souls. He was sentenced to be drawn and quartered with Father Alexander Rawlins, a secular priest, but they were not allowed to talk to each other on the way. Rawlins suffered first and Henry was made to watch. Then Henry mounted the platform with bravery and grace. He died in 1595.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Homily: Good Friday: 2007
Today's little homily is just a tiny snippet of one given by Ronald Knox on this date many years ago. "[Our Lord] had come into the world, so he told Pilate, to bear witness to the truth. And truth has a right to be told; that is its nature; it has that compelling power over minds. . . . [T]he Church is sometimes criticized for her want of courage, because she does not seek a direct issue with the tyrannical rulers of the modern age; force a conflict with them by forbidding their Catholic subjects to take any part as citizens in states so misgoverned. Curiously, another charge is often launched against the Church, which is exactly the opposite . . . that the Church is always interfering in secular matters which are beyond her province. If that is not so, men ask us, how is it that she is continually getting into trouble with the secular power, all over Europe, all over the world? Surely it cannot be an accident that your Church is always reckoned as a political force, whereas other religious bodies are allowed to go their own way, unmolested by the civil authorities? . . . 'Why cannot you be content to be a purely spiritual body? Why is it that you always interfere?' . . . [I]t is true that the Church could live much more quietly, avoid an infinity of clashes and persecutions, if she would consent to abate her claim on one or two points, constant sources of friction with unsympathetic governments. If only we would be content, for example, to hand over the teaching of children to the State, so far as their general education is concerned, and instil religious knowledge into them somehow else. If only the Church would be content to have her own laws about marriage and various moral questions, for her own loyal adherents, and not expect them to be adopted as the laws of the country! If only she would keep out of the way, live her own life and let other people live theirs! . . . Is she justified, we feel inclined to ask, in going out of her way to arouse prejudice by sticking so obstinately to her rights, when that involves peril to the immortal souls of her less docile subjects, who fall away from her membership and give up the practice of religion because they cannot live at peace with her? She knows that; it is part of the sacrifice she has to make; as it was part of our Lord's sacrifice, when he knelt there in the garden, to see Judas and Caiphas losing their souls because of him. But for her, too, truth is truth, and has a right to be told. She cannot alter the conditions of her witness."
Today April 6
Today, besides being the incomparable Good Friday, is the feast of Blessed Notker Balbulus. "Balbulus" means "stutterer" and since I used to stutter, I have a special devotion to him. He was never completely cured of this speech defect, but surprisingly enough (or not really, if you have studied the disorder) he never stuttered when he sang. In fact, he developed the singing school at his abbey of Saint-Gall. He also wrote 38 hymns and developed (although he did not originate) the practice of singing the alleluia before the Gospel and using so-called sequences which are kind of like lyrics written on the topic of the high holy days. He was a librarian and concierge for the guesthouse. He was a great favorite of Emperor Charles the Fat, who often came to visit. But Charles was not always the best Christian. Once, when a messenger arrived from the monarch while Notker was weeding his garden, he said, "Tell the emperor to do what I am doing now." Charles, who was no fool, understood immediately what he meant.
The royal chaplain, a vain and well-educated man, sought to trip Notker up when he said to him: "Tell me, you who are so learned, what God is now doing" and Notker, without missing a beat, replied, "He is doing now what He has done in the past, He is putting down the proud and exalting the humble." The chaplain took off while the community laughed.
Notker died in 912 and for many years his brother monks could not speak of him without tears. He was beatified in 1512.
The royal chaplain, a vain and well-educated man, sought to trip Notker up when he said to him: "Tell me, you who are so learned, what God is now doing" and Notker, without missing a beat, replied, "He is doing now what He has done in the past, He is putting down the proud and exalting the humble." The chaplain took off while the community laughed.
Notker died in 912 and for many years his brother monks could not speak of him without tears. He was beatified in 1512.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Today April 5
Today is the feast of the great St. Vincent Ferrer (1350-1419). I don't know about you, but this saint always makes me think of the movie actor José Ferrer! I don't think that our saint today would mind. He himself was bright, good-looking and dramatic, not unlike the actor . . . and most actors.
Our saint today is one of hope, since he was on the wrong side of a religious battle, yet his purity of heart and sanctity made him a saint and not his partisanship. What is amazing is that he even got canonized at all, since the "raising to the altars" is the privilege of the Roman pontiffs. They were objective and magnanimous not to hold it against St. Vincent that he supported the schismatic popes in Avignon! It's weird; many folks were quite taken with the Avignon cardinals who split and elected their own pope in the person of Robert of Geneva known as Clement VII and then Peter de Luna (Benedict XIII), but later kings and commoners alike disapproved of and lost interest in them. St. Vincent remained faithful to the wrong side almost until the end.
He was a child prodigy, graduating college at 14, entering the Dominican order and becoming a Ph.D. in philosophy at 20. He taught for awhile at University of Lerida and then left academia for parish work at Barcelona. He was gifted in many ways, but his first big break was his entirely accurate prediction of the end of a famine with the arrival of relief ships. The common folk were quite taken with him. Thus began a long and illustrious career as a preacher, penitent and miracle-worker, who not only converted 25,00 Jews but thousands of Moslems as well. He raised at least 28 persons from the dead, including a man going to his burial at the same time as a convicted criminal was sentenced to die. St. Vincent addressed the corpse, "You no longer have anything to gain by lying. [!] Is this man guilty? Answer me!" The dead man sat up and then spoke the words: "No, he is not!" Vincent asked him if he would like to return to life on earth. "No, good Father, for I am assured of salvation." Then he died a second time, lying back in his bier as easily as if he were going to sleep. Another man he raised asked to live, and so he did. Many priests at the convent of St. Jean at Calabria witnessed him raise a corpse there, and another priest swears he raised a child just by making the sign of the cross over him. My favorite story is his raising of a Jew named Abraham who was crushed to death under a stone porch of a church in which Vincent was preaching. Vincent rushed to his side, knelt in prayer over the poor body, after which Abraham rose and stunningly proclaimed, "The religion of the Jews is not the true faith. The true faith is that of the Christians." The man was baptized soon after. In like manner, lesser miracles were performed by Vincent: 70 persons freed from demonic possession, the stopping of a storm (at Majorca) and a flood (at Beziers), returning speech to the mute and health to cripples and the sick. Also, reminiscent of the first Apostles, all who heard him preach (French, Italian, German, English and Spanish alike) understood him even though he only spoke Limousin, a dialect of French. (And what a cool name, too: "Limousin." I wonder if it's pronounced the same way as the transport.) He counseled union with Rome to the Avignon anti-pope and was distressed when he refused. Even a council of theologians in Parish backed Rome, as did the Council of Constance (which deposed a second antipope: John XXIII). When even King Ferdinand of Castile and Aragon backed Rome alone, Ferdinand being the king whom Vincent himself had helped to elect, Vincent finally agreed and not long afterward Benedict XIII was deposed. Vincent died peacefully in France, reconciled with Rome at last.
Our saint today is one of hope, since he was on the wrong side of a religious battle, yet his purity of heart and sanctity made him a saint and not his partisanship. What is amazing is that he even got canonized at all, since the "raising to the altars" is the privilege of the Roman pontiffs. They were objective and magnanimous not to hold it against St. Vincent that he supported the schismatic popes in Avignon! It's weird; many folks were quite taken with the Avignon cardinals who split and elected their own pope in the person of Robert of Geneva known as Clement VII and then Peter de Luna (Benedict XIII), but later kings and commoners alike disapproved of and lost interest in them. St. Vincent remained faithful to the wrong side almost until the end.
He was a child prodigy, graduating college at 14, entering the Dominican order and becoming a Ph.D. in philosophy at 20. He taught for awhile at University of Lerida and then left academia for parish work at Barcelona. He was gifted in many ways, but his first big break was his entirely accurate prediction of the end of a famine with the arrival of relief ships. The common folk were quite taken with him. Thus began a long and illustrious career as a preacher, penitent and miracle-worker, who not only converted 25,00 Jews but thousands of Moslems as well. He raised at least 28 persons from the dead, including a man going to his burial at the same time as a convicted criminal was sentenced to die. St. Vincent addressed the corpse, "You no longer have anything to gain by lying. [!] Is this man guilty? Answer me!" The dead man sat up and then spoke the words: "No, he is not!" Vincent asked him if he would like to return to life on earth. "No, good Father, for I am assured of salvation." Then he died a second time, lying back in his bier as easily as if he were going to sleep. Another man he raised asked to live, and so he did. Many priests at the convent of St. Jean at Calabria witnessed him raise a corpse there, and another priest swears he raised a child just by making the sign of the cross over him. My favorite story is his raising of a Jew named Abraham who was crushed to death under a stone porch of a church in which Vincent was preaching. Vincent rushed to his side, knelt in prayer over the poor body, after which Abraham rose and stunningly proclaimed, "The religion of the Jews is not the true faith. The true faith is that of the Christians." The man was baptized soon after. In like manner, lesser miracles were performed by Vincent: 70 persons freed from demonic possession, the stopping of a storm (at Majorca) and a flood (at Beziers), returning speech to the mute and health to cripples and the sick. Also, reminiscent of the first Apostles, all who heard him preach (French, Italian, German, English and Spanish alike) understood him even though he only spoke Limousin, a dialect of French. (And what a cool name, too: "Limousin." I wonder if it's pronounced the same way as the transport.) He counseled union with Rome to the Avignon anti-pope and was distressed when he refused. Even a council of theologians in Parish backed Rome, as did the Council of Constance (which deposed a second antipope: John XXIII). When even King Ferdinand of Castile and Aragon backed Rome alone, Ferdinand being the king whom Vincent himself had helped to elect, Vincent finally agreed and not long afterward Benedict XIII was deposed. Vincent died peacefully in France, reconciled with Rome at last.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Today April 4
Today is the feast of St. Isidore of Seville, the last of the Latin Church Fathers. In medieval (and earlier) times, anyone ignorant of Isidore could not be said to be educated. He was a renaissance man, and this long before the actual Renaissance! He lived ca. 560-636 A.D. He had an encyclopedic knowledge and wrote about: grammar, rhetoric, mathematics, music, medicine, law, books, theology, languages, physiology, zoology, astronomy, architecture, metallurgy, agriculture, warfare, wardrobe and cooking, all while he was serving as bishop of Seville, to which he succeeded his brother Leander, who had been his teacher. An orphan, he was raised by his much older brother Leander and his sister Florentina. He hated homeschooling and ran away because he hated being corrected and he was rather a poor student. But while on the run, he observed stones worn away by the continual dripping of water and renewed in determination, he returned home. He ended up being one of the most educated educators in the Western world. Even so, Leander kept him under lock and key for awhile.
After serving as adjunct to his brother, bishop of Seville, he served there himself as bishop for 37 years through the reigns of 6 kings. To his brother and himself is due the credit of converting the Visigoth kings from Arianism to Christianity. In between writing and doing his episcopal duties, Isidore found time to preside over numerous church councils and synods, including the 4th Council of Toledo. That early council reinforced clerical celibacy and established a seminary or cathedral school in every diocese. It declared reprehensible the forced conversions of the Jews, but it did allow confiscation of the goods of the converted Jews who returned to their original faith. Sigh. Isidore did declare slaves and freemen were equal in the sight of God, however, and for that he should be deemed progressive.
He died after a short illness, during which he so divested himself of his worldly goods you couldn't walk through his house without bumping into a poor or homeless person staying there. Picture "Entertaining Angels." And when the end was near, he directed 2 bishops to support him into the church, where he put on sackcloth, rubbed ashes in his hair, loudly begged pardon for his sins, received viaticum (last Communion), went home and died. The year was 636.
After serving as adjunct to his brother, bishop of Seville, he served there himself as bishop for 37 years through the reigns of 6 kings. To his brother and himself is due the credit of converting the Visigoth kings from Arianism to Christianity. In between writing and doing his episcopal duties, Isidore found time to preside over numerous church councils and synods, including the 4th Council of Toledo. That early council reinforced clerical celibacy and established a seminary or cathedral school in every diocese. It declared reprehensible the forced conversions of the Jews, but it did allow confiscation of the goods of the converted Jews who returned to their original faith. Sigh. Isidore did declare slaves and freemen were equal in the sight of God, however, and for that he should be deemed progressive.
He died after a short illness, during which he so divested himself of his worldly goods you couldn't walk through his house without bumping into a poor or homeless person staying there. Picture "Entertaining Angels." And when the end was near, he directed 2 bishops to support him into the church, where he put on sackcloth, rubbed ashes in his hair, loudly begged pardon for his sins, received viaticum (last Communion), went home and died. The year was 636.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Today April 3
Today is the feast of St. Richard of Wyche This great man was the very model of a medieval man, as his biography well illustrates. He was an orphan who lost his family fortune to an unworthy guardian. He, the younger son and devoted to study, nevertheless took to the soil, ploughing and husbanding the land such that eventually the fortune was restored. The older brother Robert deeded him the land, and a fine match was made for him in the form of a pretty local girl. But Richard was no dummy; he figured out that Robert had turned jealous and resentful of him. Richard abdicated his land, fortune and lady in his brother's favor and went off to Oxford. "Poverty was no drawback, social or educational, in a medieval seat of learning." - Butler's Lives. How different from today! He was often hungry though, often cold, and he and his roommates had but one academic gown among them. In those days a student had to wear what we think of as a graduation gown every time he went to class; Richard and his buddies had to take turns wearing it to classes. Still, he often thought of those Oxford days as the happiest of his life.
And in another way was Richard positively medieval: he was an international man. Back then a person was more a citizen of the world than a citizen of one nation; Europe had a common law, a common language (more or less), a common religion. So Richard thought nothing of going to Paris to continue his studies, then back to Oxford for his MA, then to Bologna in Italy for his doctorate in law. He returned to England as chancellor to his friend St. Edmund Rich, who was archbishop of Canterbury. There the good friends (who'd met years ago in Oxford) could lean on each other in the face of increasing pressure from the very worldly and cynical King Henry III. He would keep dioceses open and bishopless so he himself could enjoy the revenues thereof, later filling them with his own appointees who were his cronies and partners in crime. Richard was still a layman at this point but when St. Edmund retired to Pontigny in France (citizen of the world as he was), Richard went with him, ministered to him til his death and then took holy orders at the Dominican house there. He was ordained a secular priest, however, and on and on returning to England, was parish priest at Deal. He was really overqualified for the position and when the bishopric of Chichester opened up, he was a natural for it. Henry III, however, chose the simoniac Robert Passelewe instead. The new archbishop of Canterbury wouldn't install him, so both parties went before Pope Innocent IV with their cases. Richard won but no matter, the king had locked the chancery doors to him and threatened anyone who aided him with a charge of treason! A simple parish priest, Simon of Tarring, opened his home to him and from there Richard conducted his episcopal duties, much like a missionary priest, for two years.
When Henry III finally relented, Richard got his own house and benefices, although a lot of the treasury had been spent. To Richard, however, it seemed like great riches, which as a typical medieval prelate, was required to support the poor, which he was more than happy to do. He lived an ascetic life and was a strict vegetarian, saying half in jest to the stock animals, "Poor little innocent creatures, if you were reasoning beings and could speak, how you would curse us! For we are the cause of your death, and what have you done to deserve it?" He was strict in his discipline, especially of clerics convicted of sexual sins; he fought simony and nepotism; he preached indefatigably. On one of his parish missions to preach a crusade, he contracted a fever and died, surrounded by his surviving friends. He was 55. Nothing of his relics or tomb survived the English Reformation.
And in another way was Richard positively medieval: he was an international man. Back then a person was more a citizen of the world than a citizen of one nation; Europe had a common law, a common language (more or less), a common religion. So Richard thought nothing of going to Paris to continue his studies, then back to Oxford for his MA, then to Bologna in Italy for his doctorate in law. He returned to England as chancellor to his friend St. Edmund Rich, who was archbishop of Canterbury. There the good friends (who'd met years ago in Oxford) could lean on each other in the face of increasing pressure from the very worldly and cynical King Henry III. He would keep dioceses open and bishopless so he himself could enjoy the revenues thereof, later filling them with his own appointees who were his cronies and partners in crime. Richard was still a layman at this point but when St. Edmund retired to Pontigny in France (citizen of the world as he was), Richard went with him, ministered to him til his death and then took holy orders at the Dominican house there. He was ordained a secular priest, however, and on and on returning to England, was parish priest at Deal. He was really overqualified for the position and when the bishopric of Chichester opened up, he was a natural for it. Henry III, however, chose the simoniac Robert Passelewe instead. The new archbishop of Canterbury wouldn't install him, so both parties went before Pope Innocent IV with their cases. Richard won but no matter, the king had locked the chancery doors to him and threatened anyone who aided him with a charge of treason! A simple parish priest, Simon of Tarring, opened his home to him and from there Richard conducted his episcopal duties, much like a missionary priest, for two years.
When Henry III finally relented, Richard got his own house and benefices, although a lot of the treasury had been spent. To Richard, however, it seemed like great riches, which as a typical medieval prelate, was required to support the poor, which he was more than happy to do. He lived an ascetic life and was a strict vegetarian, saying half in jest to the stock animals, "Poor little innocent creatures, if you were reasoning beings and could speak, how you would curse us! For we are the cause of your death, and what have you done to deserve it?" He was strict in his discipline, especially of clerics convicted of sexual sins; he fought simony and nepotism; he preached indefatigably. On one of his parish missions to preach a crusade, he contracted a fever and died, surrounded by his surviving friends. He was 55. Nothing of his relics or tomb survived the English Reformation.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Today April 2
Today is the feast of St. Mary of Egypt, not to be confused with St. Mary the Harlot (also of Egypt) even though she WAS a harlot. Sigh. Two different "fallen" women who ascended to the heights of sanctity.
Today's saint was a runaway who became a prostitute in Alexandria at the ripe old age of 12! She realized she could have gone back home (the OTHER St. Mary was an orphan, but not she), but fell prey to the sinful lifestyle for 17 years. At 29 she went with a party to Jerusalem, desiring to see the church of the holy sepulcher, not from any devotion but because it was the touristy thing to do . . . and besides, everybody else was doing it. Trouble was, an unseen force prevented her from entering. Try as she might, she couldn't penetrate the force-field-like entryway. She retired to the courtyard and looked up at an icon of the Virgin Mary. In tears, she prayed the prayer of repentance and she heard a woman's heavenly voice: "Cross Jordan and thou shalt find rest." Immediately she set out. Stopping by a bakery to get some rolls, she asked where the Jordan River was. Little did she know it was the last human interaction she would have for 47 years! Not to mention the last bread she would ever taste! She repaired to beyond the river, subsisting on edible plants and dates, praying and doing penance. Tortured by heat, cold and thirst, she outlived her clothes. They rotted off, she went naked. But she had consolations, too: though illiterate, she learned the mysteries of faith through some kind of mystical absorption. Her temptations were lessened after 17 years due, she said, to the intercession of the Virgin Mary, for whom she had a great devotion.
Disciples of the priest Zosimus found her and reported to him. He went to her, heeding her request to throw her his cloak since she was naked. She requested Holy Communion, which he went and gave her, after which she knelt in deep devotion and pronounced the Nunc Dimittis ("Lord, now you let your servant go in peace . . ."). She asked him to return in a year on Maundy (Holy) Thursday. But when he returned nearly a year later, he only found her body, with these words etched in the earth near it: "Father Zosimus, bury the body of lowly Mary. Render earth to earth and pray for me. I died the night of the Lord's Passion, after receiving the divine and mystic Banquet." The astonished priest did as he was requested, not before retrieving his cloak as a holy relic. This took place in the 5th century and was recorded in the annals of St. Sophronius, patriarch of Jerusalem in the year 638.
Today's saint was a runaway who became a prostitute in Alexandria at the ripe old age of 12! She realized she could have gone back home (the OTHER St. Mary was an orphan, but not she), but fell prey to the sinful lifestyle for 17 years. At 29 she went with a party to Jerusalem, desiring to see the church of the holy sepulcher, not from any devotion but because it was the touristy thing to do . . . and besides, everybody else was doing it. Trouble was, an unseen force prevented her from entering. Try as she might, she couldn't penetrate the force-field-like entryway. She retired to the courtyard and looked up at an icon of the Virgin Mary. In tears, she prayed the prayer of repentance and she heard a woman's heavenly voice: "Cross Jordan and thou shalt find rest." Immediately she set out. Stopping by a bakery to get some rolls, she asked where the Jordan River was. Little did she know it was the last human interaction she would have for 47 years! Not to mention the last bread she would ever taste! She repaired to beyond the river, subsisting on edible plants and dates, praying and doing penance. Tortured by heat, cold and thirst, she outlived her clothes. They rotted off, she went naked. But she had consolations, too: though illiterate, she learned the mysteries of faith through some kind of mystical absorption. Her temptations were lessened after 17 years due, she said, to the intercession of the Virgin Mary, for whom she had a great devotion.
Disciples of the priest Zosimus found her and reported to him. He went to her, heeding her request to throw her his cloak since she was naked. She requested Holy Communion, which he went and gave her, after which she knelt in deep devotion and pronounced the Nunc Dimittis ("Lord, now you let your servant go in peace . . ."). She asked him to return in a year on Maundy (Holy) Thursday. But when he returned nearly a year later, he only found her body, with these words etched in the earth near it: "Father Zosimus, bury the body of lowly Mary. Render earth to earth and pray for me. I died the night of the Lord's Passion, after receiving the divine and mystic Banquet." The astonished priest did as he was requested, not before retrieving his cloak as a holy relic. This took place in the 5th century and was recorded in the annals of St. Sophronius, patriarch of Jerusalem in the year 638.
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