Forgiveness, Sacrifice and the model of our King

This past weekend, we celebrated the feast of Christ the King. At least for me, it can be a bit of a confusing feast to make sense of. I often focus on what Christ did for me as His sacrifice, or look at Him for His example of how to life, but what does it mean to call Him a King? Perhaps it has to do with the fact that as an American, I’ve never lived under a king, and when I hear the word I think of people from by-gone ages or a monarch who no longer has any real political power, such as the English monarchy. But really, it’s a great feast.

It came about in the 1920s when the pope at the time, Pius IX, instituted the feast. This was the time when some shadows were creeping across Europe. Russia had fallen to the Reds, with the message being the secularism was the answer. Even in Europe, you had this message taking hold as dictators would old their message to trump that of the Church. People needed to focus on a different kind of King and Kingdom – Jesus Christ. Sir Thomas More said it best: I die the kings good servant, but God’s first.

And so what this feast does is help us look at how Christ leads. Center for me was how he showed forgiveness to those who killed Him (all of us) and to the Good Thief, who is in this account from the Gospel we heard this Sunday (http://www.usccb.org/nab/112110.shtml). Christ also shows sacrifice, through what He does in the Passion but through how He leads His life. These are two things that are difficult though for us all if you think about it. No one likes sacrifice; just look at the recent credit meltdown or how people use others for their own gain, such as what happened with Communism and totalitarianism and still happens all over the world. Forgiveness is something we ask for and try to give, but that’s tough business. How do you move past something that hurts?

These are themes I tried to address in my homily. I focused on the story of Lord Longford, an English lord who reached out to a woman that everyone in the UK loathed. His story was made into a film that won an Emmy and other awards, and while it’s on my Netflix queue I haven’t yet gotten it, but will. I do think it shows in many ways what a life looks like that tries to serve Christ the King.

Here’s the text of my homily from this past weekend. I hope you have a safe holiday too this week. As one who prefers the warmth of summer, here’s one note of cheer: just one month until the days start to increase again.  Perhaps the archbishop would be open to me serving a parish in Florida or Southern California through March? Probably not, and I’d miss my family and friends too much, but winter really gets me down!

Oh well, God bless and have a safe and wonderful Thanksgiving and upcoming Advent and Christmas. The tree has been put up at the rectory with some lights thanks to some help from mom and dad, so while it’s cold outside at least the inside is warm and festive.

God bless! – Fr. Paul

******************************************************************************

Myra Hindley was one of the most notorious names in Britain in the 1960s, and for many years after that was a name that people thought about with disgust. It was over a two year period, from 1963 to 1965, that she and the man whom she was seeing took the lives of five children. When the two were apprehended, the press labeled her the most evil woman in Britain.

Obviously the public outcry over these crimes was intense, and were it not for the work of an English Lord, the name probably would have been forgotten, as the sentence of life had been handed down. However, her name would come up again and again over the years that followed, because a man by the name of Frank Pakenham, or Lord Longford, refused to see just a murderess, but a human being.

Longford, by all accounts, should have led the good life and not have much to worry about in the 1970s. He was born into a prosperous family, and while he had a difficult childhood in the shadow of an older brother and not receiving much affection from his mother, he went on to go to Oxford and graduate with honors. He went on to a career in politics, taking a seat in the House of Lords and working in government as a member of the Labor Party, including being a part of the cabinet from 1964 to 1968. In 1971 he was knighted. He also enjoyed a beautiful marriage to Elizabeth, who was apparently one of the most sought-after undergraduates at his college.

By the time the 1970s rolled around, he should have been entering retirement, but he refused to slow down. And while he could have probably gotten good publicity for doing social work and found safe projects that would have no controversy, that, apparently, just wasn’t his way. Instead, he became focused on something that no one really cared about: reforming the prison system and ministering to the convicted.

He first began to visit prisons in the 1930s, and well into late life he would go two to three times a week to visit people who had been abandoned. Tabloids called him an eccentric who got a kick out of contact with infamous killers, but more than likely it was his Catholic faith (to which he converted) that served as a reason for him doing this work. In the late 1980s, for instance, he was contacted by the solicitor for a young man who was convicted of a drug offense, who was dying in jail from Aids; his family wouldn’t even visit him. Longford was the only person to do this on multiple occasions, but he of course never got any headlines for that.

What did get him headlines, however, was his involvement with the notorious Hindley, which perplexed many people then and still does to this day, especially when one considers that when Hindley didn’t think he could secure her release, she really didn’t want much to do with him. He began visiting her, and part of what he worked for in prison reform was to turn the public’s attention away from just punishment, but to looking at the underlying causes of what led someone to commit a crime. In Hindley’s case, she suffered from a horrific childhood of abuse, where she learned violence and learned that violence was in some cases the only response. In one case, when a neighborhood 8-year old boy hurt her, her own father told her to go out and do the same to him. He got to know her story, and became gradually convinced that she had been rehabilitated and was no longer a threat to society. For this, he was labeled “Lord Wrongford” by the media, but he wouldn’t be bullied by the media. In fact, he fought back. He also met with the victims families, and felt the media was just fueling a hunger for revenge.

Hindley never was released. In fact, she was declared insane in 1985, and lived the rest of her years in a mental hospital, and while both her and Longford did meet, eventually she did not want to meet with him any longer. No one can say for certain whether or not she had been rehabilitated or was in fact, as some suggested, using Longford to secure her release; she died in 2002. And by in large, while there were some changes in the prison system, he was not successful in making the changes he had hoped for.

At a deeper level though, when I read his story, I have to wonder what is it that drove him on? The tabloids and British Press certainly were not his friends, and making friends with a convict certainly caused him troubles. On top of this, it’s at a point in his life where he could be enjoying retirement and no longer has to be involved in politics. But yet despite fierce opposition and even public ridicule, Longford remained firm in his convictions, because he believed in doing the right thing, even if it might not be the most popular message. Perhaps he was following the guidance of a monarch other than his queen, Elizabeth.

Today’s feast is, at least for me, has always been a little bit confusing. It ends the liturgical year, as a new one begins next week, but what do we mean when we speak of Christ’s kingship? I think what it comes down to is the kind of kingship that Christ shows us – one not of glory for oneself, but one that seeks glory for others through forgiveness, sacrifice and service. The key is to live each day trying to grow in living that kind of life, but that takes work, because the image of royalty tends to focus more on anything but those three things.

With sacrifice, it’s a word that’s not in vogue a whole lot. Take the economic messes of the past century. While we believe there should be equality for all, some have taken that to mean economic equality. So we had a credit meltdown where people and governments borrowed beyond their means to “keep up with the Joneses.” We also had good people justifying their sinful actions to use other people for their money because they told themselves they had a “right” to things. On a global scale, this thinking isn’t new. From the rise of Communism, which said the state has a right to what you produce, to the false lure of thinking that having possessions is what matters most, lost can be the notion of sacrifice – of working to obtain something.

To be sure, there are countless rags-to-riches stories of self-made millionaires, and while there’s nothing wrong with having possessions or saving up to get something we want, we also should strive to sacrifice to get something we hopefully all want – the heavenly kingdom. Pope Saint Leo the Great asked, “For what could be more royal than a soul which by subjecting itself to God becomes ruler of it’s own body?” This is what our King, Jesus did, when He lays down His life. He does not understand the plan of the Father, but still He trusts, and while He may have the power to walk away, He chooses to give us all redemption, and the ultimate sign of what love is all about.

The problem though is more and more, that message can be lost in a world that tells us to seek our own glory. There is much good in the world, but ultimate glory can’t be found here. (What good is it to gain the world and lose eternal life?) Kings and queens might make some ink when they get engaged, but they don’t hold much political power in many countries anymore. And those who do are, as we see each election cycle, voted in and popular one minute and unpopular the next. To stay in power, they often can’t speak the truth. I’ve yet to hear any politician using the word “sacrifice” as a way of erasing debts and improving the economy. That’s understandable; politicians want to stay in office. But thankfully, Jesus didn’t just tell us what we wanted to hear in his kingship – he both talked the talk and walked the walk, as we see in this Gospel.

Through the sacrifice of our King, the world was redeemed. And while we probably won’t be called to lay down our lives for our faith, over a lifetime we will be called to make sacrifices. What we need to get away from is thinking sacrifice is a very negative thing. One of my favorite  verses is from John’s Gospel, John 12:24: “…unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.” What I think of here is a willingness to die to self, to let something go for the greater good. Growing up, we might put away our allowance which is hard to see the money vanish into this building called a bank, but later on we can afford to buy a bike on our own. But on a larger level, we need to always be willing to sacrifice like Christ our King to make ourselves and one another better. Mother Teresa often said: “Love until it hurts,” meaning get away from the love of self-interest that looks inward, but embrace the love that looks outward. And so, if we are going to take this feast to heart, the question for us is a bit of the same one we should ask ourselves every Ash Wednesday: what am I going to sacrifice in my life for the greater good? As I shard a couple of weeks back, the greatest compliment I think any of us can get is to stand one day before God and see a loved one in heaven who says to us “I am here this day because you helped me to find the way here.” We do that through how we lead our lives. A child may save up their allowance not for a new bike but to get his mom something nice for her birthday; a teen may choose, instead of going out with their friends on Friday, to stay in with the family; a parent may choose to sacrifice of their time as well to be with their kids. At the time, it may seem like a difficult choice, but we make sacrifices to help make ourselves and others better. We also can do so much to set an example for others through sacrifice. Longford sacrificed pride and good press because he wanted to show people that forgiveness was possible and there could be goodness in even people who society might say have no redeeming quality, and for it he got no thanks save for a kind obituary in the Times of London. But over our lives, we can set such an example by helping people understand what matters most. I’m reminded every day of this, quite literally, when I look at a small church that sits on my bookshelf. It was made by my grandma Pat, but is just one of countless such things that she made by yarn for me and others in the family. Whenever I’d visit her, she’d often be spending time knitting, only to get up and offer you something to eat or drink, because that was just her way. She wanted our family to have something that brought them a little bit of joy, and that was her way of saying “I love you,” which she did in word and deed. The good news is you don’t have to know how to thread a needle to do that, but we can do that in so many ways through the testament of our lives. I look at that little church not just as a nice thing to go with the décor of my office, but as a symbol that is a reminder to me of my potential to live as she did by putting others first, and as a reminder that sacrifice may entail some short term difficulty, but can do so much good for ourselves and one another if we see something through.

One of the most difficult things to see through though if you think about can be forgiveness, which is the other trait we see shown by Christ the King. In Luke’s account of the Passion, in a very touching moment, He forgives instantly the good thief who has turned from his way of life. He also forgives the crowds who don’t even ask for forgiveness. Personally, I would find it very hard to forgive like that, and I think most people would be in the same boat. A while back, I shared the story of Vicar Julie Nicholson. She lost her daughter in the terrorist attack on the London underground in 2005. She had been serving as a vicar at an inner-city parish in London. She and her husband Greg were on a vacation in Wales, and found out that her daughter had been murdered when a terrorist bomb went off in a London subway. She took a leave from her ministry, and even decided to leave the priesthood, and stay involved in her church in a non-ordained way, leading an arts program. Why so drastic a step? In her words, “Its very difficult for me to stand behind an altar and celebrate the Eucharist, and lead people in words of peace and reconciliation and forgiveness when I feel very far from that myself.” Seeing what she did, her friend, also an Anglican priest, Ruth Scott, commented that she could not “help thinking that she is now more qualified to be a priest than she was before the tragedy” because the path she has chosen to take “challenges all Christians to reflect more deeply and sensitively about those words that we say every week – ‘forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.’ Its a good point, because forgiveness is really a process, and that’s something that Vicar Nicholson understands. Sometimes people feel pressured to forgive too quickly; other times something is so hurtful it is just buried far away, but by embracing the process of forgiveness, it can be liberating not just for the person who wronged us but for ourselves, too. Janis Spring, a psychologist, points out that a good first step is to acknowledge what we are feeling, which means confronting the anger and it has to be released. That means acknowledging that we were hurt and are angry, rather than bottling it up. Sometimes I even point this out in a wedding homily, pointing out there’s a difference between rage and resentment and using cruel words and actions towards legitimate disagreement where a couple has a healthy argument. One priest friend told me some of the healthiest couples he knows are those who argue every once in a while. So that first step is realizing what we are going through, and being honest with what we are feeling – and it may mean we stay at that step for a while, as Vicar Nicholson did. We gradually then move on to praying about the situation, letting God know about it (as if He doesn’t know anyway) in our prayer life, telling him our raw emotions and asking Him to help us take the steps toward healing and reconciliation. We also can turn to others for help through the situation by talking about a hurtful situation with a loved one. And, as we do this, we can move away from being a victim to being someone who understands. Ruth Scott, also an Episcopal priest, points out that as this happens, “if we are not to remain victims, we have to go eventually beyond condemnation to understanding what has happened, why it happened, how it has impacted us and what we can do to free ourselves to be someone whose identity is more than that of being the victim of a particular tragedy.” It’s an important process, and sometimes it can take many years. We shouldn’t feel bad about wanting justice – for even in confession when someone confesses stealing something, the priest, while not wanting them to reveal their conscience, may encourage them to try to pay back what was stolen in some way. We should demand justice. But we also need to work on trying to demand mercy. Like I said, I work for Jesus and try to be like Him, but were I Him in the cross, I really don’t think I could say “Father, forgive them.” In life people may treat us like Jesus was treated, and we will get hurt. It can be tempting to bury that hurt far away, or, even worse, to lie and say “all is right” when it’s really not alright, and we are still hurt and angry at an individual, and let that anger fester or use it as an ace up our sleeve for when we get into an argument with that person down the road. Forgiveness, much like sacrifice, can be painful, but, like sacrifice, it can also lead to liberation, and hopefully we never fear striving to embrace it, mindful that the process can take a long time.

Peter Stanford is an English writer who profiled Lord Longford, and looked at how he worked toward teaching people to forgive. He points out that “we cannot quite rise to the challenge of forgiveness. Rather than seek to understand why many criminals offend, we prefer to label them evil. Rather than accept their remorse, we prefer to suspect them of manipulating us into feeling sorry for them (as happened in Longford’s case).” The same is true with sacrifice – it’s hard to rise to that challenge when it’s so easy to go down the path of self-interest like so many kings have done throughout the ages, and easy to stay locked in bitterness or anger when we are wronged but more difficult to confront and try to gradually work past the raw emotions we are feeling.

People who have shown a remarkable ability to this are the Amish. Marie Roberts is the wife of Charles Carl Roberts, the man who took the lives of five children when he went into an Amish school in Pennsylvania before taking his own life. In the midst of this tragedy and their pain, the Amish community reached out to Marie, and publicly forgave her husband. In a statement, she thanked the Amish community for what they did. In her words, “Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world.” Through His kingship, and how He lived, Christ changed the world by laying down His life for us, but also through showing us how to live – in a way where the focus is on the other person and helping one another to become better through lives of love and service even when both are difficult. Saint Paul, in our second reading, states that Jesus is the “image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation.” Christ does not physically walk this earth anymore, and while He is there in the Eucharist and present in the world, many people choose not to see Him. And even among people who may say they are Christian, we find that as life goes on living as He taught us is tough. No one here is going to be a king or queen, but hopefully we all aspire to be part of the heavenly court. This side of heaven, it’s a fact that as people wronged Christ people will wrong us too – and anger and frustration are appropriate, as is justice. It’s also a fact that one can’t give what they don’t have, and love also needs to be received – including self-love, and taking time for vacations or enjoying the fruits of life by owning possessions. The difference though between the person who focuses on heaven and the person who just can’t see God is one is willing to move past anger and not let it become a cycle of hate; the other lets the past become crippling and refuses to let go. One may have money in the bank and stuff in the house, but makes time for loved ones and realizes there are more important things than getting a gold name plate on a corner office; the other just gradually sets out to be a modern-day Napoleon and crown themselves king or queen of their own little world. William Longford, having everything in life, decided he needed to bring God’s love to a prison cell to a person whom everyone in the world seemed to despise, and for it he got no praise during his lifetime, rumors spread about him in the tabloids, and even little thanks from the person who he was trying to help. But through his forgiveness and reaching out, he also did something that’s so important for anyone who claims to be a Christian to do: he showed that he served first not the Queen of England, but the King of Heaven, and did exactly what Christ did for the Good Thief through the testament of His life. Hopefully our lives are led trying to do the same thing for one another, mindful that the most incredible thing we can do for someone isn’t to make the perfect turkey or find the perfect gift, but help them to find the way to heaven.

 

Fortitude: how God helps us get through any storm

As we head into the end of the Liturgical Year, our readings will often have things tough to hear – stories of doom and gloom and of the end times. But they also have hope. Take this past Sunday: “…not a hair on your head will be destroyed.” Jesus promises to be with us. Fear though can sometimes get in the way, when we look at our lives, or a difficult situation. And sometimes, fear can be a good thing. It can warn us to stay away from a situation that is too dangerous, and can even be a help. But, other times, fears can be stumbling blocks to growth. There’s a reason our parents, for instance, teach us how to ride a bike. We might fear toppling over at first without training wheels, but they know riding a bike will give is enjoyment – and so help us to learn how to do it. As we age, most of us learn how to ride a bike, but sometimes fears get in the way that prevent us from reaching our other potentials: how do we battle a rough situation? How do we speak our minds to people who mock the faith or who go down a wrong path? How do we find a way out when storm waters seem so high? Small wonder we pray at each Mass, “Deliver us, o Lord from all evil, and protect us from all anxiety.” Here’s my homily for this past weekend. Here are the readings: http://www.usccb.org/nab/111410.shtml Have a blessed day. – Fr. Paul **********************************************************************************

Needless to say calling last weekend “hectic” would have been an understatement, but one bright spot was the window of 10 minutes on Sunday afternoon that saw the Vikings score two touchdowns and come from behind to finally get a win. And once again, for the 46^th time in his career, the architect was Brett Favre.

Favre is an incredible talent to watch on the gridiron, and will be an easy first-ballot vote into the Hall of Fame when he’s eligible. And while I tune in to watch and get excited, I still have to remind myself of the wisdom my dad gave me while growing up: whether they win or lose, you’re still going to have to go to school tomorrow. Of course he’s right; the Vikings really can’t do much for me other than get me excited or provide a nice three-hour diversion on a Sunday afternoon. Were I trying to get into football, I’m sure I could learn a thing or two from them, but at this point in my life I can safely say I’ll never be in the NFL.

However, I think there are a few things that Favre can teach me about life. But it’s not the Favre whose first name is Brett; rather it’s the Favre whose first name is Deanna.

I’ve never met Deanna Favre, but recently there was an article that ran in USA Today on her in the “faith and reason” section, where she talked about her faith life and how it has helped her deal with fear. On “Good Morning America” a couple of weeks back, in talking about the scandal that her husband got involved in concerning questionable text messages, she said that faith is what has sustained her, and on her refrigerator are verses from Isaiah 41:9-14, which in part state: “Fear not, I am with you; be not dismayed; I am your God. I will strengthen you, and help you, and uphold you with my right hand of justice.” And on more than one occasion, she’s had her shares of fears to confront.

In college, she was pregnant with her first child at the age of 20, in her second year of college, and was a single mom who had to support herself with various jobs. She and Brett have also had difficulties at different points in their marriage. At one point, he became addicted to painkillers, which she helped him overcome; in 1999, she helped him wake up to his drinking problem, and he entered rehab and reportedly hasn’t had a drink since. On top of this, she also recently had to battle breast cancer, getting treatment in 2005 and making a recovery. From a distance, it might seem fame and money might make life better; but indeed, just like everyone else, Deanna has had her share of very dark moments, and one of the things she has clung to that has gotten her through these moments has been her faith. She says that “I think we always see the way out. Our strength obviously comes from God. We see the better way. People who don’t have faith, I think they just get stuck; they don’t see a way out.” She goes on to say that, as a Christian and through a book she recently wrote, she “hopes we can lead those people maybe to Christ. They’ll realize there’s more to life. There’s a better life, and God has a purpose and a plan for them and (can) provide hope.”

Hope, though, can be hard to come by, and in difficult situations, fears can certainly be present. I know as the time loomed for the homily last week, my heart rate was running a little high, because I wanted to try to say the right things and comfort people. Even after I had written out my homily, my concern was some people might not pay attention, because I had mentioned her in a homily I once gave earlier, and on top of that people might have so many emotions they were going through they might just tune me out. But, despite some nerves, I was able to get through it and was overwhelmed with the support the congregation showed me. Last weekend went about as good as we could have hoped, in that I think people here are really coming together, and most importantly, we are providing one another with hope.

One of the things I pointed out though was that once something happens, one can’t wave a magic wand and make everything right in an instant. We need to move forward, and whether it’s this situation or something else, a stumbling block to that is fear and anxiety.  Small wonder we pray “deliver us from all anxiety” at each Mass, for it can always crop up and make us doubt, or look at our shortcomings. That’s where hope, love and fortitude come into play, to spur us on and remind us that we are loved and indeed strong because God is with us and given us the ability to see anything through that life might throw at us.

Jesus is onto this in the Gospel. At first glance, it sounds like doom and gloom are all that await us for the future: wars between nations; persecution for living out the faith and natural disasters. It certainly doesn’t sound like much of a future to me. And in fact, much of what Jesus speaks of does come to pass. The Temple, a massive building for it’s time, would be destroyed 40 years later. For a Jewish person living at the time, the loss of that was devastating – almost as if their entire world was coming to an end. Christians would go through a similar thing when Rome would fall to the Barbarians. The questions then were the same that we face today: how can we go forward whether it’s the situation we face as a parish or the situations life might throw at us? How do we deal with the fears, anxieties and uncertainties can come up in life that prevent us from moving forward?

I think the key is embracing fortitude, a virtue that God gives us. The catechism defines it as “the moral virtue that ensures firmness in difficulties and constancy in the pursuit of the good.” It’s what’s known as a human virtue – a virtue that we get by being born a human being. But just because everyone has it, doesn’t mean that fear vanishes. When Jesus was in the garden praying to the Father, I think part of Him was certainly fearful of what was ahead. Fear is natural, and it can be healthy – we should fear certain things so we don’t do foolish things that put ourselves in danger. Someone putting themselves in extreme danger isn’t an act of fortitude; it’s an act of foolishness. Where fortitude comes into play is that it serves as the shield against fear paralyzing us so that we can stand against anything that comes at us. But for that to happen, we have to grow in it.

One of the first ways to grow in it is through prayer. That’s something that Deanna Favre stressed in that article. I especially like her statement about how people of faith can see the way out of a situation, and one of the flashlights if you will is through growing in fortitude by picking up the phone and praying to God. One of the most comforting verses for me in Scripture is in this Gospel: “not a hair on your head will be destroyed. By your perseverance you will secure your lives.” Jesus is reminding His followers that there will be pain, but that we do not journey alone. He is right there at our side. Proof of this is the Cross. When you think of the Passion, indeed the worst does happen: He was overwhelmed by chaos; the sun was darkened, and the world collapsed – but yet, He stood upright for us. I think we see this quite starkly in the cross we have here at Saint Hubert’s over our altar. If you look at it, we see not a broken man, but our Lord as a king in glory. It’s a Cross of triumph. And its a sign to us that just as the Son was lifted up by the Father and glorified by Him, we too can share in Christ’s glory – for when we come to Him, He will help us stand upright in the face of whatever life may throw at us. And that’s why prayer is so important – because much like the Father sent the angel to comfort Jesus in the garden, prayer strengthens our relationship with Him by reminding us that the Passion wasn’t something that is just a historical event from 2000 years ago, but a living sign of how much we are loved.

Secondly, I also think we always need to keep our eyes fixed on the big picture through patience and perseverance. When you are in the midst of a challenging time though, that can be a pretty tall order. In our first reading, Malachi writes after the Jews had returned to Jerusalem from the Babylonian exile but it’s still a difficult time. One of the challenges for the people was seeing seemingly the wrong people prosper; people might be back in Jerusalem which is hopeful, but there’s still a whole lot of corruption and evil actions going on around them, which disheartens them. A few verses prior to where this reading picks up, Malachi records the concern of the people: “for indeed evildoers prosper, and even tempt God with impunity.” Small wonder they would not be tempted to throw up their hands and wonder “what’s the point of it all?” Enter Malachi with his message of hope that God’s love will ultimately prevail as will His justice. I think that is important to remember when we journey through life’s storms. But we also have to remember that if we are focused on the big picture, it doesn’t mean we passively sit around and wait for heaven, but that we are active in using fortitude to help people realize what matters most. Take the situation the parish is currently going through. As I shared last week, depending on the day (or minute), sometimes I’m sad, confused, or even frustrated and angry. These are all emotions that I battle, and I can’t ignore the past but need to know that the emotional part and sorting all that out, that’s going to take time. I’ve got a job to do, and I move forward, but whenever you go through something difficult, while one tries to forgive, the forgetting part isn’t so easy. I need to acknowledge to those who support me what I’m going through, but if I stay focused on the past or just the anger part of it, I’m not sure that will do much help in trying to move forward. I need to first acknowledge these emotions, but also focus is on how can I and others help our parish to heal; how can I help this parish to become even better than it is, and how can I really confront the issue and the emotions people are going through not by ignoring them but by being there for those in need. If our focus is on heaven, the goal of each day should be to help ourselves and one another become better people. We do that not by just being a cheerleader or with little well-intended but not all that helpful lines such as “it’ll all be better,” but by rolling up our sleeves and doing difficult things, such as not ignoring emotions, and by being active in one another’s lives so that when we see someone struggling or going down the wrong path, we are there to confront and also help them while at the same time being patient – knowing that change can take time, for ourselves and for one another. It may be a long time for some people to heal from what has happened, and I think that’s important to acknowledge, because that’s what happens when someone is hurt. But whether it’s our situation as a parish, or the situation of someone we care about whom we are trying to change, we not only have to be patient but we have to be persistent in being there for one another. Perhaps a loved one is making bad decisions, or we try to help someone see the truth that they are loved by God, and they just can’t see it or just can’t see how their decision may be hurting themselves and others. Jesus says it best: “by your perseverance you will secure your lives.” He’s encouraging us to see things through, whether it’s storms in our lives or in the lives of others. It can be tempting to throw in the towel, and think either things won’t get better or maybe someone won’t change. But through a bit of patience and perseverance, we can see the big picture of hope. And I have to tell you, that has been one of the most encouraging and hopeful things to me so far, that people really do that here at Saint Huberts. One of my biggest concerns going into last weekend was the potential anger that might be out there that would lead people to leave, or not want to talk about things. But instead, people really have come together and supported one another, because they know that’s simply what we have to do. So many people here know that our Church, both universally and locally within our parish, is a very special place that can bring them closer to God. We also must remember that we are God’s building too, the building built of living stones and whether it is this incident or the many others in life that come at us, each one of us can do so much to be an instrument of hope to one another.

And finally, my hope is that we also never forget how we journey forward together. One of the quick reminders that I’ve gotten over the past week is how much support that I have. I’ve gotten phone calls from other priests, and many e-mails and also kind notes from people in the parish, not to mention the many words of support. On top of that, the staff has really rallied together to support one another. This certainly isn’t the first storm in my life I’ve had to weather, and it won’t be the last. Sometimes when things become challenging, at least for me, a lot of “I” statements get used: I’ve got to figure this out, I’ve got to help people, I’ve got to make things right. But interestingly, so many people used “I” statements to me: what can I do for you, how can I pray for you, how can I show you support. As I said in my bulletin column, one thing the recent events have done for me was just remind me of the inherent goodness that is in people in how when things are rough, people really reach out to one another. What an remedy to fear and anxiety that is, and it’s reminded me of the importance of a difficult word for me to use: “help.” There’s a reason Jesus chose 12 apostles and not 1 and sent them out to work together. My hope is that no matter where you are at in our life or what it is you are going through, be it this situation, a difficult work situation, a bully at school, or just the turbulence of life, that you never fear reaching out and asking someone for assistance, and I thank you for reminding me to do the same thing.

Last week’s wasn’t the first sermon in which my heart was going fast and I was a bit nervous about what I would say, and it won’t be the last. Even after 3 years it can still be hard to get up here, trying to say something that applies to people’s lives, and in the parish trying to help people there will always be moments of doubt where I ask “did I do enough?” But then, I do a little soul-searching. I look at the Cross, and I know that my God stands by me. I look at the people who surround me on the staff and in the parish and in my family, and know they are there to help me. And I look at so many resilient people that I’ve come to know as a priest who have had to battle everything from parish difficulties, to tragedies in the family to tragedies in their lives, but they did so with such incredible bravery. If you ever saw “The Wizard of Oz,” you might recall the Cowardly Lion. He was afraid of everything, and so much wanted courage. Finally, when the all-powerful Oz is revealed as a man behind a curtain, he gets his wish. Oz pins a medal on his mane; but really it wasn’t the medal that gave him courage. He had it all along; it just took Oz reminding him. God doesn’t give us a medal, but at our birth gave us each the virtue of fortitude that helps us to conquer anything. Fortitude is the remedy that helps us see something through to the end, and run the race of life, and pick ourselves up when we fall and get back on the track rather than giving up. May we use this virtue to run it well, and never give up knowing that we can truly make it through anything life will throws at us. On Good Friday, the worst possible thing happened: Jesus died, and all was seemingly hopeless. But through that dark hour, the world was redeemed and Christ conquered the grave. May we turn to Him, to one another, and to this beautiful virtue to conquer all of our fears.

Moving forward together

This past weekend certainly wasn’t an easy one for anyone at the parish I serve, Saint Huberts. We received some tough news about the pastor and him moving on due to an unforeseen situation which was difficult to say the least. For me, I had mentally prepared for a light weekend – he would be doing a talk on stewardship, I’d have the morning Masses on Sunday but not have to preach, and could enjoy a parish German dinner and polka band here Saturday night, and have the Sunday afternoon and evening free for Vikings followed by a nap (though sometimes lately the nap overlaps the game depending upon how they are playing). Well, life has a funny way of changing things.

I found out Friday afternoon about what was going on, and initially I was (and still am) a bit in disbelief and confused. But I believe that problems have to be confronted, and wishing problems away doesn’t make them disappear, so I tried my best to make the most of a rough situation.

I told Mike that he would be in my prayers and had my support, and he told me how sorry he was to put this on me, and I really believe him. I think he is more concerned about how his sudden departure is affecting the parish, because he does try to put others first and is a guy with a big heart. I think he’ll get the help and care he needs and move on.

But moving on is of course something we have to do as a parish – so I tried to help the first steps to take place this weekend. I wrote out my homily and thoughts, and had no idea what to expect. I was worried about phone calls of anger, or e-mails of “I’m leaving the parish,” or even confused people not knowing what to expect. In the past 50 years, we’ve all as a universal Church seen tough times and at times seen people try to ignore a problem, and that never ends well. I was also, admittedly, a little fearful about some anger being directed at me as I would be the go-to guy for venting and frustration.

Despite that, I knew already my fears were trying to be calmed. I’d gotten numerous e-mails and calls from priests for support. One even got me on the horn and said the archbishop called him, told him to give me a call and offer his help for covering Masses. The time for Mass approached, and Fr. Peter Laird came out to give me support. He was my moral theology prof in seminary (hence I quote him from time to time in homilies, because he was a very good one at that, the kind who challenged you and made you use your mind) and now he’s vicar general, a fancy word basically meaning the right-hand man of the bishop who works for the bishop in his office as a diocese leader. He came and spoke after each Mass, and even offered to take Mass if I couldn’t get through it. But I knew I needed to celebrate each Mass, because I just had to say something. I really care about the people I serve, and they knew me – with all due respect to Fr. Laird, I think the people needed to hear something from me that addressed what was going on.

Like I said, my heart was racing but I somehow got through it and afterwards, have been overwhelmed by people’s kindness and support. Person after person told me they were in my corner, and were there to help me. No angry e-mails, no “I’m leaving the parish,” none of that – just support. And I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me, because that’s what people do at this parish – they help one another not just when you need someone to make a turkey at the Harvest Festival or to volunteer, but when you need someone to rely on emotionally for support to get through tough times. This weekend reminded me how lucky I am as a priest and of the inherent goodness that’s in people.

I thought I’d post the text of my homily, and also express in my blog my gratitude to the people who are helping me and helping one another through this rough time in the parish. From the staff I work with to the people I serve, this place is really special because we see and do things together, and for that I know we will make it through this.

Here’s the text of my homily, and to everyone for your prayers and support, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. Know you have mine as well.

God bless,

Fr. Paul

******************************************************************************

The first year of my priesthood, 2007, had gone pretty well as I approached the end of the year. I had gotten to know a number of the people in the parish, gotten to know the kids in the school, and felt really accepted. Preaching was still then, as it is now, a series of ups and downs, but I hadn’t really had any problems – things had gone very smoothly with the functioning of the parish, and with weddings and funerals. All in all, it was smooth sailing.

But things changed in November of that year. It was Thanksg iving weekend, and I was enjoying the day after Turkey Day at my parents house, awaiting a meal of left-overs and taking it easy. It was then I got a phone call. On the line was a parishioner whom I had never met. They explained to me that their daughter had been ill with cancer, and was now beginning to lose the battle, and asked if I could go to their home to visit and anoint her. I told them I would be on my way shortly, and got into my car not really knowing what to expect. I’d been called to the hospital before, but never for someone so young.

I made my way to their home, and walked in and found family and friends sitting on the couch. I looked to my right and saw the stairs to the basement, and after welcoming me Leslie’s mom went down to help her come up. I was sitting on the couch, when I looked up and saw a young woman being helped up the stairs with a backpack that contained an IV. She had lost most of her hair, and looked quite thin, and she looked at me and said hello in a quiet voice. Her eyes looked tired and worn out – like someone who had fought a fight, but knew that they were losing it. I can’t remember what I said to the family that day, other than to offer my prayers and support, and I anointed Leslie and we prayed together for her and the family. And I left, not knowing if I had helped as much as I had hoped I would.

I headed back home not knowing what to think, and thinking about the young woman I had just seen the rest of the day. She was someone who should have been in the prime of her life, enjoying an extended holiday weekend. These kinds of things aren’t supposed to happen until the end of our life – she had so many years ahead of her. And so that night in my prayer, I asked God for a miracle. She had in fact beaten the cancer from her body; but the treatments had battered her system so much that there was internal bleeding which the doctors could not stop. I begged God to intervene; to help that bleeding to stop so that she could recover. But that did not happen.

Monday morning, I got a phone call once again, and this time it was to inform me that Leslie had passed on Sunday. I met with the family, and got stories from her life and prepared to celebrate her funeral later that week.

When the day of the funeral came, the church was full. Most of her class from Orono High School was there, and you’d think it was a Sunday morning Mass. They had set up screens with pictures set to music that highlighted her life, and I was waiting in the narthex. An usher tried to make conversation with me, but I just had to excuse myself and go down some hallway. I began to tear up as emotions started flooding me – confusion, anger, grief and sadness. But I knew I had to keep it together. I was the one the people were looking to for a little guidance. I was the one who had to somehow make sense of a tragic situation, because I knew if I were in the pew I’d be looking for answers and trying to make sense of the tragic loss that I had been through.

I regained my composure, and the opening hymn began. I made my way down the aisle, and Mass proceeded well, and then it was my turn to speak. I had a homily prepared that I read word for word from the ambo, and as I said, this wasn’t my first funeral. Most funeral homilies go pretty smoothly; I talk about the resurrection and hope, and the person’s life, and try to comfort the family and friends. But this one was different. Even though I hadn’t journeyed with Leslie through her cancer battle, the emotions began to come at me strong and hard as I preached. I got to the last page of the homily, and began to lose it. And so I wrapped it up, and took some deep breaths on my way back to the chair, and was able to regain the composure to get through the rest of the Mass and the burial.

That day changed me. Like I said, I experienced all kinds of emotions that day, and in the days that followed I had more days like that – phone calls from the police to someone who has taken their own life; an infant who died; the anointing of another woman in her early 20s facing a cancer battle like Leslies. And days like that truly test your faith.

I’m not the first person to go through days like that. We all do. I look at Jesus, and two moments in my life that I reflect on quite a bit are the agony in the garden and the Passion. There was obviously the physical pain, but what strikes me is the emotional. In the garden, he begins to sweat blood, begging the Father to take the cup away from Him if it is the Fathers will, but also saying He will follow the will of the Father whatever it might be. And on the cross, He cries out the Psalm, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” expressing his anguish, confusion, but ultimate trust in the Father.  But ultimately, Jesus did trust in the Father and He was not abandoned by Him.

After He arose, He established the Church to be a visible sign of God in the world – and He told Peter that the gates of hell would never prevail against the Church. But at various times, they have certainly blown quite hard when you look at all we have been through as a Church, and as individuals. There is just no getting around the fact that for every Christian, more than one Good Friday may have to be lived through.

This weekend, we together journey through a Good Friday. Yesterday on my day off, I got a phone call from Fr. Mike explaining the situation, he apologized to me. I’ve known him since 2006, when I was assigned to Saint Hubert’s as a transitional deacon. I found it to be such a great experience of learning what to expect when I was ordained a priest, and the parish to be so great that I hoped that I would be allowed to go back the following summer. That didn’t happen, and my first assignment ended up being great at Holy Name, but when 2 years had passed there and I knew that I would likely be reassigned. With the new archbishop wanting us to get two terms as an associate, I essentially requested to be sent to Saint Huberts, as I knew the pastor and the people, and it seemed like the perfect fit. And my hopes were realized. I didn’t want to leave Holy Name, but at the same time I knew I was going to a great place.

I’ve been here a year and a half, and I will tell you this is still a great place. I’ve been welcomed, treated well by the people, and it is great serving this parish. Fr. Mike was great to work with, and in my time here he continued to give me support, mentorship and guidance. He was good to talk to about anything, and I know he cared about the parish. When I got the information about what had happened, like I said I told him to figure things out, and that he would be in my prayers. But I also, much like that day I got the call from Leslie’s parents, had all sorts of emotions: shock, confusion, sadness, and frustration and even some anger.

That’s something that I’ll continue to sort out. I wish I could get up here and wave a magic wand and make everything better – but just as every mom and dad realizes that they can’t protect their children from pain, we all know that actions have consequences. And I think there are two ways you can deal with something: you can ignore it, and pretend it isn’t there, or you can face it and try to move forward and heal. And my hope is that we do the latter.

Nothing I can say up here will change what has happened – all I can try to do is to speak from my heart. And my hope is that you listen to your hearts. That you grapple with whatever you might be going through. As I said before, one time a deacon at the seminary in a reflection shared how late one night he went into the reservation chapel where the tabernacle was and literally had it out with God – yelling at Jesus, why is this happening, why am I going through this. It was one of the most powerful homilies I ever heard, because it was real. God is a pretty big fellow – He can handle anger (just read through Job) but I don’t think He much cares for silence. It’s OK to question God. It’s OK to have doubts – even Jesus did. But Jesus knew that He was not abandoned by the Father, and my hope is that we know that as well. Take the time you need to talk about this with your families and friends. Take the time to bring it to prayer, and know that healing is a process that can take a long time.

But my hope too is that you know we heal together. As I left my parents house earlier this morning, my dad said something that really hit me: one person isn’t the Church. We are the Church. And how right he is. Priests are human – we have our shortcomings. And when one makes a mistake that people know about, it can damage the institution. I was in seminary during the crisis of cases that hit in 2001, and have certainly heard my share of jokes and snide comments over the years, though most people support the priesthood. But the thing that concerns me the most? It’s the silence. It’s the people who might be thinking something, but not say it. The people that might look at a priest as someone they could talk to about a struggle, or something they were battling, or look to for help but now not say anything because they wonder if that person can be trusted. Trust is something you have to earn. I’ve been at this just over 3 years, and I try my best, but I know some things are beyond my control. But what I hope you know is that, speaking as a priest and as a part of Saint Hubert’s, is that you can count on me and the staff. People here care about each other. If one person hurts, the entire parish is in one way hurting, and now we are all hurting very deeply. I’m not going to have all of the answers, I’m not going to be able to fix everything, but one thing I want you to know is that I am here for you, as are Deacons Jim and Tim and our entire staff. You have been nothing but welcoming to me as I’ve been here since last summer, and while I might struggle with remembering names sometime, I have to tell you being here is part of what makes priesthood such a blessing. I’m with people through good times and bad; I get to work with a great staff, and get to do the fun things like play kickball at recess, meet couples getting married, and get constant prayers and support from the people. And I hope you know that from the bottom of my heart, I am so thankful to you for what you have done for me – and I will try my best to help us heal as a community.

As we move forward, I’m sure there will be many questions of where do we go from here. I don’t have all of the answers yet. I will be meeting with staff and with officials from the Archdiocese to get further direction. One thing I can tell you is that Father Kevin Magner will be helping out. I got to know him when I was at Holy Name, as he was pastor of our neighboring parish Saint Anne’s. He’s in between assignments currently, and the archbishop asked him to help fill Masses. I will also say that I’ve gotten phone calls from the diocese of support, and many priest friends have also called asking me if there’s anything I need and expressing their support as well. The one thing that I can say to you with certainty is that we will get through this, because that’s what we do. When we hurt, we come together and help one another through the storm. We don’t ignore something, or hope it magically goes away – we face it, we deal with it, and we help one another heal.

My hope is that you keep yourselves and also Fr. Mike in your prayers, and that you know that the staff will be here to support you in any way we can, as will our Archdiocese. I don’t understand why there are such tragedies in the world such as cancer, or why sometimes people make decisions that hurt themselves and other people – and I will have more Good Fridays on my horizon as well as I grapple with the realities of pain, suffering and loss. Many days, I think of the prayer of the man whose son was dying in Mark 9:24: “Lord, I do believe, help my unbelief.” And He does in so many ways – be it in prayer, or in someone coming along like my mom or a random note from a parishioner that reminds me that people do care about me. There are a whole lot of things I won’t have figured out until I leave this earth, but one thing that I do is I trust. I trust that my Lord stands by me, and will never abandon me, no matter how strong the storms of life may blow. My hope is that you have that same trust as well – and know that our God and our Church that He gave us stand by us. Trusting in that, may we move forward on the journey, helping one another and never forgetting God’s love is the one constant that will never change, no matter how deep the darkness that we may have to go through may seem. God bless you, and know that you are in my heart and prayers every day. Good Friday was not the end of the story; Easter Sunday was, for we are a people of hope. And as we journey together through this, may that hope guide us and sustain us.