Fourth Sunday of Easter B
What
do you get if you cross
an angry sheep with a grumpy cow?
An animal that’s in a b-a-a-a-d mooood.
Sorry!
Of course,
I wish the only things for which I had to apologize
were my lousy jokes.
Last Sunday, I was stopped by a gentleman after Mass.
He’s not Catholic, but his wife and kids are,
and for years now he’s regularly come to church with them.
an angry sheep with a grumpy cow?
An animal that’s in a b-a-a-a-d mooood.
Sorry!
Of course,
I wish the only things for which I had to apologize
were my lousy jokes.
Last Sunday, I was stopped by a gentleman after Mass.
He’s not Catholic, but his wife and kids are,
and for years now he’s regularly come to church with them.
He
said, “You know, Father, some Sundays,
as
we’re driving home and I’m thinking about your message,
I
get awfully frustrated.”
I
swallowed hard. What had I done
now?
He
went on to say that there are times when I’m preaching
when
he senses that I’m working up to a point—
about
to say something strong and challenging,
to
call people to task,
to speak
words that will provoke
because
they’re not “politically correct,”
words
people don’t really want to hear but need to hear—
and
then they don’t come.
“I
get frustrated,” he said,
“because
you didn’t take your message far enough,
because
it feels like you backed down.”
In
the past few months,
a
friend who reads my homilies online
has
made much the same point.
Guilty as charged.
Jesus
contrasts a good shepherd
with a hireling:
with a hireling:
one
risks everything—even life and limb—
for his sheep;
for his sheep;
the
other turns tail and runs.
I’m
afraid that there are times
when this shepherd
when this shepherd
acts
more like a hired man—
when
I should be saving you from wolves,
but
I instead find myself scared of my sheep.
Pardon
me for being a bit timid sometimes,
but
I receive phone calls and mail aplenty
from parishioners intent on reminding me
of all the ways I’ve screwed up.
from parishioners intent on reminding me
of all the ways I’ve screwed up.
There’ve
been times when there’s been a misunderstanding—
when
I overreacted,
when
you felt brushed off,
when
I didn’t follow through.
There’ve
been times when I taught something unpopular,
enforced a rule with which you disagree,
enforced a rule with which you disagree,
or
made a change you did not like,
and I've done so with more devotion to truth than to charity.
There’ve
been times when
I’ve
failed to practice what I’ve preached,
or when
I tried to make a joke, but it just wasn’t funny.
I
know I can’t please everybody all the time
(and
I’m learning that there are some people
I
simply can’t please at any time),
but
by-and-large I’m doing the very best I can.
And
yet—because I’m a man before I’m a priest—
I
have bad days and days when I’m tired,
days
when I’m selfish and days when I sin,
days
when I’ve hurt you, failed you, let you down.
And
for them all, I’m truly sorry.
But
I’m sorrier still for any time
when
I’ve let those experiences of being called to task
hold
me back from saying or doing
what
I know, deep down, to be the right thing.
I
worry, yes, about the ways in which, as your pastor,
I
must give an account to you;
of
far greater concern, however, is the account
which
I must one day give before almighty God.
St.
John Mary Vianney,
the
heavenly patron of parish priests
besides
whose image I stand in this pulpit today,
once
wisely advised:
“Do
not try to please everybody.
Try
to please God, the angels, and the saints—
these
are your public.”
He
also very frankly added elsewhere,
“If
you are afraid of other people’s opinion,
you
should have not become a Christian.”
These
are not easy times to be a faithful priest
because
these aren’t easy times to be a true Christian.
I
was mightily encouraged a few weeks back
when
I read an article about
11-year-old
Brett Haubrich of St. Louis.
Brett
has inoperable brain cancer,
and
is undergoing chemo and radiation.
The
Make-A-Wish Foundation offered Brett
the
chance to do just about anything he wanted…
go
to Disneyland, meet a celebrity…
…but
he didn’t really want anything like that.
Finally,
they asked him what he wanted to be when he grows up.
His
first choice? A priest.
And
so, on Holy Thursday,
Brett fulfilled his wish as a “priest for a day.”
Brett fulfilled his wish as a “priest for a day.”
They
dressed him up in a black cassock and Roman collar,
and
he served Mass at the cathedral for the archbishop—
right
alongside the seminarians—not once, but twice that day:
at
the Chrism Mass in the morning,
and
the Mass of the Lord’s Supper in the evening.
He shared
a luncheon for priests and deacons,
and
had dinner in the archbishop’s residence.
The
archbishop even washed his feet.
When
asked his favorite part of the day,
Brett
said, “The whole thing.
It
was really neat for them to let me do this stuff.
Just
a really cool experience.”
Now,
Brett didn’t have to preach on a hot-button subject.
He
didn’t have to tell somebody they couldn’t be a godparent.
And
he didn’t receive an anonymous note
accusing
him of ruining the whole parish.
But
he was exactly right:
it’s
the “whole thing” that makes the priesthood
such
an incredible vocation.
Sure,
there are moments
when
you get to do “neat” and “cool” stuff—
but
the beauty and power of this calling
are
far, far greater than that.
And,
yes, it’s hard sometimes—
really
hard sometimes—
yet
even with the “b-a-a-a-d moooods”
(mine
and everybody else’s),
it’s
a life I’d choose all over again.
Of course, it’s not about my choosing.
I
wasn’t hired; I was called.
If
I had been hired, there’d be a quitting time—
be
priest for a day or a decade,
when
it’s comfortable or convenient.
But
since a priest is called by God,
I
must keep laying down my life—
like
Christ, with Christ, for Christ—
and
resist every temptation to ever act sheepishly,
whether
fending off wolves or facing the flock.
Please
pray for your priests.
And
pray for Brett and his family.
Pray
for vocations to the priesthood—
and
actively encourage the young Catholic men you know
to
give it some serious thought and prayer.
And
let’s pray for courage, too, for shepherds and sheep alike,
that
we might all be true to the calling we have received from God.
2 comments:
Your parish is truly blessed to have you.
Maeana
You're very kind.
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