Divine Mercy

For the sake of his sorrowful Passion, 

have mercy on us and on the whole world.

Who you callin' Catholic?

"I wonder if you can say anything about the Catholic faith without people taking offense."

Fr. James Martin, SJ, has put out an absolutely hysterical (and all-too-true) assessment of the current state of (in-)civility in the Catholic blogosphere on America's group blog, In All Things.  Well worth the read...
 

Clean Up

PRESS RELEASE

Early in the morning of Tuesday, April 10, the furnace at Notre Dame Church was discovered to be seriously malfunctioning.  While the problem was caught before a fire started, the furnace was badly damaged and smoke filled the church, chapel, and sacristy, coating everything with a black, greasy film.  Repairs and clean-up will take a minimum of several weeks to complete.  Because of this, Notre Dame Church has been temporarily closed, effective immediately.  All Masses (Sunday, weekday, and funeral) and other services that would normally take place at Notre Dame will be held at St. Joseph’s Church, 306 W. Main St., until further notice.  Many thanks to our parishioners for their patience and understanding.

 

On the Bus

It's not often that you hear a positive take on the pro-life movement in the secular media...so I was really struck when I heard the story of Save the Storks on American Public Media's The Story while driving along yesterday afternoon.  A great piece worth a listen. I appreciate their approach.  (Also interesting are the letters Dick Gordon shares after the Save the Storks interview, responding to an earlier broadcast about the availability of birth control on a Catholic college campus.)

An Apple Today

So, listening to The Writer's Almanac on NPR this morning, I learned that it was on this date in 1976 that the first Apple computer hit the market.  I guess I thought that they were being used long before that...

Sound Theology

Collared

At the Very Beginning

Don't be alarmed at the length: two (slightly different) versions follow...take your pick.  

Happy Easter!

   Easter Sunday of the Resurrection of the Lord   B 

Readings

The Easter Vigil in the Holy Night

What’s so special about the western corner

of Rockland Ave. and Main St.?
This church, of course, sits on the eastern corner;

the western one is where the Statue of Liberty

eagerly waves at passersby this time of year.

But long, long before Liberty Tax Service was located there,

an important moment in the history of our village

took place on that spot.

John Mazuzan—one of Malone’s earliest settlers—

built his first residence on or near that now very busy corner.

And the first religious service in the town

was to be held right there in his home.

I say “was to be held” 

because so many people arrived to take part

that the Rev. Stephen Ransom, 

who was to conduct it,

moved the service to an open field,

where stumps and logs served as pews

for his impromptu Protestant congregation.

That was July 4, 1804.

If you’re ever walking by,

there’s a small, rusty plaque 

sitting atop a rather crooked pipe

commemorating the event.

It would take a little while longer

for Malone’s pioneer Catholics to organize.

The first Mass here—as best we know—

offered by Fr. Moore (a visiting Canadian priest),

took place in June of 1831 in the house of John McFarlane—

one of the founding members of this parish.

Prior to that, 

Early 19th century view of St. Regis village;
engraving by W. H. Bartlett

the closest church 

with a resident priest

was at St. Regis Mission—

which today we know 

as Akwesasne.

Records indicate 

that it was not uncommon 

for Malone’s early Catholics

to travel twenty-five miles 

to the Mohawk village on foot—

over bad, often snow-covered roads—

to assist at Mass 

on Christmas and Easter.

(Mention that to your teenagers

the next time they grumble 

about going to church!)

It’s important, I think, as residents of Malone today

to remember—and even celebrate—these historic starting points.

It’s from such austere—dare I say, heroic—beginnings,

that we now have many fine churches along Main Street and elsewhere,

and many people of faith who call the “Star of the North” their home.

Tonight is a time to get back to our roots:

to remember, and to celebrate, our beginnings.

During this solemn vigil,

we have gathered—as it were—around the campfire,

to retell the ancient stories handed down to us from generations past.

We first look all the way back to the very beginning,

to the dawn of time and the creation of the human race.

And we then recall the sacrifice of Abraham, our father in faith,

who was the first to believe, to trust, in the one true God.

And we remember the wondrous exodus of the Israelites—

their “passing-over” from slavery in Egypt—

by which God formed and forged this people as his very own.

And we repeat the consoling words of the prophets,

who so often announced a message of new beginnings:

the Lord promising renewal and restoration to his chosen people

after their repeated infidelities,

like husband and wife lovingly reconciled.

And, of course, 

with exceeding joy we retell the story—

not merely through the text of the page,

but with flickering candles and chants of exultation,

blooming flowers and billowing incense—

of how three grieving women,

when night had not yet fully given way to dawn,

went to anoint the lifeless body of Jesus,

only to find his garden tomb empty

and hear the amazing news that he has been raised.

The gospel of Christ’s resurrection from the dead

can seem like a grand finale,

not only to his sorrowful Passion, not only to his entire life’s story,

but to the long history of salvation—

God’s stunning version of a happy ending.

But Easter, in fact, is really an opening act.

All which precedes it—that’s just a warm up.

Jesus has left the tomb empty

so that he might fill the whole world with his presence

as a new beginning for creation—

even more glorious than the first.

Tonight is not a final destination;

it’s a starting point—

and one, like the corner of Rockland and Main,

that deserves to be known and celebrated.

Now, despite the hopes and dreams of our forebears who built them,

I suspect this church is not the only one here in Malone

which isn’t so full on your average Sunday morning

that we need to move the congregation

out onto stumps in an empty field.

And though I have met many very faithful folks

during my nearly two years in our parishes,

I’m not sure how many have the devotion

—leave alone the stamina—

to trot twenty-fives miles on foot for Mass.

(I have—on the other hand—met plenty

who’ve complained about having to drive more than three or four!)

Today, many publically disagree with certain teachings of the Church—

which, admittedly, can be kind of hard to swallow

if you’re fully invested in the prevailing culture.

And many have a deep-seated mistrust of institutions in general,

and religious ones in particular—

sometimes, sadly, quite justifiably.

Add to that those who feel alienated from the Church

for any number of reasons,

and those who have grown lax, or even a little lazy,

when it comes to practicing the faith,

and you end up with “too few in the pew.”

Even more: you end up with a society

that takes a “do it yourself” approach to religion.

“I’m spiritual, just not religious.”

“Why do I need the Church in order to believe?”

What a sad state of affairs,

when we forget the one who taught us what we know about God,

when we neglect the one who has worked so hard and given so much

to keep alive those transforming stories from ages past.

In fact, lose sight of our Mother, the Church,

and we run the risk of worshipping a god of our own making,

instead of the God who revealed himself to us in Jesus Christ.

Our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI,

spoke in a homily to priests on Holy Thursday

about “the growing religious illiteracy

found in the midst of our sophisticated society.”

He noted:         The foundations of faith,

which at one time every child knew,

are now known less and less.

But if we are to live and love our faith,

if we are to love God and to hear him aright,

we need to know what God has said to us—

our minds and hearts must be touched by his word.

The Pope was issuing a reminder to us priests

to be good teachers of the faith…

…but teachers aren’t much good without eager students.

And so Easter—in a manner, hopefully, much more effective

than a rusty, crooked historical marker out on the street corner—

stands as a reminder to get in touch with our religious roots—

not just occasionally, but regularly.

Every Sunday is a little Easter,

and a chance to return to the beginning.

We need to come here for our faith to stay grounded.

We need to stay in close contact with the Church—

her life, her sacraments, her teaching.

Like a busy crossroads,

the Church—despite the flaws of her leaders,

despite the weaknesses of her members—

marks the place where our lives most concretely intersect

with the life of Jesus risen from the dead

because she—by God’s mysterious design—is the living Body of Christ.

In just a few brief moments,

we will all renew the promises of our Baptism—

the moment which marked 

the beginning of our life of faith;

the moment we were raised up with Christ;

the moment we joined 

the great family of his Church.

And then two adults among us—

after long years of hopeful prayer 

and long months of preparation—

will receive the sacraments of Confirmation

and the Holy Eucharist for the first time,

completing their initiation 

into the Catholic community.

This holy Easter night, we return to the starting point:

it’s a lesson in our own history;

it’s the dawning of a whole new day.

Easter Sunday of the Resurrection of the Lord 

What’s so special about the western corner

of Rockland Ave. and Main St.?
This church/St. Joseph’s Church, of course, sits on the eastern corner;

the western one is where the Statue of Liberty

eagerly waves at passersby this time of year.

But long, long before Liberty Tax Service was located there,

an important moment in the history of our village

took place on that spot.

John Mazuzan—one of Malone’s earliest settlers—

built his first residence on or near that now very busy corner.

And the first religious service in the town

was to be held right there in his home.

I say “was to be held” because so many people arrived to take part

that the Rev. Stephen Ransom, who was to conduct it,

moved the service to an open field,

where stumps and logs served as pews

for his impromptu Protestant congregation.

That was July 4, 1804.

If you’re ever walking by,

there’s a small, rusty plaque sitting atop a rather crooked pipe

commemorating the event.

It would take a little while longer

for Malone’s pioneer Catholics to organize.

The first Mass here—as best we know—

offered by Fr. Moore (a visiting Canadian priest),

took place in June of 1831 in the house of John McFarlane—

one of the founding members of this parish/St. Joseph’s parish.

Prior to that, the closest church with a resident priest

was at St. Regis Mission—which today we know as Akwesasne.

Records indicate that it was not uncommon for Malone’s early Catholics

to travel twenty-five miles to the Mohawk village on foot—

over bad, often snow-covered roads—

to assist at Mass on Christmas and Easter.

(Mention that to your teenagers

the next time they grumble about going to church!)

It’s important, I think, as residents of Malone today

to remember—and even celebrate—these historic starting points.

It’s from such austere—dare I say, heroic—beginnings,

that we now have many fine churches along Main Street and elsewhere,

and many people of faith who call the “Star of the North” their home.

Today is a time to get back to our roots:

to remember, and to celebrate, our beginnings.

On this great feast, we have gathered to retell the story

handed down to us from generations past:

of how Mary of Magdala,

when night had not yet fully given way to dawn,

went to grieve over the lifeless body of Jesus,

only to find the heavy stone rolled away;

and of how she ran to Peter and to John,

who go to see for themselves that this garden tomb is empty,

and so begin to believe the amazing news that Jesus has been raised.

The gospel of Christ’s resurrection from the dead

can seem like a grand finale,

not only to his sorrowful Passion, not only to his entire life’s story,

but to the long history of salvation—

God’s stunning version of a happy ending.

But Easter, in fact, is really an opening act.

All which precedes it—that’s just a warm up.

Jesus has left the tomb empty

so that he might fill the whole world with his presence

as a new beginning for creation—even more glorious than the first.

Today is not a final destination;

it’s a starting point—

and one, like the corner of Rockland and Main,

that deserves to be known and celebrated.

Now, despite the hopes and dreams of our forebears who built them,

I suspect this church is not the only one here in Malone

which isn’t so full on your average Sunday morning

that we need to move the congregation

out onto stumps in an empty field.

And though I have met many very faithful folks

during my nearly two years in our parishes,

I’m not sure how many have the devotion

—leave alone the stamina—

to trot twenty-fives miles on foot for Mass.

(I have—on the other hand—met plenty

who’ve complained about having to drive more than three or four!)

Today, many publically disagree

with certain teachings of the Church—

which, admittedly, can be kind of hard to swallow

if you’re fully invested in the prevailing culture.

And many have a deep-seated mistrust of institutions in general,

and religious ones in particular—

sometimes, sadly, quite justifiably.

Add to that those who feel alienated from the Church

for any number of reasons,

and those who have grown lax, or even a little lazy,

when it comes to practicing the faith,

and you end up with “too few in the pew.”

Even more: you end up with a society

that takes a “do it yourself” approach to religion.

“I’m spiritual, just not religious.”

“Why do I need the Church in order to believe?”

What a sad state of affairs,

when we forget the one who taught us what we know about God,

when we neglect the one who has worked so hard and given so much

to keep alive those transforming stories from ages past.

In fact, lose sight of our Mother, the Church,

and we run the risk of worshipping a god of our own making,

instead of the God who revealed himself to us in Jesus Christ.

Our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI,

spoke in a homily to priests on Holy Thursday

about “the growing religious illiteracy

found in the midst of our sophisticated society.”

He noted:            The foundations of faith,

which at one time every child knew,

are now known less and less.

But if we are to live and love our faith,

if we are to love God and to hear him aright,

we need to know what God has said to us—

our minds and hearts must be touched by his word.

The Pope was issuing a reminder to us priests

to be good teachers of the faith…

…but teachers aren’t much good without eager students.

And so Easter—in a manner, hopefully, much more effective

than a rusty, crooked historical marker out on the street corner—

stands as a reminder to get in touch with our religious roots—

not just occasionally, but regularly.

Every Sunday is a little Easter,

and a chance to return to the beginning.

We need to come here for our faith to stay grounded.

We need to stay in close contact with the Church—

her life, her sacraments, her teaching.

Like a busy crossroads,

the Church—despite the flaws of her leaders,

despite the weaknesses of her members—

marks the place where our lives most concretely intersect

with the life of Jesus risen from the dead

because she—by God’s mysterious design—is the living Body of Christ.

In just a few brief moments,

we will all renew the promises of our Baptism—

the moment which marked the beginning of our life of faith;

the moment we were raised up with Christ;

the moment we joined the great family of his Church.

[And a bit later, two young ladies—after months of preparation—

will receive the Holy Eucharist for the first time.]

This Easter Sunday, we return to the starting point:

it’s a lesson in our own history;

it’s the dawning of a whole new day.

Quiet

"Something strange is happening—there is a great silence 

on earth today, 

a silence and stillness. 

The whole earth keeps silence 

because the King is asleep."

—from an ancient homily 

on Holy Saturday

Free at Last

   Good Friday of the Passion of the Lord   

Readings

A month or so ago,
I was at a meeting of the North Franklin Ministerial Association—
a regular gathering of pastors and church staff
representing a number of the Christian congregations of our area.
The topic was a common Good Friday service.
It was taken for granted that us Roman Catholics
would be observing the day according to our own tradition…
…although I was sure to extend a friendly invitation
to everyone to join us here this afternoon.
But as the other local pastors tried together to recall
who had led the shared time of prayer in the recent past, 

one of them piped up and offered,
“I’d be happy to host the service this year…
…it would just be kind of hard to get everybody through the gate.”
You see, he’s the Protestant chaplain at one of the local state prisons.
We joked around a bit about what sort of Good Friday service
he’d prepare for his congregation of inmates.
“I suspect you’d preach about the good thief,” I piped up,
feeling—I confess—pretty smart.
“Oh, no,” he rather quickly replied.
“The good thief was still convicted and sentenced to death.
I’d preach instead about Barabbas…”

All four of the gospels mention 
that Pontius Pilate,

the Roman governor of Jerusalem,

had a yearly custom 
of releasing a prisoner

as the feast of Passover drew near—

a good-will gesture made on the part 
of an oppressive regime.

And all four gospels also relate

that, in custody at the same time as Jesus, 
was a man named Barabbas.

He is variously described as “notorious,”

a “thief,” a “murder,” 
one guilty of inciting riotous rebellion.

Whatever his actual crimes, 
he’s clearly not a very savory character.

Behind bars is where 
this man rightly belongs;

he’s getting the punishment he deserves.

And yet, on Good Friday,

I propose that we all should feel a certain affinity with Barabbas.

Why?

Because when Jesus is condemned to die,

Barabbas—through no merit of his own—is set free.

Only with difficulty, Saint Paul writes to the Romans,

does one die for a just person,

though perhaps for a good person

one might even find courage to die. 

But God proves his love for us

in that while we were still sinners

Christ died for us. (5:7-8)

Likewise, the Church will exultantly sing tomorrow

as she keeps her night vigil:

O love, O charity beyond all telling,

to ransom a slave you gave away your Son!

We call this Friday “good”

because Christ has traded places with us sinners—

not at our choosing, as by the angry demands of a fickle crowd,

but at his own deliberate choice,

as one who silently submits like a lamb to the slaughter,

freely giving his life as an offering,

commending his spirit into the Father’s hands.

Oppressed and condemned, bearing our guilt,

blameless and yet counted among the wicked,

crying out and dying in our stead,

the Lord’s servant—by one sacrifice—justifies many.

By his wounds, we are healed.

What a tremendous exchange!

What astonishing, wondrous love!

Indeed, it has proved far better

that one man should die rather than the people.

It was because they had reached out

to the branch of a forbidden tree

that our first parents—and us with them—

were banished from Eden’s lush garden,

justly sentenced to suffering in this life and doomed to die.

And it is because the Lord Jesus,

with arms outstretched as if to embrace all of heaven and earth,

is obediently nailed to the tree of the Cross—

where he does not belong,

where he gets the punishment we deserve—

that the gates of paradise are again thrown open,

winning us God’s pardon and restoring us to life.

And so, in but a few moments’ time,

we will tenderly embrace and adoringly bow down

before that most precious wood

upon which hung the world’s salvation.

Notoriously robbing the fruit of one tree—

and continuing in rebellion ever since—

we had been rightly condemned for our sins;

yet if we receive with thanksgiving the noble fruit of this tree,

and by it permit ourselves to be made perfect,

our death sentence is graciously lifted,

and God’s loving purpose in Christ

is finished, is accomplished, is consummated.

We may not be under arrest,

we may not be physically imprisoned or in chains,

but we do well to identify ourselves today with Barabbas.

The perfectly Innocent One has taken the place of the guilty,

and we—quite undeservedly—go free.
  

Follow

"Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, 

take up his cross, and follow me."

Mark 8:34

  

New Mandate

Mandatum novum do vobis, 

ut diligatis invicem sicut dilexi vos.

"I give you a new commandment, 

that you love one another as I love you."

John 13:34

In certain circles, today is known as Maundy Thursday.  By way of Old French (mandé), that archaic English word comes to us from the Latin mandatum, the first of the above words of Christ spoken at the Last Supper, which traditionally are chanted during the ritual washing of feet that is such a moving part of this evening's liturgy.

There's been an aweful lot of talk about “mandates” in the news recently.  

Here is the one by which all others ought to be measured.

Nesting

Those who know me really well know that I have a "thing" for great blue herons...so you can imagine how cool I think it is that Cornell University has set up this live cam on a heron nest (complete with 2 eggs) in the woods outside of Ithaca, NY.  Talk about getting up close and personal...


 

The King Speaks

"Preach the Gospel at all times; if necessary, use words."  (Attributed to St. Francis of Assisi)

   Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord   B 

Readings

Fr. Stitt’s been with us long enough now 

for some of you to realize

that when he gets a notion in his head,

he can be quite persistent about it.

He’s often after me—for example—

about movies I have not seen…

…and since I don’t see very many, 

he’s got a lot to work with.

Recently, he’s been insisting 

I see one in particular: The King's Speech.

In fact, he’s been so vocal 
and persistent about it

that one of you felt the need 

to go out and buy me the DVD!

So we finally sat down to watch it 

last Sunday night…

and am I glad that we did.

Simply put, it’s brilliant.

I have no trouble at all understanding

why it won four Academy Awards…

…and why Fr. Stitt persisted.

The film tells the story of Prince Albert, the Duke of York,

who unexpectedly assumes the British throne in 1936

as King George VI.

The royal family has been rocked by scandal,

and the whole world, it seems, is swiftly marching toward war.

His people desperately need a monarch to inspire and rally them.

Trouble is, King George has a debilitating speech impediment.

Whether telling a bedtime story to his young daughters

or delivering a wartime address to his vast empire over the radio,

he stutters persistently and stammers quite painfully

in his effort to make himself understood.

It’s the story of a king who wants—who urgently needs—

to communicate clearly with his people;

their future, their freedom, their very lives depend on it.

Don’t we witness something similar during this Holy Week?

The Lord God has given me a well-trained tongue,

that I might know how to speak to the weary a word that will rouse them.

So writes Isaiah about the Suffering Servant:

a promised ruler who will bring vindication to God’s chosen people.

The prophet could have been describing any hoped-for king, really…

…but we believe God had a particular one in mind.

Throughout his ministry—

in the city of Jerusalem,

along the slopes and shores of Galilee—

we hear the words of Jesus the preacher…

...and he’s a good one.

His parables, his lessons, his sermons,

drew crowds in numbers as great as did his many miracles.

But the Son of God has a still more powerful way

to communicate with us.

He knows that actions speak louder than words,

and no action in all of human history speaks louder

than innocent blood being shed for sinners,

than one obediently accepting death—

death on a cross.

By his triumphal entry amid waving palm branches,

Jesus reveals that he is, indeed, a king…

…he’s just not the kind of king that we’re used to.

Crowned not with gold and jewels 

but with thorns,

Christ is a king who will win victory through suffering—

not by the power of his army, 

but by the power of his love.

The Church, as Christ’s Body and Christ’s Bride,

does much the same thing,

and does so in a particular way during Holy Week.

It would be easy enough for us to merely read through

the text of the Lord’s Passion,

whether on our own in the pages of our Bibles

or assembled as it’s proclaimed from a pulpit—like we do today.

But we, too, know that actions speak louder than words.

So we not only tell the tale of our King’s Last Supper;

on Holy Thursday we will gather in memory of him,

breaking the bread of our Passover feast—

the sublime Sacrament of his Body and Blood.

We do not simply repeat the story of how our King

accepted the wood of a cross as his humble throne;

on Good Friday we will come together to do as he did,

bowing down before it and embracing the cross as our own.

And we do more than re-read our King’s remarkable promise

to rebuild the temple in just three days’ time;

on Holy Saturday, we will keep vigil in the dark of night

knowing that Christ himself is the true temple,

and that he will rise again as surely as the sun at dawn.

Of course, actions speak louder than words

not only during these most sacred of days,

but all throughout the year—

not only in our religious rituals, but in our daily duties.

And this living gospel cannot be convincing or consistent

unless we bring our lives into the liturgy,

and the liturgy into our lives.

Is that not what these forty days of Lent have been all about?

Despite the many similarities,

there is an essential difference between Jesus Christ in his Passion

and George VI as portrayed in film—

that is, other than the most obvious difference

that only one of them is the Son of God!

Both are kings who desperately want—who urgently need—

to get through to their people;

both know that the stakes are extraordinarily high.

But Christ has no speech impediment;

he does not stutter nor stammer;

his words and his actions speak quite clearly.

If there’s any failure to understand this King,

it’s because his people haven’t made themselves available

to receive the message or repeat it faithfully.

This Holy Week, find the time—make the time—

to hear our eternal King’s most passionate speech.

Prepare yourself to watch and to listen,

to be touched and changed by what you see and hear.

There’s something your King wishes to say to you;

and it’s worthy of your full attention,

for your future, your freedom,

your very life—here and hereafter—

depend completely upon it.