Sunday, November 9, 2008

ON VISITING CHURCHES

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily is, “On Visiting Churches!”

[I was going to entitle this homily: “For History Buffs, Look It Up!” Most of this homily or sermon will be history. And I like history, but it so easy to mix up facts and figures. It’s so easy to make mistakes, so it’s important to keep looking up stuff to make sure one is right. But let me stick with my title: “On Visiting Churches.”]

Today we celebrate something that might seem odd: The Dedication of the Lateran Basilica in Rome. We celebrate this feast on November 9 – because on this day in 324 – this first major cathedral church in Rome was dedicated in honor of Jesus our Savior. Later on the cathedral was also dedicated to St. John the Baptist and St. John the Evangelist.

We celebrate this feast on this Sunday because today is November 9th. I have had all this schooling, but I’m still not sure when and why some feasts take over for Sundays and some don’t. So I have to do some homework.

ON VISITING ROME


Father Pat Flynn and 60 plus folks from this parish are in Rome today, I think it’s today, on their trip to Italy.

Is it a trip or a pilgrimage? Pilgrimage connotes visiting holy places.

I’ll have to find out when they come back if they went to the cathedral of St. John Lateran.

I was in Rome once – and I made sure I visited St. John Lateran’s. Ever since I was a kid, we were told at Our Lady of Perpetual Help School and Church in Brooklyn that the church where the original picture of Our Mother of Perpetual Help is in the small church of St. Alphonsus on Via Merulana – between the two major churches of St. Mary Major and St. John Lateran.

That information helped, because when I came out of the airport in Rome, the first bus I saw had “Santa Maria Maggiore” on it. I took it because I knew it was close to the Redemptorist House in Rome where I was going to stay.

The next day I went to the church of St. John Lateran. It was big – but I wasn’t impressed. But I knew I was standing on history. It was too dark for me – and too boxy. Sorry.

But what hit me was history – a long history. Here was the place of the first major church of Christians in Rome. Here was the wooden altar that Peter was supposed to have said mass on when he was in Rome. When news that Constantine was fighting under the banner of Christ – Christians knew they finally made it. Up till then they were a minority – often persecuted. This cathedral was our coming out party. Constantine had acquired the land through marriage – so he gave it to the church. It was land owned by the Laterani family – and they had a long history going back for centuries as well.

It was to be the place of the popes for 1000 years plus. Besides the cathedral, it was the place where the pope’s house was – along with several other buildings. The cathedral has a long history – and many rebuildings: it was sacked by the Vandals; it was devastated in a major earthquake; it had two big fires; it went into big crumble when the popes – 7 French popes - had moved and then lived in Avignon in France for 68 years. Then when the papacy came back to Rome, they settled in what is now the Vatican, a place on higher ground with better drainage – and St. Peter’s became the place to visit.

Yet, St. John’s remains the cathedral church of Rome.

So when you visit Rome, you have to visit St. John Lateran’s as well as St. Peter’s and the Sistine Chapel and the Vatican Museum and St. Maria Maggiori and the small St. Alphonsus’ church when you can see the original picture of Our Lady of Perpetual Help which we Redemptorists have promoted since 1867.

TODAY’S READINGS
The three readings for today all have to do with holy places – holy buildings.

We just listened to the readings them. What thoughts and feelings do they touch?

The first reading for the Prophet Ezekiel 47 talks about this imaginary temple that has the wonderful sound and sight of running water.

The water flows out of the temple down to the Arabah River. Then Ezekiel says that there are fruit trees of every kind along the banks of the river. Each month the trees give fresh fruit.

Isn’t that a great image of what a temple or a church should provide?

Wouldn’t that be a delicious place to visit every Sabbath? Wouldn’t that be a place that would restore our energies – going to the temple and seeing all this delicious water and then walking outside and picking fresh fruit.

Delicious fruit is very restorative. My sister always says, “If you want to get men to eat fruit, you have to cut it up for them.” Women: is that true?

A cold glass of water – the water cooler down the corridor here at St. Mary’s – seeing the creeks and bay of Annapolis – swimming – sailing on the Bay – going to Ocean City – taking a shower or bath – seeing, tasting and experiencing water restores us.

To be human is to hunger and thirst for good food and good water.

Aren’t families restored by picnics? Visits to Ben and Jerry’s? Tail gate parties? Cook outs? Sunday dinner?

Restoration – rest – revival – renewal? Isn’t that the purpose of temples, church, mosque, synagogue? When we feel broken and need a break after a long week of work – and sometimes Saturdays, we need Sunday. Isn't that why we’re here today. Give me a break!

The second reading from Paul’s First Letter to the Church of Corinth has Paul saying the people are the building – the temple. This was written before we had buildings – when the church was in hiding – when the church met in homes – long before cathedrals and churches could be built.

Question: when people meet me - this temple called "me", do they experience rejoicing, rest, restoration, renewal? Do they experience the presence of Christ?

The Gospel from John has the great message that Jesus is the temple.

The great temple in Jerusalem was the center of Israel’s life and culture. Jews would make pilgrimages to it many times in their life – just as Moslems today want to make pilgrimage to Mecca and their holy places.

Well, Jesus sees the money changers and sheep and oxen being sold on temple ground and Jesus became angry. Filled with zeal he overturned the money changers tables and yelled out, “Take these out of here, and stop making my Father’s house a marketplace.”

Jesus then says that he is the temple – he is the center – he is the place to visit.

It took the church and it takes us a long time to grasp this deep theology.

BUILDINGS
Do we need buildings? Do we need holy places?

The history of the world of us human beings answer a loud, “Yes!” – but of course the key is we come here to experience God first. And as Christians we come to church to feast on the great food here: Jesus. We come here to be washed with the delicious water: Christ. We come here to hear we are the body of Christ – and then to go out from this holy place – and treat each other with sweet sacredness.

CONCLUSION
The title of my homily is, “On Visiting Churches.”

Up front I said, I find it a bit odd celebrating the feast of church. Do we just give history? What? What do you need this Sunday morning?

So my theme was the value of visiting churches. When you’re a tourist do you drop into churches? I notice folks who come to Annapolis visit St. Mary’s. What is their experience when they come through our doors? I notice that visitors who come here for weddings, baptisms and funerals, often say, “This is a beautiful church.” So churches do something to some people.

If you’re a history buff, read Robert Worden’s history of St. Mary’s Parish here in Annapolis. * I believe there are still copies for sale.

As one reads and digs into the history of this church or any church, interesting tidbits of information – as well as questions arise. For example in putting together this first draft homily for today, I kept noticing things that were very interesting. I read that in 1784 there were 15,800 Catholics in Maryland – 3,000 of them being African Americans. What’s their story? How did they get here? What churches did they go to? Start digging. Research is a great hobby.

If you haven’t been to Rome yet, and you get the chance and if the economy improves, visit St. John Lateran – and St. Peter’s, and St. Alphonsus, and St. Maria Maggiore, and the many interesting churches there.

If you want to keep the money in this country, if you go to Florida visit St. Augustine – the oldest European city in the United States. Nibble on Spanish Catholicism there. It goes back to Ponce de Leone who was searching for the fountain of youth in 1513 and so many snow birds doing the same since.

If you go to California, take in the history of the 21 Spanish Missions along “El Camino Real” – each mission a days walk from each other – 1769-1823 – and how those missions are part of the history of that state – how the buildings were left to ruin – how in 1863 Abraham Lincoln gave all the mission lands back to the Catholic Church – and those mission buildings were restored in the 20th century.

Or if you stay local, visit the basilica of the Assumption in Baltimore. It’s been restored big time. Take the guided tour. Or to save gas and time, go on line and drink in its history. It’s the key cathedral for this diocese – and some would say for the United States – but those in Washington D.C. who like the Immaculate Conception Cathedral might differ. Whatever. Enough. Amen.



* Robert L. Worden, Saint Mary's Church in Annapolis, Maryland, A Sesquicentiennial History

Friday, November 7, 2008

PRAYER FOR OUR DEAD


Lift up our dead
strong Son of God;
You are the God of the living
and not the God of the dead.
Come into our upper rooms
with words of “Peace”,
when we feel dead
because of our dead.

Remember their goodness,
their acts of kindness,
all the many ways they
have lifted up our life with their love.

Lift up our dead
strong Son of God;
You are the God of the living
and not the God of the dead.


Andrew Costello

Markings Prayer for November 1997)
ALL SAINTS

Lord,
I don’t know
any of your Saints personally,
but I do know mine:

- a lady in our church
who quietly and faithfully
has run the soup kitchen
all these years;

- a guy at work
who would give you
the shirt off his back;

- my mom and dad
who taught me how to love,
how to forgive
and how to pray;

- a friend who always listens
when things just aren’t going right,
and you can count on this:
that’s as far as it goes.

Oh yeah, there’s this old nun in our parish
who takes care of the school library in the morning,
visits some people in the nursing home in the afternoon,
and answers the rectory phone in the evening.
She just doesn’t want to retire.

Lord, I don’t know any of your Saints personally,
but I’m sure you know mine.

Andrew Costello
Markings Prayer 
for November 1995
NOVEMBER PRAYER

Lord, it’s November Month:
All Saints, All Souls, All People
called to be pilgrims gathering for Thanksgiving.

Lord, it’s November Month:
bright autumn leaves finally all falling down,
old age, crisp and cold, retired,
traveling across the country,
leaves swept with wind across the sidewalk,
across nursing home lawns, till finally we are leaves,
dead, resting snug and secure
as cemetery stones in November Month.

Lord, it’s November Month.
Aren’t we all pilgrims,
stopping this moment for prayer, with food - Eucharist,
at the family table, the family altar,
filled with Thanksgiving for it all:
the gift of family, the gift of place, the gift of time -
the journey from birth to death, one’s lifetime:
the budding leaves of spring,
the green years of our summer,
the splash of autumn life,
till death do we part and find our rest,
All Saints, All Sinners, All Souls,
All Pilgrims headed for a far country, Heaven,
the Promised Land, the place with many mansions
the place of the Great Banquet, the eternal Eucharist,
the eternal Thanksgiving dinner.


Andrew Costello
Markings Prayer for November 1990)
NOVEMBER DAYS


Someday we’ll arrive
at the November days of our life.
We’ll have our particular aches and pains,
walkers and canes.
We’ll have the struggles of our last days,
our hands like hanging on November leaves
shaking in the cold wind,
Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s.
And then we’ll finally move into
our December days,
to the day we’re buried in the earth.
But we shall all rise at the call of the Risen Christ,
“Lazarus, come forth!”
“Mary.”
“Thomas, take your finger 
and examine my hands. 
Stop your unbelief! Believe!
“Simon, son of John, do you love me?”
“Come to the banquet.”



Andrew Costello
Markings Prayer
 for November 2002)
ALL SOULS DAY

All Souls Day:
prayers sinking from our hearts
down deep into the graves
of our dead beneath our feet
or in the cemeteries in our hearts,
prayers for those we talked
at table with,
prayers for those we walked
these streets with,
prayers for all those
who have gone before us.
Amen. Come Lord Jesus!
Come Lord of the Living
and not of the dead,
because our creed is:
we believe down deep
you have risen from the grave. Alleluia.



Andrew Costello
Markings Prayer
for November 2000)

Sunday, November 2, 2008

*
GRAVEYARD
STORIES!


INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily is, “Graveyard Stories.”

Hey it’s close to Halloween – but my real reason for talking about graveyards is because today is All Souls Day – the day we remember our dead and pray for them.


Who are your dead? Where are your graveyards? What are your graveyard stories?


Talk to each other about your graveyard – your cemetery stories. Share the stories?

When you drive by a graveyard, does something happen to you that is different than going by a mall or McDonald’s?

When you drive by a graveyard where someone you loved and laughed and lived with died, what happens in the ground of your soul?

Get a ballpoint pen and paper – or a blank screen on your computer - and jot down the funerals you’ve been at – the cemeteries you went to afterwards. Jot down: what was the first death you experienced; what was the first cemetery you visited?

KAIROS RETREAT
I was on a Kairos Retreat with some of our high school seniors this past week. I was moved when one of the girls told about getting her grandma’s prayer book – after her grandma died. The girl described going through the prayer book and seeing all those death cards. As the girl talked I could sense it was a sacred moment for her – thinking about all her grandma’s friends who had gone before her. She had seen her grandma page through that prayer book – remembering her friends and family who had died – whom she loved and missed.

I couldn’t help but think, wouldn’t it be horrible if that prayer book was pitched. I guess that’s why people want stones – gravestones with their names and dates on them.

What do we do with the memorial cards we pick up in the back of the funeral parlor – just before or after we sign the book – because we want to say, “I am here for you at this tough moment.”?

Do we have a shoe box, a prayer book, a spot for our sacred stuff?

Who are your dead? Where are your graveyards? Whose names are on the stones? What are your graveyard stories?

CEMETERY SUNDAY

Have we lost the old traditions – like today being called, “Cemetery Day” or “Cemetery Sunday” – when families go to cemeteries to remember their dead?

PAUSE – CLOSE YOUR EYES – AND LOOK
Pause, close your eyes, and look at the gravestones in the slide show called our memory. Doing this can be a power point presentation of who has been who in our lives – how we got to where we are – where we have picked up our values, outlook – besides our DNA.

What have been your death experiences? Where are your gravestones? Whose names are on your stones?

Let me tell you some of mine – with the hope that it will get you to tell each other some of yours.

JIMMY HENNESSEY
The first death I remember was Jimmy Hennessey. He died when we were in grammar school. In those days some wake services took place at home. My only memory is being quiet – creeping forward – a line of boys going up the steps of the brownstone Hennessey House on 64 Street in Brooklyn - and quietly going into the house. There was Jimmy in a casket – in his black first communion suit. We stopped and looked. I hope we prayed. Then we silently walked out. I don’t remember the funeral mass or anything else – just the going into the house to see a dead body of a little boy.

His brother John was in my class and he came to my first mass and met my cousin Miggy again. They dated and married and I did that wedding and I did John’s funeral a few years ago. My cousin Miggy got remarried and I did that wedding as well. Life is a circle.

MY DAD’S FUNERAL
My dad died June 26, 1970. I was 29 years old. It was my first family death.

He was 68 – had emphysema and lung cancer – and I was there in Moses Maimomedes hospital that Sunday afternoon at 2 PM with my brother and two sisters and my mom – when my dad left us. Death.

I was to discover slowly, one of the greatest blessings of being a priest is the gift of being able to celebrate not just baptisms and family weddings, but a parent’s or a family funeral. I still have that sermon – one page – quite faded – hand written. It’s a visible reminder that I once preached very short homilies.

After the Mass came the procession and ceremony we all know very well: the slow dance down the church aisle with the casket to the hearse - the tears, the flowers, the holding onto mom arm in arm – the slow starting drive to the cemetery.

My dad is buried in St. John’s Cemetery in Brooklyn, N.Y. My mom heard about a great bargain. Talk about big time. She bought two spots in a mausoleum for them. It looked like an apartment house. It was a funny feeling going up this big elevator to the 3rd floor – with a casket – and then proceed to the spot in this big high ceilinged corridor. We stopped. We stood there in silence. We prayed. I remember being quick enough to switch the wording of the prayer in the book: “We consign the body of the deceased into the ground” to “We consign the body of the deceased into the wall.”

And that was the only funny moment that day.

MICHAEL

My next family funeral was my nephew Michael’s – age 15 – who died June 14, 1977. It was only 4 days after they found out he had cancer. He was such a strong kid and an athlete. He was just finishing his first year at Regis High School in New York City. I remember walking into the church and seeing what looked like 400 high school kids. What were they thinking? Was this their first death? They were a bit older than me when I went to my first funeral for Jimmy Hennessey. Are they still remembering that moment?


My sermon was three pages. It began. “It rained the day Michael died.”

The cemetery was in Staten Island. It was outdoors – a great grass lawn – filled with white tombstones and plastic flowers that were bright – and lots of dead flowers. To me the scene was much more powerful than the indoor mausoleum that my dad was buried in.

And to lose a 15 year old is much more horrible than a dad who had a full life – dying at 68. I’m older than my dad now – so that’s another thought for another day.

MY BROTHER BILLY
My brother Billy died on March 21, 1986 in Washington Hospital Center. Once more I was able to do that funeral. I’ve gone to his grave near DC at various times. He died of cancer – melanoma – at the age of 51. I miss him big time – but he told me before he died, “Thank God mom and dad gave us the gift of faith.”

It was a powerful funeral – about 70 cars – and once more I experienced the honor of being a priest – and being able to help my sister-in-law, Joanne, and their 7 daughters and the rest of the family and my brother’s friends deal with the death of a great character.

The sermon was 4 and a half pages long.

MY MOM
My mom was killed in a hit and run accident the following year on April 7, 1987. She was on her way to church. She was still working at the age of 83. It was a horribly difficult death and funeral. Our provincial was next to me at the funeral mass and whispered at the sign of peace, “I don’t know how you can do this.” I didn’t say anything but, “It’s my mom and I’m honored to do this.”

I don’t know how long that sermon was – but it was short.

After Mass and the drive, once more we were back at St. John’s cemetery mausoleum. This time the prayers were in an inside chapel – and then we went upstairs in the elevator. By now they had piped in music – all through the place. It was very nice – elevator or dentist office music – but not the stuff my mom or dad would ever listen to. Once more like in my dad’s casket, besides a rosary, someone put in a deck of cards. Like many couples, they prayed the rosary together, as well as played a hundred thousand games of cards together.

Once more I wished it was outside – with green grass and blue or grey skies – even rain. Looking at marble vault covers up near a ceiling – with names on them – doesn’t hit me like a gravestone in a graveyard does.

IRELAND
In 1996 I went to Ireland with my two sisters and my brother-in-law. It was a trip to go back together to the place where my mom and dad were from.

Looking back – and looking back is the best part of any trip for me – one of the moments that stands out – was walking with my Aunt Nora, my mom’s sister, who stayed in Ireland, down to the graveyard – right on Galway Bay. What a spot!

To get into the cemetery, there was a rusty metal turnstile. Interesting. It was to prevent cows from getting in – and you know what cows do. She warned us about what cows do. And surprise cows did get in there. My sister Peggy, a nun, didn’t heed the warning and ugh.

Aunt Nora pointed out the graves of our grandparents – only one of whom I met – an old lady who wore high tie black shoes and smoked a pipe – when she came for a visit to America when I was a kid.

This cemetery moment was a sacred moment – just like that girl on our high school retreat last week – who was handed her grandma’s prayer book. I was standing there with grand parents, great grand parents – and relatives from before that – all buried there. It was a sacred moment.

Praise God.


We were standing on holy ground - but good thing we didn’t heed the biblical call when standing on holy ground to take off one’s shoes – especially my sister Peggy.

CONCLUSION

The title of my homily is, “Graveyard Stories.”

What are your graveyard stories?

I just told you some of mine – 5 and a half pages worth – with the hope you too will tell each other your graveyard stories.

And make sure we tell each other our great graveyard story. When Jesus was buried they put him in a cave – a borrowed mausoleum – but on the third day – that stone was rolled back and Jesus rose from the dead – giving the hope and promise of resurrection to all of us. Alleluia.

* My mom, dad, and my sister Peggy (Sr. St. Monica, IHM-Scranton) and myself at the grave of one of my dad's sisters in Portland, Maine. Three of his sisters were Sisters of Mercy. [c. 1967]