The title of my homily for this 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A) is, “Dealing With Death.”
In the old days, before air conditioning, in many
Catholic churches there was no sermon at Mass during the summer. People came for communion and to fulfill the
obligation. And sermons were not called homilies yet.
It’s my perception that Catholics of today come to Mass for
communion and a homily – not necessarily short – but definitely not long – and
they come to Mass much less out of obligation – or worry about mortal sin – but
to pray – prayers of asking and prayers of thanks – to be in the state and place of grace for an hour - to be fed – nourished –
challenged – given something to chew on – something to think about.
That’s my perception. That’s my understanding. That’s
what I’ve noticed.
The title of my homily is, “Dealing With Death.”
Now that’s a homily or sermon that we might not want
summer, spring, winter or fall – especially summer. November or February –
maybe.
TODAY’S GOSPEL
Today’s gospel triggered the topic and theme for me. It
was actually the first sentence that hit me. Here it is
again: “When Jesus heard of the death of John the Baptist, he withdrew in a
boat to a deserted place by himself.”
Question: How have we dealt with the deaths in our lives?
Question: Who has died in your life? Spouse? Mom? Dad? Grandma?
Grandpa? Brother? Sister? Child? Friend? Co-worker?
Question: What were the aftereffects – the after quakes –
the aftermath?
I thought this might be a good issue to spend a little
time on – for a sermon topic – even in the summer. Death: it happens to all of us. It happens at us?
Then there is our own death. At some point we better
think about that as well – and often other’s deaths trigger thoughts about our
own life – and death - as I’m assuming this homily will.
Stories trigger stories.
My hope is that my stories trigger your stories.
When they do, please stop listening to me and start listening to yourself
– about your stories – your life – about your deaths.
To me this idea of stories triggering stories – ideas triggering
ideas – images triggering another's imagination – this is at the heart of preaching.
JESUS WITHDREW
In today’s gospel from Matthew 14:13-21 – we hear a story about
Jesus – how he wanted some space and some time – to be alone – to go
figure – and sure enough he's interrupted. We know Jesus cried – and cried heavily at
the death of his friend Lazarus – which we hear about in the gospel of John –
Chapter 11. Seeing him crying at the
grave of Lazarus, people said, “See how he loved him.” [John 11:36]
So Jesus cried. So Jesus wanted to be alone – when
someone he knew died.
And then we find out in today’s story – no way – it
doesn’t happen. A crowd of people crowd in at him – and he has to feed them.
They are hungry and thirsty – just like we heard about in today’s first
reading.
Did Jesus stuff his feelings – hide his tears – and then
tend and turn to people?
WHAT DO WE DO?
How about us? What do we do when someone we loved has
died?
Obviously it all depends on who it is that died.
I think the first thing we do is become quiet. We've been shot or shocked or hit with a hurt. Then we watch.
We look around. We experiencr the mystery of life – ending – over with - finality. Death is lightning - thunder - a storm. Whether it’s a cat or dog – but especially if it’s a person - someone we know –
someone we love – we want to withdraw - to find a quiet place to lick our wounds.
My first death was Jimmy Hennessy – a kid in our grammar
school.He was maybe 9 years old. The wake was in the Hennessy house on 64th Street. I can still see - after all these years - all us kids walking up the steps into their house – a long line of
kids. There was Jimmy laid out in a casket. Dark blue pants. White shirt. Dark
blue tie. School uniform. I don’t remember anything but the silence on the
street, on the steps, in the house, in the living room, where Jimmy was laid
out. I don’t remember saying anything to his mom or dad or sister. Maybe I took a look in the eye of his brother. Johnny, who was
in our grammar school class. So all I remember was just the line – just the silence – just the sadness – just
the steps up into the house and back out of the house - and onto the sidewalk once again.
Was that why I always remember that first scene in the
1965 movie, Doctor Zhivago, when the little boy is at the burial of his mother?
There is a solemn procession to the grave, then the prayers, then the closing
of the casket, then lowering of the body into the ground – then the shovels and
the dirt.
My dad died in 1970. That was my next – but maybe first
profound death.
Then came a very tough death. It was my 15 year old nephew, Michael – who died suddenly
of cancer in 1977. I cried while driving home from a retreat I was giving in Pennyslvania – heading back home to
Brooklyn – to be with my sister and brother-in-law and their 3 other kids. It
was in June – around Father’s Day and Michael’s younger sister Maryna in a
quiet, one to one moment, said to me: “Uncle Andy? Do you ever think they’ll
ever have a Brother’s Day?”
In time I lost my brother and then my mother and then
last year my sister Peggy, who was a nun.
The one death I wonder about is my mom’s in 1987. She was killed
in a hit-and-run accident – while walking to church – and then she’d walk to
work. I have not cried yet – and I have often wondered why. I cried at other funerals
and deaths and experiences – and scenes in movies like The Natural and Doctor
Zhivago.
Last August my brother-in-law died and at the wake I was
sitting on a couch – in the funeral parlor - silently watching the whole scene
– when my sister Peggy rolled into the funeral parlor. She was in a
wheel-chair. That was new. Plus an oxygen tank and those clear plastic tubes
into her nose. Woo. This was all new. I went over to her and said, “What the
heck happened to you?”
"Ugh!" She was having big time breathing problems - while still working away as a nun up in Scranton, Pennsylvania – running a
tutoring service for kids.
Well, after the greetings – and time – and this and that
– Peggy and I are alone in this big gathering of family and friends. I’m back on the corner of that couch – she’s next to
me in her wheelchair.
For some reason - while we’re both facing our brother-in-law
Jerry’s body in the casket – I said to Peggy, “You know I still haven’t cried
over mom’s sudden death" – and that was back in 1987 – and she says to me,
putting her hand on my arm, “I haven’t either.”
Silence.
Then I said to Peggy, “We have to talk about this.”
I’m with her a month or so later and she’s worse – and we’re
alone – in her nun’s nursing home room and I’m ready to talk to her about this
and that and a few other things.
I finally got time to talk to her alone.
Then we get interrupted – and she has to take a lung
treatment – and we never got to talking about mom – and I wanted to hear her
take on that.
And then she died in November – and I did cry at that –
and ugh and ugh and ugh. And luckily I have my sister Mary and some good friends to talk to about all this.
AS PRIEST
As priest I’ve been with many people dying – with family
members around them in nursing homes, hospitals, and at home in hospice and
this and that. I’ve been to many funeral parlors. In spite of all kinds of deaths, I am still like all of us
here. We all have to deal with our own life and our own death – as well as that
of family members.
Sometimes death is a blessing – but most of the times – it’s
tough. It’s ugh. It’s a bummer. It’s life. Death – our's and other's – is a reality we all have to deal with.
CONCLUSION
The title of my homily is, “Dealing With Death.”
St. Alphonsus Liguori – whose feast day was last Friday –
wrote a whole book on Preparation for Death.
I prefer his other book, The Practice of the Love of
Jesus Christ in dealing with death – and dealing with life.
Paul says in today’s second reading, “Who can separate us
from the love of Christ?" Then Paul gives a
long list of things that can get in the way of our relationship with Christ:
anguish, distress, death, past things, future things, etc. etc. etc. Paul says
none of these things can “separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our
Lord.” [Cf. Romans 8:35, 37-39.]
Question: How to deal with death, how to deal with all the
mistakes and the missing and missed moments with each other – the time and love and
listening we didn’t give each other – how to deal with all that and a lot, lot
more?
Answer: to stand or sit here under this gigantic cross - here in this church – in this sanctuary –
and let Jesus be with us – and hear him say when he was dying
on the cross to the Good Thief, “Today you’ll be with me in paradise.” [Cf. Luke 23:43].
So my plans and my hope is to steal paradise on that
promise. My plan is to meet again with not just Jesus Christ, but Jimmy Hennessy,
my dad, my mom, my nephew, my brother, my sister, my brother-in-law and all
those people whose lives were part of my life - and have gone before me. Amen.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Painting on top: Funeral Procession by Ellis Wilson
QUIET! SILENCE!
SOMEONE IS DYING!
Poem for Today - August 3, 2014
DYING
is like a way with words, or a play on words, or a flow of choice words when silence is all that is really needed..
Or choose some Autumn month with loud winds crying,
Stormy with leaves and dark birds southward flying.
Choose Winter if you must, for that stark season
Waits, as you learned to wait,
For loveliness come late.
And all that you have longed for you may hold
Safely within the Winter’s barren cold.
But never return in Summer to what you love,
O heavy beauty that your eyes possess,
O deepest beauty past its perfectness,
Where is the mad bright wonder, the divine
Rapturous lightness that eludes all sense –
That is like flame – that is like wind – like wine –
Only more strange and sweet of influence?
Where are you? Where?
The smell of fruit hangs in the windless air.
(c) Bernice Kenyon
WHERE DID
THIS MAN
GET SUCH WISDOM…?
INTRODUCTION
The title of my homily is, “Where Did This Man Get Such
Wisdom…?
Sometimes when we are with someone, we say just what
people said of Jesus in his time, “Where did this man get such wisdom….?
Sometimes when we are with people, we think just what
people wondered about Jesus in his time, “Isn’t this the carpenter’s son? Isn’t
Mary known to be his mother and James, Joseph, Simon, and Judas his brothers?
Aren’t his sisters our neighbors?”
I think of a plumber named Leo from West Pittston Pa. –
an extremely sharp guy – also a farmer in Paulding, Ohio, named Francis –
filled with wisdom. I also met Tom Berry
– one of the brightest persons on the planet in the last century – and I was privileged
to hear him give a new creation account – which took him a weekend to present –
in several talks.
The title of my homily is the question in today’s gospel – when people experienced Jesus – and ended
up rejecting him: “Where Did This Man Get Such Wisdom…?”
ST. ALPHONSUS
Today, August 1st, is the feast of St.
Alphonsus d’Liguori.
He was a great preacher – and writer – and made the Hall
of Fame - as a Doctor of the
Church. As of 2012 there are 35 of them
in our history – finally 4 women in our times: Teresa of Avila and Therese of
Lisieux, St. Catherine of Siena and Hildegard of Bingen.
Where did he – where did they get their wisdom?
As you know there is a difference between information and
wisdom.
A person can know all the Capitals of all the countries
in our world and be stupid. A person can
win in Jeopardy and lose in life.
SCHOOL OF
WISDOM
For starters we learn from our parents and grandparents
and those around us as a baby and a child.
Alphonsus had a tough sea captain of a father – a naval
captain – and he ran a tough ship at sea and at home. Alphonsus’ mother was the
complete opposite – educated in a convent school for girls – and wow was she
surprised when she was in an arranged marriage with a rough and tumble vocal
husband.
How much did that mold Alphonsus? I don’t know. God could
be very strict to him – but he also discovered the tenderness of our God. Did he get both from his parents?
Where did we pick up our images and likenesses of God?
Alphonsus was very scrupulous and everything was a sin –
but then he met and worked with poor goat herders in the mountains above Naples
and the Amalfi coast – and somewhere in there – especially in hearing
confessions and hearing about their lives his moral theology became much more
moderate and balanced and freeing.
Somewhere along the line he discovered the feeling side
of religion – the feeling side of God. We see feelings in his music, his hymns,
his paintings, his Stations of the Cross, his Visits to the Blessed Sacrament.
He was a lawyer – and in a big land case – he either made
a mistake or there was a bribe – and he lost the case. It wiped him out. He fell apart. He was deeply
hurt and depressed. It was in the midst
of this disaster – that he saw the light to move towards another way of life:
becoming a priest.
He had hit bottom – and the only place to go – was up.
He was a hard worker as a lawyer – so he became a hard
worker as a priest. He took on too much – and became quite sick as a diocesan
priest.
Once more he hit bottom. Friends suggested taking a break
so he went to the Amalfi Coast – to recover. Good choice. It was
there he looked up into the mountains when he found out there were folks up
there – whom priests didn’t really care about – especially goat herders
He cared about them – and started the Redemptorists.
Pope Francis tells us to smell like sheep. Would goats fit the bill?
Finding lost sheep
- working with folks who were considered the goats of society – is the attitude
and ambiance Redemptorists have in mind.
We find this vision for life – and outlook – in the motto
he chose for the Redemptorists : Copiosa
apud eum Redemptio.
With him, with Christ, there is fullness of Redemption.
It’s from Psalm 130. That’s the De Profundis Psalm. From
out of the depths I cry to you, O God. Out the depths – when you’re in the pits
– when it seems like it’s only night – everyone hopefully – hopes for the dawn
– for the light – for help – for redemption.
So Alphonsus reached out and decided to start a community
of priests and brothers – to work for those in the pits – those on the
outskirts – the edge – the neglected.
We came to America from Austria, because there were a lot
of German people here in America – who needed
priests.
We came to Annapolis because there was nobody really
there – and it was a good place to set up a place to train priests for those
who needed us in German communities in the upper eastern part of the United
States.
OUR LIVES – HOW
DID WE GET TO WHERE WE GOT SO FAR?
I joined the Redemptorists to go to Brazil – never got
that deal.
I often wonder how that would have molded my life.
What would I have learned that I have not learned?
In the meanwhile I look at what I learned from not just
my education – but my mom and dad – family – experiences – mistakes – and so
many people that I have met in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, Washington
DC, Ohio, Maryland, etc. etc. etc.
I think key to wisdom is not the experiences, but what we
learn from our experiences.
I love the saying, “A
person can have 30 years’ experience or 1 years’ experience 30 times.
CONCLUSION
The title of my homily is, “Where Did This Man Get Such Wisdom…?
I gave some personal answers – as well as the example of
St. Alphonsus- on his feast day.
Let me close with a mnemonic.
If you want to get a Ph.D. in Wisdom from one’s experience,
use those 3 letters: “P H D.”
P stands for perception. We perceive something. We see something.
We spot something.
H stands for humility.
I love the old saying, “Teach thy tongue to say, ‘I do not know.’” I don’t.
We have no clue to really what is or what happened.
D stands for digging. Dig into what we have seen and see
what happened and the why’s – and calmly keep doing that – and in time, we’ll
have a Ph.D. in wisdom from our life experiences.
"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grass
Of the forest's ferny floor;
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:--
"Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
