It was such a touching surprise last evening when, after Mass, a gentleman from Morrisonville introduced himself; he used to work at the mill with my grandfather...
Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time C
about
my grandparents—
my mother’s parents,
my mother’s parents,
who’ve
been gone for more than 25 years now.
Why?
Because
they were the first to bring me
to the
Franklin County Fair.
I
remember the hour-long trip
from Plattsburgh to Malone:
from Plattsburgh to Malone:
sitting
between them on top of the armrest
in the front seat.
in the front seat.
(No
doubt, while not yet illegal,
it was a bad idea even then…)
it was a bad idea even then…)
I
remember watching the horse races—
a
favorite pastime of my grandfather.
And
I remember sitting
in the grandstand for a concert;
in the grandstand for a concert;
it’s
taken me most of the week
to
recall who was performing: Boxcar Willie.
My
grandparents were big into outings,
whether
it was their near-nightly trips to Bingo,
or
seasonal trips to fairs or to visit out-of-town relatives.
But
what they visited more than anything were churches.
While
their home parish was St. Alexander’s in Morrisonville,
I
suspect they knew the Mass schedule
for
most every church in the North Country.
And
they particularly loved to visit shrines—big and small—
wherever
they could find them
across
northern New York, Vermont, and Québec.
Their
house was chock-full of statues and holy cards and prayer books
brought
back as sacred souvenirs;
I
remember examining them all very closely,
allowing
me to be on pilgrimage with them
even
if I couldn’t go on the trip.
but
because Monday will be the thirteenth anniversary
of
my ordination as a priest.
My
grandparents didn’t live to see that day,
(not
from a seat in the cathedral, at least),
but
they certainly had a significant part to play in my coming to it.
Along
with so many others in those formative years of my youth,
they
are responsible for passing on the faith I have today—
a
far richer inheritance than any worldly wealth
they
would never be able to leave me.
Not preachy or pushy, by
example much more than through words,
they
taught me that my duties to God—such as Sunday Mass—
were
not burdens to be checked off my to-do list;
they
were the things which would make sense of all the rest.
Because
going to church wasn’t made out to be a chore,
religion
seemed quite natural and normal—even fun—
and
the elements of our Catholic faith quickly captured my imagination.
But
above all, in my grandparents love for me,
I
experienced something of God’s love for me.
And
because I trusted them,
and
I could clearly see that they found God to be trustworthy,
I
learned the essence of what it means to believe.
The
eleventh chapter of the Letter to the Hebrews—
from
which this Sunday’s long second reading is taken—
is,
in essence, a roll call of heroes of faith.
Biblical
figures—like Abraham and Sarah, mentioned by name—
are
held up as examples of people who took God at his word,
even
when his lofty promises of good things to come
seemed
at odds with the weighty challenges of the here and now.
Faith—we’re told—is the substance of what is hoped for
and proof of things not seen.
Hebrews
presents us with this inspiring list
lest
we forget that we’re surrounded
by so great a cloud of
witnesses. (Heb 12:1)
Upon
whose shoulders does your faith stand?
Who
gets some of the credit—in ways either great or small—
for
the fact that you’re sitting here in this church today?
Whether
they’re living or deceased,
we
ought to make known to them our gratitude
for
such a surpassing gift.
And
what about our duty to do the same for others?
Being
Catholic isn’t simply about me and Jesus.
We’re
part of a vast network,
reaching
out across the continents today
and
reaching back across the centuries to the Saints of old.
I
wouldn’t be here at the altar,
and
you wouldn’t be here in the pews,
if
it weren’t for generations before us handing on this faith.
Are
we doing the same for generations to come?
The
Lord’s chosen people firmly believed
that
God would rescue them, though they knew not how.
And
Christ—we believe—will come again in glory,
though
we know not when.
Faith—you
see—is living in expectation of the unexpected.
The
Lord typically keeps his promises in rather surprising ways.
And
the most surprising of all
is
that he leaves so much up to us:
depending
on us to safeguard and pass on this heritage of faith.
(Hey—just
look at who he picks to be his priests…)
At
Baptism, God plants in our souls the capability of believing—
an
openness to trust in him and him alone.
But
only we can activate that gift of faith:
only
we can unleash its power to change our lives—and the world.
And
so we need to imitate the Master’s example,
who
waits at table on his faithful servants;
we
need to set out a bountiful and vibrant feast of faith
on
which our children and grandchildren,
our
coworkers and neighbors, can feed their souls.
for
a better homeland, a heavenly one.
And
while they did not live to see
their grandson’s ordination,
their grandson’s ordination,
I
can only hope they joyfully greeted it
from afar.
Praise
God for such heroes of faith!
Praise
God for all who have helped us to believe!
2 comments:
What a touching story! It sounds like you really had great times with your grandparents. I can see why you’re so fond of them. I’m sure that wherever they are, they are proud of what their grandson has become.
David Munson
Thanks, David!
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