Today is the feast day of first importance to all Jesuits, and, by extension by all who have been blessed to be evangelized or educated by them. Today is the feast of St. Ignatius of Loyola (1491 - 1556 AD), Spanish (actually Basque) prince, writer and founder. And importantly, he has a three-fold method for determining what is really God's will for us. Of course, God wouldn't choose evil for us, so if the choice is between a moral good and a sinful thing, the choice is easy. No, God doesn't want you to -- and is not calling you to -- rob a bank or cheat on your wife or tell a lie or embezzle from the company. But what if the choice is between (or among) two (or more) GOOD things? Well, we should approach God humbly in prayer and if we receive a clear, distinct command from God, well, then we should obey it. But those type of things are relatively rare, so the Ignatian method of discernment is helpful. Here are the three things we can use:
1) Intellect;
2) Feelings; and,
3) Imagination.
How? Well, the intellect requires we look at each choice rationally, weighing each's advantages and disadvantages to see which one makes the most sense logically. Feelings show us, over and over again, as we think about a possibility, whether it leaves us with a sense of peace and a deep desire (which may indicate we should choose it) or a sense of dread and unhappiness (which may mean we should not). And St. Ignatius was a pioneer in the use of the imagination, both in prayer, in which we take a Biblical scene on which we want to meditate and picture ourselves actually present there as one of the characters, or as here, in discernment of spirits, in which we turn the tables and imagine what we ourselves would advise someone else who came to US with the very same question. Additionally, we should imagine ourselves on our deathbed, looking back on this particular decision: How would we feel about it THEN? (A method which is reflected in the old adage: "On their deathbed, no one regrets not having spent more time at the office"!)
The details of the life of the illustrious founder (he would say "co-founder," but he it was who was the inspiration and primary actor) of the Jesuits (Society of Jesus -- or Company of Jesus, as they were known before incorporation and as they are still known in France, Spain and Italy) are well known: of a noble house in the Basque country of Spain, this knight and military leader was severely wounded in both legs (the right one much more severely than the left) while in action of the French front, and during recovery from the painful re-setting of the bone, he read the life of the Christ and the lives of the saints. This noble and great-hearted man looked at those lives of the saints and came to the realization that if they could do it, he could too. That was the start of the remarkable journey. Much has been made of the military nature and model of the Jesuits, but I think it's probably been overstated. How many military generals would go back to elementary school and learn grammar and other lessons from the ground up, with boys half their age? How many would wear a simple habit and decide to either a) evangelize the Holy Land; or, b) put themselves entirely at the disposal of the pope, going immediately and unquestioningly wherever he would send them? Bad politics between Venice and Turkey prevented them from setting sail for Palestine, to their loss, perhaps, but to the whole world's gain. The responded by going wherever they were sent, including Morocco, the Congo, Ethiopia, Portuguese settlements in South America and even as far as India and Japan. Ignatius himself remained for the remainder of his life in Rome, and though he is known for his beautiful prayer "Receive Lord, all my liberty, my memory, my understanding and my whole will. You have given me all that I have, all that I am, and I surrender all to your divine will. Give me only your love and your grace. With this I am rich enough and I have no more to ask." but his last words were for the pope: "Tell him that my hour has come, and that I ask his benediction. Tell him that if I go to a place where my prayers are of any avail, as I trust, I shall not fail to pray for him, as I have indeed unfailingly, even when I had most occasion to pray for myself." Amen.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Today July 30
Today is the feast of St. Peter Chrysologus, the "Golden Word" (405 -450 AD). Anyway, it was true indeed that he was a great preacher. It is also true that he was, as one modern (church) historian has said, "no Western Chrysostom, and that there were other preachers who deserve the title Chrysologus better than he," but he was so called years ago, and he so remains. He was very popular in his time and he still appeals to us over the years with a simple directness. He is, after all, a doctor of the Church.
His sermons were always very short (could this account for at least some of his popularity?) and not especially eloquent, but he was, all told, a good bishop. He was just a deacon when he was tapped to be the archbishop of Ravenna, and he met with considerable affronted opposition in his diocese when he got there. But he had justice and authority on his side, and with patience he triumphed. It wasn't easy: his huge diocese was more than a little pagan and even among the believers, heterodoxy was rampant. One especially, the heresy we call Monophysitism, was troublesome. The priest Eutyches, in his effort to eradicate Nestorianism, which holds that there are two Persons in Christ, swung the pendulum too far the other way, and made one nature of the one Person: neither man nor God, but some in-between being. Eutyches, prior to his execrable triumph at the illicit Robber Synod (where he actually had ninja-type monks beat up his accuser, St. Flavian), sent out a circular letter to all the powers that be in the Church at the time, including our saint of the day. St. Peter gently told him that the Incarnation is given to us by divine revelation, and though we cannot explain it, we must believe it, in all simplicity and trust. And we must obey "the Pope of the City of Rome; for Blessed Peter, who was and presided in his own see, provides the truth of faith to those who seek it." Amen.
His sermons were always very short (could this account for at least some of his popularity?) and not especially eloquent, but he was, all told, a good bishop. He was just a deacon when he was tapped to be the archbishop of Ravenna, and he met with considerable affronted opposition in his diocese when he got there. But he had justice and authority on his side, and with patience he triumphed. It wasn't easy: his huge diocese was more than a little pagan and even among the believers, heterodoxy was rampant. One especially, the heresy we call Monophysitism, was troublesome. The priest Eutyches, in his effort to eradicate Nestorianism, which holds that there are two Persons in Christ, swung the pendulum too far the other way, and made one nature of the one Person: neither man nor God, but some in-between being. Eutyches, prior to his execrable triumph at the illicit Robber Synod (where he actually had ninja-type monks beat up his accuser, St. Flavian), sent out a circular letter to all the powers that be in the Church at the time, including our saint of the day. St. Peter gently told him that the Incarnation is given to us by divine revelation, and though we cannot explain it, we must believe it, in all simplicity and trust. And we must obey "the Pope of the City of Rome; for Blessed Peter, who was and presided in his own see, provides the truth of faith to those who seek it." Amen.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Homily: Seventeenth Sunday of Ordinary Time: 2007
Brothers and sisters, when we were having all that rainy weather last month, my miracle-doubting friend said, "You know why our weather is like this? It's all those darn Christians praying for rain!" She laughed and then said when her Bible-believing, Church-of-Christ mom asks her to pray for rain, she folds her hands, bows her head, and says loudly, "Oh Lord, make a low-pressure system from the North or West come this way and encounter enough upper-air moisture to condensate!" She disputes the effect of prayer -- any prayer -- in this scientific age of ours, which she feels can explain any phenomenon.
C. S. Lewis says that there are really two kinds of people in this world: those who think that the human mind can explain everything perceivable by the human senses, and those who know it can't! After all, materialism is just a great, big giant assumption. How can you KNOW this is all there is, without merely taking that as a given? How much more open-minded, how more Socratic, if you will, to doubt that we can explain with human reason all that we see or otherwise observe or have heard? And those who take that tack know that miracles are not only possible, but probable. And they realize that prayer is not just not pointless, but actually effective.
We have a vivid example of that in our first reading today when Abraham verbally wrestles with God to spare the (evil) towns of Sodom and Gomorrah if there are only 50, then 45, then 40, 30, 20 and finally 10 good men there. Wow. "Let not my Lord grow impatient with me . . . See how I dare to speak to my Lord, though I am but dust and ashes . . . .Since I have thus dared to speak to my Lord, let me go on . . ." all humble and entirely correct sentiments, but it sure doesn't stop him from petitioning God, praying to Him, begging Him, with what has come to be called "holy audacity," appropriately so, I might add. What a glorious lesson for us, what an example! Keep praying! Don't fear. Look . . . did God smite Abraham, who spoke up "though [he] was but dust and ashes"? No, of course not. And He kept His word. If He had found but 10 good men, He would not have destroyed the towns.
Our Lord repeats this lesson even more clearly and forcefully when He says, "Amen, amen I say to you [always a good idea to give special attention when He uses those emphatic words], ask and you shall receive; seek and you shall find; knock and the door shall be opened to you." And then He repeats that sentence in a different way: "For he who asks, receives; and he who seeks, finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened." So how can we doubt the efficacy of prayer? And yet some still do. I know good, good people who assert that prayers of adoration and thanksgiving are licit, but prayers of petition somehow aren't. Get out. Of course we can pray. Of course we should pray. Of course we should lift up our fellow men in prayer, much like Moses lifted up his hands in prayer of petition for the Israelites in battle; and when his hands were raised, the Israelites had the better of the fight, and when they were lowered, they had the worse of it. Yet another evocative example of the effectiveness of prayer! So, brothers, keep it up! Keep praying! Don't let anyone tell you what you can and cannot pray for. Don't let anyone belittle your faith and say that you are acting like a child putting a penny in a divine gumball machine and expecting a gumball (I actually heard that from my religious education teacher in Catholic school). Who are you going to believe, Jesus or Mr. Smarter-than-Thou? Jesus has said it; the case is closed!
But the objection could be raised, what if you are praying for something that isn't good for you . . . or something that isn't intrinsically good, period? Well, the answer to that is also given in today's Gospel, of course. The same Man who told us to pray . . . "Ask and ye shall receive" . . . also said, "When you pray, say: . . . Your will be done." And that should cover it. After all, as I was told as a child, "God only says 'No' to your specific prayer in order to say 'Yes' to something even better." I didn't really like or understand that statement, but I could see the eminent reasonableness of it (especially in analogy to human fathers, who do the same thing) and so I chose to believe it. And I still do.
Let us now profess our faith . . .
C. S. Lewis says that there are really two kinds of people in this world: those who think that the human mind can explain everything perceivable by the human senses, and those who know it can't! After all, materialism is just a great, big giant assumption. How can you KNOW this is all there is, without merely taking that as a given? How much more open-minded, how more Socratic, if you will, to doubt that we can explain with human reason all that we see or otherwise observe or have heard? And those who take that tack know that miracles are not only possible, but probable. And they realize that prayer is not just not pointless, but actually effective.
We have a vivid example of that in our first reading today when Abraham verbally wrestles with God to spare the (evil) towns of Sodom and Gomorrah if there are only 50, then 45, then 40, 30, 20 and finally 10 good men there. Wow. "Let not my Lord grow impatient with me . . . See how I dare to speak to my Lord, though I am but dust and ashes . . . .Since I have thus dared to speak to my Lord, let me go on . . ." all humble and entirely correct sentiments, but it sure doesn't stop him from petitioning God, praying to Him, begging Him, with what has come to be called "holy audacity," appropriately so, I might add. What a glorious lesson for us, what an example! Keep praying! Don't fear. Look . . . did God smite Abraham, who spoke up "though [he] was but dust and ashes"? No, of course not. And He kept His word. If He had found but 10 good men, He would not have destroyed the towns.
Our Lord repeats this lesson even more clearly and forcefully when He says, "Amen, amen I say to you [always a good idea to give special attention when He uses those emphatic words], ask and you shall receive; seek and you shall find; knock and the door shall be opened to you." And then He repeats that sentence in a different way: "For he who asks, receives; and he who seeks, finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened." So how can we doubt the efficacy of prayer? And yet some still do. I know good, good people who assert that prayers of adoration and thanksgiving are licit, but prayers of petition somehow aren't. Get out. Of course we can pray. Of course we should pray. Of course we should lift up our fellow men in prayer, much like Moses lifted up his hands in prayer of petition for the Israelites in battle; and when his hands were raised, the Israelites had the better of the fight, and when they were lowered, they had the worse of it. Yet another evocative example of the effectiveness of prayer! So, brothers, keep it up! Keep praying! Don't let anyone tell you what you can and cannot pray for. Don't let anyone belittle your faith and say that you are acting like a child putting a penny in a divine gumball machine and expecting a gumball (I actually heard that from my religious education teacher in Catholic school). Who are you going to believe, Jesus or Mr. Smarter-than-Thou? Jesus has said it; the case is closed!
But the objection could be raised, what if you are praying for something that isn't good for you . . . or something that isn't intrinsically good, period? Well, the answer to that is also given in today's Gospel, of course. The same Man who told us to pray . . . "Ask and ye shall receive" . . . also said, "When you pray, say: . . . Your will be done." And that should cover it. After all, as I was told as a child, "God only says 'No' to your specific prayer in order to say 'Yes' to something even better." I didn't really like or understand that statement, but I could see the eminent reasonableness of it (especially in analogy to human fathers, who do the same thing) and so I chose to believe it. And I still do.
Let us now profess our faith . . .
Today July 29
Today is the feast of St. Martha (first century). Martha was loved by Jesus our Lord, and was very solicitous toward her heavenly Guest. She may have been the oldest of the three siblings: herself, Lazarus, and Mary, who sat at His feet, soaking up all His words. The mild rebuke He gave her: "Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things; but one thing is necessary. Mary hath chosen the best part and she shall not be deprived of it" only points out the truth of the saying "The good is the enemy of the best." Our Lord wasn't saying that hospitality and care of earthly things weren't good, just that they weren't the best thing. Listening to and obeying His Word is the best thing. And it makes sense, doesn't it? After all, our time is passing and not forever will we have care of earthly things: our food, our drink, our farms and fields, our health, our retirement plans, etc. But in heaven we will forever be able to sit at His feet and contemplate Him. How wonderful! How ecstatic! Yes, we'll also be active -- C. S. Lewis pictures us running and never tiring -- there will be that, too; but over and above all we can meditate on, contemplate and love, love, love Him. My husband told me that "dharma" means "destiny" -- and we all have it: that which we are destined for and that which we must find. I know my destiny: it is He. It is Christ the Lord.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Today July 28th
Today is the double feast (esp. in Milan) of Pope St. Victor and Pope St. Innocent. I think there might be a lesson for us in the story of their lives.
St. Victor (reigned 189-199 AD) felt he had to use the power of excommunication on the Eastern and Middle Eastern bishops who were dead set on celebrating Easter on the 14th of Nisan, even if it fell on a weekday. Victor said nix; it's the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox. He was right, but he learned from another saint: St. Irenaeus, who wisely pointed out that Christian brotherhood is of a higher priority than any matter of discipline. As has been pointed out, discipline can be changed; doctrines can not. And charity covers a multitude of sins, as they say. So, he didn't excommunicate them, but he still insisted on consistency, as a pope should.
He also had to deal with a heretic arriving from Byzantium tickling the ears of the faithful with stories about Jesus just being a wonderful man and exalted teacher of ethics. He is very special to those of us who love the Latin Mass, since he was the first pope to say it in Latin. Neat.
He died during the persecution of Septimus Severus, but there is no actual proof he died as a martyr, even as outspoken and fearless as he was.
Innocent I (reigned 401-417 AD) really is most famous for an important concept: Roma locuta, causa finita est. ("Rome has spoken; the case is closed.") The reason this adage is attributed to him is because the African bishops who condemned Pelagianism and the denial of the orthodox notion of grace applied to Rome for approval and Innocent commended them, saying, "In all matters of faith bishops throughout the world should refer to St. Peter." And so they should.
He very clearly and yet pastorally stated that all "greater causes" should be referred to Rome, thus establishing the juridical primacy of Rome. He defended clerical celibacy and St. John Chrysostom, who'd been blindsided and condemned at the illicit Synod of the Oak. Innocent tried to get John reinstated to his see, but the emperor wouldn't let him. I'll bet every pope can feel his pain.
He is controversial -- or would be in this day and age, especially among hardline political types -- because in the face of terrorism, he did negotiate with the enemy: he bravely tried to buy back hostages from the barbaric Goths who invaded and conquered Rome. Not that the refusal to bargain isn't a noble sentiment as well. I'm just telling you what Pope St. Innocent did. He died in 417; I don't know how successful he was in the hostage thing -- but he did make the grade: he became a saint. And what is the only tragedy? Not to become one.
St. Victor (reigned 189-199 AD) felt he had to use the power of excommunication on the Eastern and Middle Eastern bishops who were dead set on celebrating Easter on the 14th of Nisan, even if it fell on a weekday. Victor said nix; it's the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox. He was right, but he learned from another saint: St. Irenaeus, who wisely pointed out that Christian brotherhood is of a higher priority than any matter of discipline. As has been pointed out, discipline can be changed; doctrines can not. And charity covers a multitude of sins, as they say. So, he didn't excommunicate them, but he still insisted on consistency, as a pope should.
He also had to deal with a heretic arriving from Byzantium tickling the ears of the faithful with stories about Jesus just being a wonderful man and exalted teacher of ethics. He is very special to those of us who love the Latin Mass, since he was the first pope to say it in Latin. Neat.
He died during the persecution of Septimus Severus, but there is no actual proof he died as a martyr, even as outspoken and fearless as he was.
Innocent I (reigned 401-417 AD) really is most famous for an important concept: Roma locuta, causa finita est. ("Rome has spoken; the case is closed.") The reason this adage is attributed to him is because the African bishops who condemned Pelagianism and the denial of the orthodox notion of grace applied to Rome for approval and Innocent commended them, saying, "In all matters of faith bishops throughout the world should refer to St. Peter." And so they should.
He very clearly and yet pastorally stated that all "greater causes" should be referred to Rome, thus establishing the juridical primacy of Rome. He defended clerical celibacy and St. John Chrysostom, who'd been blindsided and condemned at the illicit Synod of the Oak. Innocent tried to get John reinstated to his see, but the emperor wouldn't let him. I'll bet every pope can feel his pain.
He is controversial -- or would be in this day and age, especially among hardline political types -- because in the face of terrorism, he did negotiate with the enemy: he bravely tried to buy back hostages from the barbaric Goths who invaded and conquered Rome. Not that the refusal to bargain isn't a noble sentiment as well. I'm just telling you what Pope St. Innocent did. He died in 417; I don't know how successful he was in the hostage thing -- but he did make the grade: he became a saint. And what is the only tragedy? Not to become one.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Today July 27
Today is the feast of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, date unknown. These guys are the original Rip van Winkles. I understand that there were, in fact, more stories like this, even in ancient Greece and China. Still, it's kind of neat. In the reign of Emperor Decius (269-270 AD), there lived seven men: Maximian, Malchus, Marcian, Denis, John, Serapion and Constantine. They all worked together in the palace there in Ephesus and were Christians. At the rise of this persecuting emperor, these Christian men knew their time was up. They divested themselves of all their wealth and took themselves to a cave in the hills on the outskirts of the city. An all-points bulletin was sent out on them and agents of Decius found them and closed up their cave while they were asleep. Two Christian men surreptitiously put two letters in among the stones at the mouth of their cave before their departure.
Well, time went on and Decius and all his ilk died. 208 years later, a landowner and rancher in the outskirts of Ephesus got a work crew together to build a stable in the wall of the mountain. When they opened the cave, the seven awoke and, imagining they had only slept one night, sent Malchus into town to buy bread. He couldn't believe the crosses on the gates of the city. Heck, he couldn't even believe it was the same city! Most marvelous of all, the name of "Jesu Christ" was on everybody's lips, even though "yesterday no man dare name Him." Then it was the townspeople's turn to be shocked. When Malchus tried to buy some bread, the clerks marveled at the antique coins he used! Then they got suspicious. Had he robbed an ancient treasure chest? Anxious to avoid imprisonment, Malchus told them they could keep both the bread and the money if they would only let him go. But they wouldn't. They wisely took him to the bishop, who gently questioned him and even followed him to the cave where the bishop saw not only the other six but the two sealed letters establishing the facts of their (assumed) martyrdom. The bishop was convinced, and sent for the emperor (Theodosius).
Surprisingly enough (or maybe not so, because, after all, this WAS big news), the emperor eventually came -- and marveled. These men prayed to the true God on their knees and their faces were radiant. He saluted and embraced each man in their turn. He wanted to build them huge gold shrines there, but the Seven demurred. They did eventually die and were buried in that cave, which the people adorned with precious stones. It became a popular place, pilgrims going there to worship, despite 16th-century questioning of the truth of the story. The appearance of these men (or their story) helped to renew belief in the resurrection of the dead.
Well, time went on and Decius and all his ilk died. 208 years later, a landowner and rancher in the outskirts of Ephesus got a work crew together to build a stable in the wall of the mountain. When they opened the cave, the seven awoke and, imagining they had only slept one night, sent Malchus into town to buy bread. He couldn't believe the crosses on the gates of the city. Heck, he couldn't even believe it was the same city! Most marvelous of all, the name of "Jesu Christ" was on everybody's lips, even though "yesterday no man dare name Him." Then it was the townspeople's turn to be shocked. When Malchus tried to buy some bread, the clerks marveled at the antique coins he used! Then they got suspicious. Had he robbed an ancient treasure chest? Anxious to avoid imprisonment, Malchus told them they could keep both the bread and the money if they would only let him go. But they wouldn't. They wisely took him to the bishop, who gently questioned him and even followed him to the cave where the bishop saw not only the other six but the two sealed letters establishing the facts of their (assumed) martyrdom. The bishop was convinced, and sent for the emperor (Theodosius).
Surprisingly enough (or maybe not so, because, after all, this WAS big news), the emperor eventually came -- and marveled. These men prayed to the true God on their knees and their faces were radiant. He saluted and embraced each man in their turn. He wanted to build them huge gold shrines there, but the Seven demurred. They did eventually die and were buried in that cave, which the people adorned with precious stones. It became a popular place, pilgrims going there to worship, despite 16th-century questioning of the truth of the story. The appearance of these men (or their story) helped to renew belief in the resurrection of the dead.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Homily: Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time: 2007
Brothers and sisters, let us consider today's first reading. I think it refers to conscience, but I haven't heard that from many others. St. Josemaria Escriva seems to think it relates to grace. Well, let's look at it, keeping in mind that Scripture can have many levels of meaning:
"For this command that I enjoin on you today is not too mysterious and remote for you. It is not up in the sky, that you should say, 'Who will go up in the sky to get it for us and tell us of it, that we may carry it out?' Nor is it across the sea, that you should say, 'Who will cross the sea to get it for us and tell us of it, that we may carry it out?' No, it is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts; you have only to carry it out." (Deut. 30: 11-14).
To me it seems pretty clear the author is referring to conscience, and I think two things are true at one and the same time: that right and wrong is written in our hearts, we have only to carry it out; and, that we must inform our consciences in order to make correct decisions. I don't think those two things are contradictory. I even think if you look in your hearts -- if you listen to the words that you say -- you know it's true. We know it's wrong to murder, to commit adultery, to rape, to lie, to cheat, to steal, to beat helpless victims, even to burn with envy in our hearts. But we also know that we should always be learning, always be educating ourselves. And St. Josemaria IS right: we have the advantage over even the ancient Hebrews, who had plenty of direct helps by Almighty God: we DO have the grace of the Christ. It IS true that "God does not command impossible things; when he makes a commandment he is telling you to do what you can and to ask his help as regards what is beyond you, and he helps you to fulfill it." -(De iustificatione, Council of Trent)
I think it's neat that when I turned to my son for help in approaching to a miracle-doubting friend, he got right to the point and said, "What you're really looking for, Mom, is proof that there is a beneficent God. [He's right.] And I think [one] proof can be found in the moral code. I mean, man knows what is good and what is evil . . . and that knowledge can't be pointless. It points to a good and caring God." It also shows why we Catholics believe that salvation is possible even for non-Catholics. Why? Because "the Law is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts; you have only to carry it out." And in so far as they follow the truth according to their own lights, they will be saved. Hallejujah. That puts the lie to the [non-Catholic but Christian] customer who came into the Catholic bookstore where I worked and said she'd just met a Moslem girl and struck up a friendship with her: "She's a lovely young woman. Too bad she's going to hell." I kid you not.
And just a brief comment on the Gospel. I heard a homily today in which the priest said that the reason (not ONE of the reasons, but THE reason) neither the priest nor the Levite touched the man was that he might be dead and if either of them touched a dead body, they'd be ritually impure. And I think that's a neat insight. But I think it's possible -- just possible -- that they walked right past him for very much the same reason you and I walk past homeless men and beggars. Not that to touch them makes us impure and therefore unable to carry out our religious duties, but because it's too embarrassing, too hard, too dangerous. Couldn't that just be possible? And the Samaritan didn't save the man just because he had no such knowledge or stricture against the touching of dead bodies, but because he was a good man, a decent man, and wasn't afraid of a little hard work, spending a little time and money, and risking a little danger himself. He very well may have answered if we were to ask him (though he's just a character in a parable) why he did it that which countless other heroes say, "Well, I just did what anybody would do." And that points to the first reading: the law of right and wrong is written in our hearts. Amen, brother. Let us just pray to have the courage to carry it out.
Let us now profess our faith.
"For this command that I enjoin on you today is not too mysterious and remote for you. It is not up in the sky, that you should say, 'Who will go up in the sky to get it for us and tell us of it, that we may carry it out?' Nor is it across the sea, that you should say, 'Who will cross the sea to get it for us and tell us of it, that we may carry it out?' No, it is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts; you have only to carry it out." (Deut. 30: 11-14).
To me it seems pretty clear the author is referring to conscience, and I think two things are true at one and the same time: that right and wrong is written in our hearts, we have only to carry it out; and, that we must inform our consciences in order to make correct decisions. I don't think those two things are contradictory. I even think if you look in your hearts -- if you listen to the words that you say -- you know it's true. We know it's wrong to murder, to commit adultery, to rape, to lie, to cheat, to steal, to beat helpless victims, even to burn with envy in our hearts. But we also know that we should always be learning, always be educating ourselves. And St. Josemaria IS right: we have the advantage over even the ancient Hebrews, who had plenty of direct helps by Almighty God: we DO have the grace of the Christ. It IS true that "God does not command impossible things; when he makes a commandment he is telling you to do what you can and to ask his help as regards what is beyond you, and he helps you to fulfill it." -(De iustificatione, Council of Trent)
I think it's neat that when I turned to my son for help in approaching to a miracle-doubting friend, he got right to the point and said, "What you're really looking for, Mom, is proof that there is a beneficent God. [He's right.] And I think [one] proof can be found in the moral code. I mean, man knows what is good and what is evil . . . and that knowledge can't be pointless. It points to a good and caring God." It also shows why we Catholics believe that salvation is possible even for non-Catholics. Why? Because "the Law is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts; you have only to carry it out." And in so far as they follow the truth according to their own lights, they will be saved. Hallejujah. That puts the lie to the [non-Catholic but Christian] customer who came into the Catholic bookstore where I worked and said she'd just met a Moslem girl and struck up a friendship with her: "She's a lovely young woman. Too bad she's going to hell." I kid you not.
And just a brief comment on the Gospel. I heard a homily today in which the priest said that the reason (not ONE of the reasons, but THE reason) neither the priest nor the Levite touched the man was that he might be dead and if either of them touched a dead body, they'd be ritually impure. And I think that's a neat insight. But I think it's possible -- just possible -- that they walked right past him for very much the same reason you and I walk past homeless men and beggars. Not that to touch them makes us impure and therefore unable to carry out our religious duties, but because it's too embarrassing, too hard, too dangerous. Couldn't that just be possible? And the Samaritan didn't save the man just because he had no such knowledge or stricture against the touching of dead bodies, but because he was a good man, a decent man, and wasn't afraid of a little hard work, spending a little time and money, and risking a little danger himself. He very well may have answered if we were to ask him (though he's just a character in a parable) why he did it that which countless other heroes say, "Well, I just did what anybody would do." And that points to the first reading: the law of right and wrong is written in our hearts. Amen, brother. Let us just pray to have the courage to carry it out.
Let us now profess our faith.
Today July 15
Today is the feast of Blessed Anne Marie Jahouvey (1779 - 1851), a fairly modern saint (comparatively). Much as I admire them, there aren't many saints I imitate exactly, but for some reason this saint's prayer resonates with me. She was estranged from her father and had set up an orphanage, along with the other sisters of her order (an order she herself founded, the Order of St. Joseph of Cluny) and one day they ran out of money for food. She went into the church and said this prayer:
"I need help. I know that I have been imprudent, and perhaps I have gone beyond your will in many ways. But I have done it for the children. They are more Yours than they are mine. If I have made mistakes, punish me -- not them. I beg You, don't forsake them. Please, please help." I say that exact prayer. And it works! It worked for her, too, only not in the exact way she expected. (It never does.) She went to the cupboard again, dramatically throwing open the doors to reveal . . . nothing. Sigh. But just then the rumbling of a cart on the street out front was heard: it was a wagonload of food, driven by her father who said, "I don't know why I am doing this. But I suppose I can't let you starve." And her prayer was answered. God is good.
What can we say about Blessed Anne Marie (known affectionately as Nanette)? Well, Anne Marie exhibited courage and leadership from the youngest age, as well as the trust so clearly shown above. She fearlessly sheltered clergy during the time of religious persecution in France. After the Terror and things settled down, she tried joining the Carthusians, and knew she didn't fit in there. She didn't seem to fit in anywhere. A dear friend, the Cistercian Dom Augustine Lestrange, frankly told her she needed to start her own order. She had a vision of herself and a roomful of black children and knew she had found her vocation.
As I've stated, she founded the sisters of St. Joseph -- and started a school, but all of the children were white! She obeyed and she trusted, and the meaning of the vision only became clear later. The governor of the island of Reunion asked her to send some sisters there, and the "roomful of black children" finally came true. But that was not the end of it; not by a long shot. From there she started schools and orphanages in Senegal, Gambia, Sierra Leone and French Guiana. You can't tell from that triumphant line that her life was a huge struggle and a controversial one at that. She was very progressive in her educational methods (and strongly criticized for it), but also ahead of her time by actively advocating native clergy for the missions. She was bitterly opposed for sending young Senegalese men to France for training in the priesthood to be sent back to Senegal. Prejudice was rampant then and she was frustrated in this plan.
She had "a clear and receptive mind and intellectual ability. Those qualities have their dangers, even for a fervent religious." - Butler's Lives. I think that's one reason why she met with both so much opposition and so much success, particularly in Guiana, where she -- and 36 sisters, 50 blacks and some French artisans -- successfully colonized the troublesome Mana district, where others had failed. Their jealousy assailed her; rumors flew; sisters broke ranks and even went into schism; the prefect apostolic there even put her under interdict for 2 years -- and she obeyed. No sacraments for 2 years! "The Cross is found wherever there are servants of God and I rejoice to be reckoned among them," said she.
And it was in Guiana that she performed her most famous act: the training, discipline, and religious formation of 600 about-to-be-freed slaves. From this bitter and untrained raw material, men, women and children alike, she formed an elite and educated force, civilized and hard-working, that took their place in society, much to the chagrin of the anti-abolitionists, some of whom tried to kill her. Her task, set in some of the worst climate and hairiest conditions on the planet, was done so well it caused King Louis-Philippe to exclaim: "Madame Jahouvey is a great man!" High praise indeed.
She had traveled the world and at the time of her death had established convents and institutions as far away as Tahiti, Madagascar and India. But her traveling days were over. On July 15th, 1851 she said, "I have a different journey in front of me, and I must make it alone." She died in peace on that day.
"I need help. I know that I have been imprudent, and perhaps I have gone beyond your will in many ways. But I have done it for the children. They are more Yours than they are mine. If I have made mistakes, punish me -- not them. I beg You, don't forsake them. Please, please help." I say that exact prayer. And it works! It worked for her, too, only not in the exact way she expected. (It never does.) She went to the cupboard again, dramatically throwing open the doors to reveal . . . nothing. Sigh. But just then the rumbling of a cart on the street out front was heard: it was a wagonload of food, driven by her father who said, "I don't know why I am doing this. But I suppose I can't let you starve." And her prayer was answered. God is good.
What can we say about Blessed Anne Marie (known affectionately as Nanette)? Well, Anne Marie exhibited courage and leadership from the youngest age, as well as the trust so clearly shown above. She fearlessly sheltered clergy during the time of religious persecution in France. After the Terror and things settled down, she tried joining the Carthusians, and knew she didn't fit in there. She didn't seem to fit in anywhere. A dear friend, the Cistercian Dom Augustine Lestrange, frankly told her she needed to start her own order. She had a vision of herself and a roomful of black children and knew she had found her vocation.
As I've stated, she founded the sisters of St. Joseph -- and started a school, but all of the children were white! She obeyed and she trusted, and the meaning of the vision only became clear later. The governor of the island of Reunion asked her to send some sisters there, and the "roomful of black children" finally came true. But that was not the end of it; not by a long shot. From there she started schools and orphanages in Senegal, Gambia, Sierra Leone and French Guiana. You can't tell from that triumphant line that her life was a huge struggle and a controversial one at that. She was very progressive in her educational methods (and strongly criticized for it), but also ahead of her time by actively advocating native clergy for the missions. She was bitterly opposed for sending young Senegalese men to France for training in the priesthood to be sent back to Senegal. Prejudice was rampant then and she was frustrated in this plan.
She had "a clear and receptive mind and intellectual ability. Those qualities have their dangers, even for a fervent religious." - Butler's Lives. I think that's one reason why she met with both so much opposition and so much success, particularly in Guiana, where she -- and 36 sisters, 50 blacks and some French artisans -- successfully colonized the troublesome Mana district, where others had failed. Their jealousy assailed her; rumors flew; sisters broke ranks and even went into schism; the prefect apostolic there even put her under interdict for 2 years -- and she obeyed. No sacraments for 2 years! "The Cross is found wherever there are servants of God and I rejoice to be reckoned among them," said she.
And it was in Guiana that she performed her most famous act: the training, discipline, and religious formation of 600 about-to-be-freed slaves. From this bitter and untrained raw material, men, women and children alike, she formed an elite and educated force, civilized and hard-working, that took their place in society, much to the chagrin of the anti-abolitionists, some of whom tried to kill her. Her task, set in some of the worst climate and hairiest conditions on the planet, was done so well it caused King Louis-Philippe to exclaim: "Madame Jahouvey is a great man!" High praise indeed.
She had traveled the world and at the time of her death had established convents and institutions as far away as Tahiti, Madagascar and India. But her traveling days were over. On July 15th, 1851 she said, "I have a different journey in front of me, and I must make it alone." She died in peace on that day.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Today July 14
Today is the great feast of Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha, "lily of the Mohawks," (1656 - 1680). No one knows her baby name, that is, the name given her at birth, but as the Indians are known to do and interestingly so, she was given a new adult name when she came into her own, so to speak. It was descriptive and not always flattering; her name Tekakwitha meant Blinded by Light. Struck with smallpox at an early age, she became myopic and light-sensitive, as well as pock-marked for the rest of her short life. She was called Favorite One and Little Friend as a diminutive by her friends and surviving family members (both her parents and her little brother were killed by the smallpox plague, brought unfortunately by the French). She was a beautiful Indian princess, daughter of the Tortoise chief of the Iroquois, a pagan, and a captive Algonquin, a Christian.
The Iroquois, one of the famous "Five Nations," had captured the woman in a raiding party on their enemies, the Algonquins, and tortured and killed all the males. They were big on torture: burning, biting, whipping, mutilating and finally, tomahawking and/or scalping. They had done so to the brave Blackrobes right there in Kateri's first hometown of Ossernenon (now Auriesville, NY). She was a gentle girl, loved birds, worked hard, baked her famous green corn bread, and beaded her delightful peace belts. The Blackrobes came to her village at their request after a particularly nasty fight with the French, who burned down their village and destroyed their crops -- in retaliation for the earlier killing of "Great Mountain's" -- what the Indians called the French general, the Marquis de Tracy's -- nephew and cousin, and for breaking the treaty. The Iroquois were hurt and trying to make peace again; besides, the priests (whom the braves looked at as "womanly" -- an insult, of course!) made good hostages. Kateri was now living and working in the longhouse of her uncle Onsengongo, now the new Tortoise chief. For three days she hungrily drank in the words and the gestures of these brave men and desired "the saving waters," what she called baptism.
She was still a pagan, adoring the "Master of Life" and observing all the rituals of her people. But deep within her was a desire for virginity, a desire her aunt and uncle could not understand and did not want to honor, since their old-age security rested on their niece's future marriage and children. Indeed, Kateri was always good to the old, including her old grandfather, bringing them steaming bowls of their staple, sagamite, and would of course train her offspring to do the same. Now, Kateri was very shy by nature, but that would not alone account for her call to virginity. Her single vocation was unknown among Indian women, even for shy girls. It must have indeed come from the Master of Life Himself. But her aunt and uncle were not understanding and treated her harshly like a servant after she made it clear she would reject all suitors. But within three years she was treated as a real daughter again, practicing her little acts of charity and ornamental beadwork.
More and more Iroquois were converting, even big chief Kryn of the Mohawks, but still Kateri's uncle opposed her joining. But one day, the new Blackrobe, Fr. Jacques de Lamberville, responded to an unseen voice telling him to enter the chief's longhouse. Kateri was within, with an injured foot (so she was not out in the fields, as she usually was) and humbly asked him for baptism. She had already learned the basics of the Faith and said her prayers even as she worked. Finally, the priest said yes, and her uncle consented, which he did shortly -- on Easter Sunday.
The priest chose her name, Catherine, or Kateri in her language, for her love of purity. But all was not roses for her. She was laughed at and jeered and stoned to the point that Fr. Jacques suggested she travel to the (safe) Christian mission in Canada and helped her escape. It was a long and harrowing journey, but she made it, savoring the lovely colors that September. There at the mission deadly enemies knelt together in silence and peace during holy Mass at Sault St. Louis. Older Christians yielded the good lands to newcomers and broke hard, new land for themselves. All gave to the poor and sick. Some even risked their lives going back to pagan lands as apostles. Many times young Kateri's (she was 21 when she escaped and 20 when she was baptized) mind raced up to God. She carved little crosses on the trees, made a little shrine by the spring, and always said her rosary.
She made her First Communion on Christmas Day in 1677. Her heart became a beautiful manger for the newborn Babe. She loved to hear saint stories and asked to hear them over and over. St. Francis of Assisi was her favorite, he who talked to the animals. She marveled at the story of his stigmata, and endured something like it in the terrible sting of a false accusation by Enneta, wife of a brave named Occuna, who one night by accident fell asleep next to Kateri's cot. Enneta felt they were having an affair and spread the rumor. The Blackrobe even talked to Kateri about it, but she only said, "It is not true." She endured the ostracization bravely and quietly, and one day, years later, Enneta wept for her suspicions of this little saint. For saint she was, down to even the nature of her death, the date and the hour of which she knew (Holy Thursday, 1680), and the pains of which she bore humbly and courageously, arranging her hair and putting on her best clothes to meet her Great Lover. "Jesus, I love Thee. Jesus . . . Mary" were her last words. Father Cholenec and all who saw her body testified that it miraculously transformed after death, losing all its disfiguring pockmarks.
She was buried by the cross she had erected down by the river and a tombstone was placed over it, reading:
Kateri Tekakwitha
Onkweonweke Katsitsiio
Teotsitsianekaron.
Which means: Kateri Tekakwitha
The fairest flower that ever
blossomed among the Redmen.
The Iroquois, one of the famous "Five Nations," had captured the woman in a raiding party on their enemies, the Algonquins, and tortured and killed all the males. They were big on torture: burning, biting, whipping, mutilating and finally, tomahawking and/or scalping. They had done so to the brave Blackrobes right there in Kateri's first hometown of Ossernenon (now Auriesville, NY). She was a gentle girl, loved birds, worked hard, baked her famous green corn bread, and beaded her delightful peace belts. The Blackrobes came to her village at their request after a particularly nasty fight with the French, who burned down their village and destroyed their crops -- in retaliation for the earlier killing of "Great Mountain's" -- what the Indians called the French general, the Marquis de Tracy's -- nephew and cousin, and for breaking the treaty. The Iroquois were hurt and trying to make peace again; besides, the priests (whom the braves looked at as "womanly" -- an insult, of course!) made good hostages. Kateri was now living and working in the longhouse of her uncle Onsengongo, now the new Tortoise chief. For three days she hungrily drank in the words and the gestures of these brave men and desired "the saving waters," what she called baptism.
She was still a pagan, adoring the "Master of Life" and observing all the rituals of her people. But deep within her was a desire for virginity, a desire her aunt and uncle could not understand and did not want to honor, since their old-age security rested on their niece's future marriage and children. Indeed, Kateri was always good to the old, including her old grandfather, bringing them steaming bowls of their staple, sagamite, and would of course train her offspring to do the same. Now, Kateri was very shy by nature, but that would not alone account for her call to virginity. Her single vocation was unknown among Indian women, even for shy girls. It must have indeed come from the Master of Life Himself. But her aunt and uncle were not understanding and treated her harshly like a servant after she made it clear she would reject all suitors. But within three years she was treated as a real daughter again, practicing her little acts of charity and ornamental beadwork.
More and more Iroquois were converting, even big chief Kryn of the Mohawks, but still Kateri's uncle opposed her joining. But one day, the new Blackrobe, Fr. Jacques de Lamberville, responded to an unseen voice telling him to enter the chief's longhouse. Kateri was within, with an injured foot (so she was not out in the fields, as she usually was) and humbly asked him for baptism. She had already learned the basics of the Faith and said her prayers even as she worked. Finally, the priest said yes, and her uncle consented, which he did shortly -- on Easter Sunday.
The priest chose her name, Catherine, or Kateri in her language, for her love of purity. But all was not roses for her. She was laughed at and jeered and stoned to the point that Fr. Jacques suggested she travel to the (safe) Christian mission in Canada and helped her escape. It was a long and harrowing journey, but she made it, savoring the lovely colors that September. There at the mission deadly enemies knelt together in silence and peace during holy Mass at Sault St. Louis. Older Christians yielded the good lands to newcomers and broke hard, new land for themselves. All gave to the poor and sick. Some even risked their lives going back to pagan lands as apostles. Many times young Kateri's (she was 21 when she escaped and 20 when she was baptized) mind raced up to God. She carved little crosses on the trees, made a little shrine by the spring, and always said her rosary.
She made her First Communion on Christmas Day in 1677. Her heart became a beautiful manger for the newborn Babe. She loved to hear saint stories and asked to hear them over and over. St. Francis of Assisi was her favorite, he who talked to the animals. She marveled at the story of his stigmata, and endured something like it in the terrible sting of a false accusation by Enneta, wife of a brave named Occuna, who one night by accident fell asleep next to Kateri's cot. Enneta felt they were having an affair and spread the rumor. The Blackrobe even talked to Kateri about it, but she only said, "It is not true." She endured the ostracization bravely and quietly, and one day, years later, Enneta wept for her suspicions of this little saint. For saint she was, down to even the nature of her death, the date and the hour of which she knew (Holy Thursday, 1680), and the pains of which she bore humbly and courageously, arranging her hair and putting on her best clothes to meet her Great Lover. "Jesus, I love Thee. Jesus . . . Mary" were her last words. Father Cholenec and all who saw her body testified that it miraculously transformed after death, losing all its disfiguring pockmarks.
She was buried by the cross she had erected down by the river and a tombstone was placed over it, reading:
Kateri Tekakwitha
Onkweonweke Katsitsiio
Teotsitsianekaron.
Which means: Kateri Tekakwitha
The fairest flower that ever
blossomed among the Redmen.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Today July 13
Today is the feast of yet another Desert Father, St. Serapion, (fourth century). It seems to me we covered him not long ago, but perhaps his story is similar to others, or that he, like so many other saints, has TWO feast days (one old and one new) and perhaps it was longer ago than I think.
With holy audacity, Serapion approached a notorious prostitute and said, "Expect me this evening, for I should like to come and spend the night with you." "Very well, Father," she said. When he arrived, he said, "Do you have the bed ready?" "Yes, Father," she said. "Wait a bit," he replied, "for we have a rule of prayer and I must fulfill it." Then he began the office and after every psalm he said a prayer for the girl that she might be converted, and she started trembling. Then he started reading some from the letters of St. Paul and when he was finished, she fell to the floor as if dead. Arising, she realized he had not come to her to commit sin but to save her immortal soul, so she said, "Father, do me this kindness and take me where I can please God." And St. Serapion took her to a nunnery where she lived, did penance and "pleased God all the rest of her life." -- Sayings of the Desert Fathers.
St. Serapion was both practical AND idealistic. He was for social justice, but in ways that definitely would NOT please the intellectual elite. Seeing a brother whose shelves were full of books, he said, "What shall I say to you? You have taken the living of the widows and orphans and put it on your shelves."
He used the homely analogy of soldiers in the emperor's camp: they single-mindedly look only to him, gazing neither to the right nor to the left. And they are considered brave. Indeed, there is no room in their heart for fear of the enemy. The men who stand before God are the same way.
And finally, he was a good psychologist. When a brother came to him and was invited to pray with him, he begged off, saying he was unworthy and a sinner. Likewise when St. Serapion wanted to wash his feet, he said he was unworthy. Then they ate and while eating, Serapion said, "My son, if you want to make progress, stay in your cell and pay attention to yourself and your manual work; going out is not so profitable for you as remaining at home." At that the young man's face fell, so much so that Serapion could not but tell that he was greatly offended. So he said, "Up to now you have called yourself a sinner and accused yourself of being unworthy, but when I admonished you lovingly, you were extremely put out. If you want to be humble, learn to bear generously when others unfairly inflict upon you and do not harbor empty words in your heart." It worked; the young man was struck to the heart and left greatly edified.
With holy audacity, Serapion approached a notorious prostitute and said, "Expect me this evening, for I should like to come and spend the night with you." "Very well, Father," she said. When he arrived, he said, "Do you have the bed ready?" "Yes, Father," she said. "Wait a bit," he replied, "for we have a rule of prayer and I must fulfill it." Then he began the office and after every psalm he said a prayer for the girl that she might be converted, and she started trembling. Then he started reading some from the letters of St. Paul and when he was finished, she fell to the floor as if dead. Arising, she realized he had not come to her to commit sin but to save her immortal soul, so she said, "Father, do me this kindness and take me where I can please God." And St. Serapion took her to a nunnery where she lived, did penance and "pleased God all the rest of her life." -- Sayings of the Desert Fathers.
St. Serapion was both practical AND idealistic. He was for social justice, but in ways that definitely would NOT please the intellectual elite. Seeing a brother whose shelves were full of books, he said, "What shall I say to you? You have taken the living of the widows and orphans and put it on your shelves."
He used the homely analogy of soldiers in the emperor's camp: they single-mindedly look only to him, gazing neither to the right nor to the left. And they are considered brave. Indeed, there is no room in their heart for fear of the enemy. The men who stand before God are the same way.
And finally, he was a good psychologist. When a brother came to him and was invited to pray with him, he begged off, saying he was unworthy and a sinner. Likewise when St. Serapion wanted to wash his feet, he said he was unworthy. Then they ate and while eating, Serapion said, "My son, if you want to make progress, stay in your cell and pay attention to yourself and your manual work; going out is not so profitable for you as remaining at home." At that the young man's face fell, so much so that Serapion could not but tell that he was greatly offended. So he said, "Up to now you have called yourself a sinner and accused yourself of being unworthy, but when I admonished you lovingly, you were extremely put out. If you want to be humble, learn to bear generously when others unfairly inflict upon you and do not harbor empty words in your heart." It worked; the young man was struck to the heart and left greatly edified.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Today July 12
Today is the feast of St. Veronica. A long and venerable history attaches to the memory of this saint who wiped the face of Jesus along his long death march. We can focus on her loving and charitable act or we can focus on the supposed result of that act: a beautiful image of the Holy Face on the cloth she used to wipe it, an image also called a "veronica," from the Latin vera icon or "true image." Some have conjectured from that coincidence that that couldn't have been her name, but surprisingly perhaps, there is a long history that that -- or a very similar-sounding name, especially Berenike, or perhaps, less likely, Prounike -- was in fact her name. Nowadays, although a cloth claimed to be the original veil of Veronica exists in St. Peter's in Rome, the focus is less on the relic and more on the compassion of the saint herself.
I've always thought of the image on the cloth (sometimes also called a sundarium) was more the reward of a good God, prefiguring the reward we all will have even if we only gave a cold cup of water to a prophet. Kind of like a bonus, since good deeds are their own reward. But this was the Incarnate God and He may do what He likes, in His own time. By that I mean that it is conceivable that He would give an immediate reward to someone who showed him such compassion -- and, who knows? bravery -- by wiping His face of sweat and blood. I also like to remember that Veronica is the patron saint of those who care for the physically impaired.
I've always thought of the image on the cloth (sometimes also called a sundarium) was more the reward of a good God, prefiguring the reward we all will have even if we only gave a cold cup of water to a prophet. Kind of like a bonus, since good deeds are their own reward. But this was the Incarnate God and He may do what He likes, in His own time. By that I mean that it is conceivable that He would give an immediate reward to someone who showed him such compassion -- and, who knows? bravery -- by wiping His face of sweat and blood. I also like to remember that Veronica is the patron saint of those who care for the physically impaired.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Today July 11
Today is the feast of St. Benedict, (480 - 547), patron of all those who struggle against the devil. Why? Because he did battle with Satan and/or demons. The devil appeared to him once in the form of a beautiful woman. It was a real crisis of faith for him; he was even tempted to throw off the whole monastic world and re-enter the world. But summoning all his courage, he decided to do something drastic: he took off his clothes and rolled in some thorn bushes until the pain -- and his humble prayers -- chased the demon away.
Benedict's contribution to Western civilization just cannot be overstated. He and his monks kept alive Greek and Roman literature when no one else would. He and his monks preserved religion, art, science and agriculture for Europe through all the Dark Ages.
He was born in the Sabine hills just after the fall of Rome. He was of the country gentry -- comfortable but not "noble." He was sent (with his nurse!) to Rome at 14 to be educated (further). He was so scandalized by the behavior that he ended up leaving. After 2 years, he left and attached himself to some holy men at Enfide and sent his nurse home. Called to greater simplicity and solitude, he retreated to a secret cave, which only the monk Romanus knew about . . . at first. Inaccessible as it was to human traffic, the cave was only reached by lowering things (in this case, a daily loaf of bread) from above. This continued for some time until a priest saw Jesus in a vision, in which He said, "How can you feast [it was Easter Sunday] when my servant [Benedict] is starving in the wilderness?" He immediately took his Easter dinner up the mountain where it was mystically revealed to him Benedict lived, and shared his feast. Benedict had been so long away from human contact, he'd lost all track of time! I don't want to accuse the aforementioned priest of telling tales, but soon Benedict was overrun with visitors. Many of them were young men who wanted to be monks under his leadership. He warned them they wouldn't want him, but they insisted. He left his cave for the Monastery of Vicovaro, and sure enough, this "true believer" managed to tick off every one of the monks who had formerly admired him! He was too strict and much too orthodox. They were so offended with him, they poisoned his wine! The chalice broke in two when he made the sign of the cross over it as he said grace. Instantly realizing their evil intention, he simply said, "See? I told you we wouldn't suit each other."
He took off again, this time to Subiaco, where he started 12 different monasteries. It was here at Subiaco he wrote his famous, short (under 9000 words), and insightful Rule, a marvel of moderation in a sea of extremes, exemplified by ascetics such as St. Simon the Stylite or other monks who starved and scourged themselves. "I speak to you, whoever you may be" begins the Rule, indeed an oasis of charity, balanced and detailed, gentle enough that "a lamb can bathe in it without drowning, [but deep enough that] an elephant can swim in it" - a medieval saying about the Rule. It influenced and guided generations of monks with love and enthusiasm "that in all things God shall be glorified." Those monks faithfully kept alive not only his wise spirit, but all Western learning through the many years of barbarism and darkness.
But if you think he lived in peace from then on, you'd be wrong. A resentful local priest named Florentius spread rumors about him, then actively tried to discourage new recruits, then even engaged prostitutes to tempt him and destroy his reputation. Nothing worked. Finally, Florentius sent him a poisoned loaf of bread, ostensibly as a token of his repentance. Benedict supernaturally knew it was poisoned, so he enlisted the help of a raven to take it uneaten far away from human habitation. But Benedict had had enough.
He took off for another -- and final -- time. He climbed the mountain called Monte Cassino, tore down the pagan temple there and built a monastery. He was given the gift of prophesy and knew ahead of time when the monastery would be attacked, so he and all his monks could evacuate. He knew it would be demolished, but also that it would be rebuilt. And so it was . . . in 590, and in 883, and again in 1943. Always outnumbered, always outgunned, as they say. But it -- and the Benedictines themselves -- rise again from the ashes.
He had a premonition seven days before his own death, which time he used to get his affairs in order. And on the final day, he asked to be carried into church and helped to stand, his arms raised, in which position he died, giving praise to Almighty God. The charismatics would be proud.
Benedict's contribution to Western civilization just cannot be overstated. He and his monks kept alive Greek and Roman literature when no one else would. He and his monks preserved religion, art, science and agriculture for Europe through all the Dark Ages.
He was born in the Sabine hills just after the fall of Rome. He was of the country gentry -- comfortable but not "noble." He was sent (with his nurse!) to Rome at 14 to be educated (further). He was so scandalized by the behavior that he ended up leaving. After 2 years, he left and attached himself to some holy men at Enfide and sent his nurse home. Called to greater simplicity and solitude, he retreated to a secret cave, which only the monk Romanus knew about . . . at first. Inaccessible as it was to human traffic, the cave was only reached by lowering things (in this case, a daily loaf of bread) from above. This continued for some time until a priest saw Jesus in a vision, in which He said, "How can you feast [it was Easter Sunday] when my servant [Benedict] is starving in the wilderness?" He immediately took his Easter dinner up the mountain where it was mystically revealed to him Benedict lived, and shared his feast. Benedict had been so long away from human contact, he'd lost all track of time! I don't want to accuse the aforementioned priest of telling tales, but soon Benedict was overrun with visitors. Many of them were young men who wanted to be monks under his leadership. He warned them they wouldn't want him, but they insisted. He left his cave for the Monastery of Vicovaro, and sure enough, this "true believer" managed to tick off every one of the monks who had formerly admired him! He was too strict and much too orthodox. They were so offended with him, they poisoned his wine! The chalice broke in two when he made the sign of the cross over it as he said grace. Instantly realizing their evil intention, he simply said, "See? I told you we wouldn't suit each other."
He took off again, this time to Subiaco, where he started 12 different monasteries. It was here at Subiaco he wrote his famous, short (under 9000 words), and insightful Rule, a marvel of moderation in a sea of extremes, exemplified by ascetics such as St. Simon the Stylite or other monks who starved and scourged themselves. "I speak to you, whoever you may be" begins the Rule, indeed an oasis of charity, balanced and detailed, gentle enough that "a lamb can bathe in it without drowning, [but deep enough that] an elephant can swim in it" - a medieval saying about the Rule. It influenced and guided generations of monks with love and enthusiasm "that in all things God shall be glorified." Those monks faithfully kept alive not only his wise spirit, but all Western learning through the many years of barbarism and darkness.
But if you think he lived in peace from then on, you'd be wrong. A resentful local priest named Florentius spread rumors about him, then actively tried to discourage new recruits, then even engaged prostitutes to tempt him and destroy his reputation. Nothing worked. Finally, Florentius sent him a poisoned loaf of bread, ostensibly as a token of his repentance. Benedict supernaturally knew it was poisoned, so he enlisted the help of a raven to take it uneaten far away from human habitation. But Benedict had had enough.
He took off for another -- and final -- time. He climbed the mountain called Monte Cassino, tore down the pagan temple there and built a monastery. He was given the gift of prophesy and knew ahead of time when the monastery would be attacked, so he and all his monks could evacuate. He knew it would be demolished, but also that it would be rebuilt. And so it was . . . in 590, and in 883, and again in 1943. Always outnumbered, always outgunned, as they say. But it -- and the Benedictines themselves -- rise again from the ashes.
He had a premonition seven days before his own death, which time he used to get his affairs in order. And on the final day, he asked to be carried into church and helped to stand, his arms raised, in which position he died, giving praise to Almighty God. The charismatics would be proud.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Today July 10
Today we could celebrate various saints, but we really must not neglect Eve Lavalliere, (1866 - 1929). This famous light-comedic actress who had it all -- money, fame, lovers -- retired from life in the midst of World War I, after performing many shows for the Allied troops. While she was summering in the countryside in Chanceaux sur Choiselle, she had a profound conversion.
Poor Eve (born Eugenie Fenoglio) was the adult child of an alcoholic, an unfavored child, daughter of a poor stone cutter and a seamstress. She was baptized Catholic, but fell away from her faith after her father killed her mother and then turned the gun on himself and committed suicide (he was the alcoholic). She went to live with relatives, but in their insensitivity, which I would term "evil," they constantly reminded her she was the daughter of a murderer. At 18, she ran away and as she was walking aimlessly along the streets of Toulon, she was plagued with thoughts of suicide. Coming upon the scene at that moment was a man who took her in and introduced her to a traveling theatrical group. She had a natural ability for the stage, and so she joined the group. She traveled with them to Paris, became the mistress of the Marquis de Valette (did I mention she was devastatingly attractive?), then the mistress of the promoter Fernand Samuel, who made her famous. They really loved each other but never married and were never faithful to each other. You could say she had "multiple partners," though she would probably prefer to say, "I date"! Her many male admirers gave her money, jewels, clothes and furs. She had a daughter with Samuel, a girl named Jeanne, who later broke her mother's heart.
Though a comedienne, poor Eve was subject to depression and suicidal thoughts still followed her. She came very close to killing herself at least three times that we know of. On the surface she was happy; she was at the height of her fame, fashion, beauty and wealth. She had it all, or so it seemed. All of which makes her conversion -- or reversion, as it were -- the more unexpected and more deep. A priest noticed her in town and realized she never came to Mass. He approached her and remarked that he hadn't seen her in church, at which she brightly retorted, "You haven't invited me!" He did, of course, and thus began a deep and lasting friendship. She took lessons from him, and finally went to confession and promised to turn from sin and believe everything the Catholic Church teaches . . . . and she was admitted to Communion. She renounced her former glory, her wealth, even her cosmetics and hair dye (that was the last and hardest to go, I can tell you!).
She desired to be a Carmelite nun, but each Carmel refused her, both because of her poor health and her daughter. She settled in to become a holy laywoman. Her original plans of being a (lay) missionary in Tunisia (she even went there as a nurse) were ruined because her health was so bad and compounded by her contraction of a fever. She had to return home with the archbishop's kind words: "Mademoiselle, you are going to help this mission, not by your deeds, but by your sufferings."
And suffer she did! She was always ill in her later years, and it just got worse. Her teeth fell out and her face swelled up until her eyes were about to pop out of her head; the doctors had to sew her eyelids shut to prevent that from happening. She suffered peritonitis, fever and pain. Plus she was addicted to cocaine! The biographers go to great trouble explaining that her addiction was not due to concupiscence but to the actions of her daughter who either genuinely wanted to ease her pain or to get her hooked so she'd be more tractable. In addition to all these physical sufferings (which she accepted and offered back to God in expiation of her past sins), she had to endure the pain of a daughter who not only didn't go to church -- any church! -- but broke her mother's heart by coming out as a (sexually active) lesbian!
Eve's lifelong protegee, a war orphan named Leona (who later married, after Eve's death), and Eve's physician had to cast Jeanne out of the house for Eve's own sake. The doctor had to keep her on a maintenance dose (of cocaine) all the rest of her life, which wasn't long. She passed away quietly in 1929, not long after reiterating her constant motto: "Abandonment, love, [and] trust" -- which she exemplified in her own life to a great degree.
Poor Eve (born Eugenie Fenoglio) was the adult child of an alcoholic, an unfavored child, daughter of a poor stone cutter and a seamstress. She was baptized Catholic, but fell away from her faith after her father killed her mother and then turned the gun on himself and committed suicide (he was the alcoholic). She went to live with relatives, but in their insensitivity, which I would term "evil," they constantly reminded her she was the daughter of a murderer. At 18, she ran away and as she was walking aimlessly along the streets of Toulon, she was plagued with thoughts of suicide. Coming upon the scene at that moment was a man who took her in and introduced her to a traveling theatrical group. She had a natural ability for the stage, and so she joined the group. She traveled with them to Paris, became the mistress of the Marquis de Valette (did I mention she was devastatingly attractive?), then the mistress of the promoter Fernand Samuel, who made her famous. They really loved each other but never married and were never faithful to each other. You could say she had "multiple partners," though she would probably prefer to say, "I date"! Her many male admirers gave her money, jewels, clothes and furs. She had a daughter with Samuel, a girl named Jeanne, who later broke her mother's heart.
Though a comedienne, poor Eve was subject to depression and suicidal thoughts still followed her. She came very close to killing herself at least three times that we know of. On the surface she was happy; she was at the height of her fame, fashion, beauty and wealth. She had it all, or so it seemed. All of which makes her conversion -- or reversion, as it were -- the more unexpected and more deep. A priest noticed her in town and realized she never came to Mass. He approached her and remarked that he hadn't seen her in church, at which she brightly retorted, "You haven't invited me!" He did, of course, and thus began a deep and lasting friendship. She took lessons from him, and finally went to confession and promised to turn from sin and believe everything the Catholic Church teaches . . . . and she was admitted to Communion. She renounced her former glory, her wealth, even her cosmetics and hair dye (that was the last and hardest to go, I can tell you!).
She desired to be a Carmelite nun, but each Carmel refused her, both because of her poor health and her daughter. She settled in to become a holy laywoman. Her original plans of being a (lay) missionary in Tunisia (she even went there as a nurse) were ruined because her health was so bad and compounded by her contraction of a fever. She had to return home with the archbishop's kind words: "Mademoiselle, you are going to help this mission, not by your deeds, but by your sufferings."
And suffer she did! She was always ill in her later years, and it just got worse. Her teeth fell out and her face swelled up until her eyes were about to pop out of her head; the doctors had to sew her eyelids shut to prevent that from happening. She suffered peritonitis, fever and pain. Plus she was addicted to cocaine! The biographers go to great trouble explaining that her addiction was not due to concupiscence but to the actions of her daughter who either genuinely wanted to ease her pain or to get her hooked so she'd be more tractable. In addition to all these physical sufferings (which she accepted and offered back to God in expiation of her past sins), she had to endure the pain of a daughter who not only didn't go to church -- any church! -- but broke her mother's heart by coming out as a (sexually active) lesbian!
Eve's lifelong protegee, a war orphan named Leona (who later married, after Eve's death), and Eve's physician had to cast Jeanne out of the house for Eve's own sake. The doctor had to keep her on a maintenance dose (of cocaine) all the rest of her life, which wasn't long. She passed away quietly in 1929, not long after reiterating her constant motto: "Abandonment, love, [and] trust" -- which she exemplified in her own life to a great degree.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Today July 9
Today is the feast of St. Veronica Giuliani (1660 - 1727). St. Veronica Giuliani reminds me (in a happier way) of the main character in Ron Hansen's "Mariette in Ecstasy". She too was a stigmatic and much maligned and misunderstood by her fellow nuns. I think they resented what they incorrectly saw as her "holier than thou" attitude which really was just a fiery zeal that put them all to shame. Besides, though in her youth she was showing signs of an air of superiority, a vision of Our Lord promptly stopped it! She was not on any self-aggrandizement or even self-fulfillment program; she was simply in love with Our Lord and had a fiery passion for the Passion, as it were. She had a long, hard novitiate and then in 1694 had the crown-of-thorns wounds periodically appear and in 1697, all five of the stigmata wounds. The bishop heard of it, got curious and investigated. It seemed legit, so he decided to test it. He sealed her wounded hands in gloves, removed her from the company of the other nuns, put a lay sister in custody of her at all times and denied her Holy Communion. She bore this horrible scrutiny with patience and silence. Finally the bishop was convinced and let her rejoin the community in every way (including taking Communion again).
She became novice-mistress and then abbess (she was a Capuchin sister), during which time she installed running water. Hallelujah. She left a charming and detailed diary that is still used for devotion. Her remarkable physical manifestations included the wounds' sudden appearance and disappearance, bleeding on command, levitations, mysterious perfumes, and perhaps most unusual of all, little bony objects in her heart that resembled the instruments of the passion and were discovered and removed after her death.
She became novice-mistress and then abbess (she was a Capuchin sister), during which time she installed running water. Hallelujah. She left a charming and detailed diary that is still used for devotion. Her remarkable physical manifestations included the wounds' sudden appearance and disappearance, bleeding on command, levitations, mysterious perfumes, and perhaps most unusual of all, little bony objects in her heart that resembled the instruments of the passion and were discovered and removed after her death.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Homily: Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time: 2007
Dear brothers and sisters, when my son heard the following story, he said, "The best way to evangelize is by the witness of a good life." Amen.
A woman I know told me how she came into the Church. She had resisted becoming a Catholic for many years. She was a Buddhist, she was happy being a Buddhist, all her ancestors were Buddhist, and even though she had been extensively taught the Catholic faith by strict and loving nuns, she had problems with some points of Catholic dogma and discipline. But years later, many years after she had attended the convent school, she returned in grateful thanks to the nuns, especially one nun who'd loved her unconditionally. "I want to do something to honor you. Tell me what you want and I will do it," she said. And the sister replied, "I want you to pray for me each day and I want you, my dear, to become a Catholic." And so, as a 33-year-old adult, she became Catholic. Any doctrinal difficulties she may have had fell away in the face of such luminous, powerful and timely love from the example of that one sister's life. And my friend never regretted it, never looked back, and treated her disapproving family with goodness and respect, even bringing them out of an impossible life in their country into the US. Wonderful.
What of miracles? Do miracles happen? Well, in the above story, my friend experienced what she considered a miracle: that of her rigid, patrician mother totally changing her mind and attitude . . . and at age 60, when most folks are firmly set in their ways. My friend knows it was a miracle, because she prayed specifically for it, offered great penances for it, even changed her ways for it, and was struck one day with her mother's loving acceptance and forgiveness. But there are other miracles; I've seen them in my own life. My son says: "Everyone has had miracles in their lives, things they could not explain any other way." Even my husband's seen them in his own life. He should have died on an oil rig when a 300-lb. chain fell from the top of the rig; had he been standing 2 inches forward of where he was, he would have. When a steel pipe did fall on his head right between his eyes, he could have died, or at least been severely injured, but he was not. When a cable car in San Francisco lost its grip and plummeted backwards into another car -- and he was just hanging on the back -- he should have been crushed to death between them, but he wasn't. I like to think he was spared so we could meet and have our four beautiful children.
Others may attribute such stories to coincidence, but coincidence after coincidence? There comes a time when it just stretches credulity. And it goes beyond the dramatic to the commonplace. What if my husband and I had never met? What if I hadn't turned down that one job and accepted the position at the college we both attended? What if he hadn't just broken up with his girlfriend? Lots of things like that. Everyone has something like that in their own lives. I attribute mine to God. After all, why should God limit miracles just to the time of the apostles? Doesn't he still have work to do? Doesn't he still need laborers for the field? Doesn't he still desire signs? Signs such as Paul's "mark of Jesus on [his] body" which some regard as the stigmata: one or more of the wounds of Jesus such as he experienced during the Passion and at the crucifixion. Signs such as curing the sick. Protection from bodily harm. But don't rejoice in these miracles, even if they are dramatic and powerful, but in your salvation, He says. And so should we.
A woman I know told me how she came into the Church. She had resisted becoming a Catholic for many years. She was a Buddhist, she was happy being a Buddhist, all her ancestors were Buddhist, and even though she had been extensively taught the Catholic faith by strict and loving nuns, she had problems with some points of Catholic dogma and discipline. But years later, many years after she had attended the convent school, she returned in grateful thanks to the nuns, especially one nun who'd loved her unconditionally. "I want to do something to honor you. Tell me what you want and I will do it," she said. And the sister replied, "I want you to pray for me each day and I want you, my dear, to become a Catholic." And so, as a 33-year-old adult, she became Catholic. Any doctrinal difficulties she may have had fell away in the face of such luminous, powerful and timely love from the example of that one sister's life. And my friend never regretted it, never looked back, and treated her disapproving family with goodness and respect, even bringing them out of an impossible life in their country into the US. Wonderful.
What of miracles? Do miracles happen? Well, in the above story, my friend experienced what she considered a miracle: that of her rigid, patrician mother totally changing her mind and attitude . . . and at age 60, when most folks are firmly set in their ways. My friend knows it was a miracle, because she prayed specifically for it, offered great penances for it, even changed her ways for it, and was struck one day with her mother's loving acceptance and forgiveness. But there are other miracles; I've seen them in my own life. My son says: "Everyone has had miracles in their lives, things they could not explain any other way." Even my husband's seen them in his own life. He should have died on an oil rig when a 300-lb. chain fell from the top of the rig; had he been standing 2 inches forward of where he was, he would have. When a steel pipe did fall on his head right between his eyes, he could have died, or at least been severely injured, but he was not. When a cable car in San Francisco lost its grip and plummeted backwards into another car -- and he was just hanging on the back -- he should have been crushed to death between them, but he wasn't. I like to think he was spared so we could meet and have our four beautiful children.
Others may attribute such stories to coincidence, but coincidence after coincidence? There comes a time when it just stretches credulity. And it goes beyond the dramatic to the commonplace. What if my husband and I had never met? What if I hadn't turned down that one job and accepted the position at the college we both attended? What if he hadn't just broken up with his girlfriend? Lots of things like that. Everyone has something like that in their own lives. I attribute mine to God. After all, why should God limit miracles just to the time of the apostles? Doesn't he still have work to do? Doesn't he still need laborers for the field? Doesn't he still desire signs? Signs such as Paul's "mark of Jesus on [his] body" which some regard as the stigmata: one or more of the wounds of Jesus such as he experienced during the Passion and at the crucifixion. Signs such as curing the sick. Protection from bodily harm. But don't rejoice in these miracles, even if they are dramatic and powerful, but in your salvation, He says. And so should we.
Today July 8
Today is the feast of St. Elizabeth of Portugal (1271 - 1336), grandniece of a saint (St. Elizabeth of Hungary, for whom she was named. I think if you are named for an actual canonized saint in your actual family, you increase your odds of becoming one yourself!). She was a sweet, beautiful, rich princess, daughter of the King of Aragon. Although she probably should never have had to be put in this position -- and certainly not starting at so young an age -- she was the Peacemaker in her family. She made peace first between her grandfather James (who was then king) and her father Peter, just by being born. Then later between her selfish husband Denis, King of Portugal, and her impetuous son Alfonso -- who probably had just cause, seeing as he was unjustly ignored by his father in favor of his illegitimate sons. It's never easy for a firstborn son to be thrown over for anybody else, especially not for "natural children" who are not even sons of his own mother! Twice she made peace between them, risking her life even, by inserting her very person between them on the battlefield. She also averted war between Ferdinand of Castile (no relation) and his cousin, and between Ferdinand and her own brother, James II of Aragon.
She grew up remarkable unspoiled, lived to share her goods with the poor, and while not fasting (thank God; we have more than enough extremely ascetical saints), she was abstinent and offered up the sacrifice of neither eating nor drinking between meals.
She made a good wife (shoot, at age 12!) in the manner of St. Rita . . . married to a spoiled, abusive, unfaithful man, who nevertheless let her carry out her daily acts of charity, her saying of the Office and attending Mass, her founding and visiting hospices and hospitals (like her great-aunt), and her entertaining of and donating to the poor right there in her own castle. And when Denis, her husband, came down with a debilitating disease, she nursed him so well, so long and so cheerfully, he died repentant and reconciled with the Church. Now free, she desired to become a nun, but she was persuaded to remain a laywoman, which she did, though she did become a Third Order Franciscan. She died as a result of her peacemaking penchant, when she brought about yet another reconciliation, traveling at her great age and in great heat. She was overcome and never regained consciousness.
She grew up remarkable unspoiled, lived to share her goods with the poor, and while not fasting (thank God; we have more than enough extremely ascetical saints), she was abstinent and offered up the sacrifice of neither eating nor drinking between meals.
She made a good wife (shoot, at age 12!) in the manner of St. Rita . . . married to a spoiled, abusive, unfaithful man, who nevertheless let her carry out her daily acts of charity, her saying of the Office and attending Mass, her founding and visiting hospices and hospitals (like her great-aunt), and her entertaining of and donating to the poor right there in her own castle. And when Denis, her husband, came down with a debilitating disease, she nursed him so well, so long and so cheerfully, he died repentant and reconciled with the Church. Now free, she desired to become a nun, but she was persuaded to remain a laywoman, which she did, though she did become a Third Order Franciscan. She died as a result of her peacemaking penchant, when she brought about yet another reconciliation, traveling at her great age and in great heat. She was overcome and never regained consciousness.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Today July 7
There are many saints of this day, some major, some minor. The major saints (Cyril and Methodius) have actually been transferred to February 14th in the Roman calendar; and of the minor ones, I chose St. Felix of Nantes. I think he illustrates a quiet, kind of shocking and not-as-uncommon-as-you-might-think quality in his life: he lived in a continent marriage. His marriage was not that way at first; it enjoyed all the aspects of what you might call a "normal" marriage. But later they lived as brother and sister. Eventually Felix felt a call to the ministry. Now, this was the end of the year 549 and already clerical celibacy was in place in the West. Although IN THEORY the couple may remain together, it never actually happens that way. The one who is accepted as a priest separates and the wife goes to live in a convent, which is exactly what happened here.
Felix took over the see of Nantes (he was further ordained a bishop after having served as a priest) and he distinguished himself in normal episcopal ways: great charity for the poor, public works, and the building of a great cathedral. Bishops are always planning to build or remodel a cathedral, or they have already just done so. It is an important part of their legacy as men and as pastors of the flock.
But above and beyond all that, Felix was a poet and something of a critic. He was a thorn in the side of his archbishop, as he always had to point out vice and sin (especially in one who is called to higher standards, as are priests and bishops) -- and even criticized Gregory of Tours himself (for nepotism). Even so, neither Gregory nor anyone could accuse him of hypocrisy, for he was as hard on himself as he was on anyone. He died in the odor of sanctity in the year 582.
Felix took over the see of Nantes (he was further ordained a bishop after having served as a priest) and he distinguished himself in normal episcopal ways: great charity for the poor, public works, and the building of a great cathedral. Bishops are always planning to build or remodel a cathedral, or they have already just done so. It is an important part of their legacy as men and as pastors of the flock.
But above and beyond all that, Felix was a poet and something of a critic. He was a thorn in the side of his archbishop, as he always had to point out vice and sin (especially in one who is called to higher standards, as are priests and bishops) -- and even criticized Gregory of Tours himself (for nepotism). Even so, neither Gregory nor anyone could accuse him of hypocrisy, for he was as hard on himself as he was on anyone. He died in the odor of sanctity in the year 582.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Today July 6
Today is the feast of St. Maria Goretti, martyr of purity. She could have been a saint just from the nature of her life before her dramatic death, but her murder threw light onto this good girl's life and arguably is what made her a saint in the famous, canonized sense.
Her story (and the stories of other saints that are similar) is one that puzzles modern folk. Why fight rape -- even if you are a virgin -- to the point of death? All you lose is your virginity. If I had to answer them, I would just look at them with pity and say, "Yes, . . . but once you lose that, it is so very, very hard to get it back!" I think our society -- or certain elements of it, anyway -- doesn't value virginity because it feels that to do so unfairly targets those who don't have it anymore. After all, it is very fragile. But there are lots of fragile things, and that in itself doesn't make them valueless or less valuable. Some know the value of virginity (in this place called "bodily integrity"): "People like Maria Goretti -- and martyrs for purity, even those who are willing to experience a little momentary emotional discomfort on its behalf, are few and far between -- have an ever-present realization that to lightly surrender one's bodily integrity, even to the most compelling needs of the moment, upsets the whole rhythm of the universe." - Angelus Book of Saints. The anonymous author goes on to state that this little saint's canonization is particularly timely for us and that she was canonized almost more for our sake than for hers. Amen, amen, may more women and girls cherish their bodily integrity -- once called, illuminatingly, their "virtue" -- and more men and boys embrace their chivalry to protect it. Amen.
Note should be given to the fact that Maria who was stabbed 14 times (and who had been accosted by her killer, Alessandro Serenelli, at least two times before) died forgiving him -- and even after death extended her love and forgiveness, appearing to him in a dream, offering him flowers. He converted and repented after that, serving out his 30-year prison term, asking forgiveness of her mother when he got out, and taking up honest and humble work as a gardener in an Italian monastery.
Her story (and the stories of other saints that are similar) is one that puzzles modern folk. Why fight rape -- even if you are a virgin -- to the point of death? All you lose is your virginity. If I had to answer them, I would just look at them with pity and say, "Yes, . . . but once you lose that, it is so very, very hard to get it back!" I think our society -- or certain elements of it, anyway -- doesn't value virginity because it feels that to do so unfairly targets those who don't have it anymore. After all, it is very fragile. But there are lots of fragile things, and that in itself doesn't make them valueless or less valuable. Some know the value of virginity (in this place called "bodily integrity"): "People like Maria Goretti -- and martyrs for purity, even those who are willing to experience a little momentary emotional discomfort on its behalf, are few and far between -- have an ever-present realization that to lightly surrender one's bodily integrity, even to the most compelling needs of the moment, upsets the whole rhythm of the universe." - Angelus Book of Saints. The anonymous author goes on to state that this little saint's canonization is particularly timely for us and that she was canonized almost more for our sake than for hers. Amen, amen, may more women and girls cherish their bodily integrity -- once called, illuminatingly, their "virtue" -- and more men and boys embrace their chivalry to protect it. Amen.
Note should be given to the fact that Maria who was stabbed 14 times (and who had been accosted by her killer, Alessandro Serenelli, at least two times before) died forgiving him -- and even after death extended her love and forgiveness, appearing to him in a dream, offering him flowers. He converted and repented after that, serving out his 30-year prison term, asking forgiveness of her mother when he got out, and taking up honest and humble work as a gardener in an Italian monastery.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Today July 5
Today is the feast day of St. Anthony Mary Zaccaria (1502 - 1539). He was a medical doctor as well as a priest and founder of the "Clerks Regular of St. Paul," also known as the Barnabites, after their church of St. Barnabas in Milan.
He was fatherless at a young age but his mother raised him right, and was like both a mother and a father to him. He'd gone ALL the way through medical school (then, as now, a long, expensive and demanding proposition) when he realized he had a vocation. Rather than turning his back on his medical studies, he decided to combine them. He was no "perpetual student," however. He had an active practice even as he was putting himself through seminary. He was ordained in 1528 and began at once to "heal souls as well as bodies" - Butler's Lives.
Interestingly, he had a great female platonic friend, Louisa Torelli, with whom he not only prayed, conversed and gave spiritual direction, but actually started an informal group called the Angelicals -- for women only: at-risk women who were in danger of falling, or who had already fallen into, a life of sin. This group was an original self-help group, in the best sense of the word, providing not only strength and encouragement, but an actual roof over their heads, food and medical care.
Anthony was moved -- after founding the organization for women -- to found one for men, but not for at-risk or street men, but for like-minded priests who would be bound by rules and vows but not as monks or friars. They would be the Barnabite community, committed above all to preaching and administering the sacraments. Now, you might think there was no need for this, since ALL priests are supposed to be committed to those things. But you have to remember this was the sixteenth century and many priests were burnt out, mediocre or just serving time. Plus the Christian world was sharply divided: this was the rise of Protestantism, and in many places there were more Protestants than Catholics. So Anthony and friends, with their indefatigable preaching, parish missions, confession opportunities, anointings, baptisms --- as well as acts of mercy, particularly towards victims of the plague (it had hit Milan pretty hard) -- fulfilled a much-needed gap in the lives of the people.
He was fatherless at a young age but his mother raised him right, and was like both a mother and a father to him. He'd gone ALL the way through medical school (then, as now, a long, expensive and demanding proposition) when he realized he had a vocation. Rather than turning his back on his medical studies, he decided to combine them. He was no "perpetual student," however. He had an active practice even as he was putting himself through seminary. He was ordained in 1528 and began at once to "heal souls as well as bodies" - Butler's Lives.
Interestingly, he had a great female platonic friend, Louisa Torelli, with whom he not only prayed, conversed and gave spiritual direction, but actually started an informal group called the Angelicals -- for women only: at-risk women who were in danger of falling, or who had already fallen into, a life of sin. This group was an original self-help group, in the best sense of the word, providing not only strength and encouragement, but an actual roof over their heads, food and medical care.
Anthony was moved -- after founding the organization for women -- to found one for men, but not for at-risk or street men, but for like-minded priests who would be bound by rules and vows but not as monks or friars. They would be the Barnabite community, committed above all to preaching and administering the sacraments. Now, you might think there was no need for this, since ALL priests are supposed to be committed to those things. But you have to remember this was the sixteenth century and many priests were burnt out, mediocre or just serving time. Plus the Christian world was sharply divided: this was the rise of Protestantism, and in many places there were more Protestants than Catholics. So Anthony and friends, with their indefatigable preaching, parish missions, confession opportunities, anointings, baptisms --- as well as acts of mercy, particularly towards victims of the plague (it had hit Milan pretty hard) -- fulfilled a much-needed gap in the lives of the people.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Today July 4
Today is the feast of Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati (1901 - 1925). There are other saints today, but since it is also Independence Day and ours is a young country and Blessed Pier is a young saint, a real saint for the young, we are going to go with him. He is even called the "patron of youth for the new millennium." He was a mountain climber and a daily communicant and had been an altar boy in his youth. Who knows what he might have been had he lived? I imagine he might have become a priest. But as it is, he is a wonderful layman, a saint for us all. I love that he was a member of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul. He was also a peaceful demonstrator and even held up one end of a banner when the previous holder was hauled off to prison (making him like Father Benedict Groeschel, who took hold of one end of a banner reading "NY Orthodox Rabbis for Life" when the previous man was arrested. "I made quite an incongruous picture there in my habit!" he remembers.)
Pier was a really cool guy, a soccer player as well as a theater and opera lover, and a great-hearted man. What did he do for the sick and the poor? The better question is what DIDN'T he do? As a child he gave away his shoes to a little boy who came with his mother to beg at the door of his home. (The Frassatis were wealthy and involved in progressive [anti-fascist] politics at a high level.) He gave his coat to a man in Berlin (his father became ambassador to Germany at one point), even though it was 12 below zero and he could have died of hypothermia himself. Each day he gave his trolley money to the poor and ran all the way in order to be home by dinnertime. He used his graduation money to buy food, medicine and rent for the poor -- young, old, men, women, Catholic, non-Catholic, it didn't matter. He reached out to all who were sick and struggling. He contracted tuberculosis from the tenement residents he visited and died at the age of 24, a true believer to the end. He said: "It is not those who suffer violence that should fear, but those who practice it."
Pier was a really cool guy, a soccer player as well as a theater and opera lover, and a great-hearted man. What did he do for the sick and the poor? The better question is what DIDN'T he do? As a child he gave away his shoes to a little boy who came with his mother to beg at the door of his home. (The Frassatis were wealthy and involved in progressive [anti-fascist] politics at a high level.) He gave his coat to a man in Berlin (his father became ambassador to Germany at one point), even though it was 12 below zero and he could have died of hypothermia himself. Each day he gave his trolley money to the poor and ran all the way in order to be home by dinnertime. He used his graduation money to buy food, medicine and rent for the poor -- young, old, men, women, Catholic, non-Catholic, it didn't matter. He reached out to all who were sick and struggling. He contracted tuberculosis from the tenement residents he visited and died at the age of 24, a true believer to the end. He said: "It is not those who suffer violence that should fear, but those who practice it."
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Today July 3
Today is the feast of dear St. Thomas. As Jon Meacham said in "American Gospel": "Lincoln once wrote that 'probably it is to be my lot to go on in a twilight, feeling and reasoning my way through life, questioning, just as doubting Thomas did.' It is intriguing that Lincoln chose the apostle Thomas as an example, because for all his initial uncertainty and skepticism, when Thomas beholds the risen Jesus, he exclaims, 'My Lord and my God!' " (p. 132.)
So instead of the epithet "the apostle of doubt," he should more truly be called "the apostle of faith" in my estimation. He is, after all, the one who when the other apostles protest against Jesus going back to Judea, says they should go too "that we may die with him." He has been called "loyal," "pessimistic," "common-sense," "neurotic," "sullen," and "bitter." Hey, what's not to like? To that list could be added the word "passionate," I think. After all, he is the one who declared, "Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and put my finger in the place of the nails, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe." But he remained loyal, waiting all that week that must have seemed pretty long, and rejoining the apostles when Jesus came to them and convinced him dramatically. Many paintings portray a dramatic (and imagined) scene -- Thomas probing his fingers into Jesus' hands and putting them in His side, but I don't think it ever came to that . . . I think he fell to his knees and proclaimed his profound confession of faith as soon as He spoke to him.
He stuck by the apostles after that: he and Peter are the first two disciples mentioned as present when Jesus appeared at the Sea of Galilee. A strong and early tradition has St. Thomas preaching in India. Certain of the Christians of India, of which more than half are Catholic, and especially those designated of the Syro-Malabar Rite are called "Christians of St. Thomas" in honor of this tradition.
Faith and reason, reason and faith. St. Thomas has a lot to teach us. St. Gregory the Great says we learn more from the doubt of St. Thomas than from the faith of the others! That probably has something to do with the similar saying that there is more rejoicing in heaven over one repentant sinner than over 99 who have no need of repentance. But also because we see things better in high contrast, of course; whites look whiter when thrown against black, black against white, any color against its complementary color, and so forth. So we see all the new Christians' faith more clearly in the face of loyal, sensible, dramatic Thomas' doubt. He used his sense, his reason, to achieve faith (faith he undoubtedly shared, perhaps very far from Israel's shores) and so can we. The things of sense perception: the flowers and the trees; the farthest star, the nearest single-celled organism; the whole beauty and mystery of creation points to something beyond itself . . . and Thomas was privileged to see that Something in His eyes . . .
So instead of the epithet "the apostle of doubt," he should more truly be called "the apostle of faith" in my estimation. He is, after all, the one who when the other apostles protest against Jesus going back to Judea, says they should go too "that we may die with him." He has been called "loyal," "pessimistic," "common-sense," "neurotic," "sullen," and "bitter." Hey, what's not to like? To that list could be added the word "passionate," I think. After all, he is the one who declared, "Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and put my finger in the place of the nails, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe." But he remained loyal, waiting all that week that must have seemed pretty long, and rejoining the apostles when Jesus came to them and convinced him dramatically. Many paintings portray a dramatic (and imagined) scene -- Thomas probing his fingers into Jesus' hands and putting them in His side, but I don't think it ever came to that . . . I think he fell to his knees and proclaimed his profound confession of faith as soon as He spoke to him.
He stuck by the apostles after that: he and Peter are the first two disciples mentioned as present when Jesus appeared at the Sea of Galilee. A strong and early tradition has St. Thomas preaching in India. Certain of the Christians of India, of which more than half are Catholic, and especially those designated of the Syro-Malabar Rite are called "Christians of St. Thomas" in honor of this tradition.
Faith and reason, reason and faith. St. Thomas has a lot to teach us. St. Gregory the Great says we learn more from the doubt of St. Thomas than from the faith of the others! That probably has something to do with the similar saying that there is more rejoicing in heaven over one repentant sinner than over 99 who have no need of repentance. But also because we see things better in high contrast, of course; whites look whiter when thrown against black, black against white, any color against its complementary color, and so forth. So we see all the new Christians' faith more clearly in the face of loyal, sensible, dramatic Thomas' doubt. He used his sense, his reason, to achieve faith (faith he undoubtedly shared, perhaps very far from Israel's shores) and so can we. The things of sense perception: the flowers and the trees; the farthest star, the nearest single-celled organism; the whole beauty and mystery of creation points to something beyond itself . . . and Thomas was privileged to see that Something in His eyes . . .
Monday, July 2, 2007
Today July 2
Today is the traditional feast of St. Swithun (c. 800 - 862 AD). If it rains today, tradition says we will have 40 more days of rain and if it's clear, we'll have 40 more days of sunshine. Oh, I get it; Swithun is a primitive Phil the Groundhog! :) Those crazy Brits! (I mean those crazy Angles and Saxons.)
Swithun was a student and then a teacher of philosophy and Scripture as well as grammar; he was so learned, pious and wise, the king (Egbert) made him tutor of his son (Ethelwulf). Being a tutor is a thankless task, but it's clean, honorable work. He was promoted from there to bishop of Winchester. He had the qualities of any good pastor, and then some. He was humble, charitable and dedicated to his many parishes -- several of which he founded, many that he repaired, all of which he visited -- and if it were a special feast, then on foot, and barefoot at that. More even than that, humble miracles were attributed to him, such as the restoration of eggs broken in a basket of an old woman who tripped going over a bridge. What a nice homely little miracle, don't you think? Housewives like myself who have had to deal with broken eggs and spilled milk and crayoned walls and so forth can really appreciate the power of that wonder-working!
Swithun was so humble, he directed that he just be buried in the churchyard where folks would walk on his grave -- no superstitions there! -- and because he didn't mind that his bones be rained on. They did as he directed, but so many miracles took place at his grave that he was dug up and brought into and buried within the church. So he didn't get his way after all, but I'm sure his heart was warmed by the love his people extended him.
Swithun was a student and then a teacher of philosophy and Scripture as well as grammar; he was so learned, pious and wise, the king (Egbert) made him tutor of his son (Ethelwulf). Being a tutor is a thankless task, but it's clean, honorable work. He was promoted from there to bishop of Winchester. He had the qualities of any good pastor, and then some. He was humble, charitable and dedicated to his many parishes -- several of which he founded, many that he repaired, all of which he visited -- and if it were a special feast, then on foot, and barefoot at that. More even than that, humble miracles were attributed to him, such as the restoration of eggs broken in a basket of an old woman who tripped going over a bridge. What a nice homely little miracle, don't you think? Housewives like myself who have had to deal with broken eggs and spilled milk and crayoned walls and so forth can really appreciate the power of that wonder-working!
Swithun was so humble, he directed that he just be buried in the churchyard where folks would walk on his grave -- no superstitions there! -- and because he didn't mind that his bones be rained on. They did as he directed, but so many miracles took place at his grave that he was dug up and brought into and buried within the church. So he didn't get his way after all, but I'm sure his heart was warmed by the love his people extended him.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Homily: Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time: 2007
"For you were called for freedom, brothers and sisters." (Gal 5:13). As you know, I write a little column on the saint of the day and this verse: "For you were called for freedom" made me immediately think of a saint we will be celebrating soon, Blessed Anne Marie Javouhey. Her greatest accomplishment was helping 600 black men, women and children about to be freed from slavery ease their way into freedom. They were almost completely ignorant, plus they were "disinclined to work" -- perfectly understandable, considering their former lot. But Anne Marie was undaunted. She was an abolitionist to the core, and had to put her money where her mouth was. She hadn't much time, but she trained those people, got them into shape, so to speak. She ran her training camp like a religious community -- she fully immersed them in the facts and in the practice of their faith, even as she taught them each a trade, in preparation for giving each family a cottage, a piece of land and a sum of money -- all courtesy of Anne Marie. She proved -- and so did they -- that the abstract arguments in favor of total emancipation were true: "For you were called for freedom."
What is freedom? It is the freedom to do what is right. I put to you that it is also the freedom to do what is morally neutral, as well, since that is in keeping with man's dignity. It is not freedom to what is wrong. We all know there must be limits on our actions in society: we are not free to kill, steal, rape, betray, lie, etc. That kind of "freedom" is more properly called "license." That is not what we are all about, not what we are called to. But if we are not free to do what is right -- if we are forced to commit sin in some way -- say, by participating in an abortion, or having to prescribe contraceptives -- we are allowed to participate in civil disobedience, to nonviolently protest in some way.
We are called to follow Christ -- wholeheartedly, no-holds-barred, unconditionally. I really love the first reading in which when Elisha says (after being covered with Elijah's cloak): "Let me kiss my father and my mother, and then I will follow you," then Elijah says: "Go back again; for what have I done to you?" Isn't that so very human? It's as if he said, "What are you looking at? What is it? *I* didn't tell you to do anything." But, well, he did. It was an invitation, and a pressing one, but not as demanding as Christ's. But look at who Christ is: Elijah was just a prophet (a great prophet, but a prophet nonetheless); Christ is God Himself. The call is more insistent. We must follow Him now, right now, in our duty in our state in life. We are called to take a stand for good, and against sin, because "Christ has set us free." Let us now profess our faith . . .
What is freedom? It is the freedom to do what is right. I put to you that it is also the freedom to do what is morally neutral, as well, since that is in keeping with man's dignity. It is not freedom to what is wrong. We all know there must be limits on our actions in society: we are not free to kill, steal, rape, betray, lie, etc. That kind of "freedom" is more properly called "license." That is not what we are all about, not what we are called to. But if we are not free to do what is right -- if we are forced to commit sin in some way -- say, by participating in an abortion, or having to prescribe contraceptives -- we are allowed to participate in civil disobedience, to nonviolently protest in some way.
We are called to follow Christ -- wholeheartedly, no-holds-barred, unconditionally. I really love the first reading in which when Elisha says (after being covered with Elijah's cloak): "Let me kiss my father and my mother, and then I will follow you," then Elijah says: "Go back again; for what have I done to you?" Isn't that so very human? It's as if he said, "What are you looking at? What is it? *I* didn't tell you to do anything." But, well, he did. It was an invitation, and a pressing one, but not as demanding as Christ's. But look at who Christ is: Elijah was just a prophet (a great prophet, but a prophet nonetheless); Christ is God Himself. The call is more insistent. We must follow Him now, right now, in our duty in our state in life. We are called to take a stand for good, and against sin, because "Christ has set us free." Let us now profess our faith . . .
Today July 1
Today is the feast day of Blessed Junipero Serra (1713-1784), an important feast for all those who, like me, love and admire the California Franciscan missions. Fray Junipero Serra founded the following 9 missions:
San Diego 1768
Monterey/Carmel 1770
San Antonio 1771
San Gabriel 1771
San Luis Obispo 1772
San Francisco 1776
San Juan Capistrano 1776
Santa Clara 1777
San Buenaventura ` 1782
Twelve others were founded after his death, one of which I attended as a child, La Purissima. I still have pleasant memories of the lovely murals, dark wooden beams and historical museum there near Lompoc. Lovely.
Junipero is one saint that even a liberal revisionist historian could love. Well before his time he championed the rights of the Native Americans . . . and put his money where his mouth was. He walked to Mexico City, even though he was painfully lame, to establish the "Regulations," the first bill of rights for the Indians and the missions. The friars became their legal guardians. Junipero was left behind with them by the military ship that brought him. The Spanish government was tying to establish North America as a Spanish colony to beat the Russians to it first. Junipero would not leave his people, though he risked his life. He almost died of hunger.
A character like this should NOT be controversial, but that doesn't give the US enough credit! His statue was denounced for being in the National Statue Garden in Washington (or somewhere else official). Also, his depiction on a stamp was condemned by some. Why? Well, because he was Catholic, for one (separation of Church and state, you know), and also because being Spanish of that age (he was Mallorcan, actually), he is painted with the same brush as the colonialists and because of his practice of keeping the natives in the mission after their baptisms, to keep them free of the immorality of their old haunts.
He was tireless: he baptized 6000 souls and confirmed 5000, most without help. There was a severe priest shortage in the New World, you know. I wonder what he would think of the current "law" that no priest can say more than 3 Masses in a given 24-hour period. I doubt Blessed Serra kept to that law. And he's a saint! The way I look at it, it's like telling a physician (another professional) that he may not do more than 3 surgeries, or give 3 treatments, in a 24-hour period! You wouldn't tell a judge he couldn't hear more than 3 one-hour cases in 24 hours, nor that a lawyer couldn't try them. Now, if they CHOSE not to, well, that's one thing. You don't legislate heroics, but you respect them if they want to "go the distance." But that's just my opinion; I could be wrong.
San Diego 1768
Monterey/Carmel 1770
San Antonio 1771
San Gabriel 1771
San Luis Obispo 1772
San Francisco 1776
San Juan Capistrano 1776
Santa Clara 1777
San Buenaventura ` 1782
Twelve others were founded after his death, one of which I attended as a child, La Purissima. I still have pleasant memories of the lovely murals, dark wooden beams and historical museum there near Lompoc. Lovely.
Junipero is one saint that even a liberal revisionist historian could love. Well before his time he championed the rights of the Native Americans . . . and put his money where his mouth was. He walked to Mexico City, even though he was painfully lame, to establish the "Regulations," the first bill of rights for the Indians and the missions. The friars became their legal guardians. Junipero was left behind with them by the military ship that brought him. The Spanish government was tying to establish North America as a Spanish colony to beat the Russians to it first. Junipero would not leave his people, though he risked his life. He almost died of hunger.
A character like this should NOT be controversial, but that doesn't give the US enough credit! His statue was denounced for being in the National Statue Garden in Washington (or somewhere else official). Also, his depiction on a stamp was condemned by some. Why? Well, because he was Catholic, for one (separation of Church and state, you know), and also because being Spanish of that age (he was Mallorcan, actually), he is painted with the same brush as the colonialists and because of his practice of keeping the natives in the mission after their baptisms, to keep them free of the immorality of their old haunts.
He was tireless: he baptized 6000 souls and confirmed 5000, most without help. There was a severe priest shortage in the New World, you know. I wonder what he would think of the current "law" that no priest can say more than 3 Masses in a given 24-hour period. I doubt Blessed Serra kept to that law. And he's a saint! The way I look at it, it's like telling a physician (another professional) that he may not do more than 3 surgeries, or give 3 treatments, in a 24-hour period! You wouldn't tell a judge he couldn't hear more than 3 one-hour cases in 24 hours, nor that a lawyer couldn't try them. Now, if they CHOSE not to, well, that's one thing. You don't legislate heroics, but you respect them if they want to "go the distance." But that's just my opinion; I could be wrong.
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