A Humble Pope Is Teaching: Are We Listening?

Humility is a word that is being used a lot these days.  In the days preceding the papal conclave, if you live in Boston, you heard a lot about Cardinal Sean O'Malley and his humility.  In the twenty-four hours after the conclave, we have heard a lot about Pope Francis' humility.  It's kind of a difficult thing to figure out because if your humility all of a sudden gives you celebrity status and everyone is talking about how humble you are, it starts to feel to me like it is a little . . . well . . . not so humble.  So, for instance, whenever a newspaper columnist is trying to talk about Cardinal Sean's humility, they inevitably say something like, "Eschewing the ornate cardinatial attire, Cardinal Sean humbly wears a simple brown habit and sandals."  From this, the reader is apparently supposed to conclude that all of the cardinals who wear red must not be as humble.  But, and I think Cardinal Sean would be the first to agree, there are many priests who wear sandals who are filled with pride and many priests who wear shoes who are very humble. 

Similarly, the media is making a big deal out of the fact that Pope Francis went to his hotel this morning to pay his bill.  (And, I like that story too!)  They are all saying this shows how humble he is.  But, the very fact that it attracted so much media attention complicates things.  In other words, how can public acts of humility still be considered humble if they attract so much attention and accolades? 

I ask these questions not because I doubt their humility, but to understand how this all works.  And, I think it has something to do with the nature of public persons and the importance of symbols.  For instance, Jesus probably suffered many humiliations in silence in his life, but at some point, he washed the feet of the twelve apostles.  In a sense, Jesus publicly "showed off" his humility.  He did something publicly that symbolized his interior humility.  He did this in order to teach a lesson.  "What I have done, so must you do."  That quasi public act of humility was recorded in the Gospel of St. John and is repeated at the Holy Thursday Mass each year.  The liturgy considers it important for the people (and the priest) to see the priest publicly performing an act of humility.  It doesn't make the action less humble because it is performed publicly.  But, the public nature of the act is really intended to remind everyone of the interior necessity of imitating Christ in his humility.

Similarly, I'm not particularly interested in the pope paying his bill at the hotel or Cardinal Sean's choice of wardrobe.  I'm only interested in the lesson that those things intend to teach us about the Christian life.  Presumably, neither the Cardinal nor the Pope do those things so that everyone can talk about how humble they are!  But, they nonetheless do them.  As teachers, they need to teach not only in word, but also in deed.  And so, those public moments of humility are really intended as signs pointing to something beyond their own personal humility.  If the terminating point in these acts was for people to say, "Gee, isn't he humble," then that would really be a spiritual disaster!  Instead, the terminating point in these acts is the person of Christ and his Gospel.  These acts of humility are intended to bring people closer to the Gospel by removing any potential obstacles.

Those public acts of humility that are seen by all are really just small indicators of something that is far more profound and interior.  I've seen public acts of humility that simply reveal the beauty of what true humility is.  For instance, Pope Benedict XVI's resignation.  Yes, Pope Benedict wore fancy liturgical vestments and was the POPE!  One month ago, he decided to go and spend the rest of his life in quiet prayer for the sake of the Church.  That's humility!  Cardinal Sean's brown robe really doesn't mean much to me.  But, if you are ever at a gathering with Cardinal Sean, you can't help but notice that he often fades into the background.  He's not the center of attention and is happy to have it that way.  That's humility.

One of the things that I like about Pope Francis' election is that nobody was really talking about him before it all began.  I like that he was from Argentina and has spent his whole life there.  As little bits of background begin to come out about him, there is one story that I am particularly curious about.  Apparently, he was the provincial of the Jesuits for a period of time and, much to the dismay of many under his authority, he led the Jesuits in a manner faithful to the Church and didn't allow the community to go astray.  At the end of his faithful service as provincial, they banished him to a small high school to teach chemistry!  I'd like to know more about that experience in his life.  What was in his soul at that moment?  I imagine it was an opportunity to grow in true humility.  Fidelity to the Christ is its own reward.

Oftentimes, when people talk about Cardinal Sean's robes or Pope Francis cooking his own meals, they do so as a way of saying, "Cardinals, Popes, and priests should be more humble."  Fair enough. We should be.  But, so often they say this in a very prideful way.  Those who often talk about these things do so as if they were spiritual masters who are up to the task of telling everyone else how humble they should be.  On the contrary, Pope Francis, Cardinal Sean, and many other humble people don't go around telling others that they should start being more humble.  Instead, the Pope, the Cardinal, and others follow the path of the one who is truly humble, the one who took on the form of a slave, was born in the likeness of men, and who humbled himself to die on a cross. They teach others to be humble by just being humble.

When the Pope or the Cardinal performs some public act of humility, it is not so others will say, "Look how humble he is."  And, it is not so that hypocrites can go around pointing the finger at some perceived lack of humility present in others.  Instead, these public acts of humility--which arise from a profound interior humility--are a . . . humble . . . reminder to ALL OF US of Christ's command: "What I have done for you, so you must do." 

Humanity, You Either Have It or You Don't

This morning, as I was walking into Mass, I gave a quick wave to a policeman who was up the road a bit.  He held up his finger asking me to wait a minute and he hurried down and met me outside the church.  We shook hands and he asked, "Father, is it true that you're leaving?"  "Yeah, it is," I replied.  "Well," said he, "I'm really disappointed to hear that and I'm really going to miss you."  He's not a parishioner of mine, but over the years I've come to know and have a good relationship with the police in town.

That small interaction not only made my day, but it also provided something that can sometimes be lacking in ecclesial structures: humanity.  His taking the time to walk down the road a bit, shake my hand, and to exchange some recognition that the present situation is disappointing was the human thing to do.  What came naturally to this policeman is often lost in the bureaucracy of ecclesial life.  And, even when such things are present in bureaucracies, they can tend to be inhuman in the execution.  A guy hurrying up the street to seize an opportunity to express the human realities of a situation is more consoling than something that feels like it was decided at a conference table.

We should be cautious in the implementation of the new pastoral plan that the personal and the human are not lost in the graphs and in the statistics.  Pastoral planning is more about the priest and the cop standing on the side of the road than it is about the chart on the wall.  The pastoral plan will likely succeed or fail based upon how well it treats the humanity of those involved.  A handshake and a kind word today made me more committed and dedicated to that guy and his fellow police officers.  The interaction lasted all of two minutes, but it was human.  The mission of the Church, in part, is to show others how life in Christ makes us more fully human.  If the implementation of the pastoral plan is to be successful, it needs to be about the human person.  And such a full humanity is not something that can be plotted out in a ten point plan.  That type of humanity arises out of an encounter with Jesus Christ and it either permeates everything about our life or it doesn't.  The New Evangelization is about the new life--the new humanity--that is available in Christ.  People standing on the street--if they are to come into the Church--have to be shown that a greater humanity is available in the Church than what they can find elsewhere.  If they discover that our humanity is lacking, shallow, or hollow, they'll stick with the humanity they can find out on the street.

Hold On to the Promises

If you walked into my church a couple of Sundays ago, you would have heard the choir singing Palestrina and on most Sundays, you likely would hear some type of chant.  I know this might make some of my musician friends cringe and think I've gone nuts, but almost every day, I listen to Christian Rock, usually while shaving in the morning.

This morning a song came on that I had not heard before.  It came as a word of encouragement for me. I found a version of it here http://www.godtube.com/watch/?v=09B911NU.  For those who can't stand Christian Rock, don't bother listening.  But, I found it a consoling word.

The song is by a group called Sanctus Real.  The name of the song is, "Promises."  Even when all things have been unleashed against us, we can have confidence that we shall still conquer because nothing that is thrown at us can separate us from the love of God.  We will conquer and be victorious.  That's a promise worth holding onto. 

Faith Means Never Having to Pack Lunch

Sometimes, the scriptures leave certain things to our imagination.  For instance, although we know that the Holy Family fled to Egypt, the details of any particular hardships are left unspoken.  We kind of have to fill in the blanks.  But, there are other times in the scriptures where the details are provided, like in the Book of Exodus.  The plagues, for instance, are described in detail.  God speaks to Moses.  Moses goes and speaks to Pharaoh.  Pharaoh is obstinate.  Then a plague comes.  Then, God speaks to Moses . . . and so on.

Then, as we all know, the great Exodus occurs; a moment of true magnificence.  The power and the glory of God are made manifest on that day by the Red Sea.  The Hebrew people are out of their minds in their rejoicing.  God has saved them.  He is truly awesome.  Then, they get hungry and start complaining and grumbling.

I like that whole part about the people getting hungry and complaining.  "Yeah, okay so God just helped us defeat this powerful army and released us from slavery.  And he did it by parting a sea so that we could pass through it and then used that same sea to crush our oppressors.  But, what's for dinner?"  I like it because I relate to it.  I'd be one of the grumblers.  And, if I were Moses, I'd be thinking, "God, why did you do this to me?  Why make things so successful only to let the whole thing end now?  I mean really.  We are going to go down in history as a people who pulled off the greatest escape ever only to have forgotten to bring enough food with us to survive?" 

These days, as I look back at the course of my time in this assignment, I cannot help but feel a bit of elation at the tremendous deeds that God has wrought among us.  By that, I do not mean that I have been without my faults and failings.  Rather, I mean that even despite all of my faults and failings, God just continued to do tremendous things here.  I feel like everything we did somehow turned to gold.  But, in an instant, as I stand on the other side of the sea and look back, I wonder, "Okay, now what?"  It never occurred to me to pack lunch.  I was busy getting caught up in the awesome events that were unfolding to ever plan for the future.  I didn't take out an insurance policy before I left.  I didn't line up a job for the post-exodus.  Didn't make any phone calls to call in favors.  I didn't even think to bring some trail mix to hold me over for a while.  In the words of Homer Simpson, "D'oh."

In a couple of weeks, I will have the great privilege of hearing the Exodus account shortly before baptizing three people into the Faith at the Easter Vigil.  Exodus, of course, is the great foreshadowing of the gift of Baptism when a person passes through the waters of death and emerges as a new creation on the other side.  Baptism is an extraordinary event, to die and rise with Christ.  But, I find it particularly beautiful and instructive that the rubrics for the Easter Vigil allow the priest before he says, "Behold, the Lamb of God," to instruct the newly baptized (and newly received and confirmed) that their first communion--which they are about to receive--is the climax of initiation and the center of every Christian life. 

While Exodus was a magnificent manifestation of God's supreme power, in a sense, this extraordinary moment led to something far more profound and sublime.  The great Exodus set the Hebrew people free, but it set them free so that they could live in a greater intimacy with God.  And, this greater intimacy was manifested not so much in mighty deeds, but in the daily reception of the manna.  For forty years, they were daily fed by the hand of God.  This intimacy was why they were set free in the first place.

No matter the awesome deeds that God works in and through our life, they ultimately lead to the Eucharist, the daily bread that comes down from heaven.  The mighty works provide to us a gateway to faith, but faith is ultimately sustained and nourished by the sublime and spotless Victim who daily is offered sacramentally in the Mass.  There, Christ places upon our tongues the food that is himself.  We become one with him.

I am grateful for all of the mighty deeds that God has worked in our midst.  They have been powerful and splendid reminders that He is an awesome God and we are His people.  But, here on the other side of the sea, we have no need to fear or to wish for a return to where we once were.  The circumstances might be adverse, the land unwelcoming, the planning faulty, and the provisions low.  Our faith is not based on the acceptability of the circumstances or on our ingenuity.  Instead, our Faith is based on the one who feeds us no matter the circumstances. 

All of us--like those being baptized at Easter--are pilgrims making our way in Faith.  No matter whether we experience victories or seeming defeats, joys or sorrows, or praises or humiliations, the One who loves us will renew that love once again today and tomorrow in the Sacred Banquet wherein sublimely "Christ is received, the memory of the passion is renewed, the mind is filled with grace, and a pledge of future glory is given.  Amen."

A Friend in Heaven

Recently, Blessed John Henry Cardinal Newman is showing up in my life in various ways.  Today, on a blog that I occasionally follow, I found the following post.  Firstly, let me link the blog itself as I think that is the proper protocol in these matters.  But, I also provide here a portion of the post itself.  I hope that the author does not mind. http://communio.stblogs.org/2013/03/newman-happiness-the-ways-by-w.html

On this day in 1848 Newman wrote the following:

1. GOD has created all things for good; all things for their greatest good; everything for its own good. What is the good of one is not the good of another; what makes one man happy would make another unhappy. God has determined, unless I interfere with His plan, that I should reach that which will be my greatest happiness. He looks on me individually, He calls me by my name, He knows what I can do, what I can best be, what is my greatest happiness, and He means to give it me.

2. God knows what is my greatest happiness, but I do not. There is no rule about what is happy and good; what suits one would not suit another. And the ways by which perfection is reached vary very much; the medicines necessary for our souls are very different from each other. Thus God leads us by  strange ways; we know He wills our happiness, but we neither know what our happiness is, nor the way. We are blind; left to ourselves we should take the wrong way; we must leave it to Him.

3. Let us put ourselves into His hands, and not be startled though He leads us by a strange way, a mirabilis via, as the Church speaks. Let us be sure He will lead us right, that He will bring us to that which is, not indeed what we think best, nor what is best for another, but what is best for us.

Colloquy. O, my God, I will put myself without reserve into Thy hands. Wealth or woe, joy or sorrow, friends or bereavement, honour or humiliation, good report or ill report, comfort or discomfort, Thy presence or the hiding of Thy countenance, all is good if it comes from Thee. Thou art wisdom and Thou art love--what can I desire more? Thou hast led me in Thy counsel, and with glory hast Thou received me. What have I in heaven, and apart from Thee what want I upon earth? My flesh and my heart faileth: but God is the God of my heart, and my portion for ever.

Blessed John Henry Newman

Meditations on Christian Doctrine with A Visit to the Blessed Sacrament Before Meditation, 299

6 March 1848

The New Evangelization Requires That We Go Deep

One evening, while at dinner at the home of some parishioners, one of the seminarians from my parish recounted a humorous story.  The people were asking him how it is that he wound up in the seminary.  He gave a detailed account of various moments in his life.  And he added, "And then, of course, I started going to the early morning daily Mass at St. Mary's.  Fr. Barnes would get in the pulpit and say things like, 'If you think God is calling you to the priesthood, say 'Yes.'"  Then the seminarian adds dryly, "I would look around at the rest of the congregation and see that I was the only person there under 60 and I'd think, 'Gee, I wonder if he's talking to me?'"  Subtlety is not my strong suit.  He would have wound up in the seminary whether I was harassing him from the pulpit or not, but I hope my encouragement played some small role in his decision to enter the seminary.

This came to mind because today God gave me a little gift.  I was talking to a young man who out of the blue said to me, "I don't know if I will ever be a priest, but whenever you say at the end of Mass that perhaps God is calling some young man here today to the priesthood, I think maybe it could be me and I'm open to it.  It's not like, 'never in a million years.'"  This young man is a great, normal, fine person.  I don't know if he'll ever be a priest, but it does my heart good to know that young men like him are at least open to the possibility.

This young man's openness was a gift to me because it provided me with some needed assurance that fidelity to the New Evangelization is the way to go.  There's a safe way to run a parish.  It is to stay in shallow waters and trust in our own ingenuity.  Adherents to this method seem to become increasingly entrenched the more that the method fails.  The New Evangelization (in its true form), on the other hand, requires us to forgo the safety of the shallow waters and to risk everything on the Gospel and on the Holy Spirit.  The New Evangelization may prove costly for those who embrace it, but it will lead to a strengthening of the Church.  The lukewarm method may provide a comfortable existence to those who embrace it, but will most definitely continue to weaken the Church.  Today's conversation encouraged me to keep rowing out into the deep waters.

This weekend, a young man who was received into the Catholic Church a few years ago from this parish will be ordained a transitional deacon for the Dominican Order.  What attracted him to the Church and ultimately to the Dominicans and to the priesthood was not some vague, fuzzy "spiritual" feeling.  He loved Jesus crucified and risen from the dead and he loved the Sacraments.  Probably for a little while longer, the shallow water method of fishing will win the day in the life of much of the Church.  But, very soon and the ranks of priests will be dominated by those who are chomping at the bit to set out into the deep waters.  I know this to be true because, in large part, priestly vocations are almost exclusively arising from those places that have already begun the New Evangelization. 

The New Evangelization will require apostolic zeal and fortitude and may be very costly.  Not living the New Evangelization and playing it safe will and has exacted a far more serious cost.

Cardinal Newman and the Cross of Hidden Futures

Blessed John Henry Cardinal Newman

Leaving my assignment is a cross that I was fully ready to embrace, albeit with sorrow.  But, I based my readiness on the presumption that when I received the call that I was being transferred, I was going to be told where I was being transferred.  In that way, I could justify things to myself.  I could say, "Well, you are being asked to sacrifice something good in order to go and serve these new people."  But that is not how it occurred.  Instead, the greater share of the cross has been in having one thing taken away but without the consolation of knowing that it was for the specific good of another place.  I cannot, as I rehearsed for months(!) say, "Well, I am leaving here in order to go there."  Instead, all I have is, "I'm leaving here."  It is difficult in this moment to see how God's plan is being manifested. 

And, it would be too easy to make God's plan all neat and easy.  I think we sometimes pass off to the mysterious workings of God things that might be simply the results of living in a fallen world.  The things themselves might be far away from God's active will. It seems difficult to imagine that God wanted Joseph sold into slavery or for a man to be born blind or for a woman to commit adultery.  And yet, he permitted all of these things to occur in order that his glory might be made manifest.  In all of these examples, we see that the fallen world does not defeat God's plan.  The Christian has to distinguish between God's active will and his permissive will.  This means that we do not have to conclude that every suffering is directly and actively given to us from the hand of God.  Instead, faith teaches us that God may permit us to endure particular sufferings so that we place our trust more in Him and less in the people and things of this world.  Blindness, injustice, sin, and even death are not the definitive judgment on our life.  Faith teaches us that these sufferings are not the final word on our existence.

This is the hope that permeates the beatitudes.  The Christian can be poor, hungry and thirsty, sorrowful, merciful, meek, pure, a peacemaker, and persecuted and have total confidence that what he suffers in those things will be as nothing compared to the reward awaiting him.  Every Christian ultimately follows the Way of the Cross.  This Way sometimes involves--like the Stations we pray during Lent--injustices, humiliations, falls, profound acts of simple mercy, darkness, and even a sense of finality.  The Christian walks this Way, however, not as a trailblazer, but as a disciple.  No matter where the Christian disciple goes, he discovers that Christ is already there to meet him, even into the tomb. And while we walk this Way, Christians do so with a beautiful consolation that even the tomb is robbed of its sting. 

There are many people in the world whose future is hidden from them and who have little clarity concerning what is God's plan for them.  They are the unemployed, those awaiting the results of medical tests, the abandoned, and especially those who are suffering persecution and imprisonment for their Christian Faith. Be they in hospitals, home alone, or in prison cells, the temptation to despair must always be lurking about. There is little we can do for such people, but perhaps embracing and offering the cross of our own hidden futures is of some assistance to them.

Two weeks ago, a parishioner sent the following to me and I have found it to be consoling.  It is a helpful reminder that in the final analysis, we can only put our Faith in God alone and Faith is ultimately what it is all about.

"God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission. I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons.
He has not created me for naught. I shall do good; I shall do His work.
I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place,
while not intending it if I do but keep His commandments.
Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever I am, I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him, in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him. If I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends. He may throw me among strangers. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me. Still, He knows what He is about.” --Blessed John Henry Cardinal Newman