Worth the Same

   The Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity   A 

Readings

Many years ago,

a few fellows were gathered in a London coffee shop

watching wealthy theater-goers

get into their luxury cars and head home for the night.

They got to talking about equality.

“All men are born free and equal,” said an American in the group.

“That’s only talk,” said an English workingman.

“Some are born millionaires, others in the poorhouse.”

“That’s right,” said the man behind the bar,

“and some are born with good brains and good health,

while others simply aren’t.”

“We’ll only be equal when we’re all dead,” 
said an ever-optimistic Russian.

The shop owner turned to an elderly man

carrying a bundle of newspapers and asked,

“What do you think?”

“I think we’re all equal in the sight of God,” he answered.

Which is when he pulled a handful of pennies from his pocket.

“See these here pennies,” he said.

“Some are shiny and some are dull,

some are new and some are worn thin—

but they’re all worth exactly the same.

And they’re all stamped with the image of the king.”

Today the Church celebrates

the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity.

For some, their notion of the Blessed Trinity

is pretty basic and drawn from pictures on old holy cards:

a bearded old man, his handsome son seated to his right,

and a glowing white bird hovering between them.

On the other hand, speak to a theologian about the Holy Trinity,

and they’ll make your head spin with talk

of paternity and spiration, filiation and procession,

appropriation and perichoresis.

(And you thought adding “consubstantial” to the Creed was bad!)

From art to academics,

from the Church’s most stately and solemn liturgies
to the homey scene of a dad

leading his family in grace before a meal—

it’s only right that we put such emphasis

on the God who has revealed himself

as perfectly One and distinctly Three,

doing nearly everything “in the name of the Father

and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

But for all the attention we properly owe to God,

what is just as remarkable—maybe even more so—

is all the attention God gives to us.

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,

so that everyone who believes in him

might not perish but might have eternal life.

We have value—untold, immeasurable worth—

because the King of heaven and earth

has imprinted his own image on each one of us.

Since 1334, the feast of the Most Holy Trinity

has been observed throughout the Roman Catholic Church

on the Sunday after Pentecost

(although, in many places, it was already being celebrated

for centuries before that.)

But while that’s the case here in the West,

much of Eastern Christianity

reserves this Sunday following Pentecost

for the feast of All Saints.

Putting these two observances side-by-side

brings something important to light:

while half of the Church rejoices

in the mystery of the all-holy God,

the other half rejoices in the mystery
that God calls us all to be holy—

calls us all to be saints.

Holiness is about polishing the penny that is the human soul—

about uncovering its immense worth

Now, that’s not to say it’s about personal achievement—

what we can accomplish ourselves.

Being God-like, being holy, being a saint,

is beyond our ability and beyond our strength.

Holiness is a gift: it’s grace;

it’s a matter of divine mercy much more than human merit.

That the three Persons of the Holy Trinity

long for us all to be saints

is about allowing the great King’s image to shine through.

Do I know God well enough to be sure

that others can come to know him through me?

For I must know God to love him,

and I must know God to make him known.

As today we celebrate our faith

in the mystery of the Triune God,

resolve anew to give the Lord

the love and attention he deserves,

aware of all the tender love and attention

God is always lavishing on you.

  

Fluffy Heretics

A potential strategy for frustrated preachers tomorrow...

  

  

Joy, Peace, & Unity

As far as I'm concerned, there were two "miracles" associated with last Sunday's pilgrimage to St. Joseph's Oratory: (1) we were moving nearly 300 people around a foreign city, and managed to stay right on schedule the whole day through; and (2) we drastically changed the Mass schedule here to accommodate the pilgrimage, and not a single person has complained!

   Pentecost   A 

Readings

Fr. Tom was greeting folks after Mass

when a woman came up to him and said,

 “Father, that was a good homily!”

“Why, thank you,” he replied,

“but I have to give the credit to the Holy Spirit.”

“Now, Father,” she said, “it wasn’t that good…”

Abby with me after Mass

All week long,

parishioners have been coming up to me
and saying, “Father, thank you! 
That was such a wonderful pilgrimage last Sunday!”

I want to make sure to give credit where credit is due:

it was Fr. Tom and his committee that did all the work.

We’re certainly grateful for their careful preparations!

I also want to thank all of you who came to take part.

From what I could see, nearly 300 people where there

for the Mass in the basilica at St. Joseph’s Oratory.

That means about one of every four people

who come to Mass here in the Malone Catholic Parishes

made the trek to Montréal a week ago.

Pretty impressive!

As my four-year-old niece, Abigail,

said to my sister-in-law at the end of the Mass,

“That was amazing!”

She was right.

But even more than Fr. Tom or hundreds of pilgrim parishioners,

there is someone else whose presence and work last Sunday

needs to be acknowledged—and that is the Holy Spirit.

One of you took a video

of the final procession at the pilgrimage Mass,

and a strange ball of white light can be seen

hovering over the servers and us clergy

as we make our way from the sanctuary to the sacristy.

It’s kind of a neat thing to see…

…but there’s even clearer evidence than that

that the Holy Spirit was with in a very special way.

The first sign was joy.

“I’ve never seen so many happy people!”

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that this week.

Our group was marked by smiles and laughter—

and not just when returning with full plates 
from the evening buffet.

Pilgrimage always involves hardship,

and this one was no exception.

It was a long trip on the buses,

and the Oratory is built into a mountain;

even with escalators and elevators,

it’s a challenge to get around.

And yet there was so much palpable joy—

and I’ve been seeing it on people’s faces ever since.

It was that way on Pentecost, too.

As the on-fire Apostles went out to the gathered crowds, 

their joyfulness was noteworthy.

In fact, read just a couple more lines into the Acts of the Apostles,

and you’ll hear some folks scoffing, “They’ve had too much wine!”
No doubt, the joy seen among those first believers

attracted people to Christ even more so

than the wondrous way they spoke in many tongues.

As a French writer once put it,

“Joy is the most infallible sign of the presence of God.”  (L. Bloy)

God the Holy Spirit was clearly with us.

The steps are a little too steep for you to get a good sense of the size of our group

The second sign of the Spirit’s presence was peace.

A parishioner who was making her first visit to the Oratory

“felt a sense of peace that was very overpowering and complete.”

Others noted much the same thing,

almost from the moment we arrived on the property.

We live in turbulent times.

Our lives are marked my constant activity,

and much agitation and anxiety.

We long for peace of mind, peace of heart,

but we assume it must work its way in from the outside:

that we must get ourselves free—even if only for a moment—

from the struggles and sufferings,

duties and distractions that surround us.

But the only real peace—

the one pilgrims experienced last Sunday—

is an interior one, and it’s a gift from above.

A wise priest once wrote,

“The devil does his utmost to banish peace from one’s heart,

because he knows that God abides in peace

and it is in peace that he accomplishes great things.”  (L. Scrupoli)

On the evening of his Resurrection,

Jesus appears saying, “Peace be with you. 

Receive the Holy Spirit.”

That Spirit of peace was with us.

The third sign of the Spirit’s presence was unity.

As a priest, I hear people speak

about joy and peace often enough,

but generally not about unity…except this past week.

Parishioners have noted how good it was

to see members of all four of our parishes
joined together as one in that massive church.

I must say: from the altar, it was a rather beautiful sight!

People met and spoke with fellow Catholics from our community

whom they’d never met or spoken with before.

As someone else put it,

“I think a lot of walls came tumbling down on Sunday.”

Historically, the people who founded our parishes

came from different backgrounds, spoke different languages,

and had different social standing.

I think Sunday helped to make it plain

that there’s much more which unites us than divides.

As St. Paul wrote,

“In one Spirit we were all baptized into one body”—

that is, the Body of Christ.

That same Spirit of unity was with us.

 

Yes, I took this photo from the Presider's Chair at the end of Mass...but how could I resist that view?

   
Joy.  Peace.  Unity.

They were particular graces on our day of pilgrimage.

But they don’t have to be limited to any single day!

I pray that what we experienced

when going together to the tomb of St. André Bessette

will be hallmarks of the new parish that is to bear his name.

Archbishop Oscar Romero once noted,

“It will always be Pentecost in the Church

provided the Church always lets the beauty of the Holy Spirit

shine forth from her countenance.…

The Church will be fair to see,

perennially young, attractive in every age,

as long as she is faithful to the Spirit that floods her

and she reflects that Spirit through her communities,

through her pastors, through her very life."

This Pentecost Sunday, let us pray with great fervor

that the Holy Spirit will come upon us anew

and remain with us always—

that St. André’s Parish will be a place

marked by joy, peace, and unity.

  

Halfway

So, after both April's and May's camping (mis-)adventures, I bought myself a tent...but I haven't needed it just yet.

Another month, another camping trip, another "rematch."  On Wednesday, Paul (my March camping companion) and I set out for Stephens Pond, in the Blue Ridge Wilderness Area outside of Blue Mountain Lake.  It's along the Northville-Placid Trail, so I'd been through here last September.  In fact, Lawrence and I had planned to stay in this very same lean to, but found it already occupied...which contributed to what turned out to be an almost 17 mile day.  I was taking a chance I'd find it empty this time.   And I did.

We had a lovely 3.7 mile hike in to Stephens Pond.  It's definitely still spring in the woods, with lots of bunchberry flowers and the occasional lady's slipper along the path.

We arrived about 6:30pm and happily discovered that the lean to is in good shape and we'd have the place all to ourselves.

The lean to was moved up from the edge of the pond some years ago, but it was well worth the short trip down to the water to take in the views.

The evening was accompanied by a mighty chorus of spring peepers (with a little help from some owls), the gorgeous twinkling of stars beyond number, and a roaring fire which Paul rather gleefully tended.

Remarkably, there really weren't that many bugs.  (Maybe all those peepers had something to do with that.)

Just as surely as evening came, morning followed.

(True confession: I crawled right back into my sleeping bag for another hour and a half after getting up to take these sunrise shots.)

We were in no great hurry to return to civilization, so we read for awhile down by the water's edge.  Paul enjoyed a second cup of coffee, and I a second cup of tea next to our (much smaller) rekindled fire.

Stephens Pond treated me much better the second time around, and we left early Thursday afternoon a couple of very happy campers.

Six months.  Six nights out.  Six more to go.

Amazing

We're back!  At the end of today's pilgrimage Mass in the basilica at St. Joseph's Oratory in Montréal (the photo above is the view from where I sat as celebrant), my 4-year-old niece turned to her mother and said, "That was amazing!"  I think she captured the day pretty well.

On the Move

Here in the province of New York, the Ascension of the Lord is still celebrated on Thursday...but today, I'm preaching elsewhere, where the Ascension is observed on Sunday: at St. Joseph's Oratory in Montréal, as we're making a parish pilgrimage to visit the tomb of St. André Bessette, for whom the new parish in Malone is to be named.  We have Mass at 2:00pm in the basilica church.  So enjoy this little case of déjà vu, and please pray for the 250-300 of us who are "on the move" today.

   Ascension of the Lord   A 

Readings

My parents still live

in the very same house as the day I was born nearly 40 years ago.

Much of my family still attends Mass

in the very same church where I was baptized.

And yet despite such stability—increasingly rare, these days—

from an early age I got a clear sense

that the Catholic faith, while essentially unchanging,

is something intended to constantly be on the move.

I learned that lesson by going on pilgrimage.

I have fond memories from childhood summers

of crossing Lake Champlain and going to Mass with my family

at St. Anne’s Shrine in Isle LaMotte, Vermont.

I remember looking intently

through photos, postcards, and souvenir books

which my grandparents would bring back from their visits

to religious sites in what seemed to me then

the far-off and exotic lands of Canada.

And I gratefully recall coming here myself—to the Oratory—

with Br. Roland Gaudette, my beloved French teacher

and great encourager of my priestly vocation,

on many a class trip from Catholic school.

I know that, for some of you, this is your first visit

to Br. André’s rather “modest” monument to good St. Joseph.

But I also know that many of you

have your own stories quite similar to mine

and have made the journey up Mount Royal a few times before.

We Catholics are a people with deep and sturdy roots.

But we’re also a people who, by our very nature,

are meant to stay on the move.

We’re here in Montréal this afternoon on a parish pilgrimage—

and one of a most particular sort

as, just one month from today, in place of its four predecessors,

a new parish is established in Malone

and named for St. André Bessette.

As we come to pray at the tomb of our new patron,

it’s worth reflecting on what it means to be on pilgrimage.

A “pilgrimage” is “a journey to a holy place,”

and the word comes from Latin,

literally meaning “to go through the field”—

in other words, to wander over some distance.

Pilgrimage differs from other sorts of travel

not only in the sanctity of its destination,

but in the change that’s meant to take place along the way:

tourists go out to see something;

pilgrims head out to become somebody.

It’s also worth taking a moment to reflect

on what it means to be a parish.

In the Catholic tradition,

a “parish” is a sub-division within a diocese,

under the care of a pastor and maybe some other priests,

encompassing all the Catholics who live within its territory.

I was surprised a few months back

to discover just where this word comes from.

The word “parish” comes from Greek words meaning,

literally, “beside the house”—

in other words, to be away from home.

Thus, our English word “parish” comes from the very same word

that the New Testament uses to mean “pilgrimage.”

While we generally think of a parish

as a fixed and well-defined group of people,

attached to a fixed and well-defined location—

usually, a single parish church building—

by definition a parish is actually a community

that’s absent from its homeland,

that’s sojourning in a strange land:

a parish is collection of pilgrims;

a parish is the Church on the move.

As this Sunday we celebrate the Lord’s Ascension

(for us New Yorkers in exile today, for the second time in a week),

we hear two angels addressing the Apostles

left on the mountain top, staring up at the clouds:

“Why are you standing there looking at the sky?”

I can almost hear the eleven answering those angels back,

“Where else should we be looking?

We’ve followed Jesus down the dusty roads

and across the rough waters of Galilee.

We’re not about to change course now.

We have every intention of following him to heaven, too.

But before we head out, before we begin to move,

we must make sure our hearts are firmly fixed

on their ultimate destination.”

Pilgrims, like parishes, are by definition

those who are away from home—

making the true goal of them both to get back there,

transformed for having taken the journey.

The Only Begotten Son of God

came to earth in human flesh on a pilgrimage of love;

his purpose all along

was that we might make the return trip with him.

Why else would he promise to be with us always,

if not to be our constant companion on the way home?

Baptized into Christ Jesus,

who has taken his place in glory at the Father’s right hand,

our true citizenship is in heaven.

We haven’t arrived yet:

we’re still across the field, still outside the house…

…but we are on our way.

Br. André understood this truth full well.

“You know,” he once said,

“it is alright to wish for death

as long as what you really want is to go to God….

When I die, I’ll live in heaven,

so I’ll be much closer to God than now,

and I’ll be able to help you even more.”

St. André, your life’s pilgrimage complete,

from your place in heaven

pray for us pilgrims still on the way,

pray for our new parish just now coming to be,

pray for a Church that is ever on the move.

   

Grace

On the way to a burial this morning, I heard the Writer's Almanac on NPR, and Mr. Keillor read a most delightful--and even inspiring--poem, which I thought was worth sharing with you:

"Grace," by Linda Pastan

When the young professor folded
his hands at dinner and spoke to God
about my safe arrival
through the snow, thanking Him also
for the food we were about to eat,
it was in the tone of voice I use
to speak to friends when I call
and get their answering machines,

chatting about this and that
in a casual voice,
picturing them listening
but too busy to pick up the phone,
or out taking care of important
business somewhere else.
The next day, flying home
through a windy
and overwhelming sky, I knew
I envied his rapport with God
and hoped his prayers
would keep my plane aloft.  

  

Scouting

Saturday found me back in the Hudson River Gorge, this time with Boy Scout Troop #61, sponsored by the Malone Catholic Parishes.  Eight of our Scouts, along with some of their Dads and siblings, joined me whitewater rafting again with ARO.  We've been talking about takiung this trip for a long time, and I'm so glad we finally made it happen.

As you can see, a good time was had by all (including our guide).  I'll post more photos when I get them.

UPDATE (5/28): As promised, a few more shots:

I did a bit of "scouting" today, too, as I went to check out the lean to on on Osgood Pond, along with sites on nearby Little Osgood and Church Ponds.  I'm hoping to take my nephew out camping with me some time this summer, and have been trying to find an appropriate spot.  As I walked 4-5 miles along the looping Red Dot Trail (named for the--well--red dots which mark it...although I think I followed at least as many yellow ones, and a few pink besides), I realzied that the Osgood Pond lean to was, in fact, the very first lean to in which I'd spent the night...and the only one, too, until last September...