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
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;
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;
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.
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