ST.  JOHN VIANNEY

INTRODUCTION

Today is the feast of St. John Vianney.

John Vianney is the Patron Saint of at least  two areas of Church Life: he can be seen as the patron saint of parish priests and the patron saint of the sacrament of confession.

FIRST: THE PATRON SAINT OF PARISH PRIESTS

Priests who work in parishes are challenged down through the years by the example of John Vianney.

I know Pope John Paul II and on most priest retreats, priests are challenged by the example of Saint John Vianney.

I love the scene in the movie, The Natural, when Roy Hobbs says to Iris Gaines, “I coulda been better. I coulda broke every record in the book.”

And Iris [played by Glenn Close] asks, “And then?”

And Roy Hobbs, played by Robert Redford says, “And then? And then when I walked down the street people would've looked and they would've said there goes Roy Hobbs, the best there ever was in this game.”

I don’t know if priests feel that way about St. John Vianney – but I think he has the impact of what any great in any field does: he sets the bar high. He gives folks a goal on what it’s like to be the best.

Good examples – good models – grab us – and challenge us.

As I thought about this today, I don’t think most of us consciously try to give good example ourselves. I do think we consciously try not to give bad example – especially to the innocent.

Then it hit me: unconsciously – from experience, from reading, from sermons, from life, we do try to give good example. We  imitate – or know it’s important – to imitate the best. I assume that’s why the church talks about Christ – and talks about saints – to give us good examples on how to live life to the full and to our best.

For example, Saint John Vianney – like our pope Francis – looked to St. Francis of Assisi as a model.

That meant – the simple life. That meant being a priest not for the outfits – for the look – for the robes – for the recognition.

That meant to be a church person is to be a person who is concerned about others – especially the poor and the forgotten.

So John Vianney was concerned about the people of Ars. The story is told that he couldn’t find the place when he was sent there in 1829. It was in the middle of nowhere. It was only a tiny village – with a main street, a few houses and a small church with 20 rows of benches – which often were empty. The area was rural France and priests and church were not very significant in people’s lives – especially after the French Revolution. Church attendance was poor when he started. It was startling when he finished there in 1859. 

He visited his parishioners – he found the lost sheep – and brought them home.  That might be the significance of the statue in the town square today: John Vianney is standing there asking a shepherd boy the way to Ars. The shepherd boy told him where the town was and John Vianney  is reported to have said, “You have pointed out to me the road to my parish. I will one day point out to you the road to heaven.”

He got to Ars and it was never the same again.

Across the street from the church he helped start an orphanage – because of the many orphans in the area in need of a home.

I’ve read that he had a strident and annoying voice. However, his sermons were simple – and filled with substance. They were clear and easy to get. For example – he compared private prayer to a single piece of straw whereas public prayer is like a bundle of straw – which can become like a burning torch sending a fiery cry up to God.

SECOND:  PATRON SAINT OF CONFESSION

He had a gift as a confessor. Year after year his reputation as the priest to go to confession to increased. One year it is reported that 70,000 people came to Ars – from all over Europe - to go to confession to the Cure of Ars.

I love that name for a priest: a cure.

John Vianney certainly brought the cure of Christ – his forgiveness – his love – his curing powers – to people – who felt sick with sin and of sin.

Back to Roy Hobbs in The Natural again. During the movie we hear about his big mistake – and how much it impacted his whole life. Isn’t that the story of so many people? Then when Roy Hobbs finally confesses to Iris what happened – he starts on the road to recovery – and the movie has a happy ending.

Every priest knows the reputation of the Cure of Ars and his dedication to being there for people who want to confess their sins. Hopefully, when we priests get tired or when we complain that the confession line is too long or someone bothers us with the request, “Father can you hear my confession?” we’ll say, “Yes, gladly!”

I’ve always been impressed with the story of the Cure of Ars and confession – because confession is an important stress in ministry by Redemptorists. Saint Alphonsus has a whole book on being a good confessor. We’ve always heard about  one of our Redemptorist saints, St. Clement Hofbauer. Clement spent long hours in the confessional  - sitting there listening to people – especially in Vienna, Austria. I read somewhere he sat there so much that he had big time problems with hemorrhoids. I wonder if the Cure of Ars had the same problem. Interesting question.

CONCLUSION

So on this feast of St. John Vianney, the cure of Ars, please pray for priests that they be good shepherds and good confessors. Amen. 

HELLO! 

I AM HERE!

Poem for Today - August 4, 2014

I AM THE GREAT SUN

(From a Normandy Crucifix of 1632)

I am the great sun, but you do not see me,

I am your husband, but your turn away.
I am the captive, but you do not free me,

I am the captain you will not obey.

I am the truth, but you will not believe me,

I am the city where you will not stay,
I am your wife, your child, but you will leave me,

I am that God to whom you will not pray.

I am your counsel, but you do not hear me,

I am the lover whom you will betray.

I am the victor, but you do not cheer me,

I am the holy dove whom you will slay.

I am your life, but you will not name me,

Seal up your soul with tears, and never blame me.

© Charles Causley

DEALING  WITH  DEATH 

INTRODUCTION

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 64^th 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..

©  John Stigall

COMING HOME 

IN  AUGUST 

Poem for Today - August 2, 2014

RETURN

Never return in August to what you love;

Along the leaves will be rust

And over the hedges dust,

And in the air vague thunder and silence burning;

Choose some happier time for your returning.

Choose Spring, acrid and cool, unshaped, unmade;

See all that you love come awake,

Stream swell and buds break;

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 1^st, 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.

Etc. Etc. Etc.

PRAY  FOR  RAIN

Poem For Today - August 1, 2014

CALIFORNIA HILLS IN AUGUST

I can imagine someone who found

these fields unbearable, who climbed

the hillside in the heat, cursing the dust,

cracking the brittle weeds underfoot,

wishing a few more trees for shade.

An Easterner especially, who would scorn

the meagerness of summer, the dry

twisted shapes of black elm,

scrub oak, and chaparral, a landscape

August has already drained of green.

One who would hurry over the clinging

thistle, foxtail, golden poppy,

knowing everything was just a weed,

unable to conceive that these trees

and sparse brown bushes were alive.

And hate the bright stillness of the noon

without wind, without motion,

the only other living thing

a hawk, hungry for prey, suspended

in the blinding, sunlit blue.

And yet how gentle it seems to someone

raised in a landscape short of rain –

the skyline of a hill broken by no more

trees than one can count, the grass,

the empty sky, the wish for water.

© Dana Gioia