Lady Poverty

If any woman in history merited the title of "Lady Poverty", it would be Chiara Offreduccio. She must've been an extraordinary, as well as beautiful, young lady! At 18 she heard Francis of Assisi preach during Lent at her parish church of San Giorgio in Assisi. She was so taken with his message that she sought him out afterwards and resolved to join him in his way of life. Quite extraordinary, since at that moment it was only Francis and his brothers. Francis agreed, and on the evening of Palm Sunday, 1212, Chiara, whom we know as Clare, fled her wealthy family's home and ran to the Portiuncula. Here she exchanged her elegant clothing for the rough habit and cincture which Francis provided, and, kneeling before a statue of the Virgin Mary, she bowed her head as Francis cut off her long hair and covered her with a veil, making her the first woman to follow in the steps of "Il Poverello", and the first of the "Poor Ladies of San Damiano", as her group was later called, and the "Poor Clares", after her death and canonization.


St. Clare and other women who began to join her, including her own sister, Agnese, apparently worked side by side at first with Francis and the friars, but because of social taboos, they began living an enclosed life with Benedictine nuns in the Convent of San Paolo in Bastia, then at the Convent of Sant'Angelo di Panzo, and finally in the old priest's house near the Church of San Damiano, on the outskirts of Assisi. Clare remained in her enclosure for the rest of her life, and governed the convent for 40 years.


The Poor Clares lived a life of extreme poverty about which St. Francis preached, renouncing all income and property and depending entirely on alms and the kindness of neighbors and visitors, as they cared for the poor and neglected of the area. They went barefoot year round, slept on the floor, ate no meat, and maintained silence except for what was absolutely necessary. St. Clare went even further in her asceticism, to the point where both Francis and the bishop of Assisi had to intervene and help her tone it down a bit. For such a young woman, she must've had an incredibly commanding personality. Her biographer says that she "radiated a spirit of fervor so strong that it kindled those who but heard her voice." It didn't take long for Clare's sanctity to be recognized, and throughout her life she was consulted not only by ordinary people, but by clergy, bishops, cardinals, and even Pope Innocent IV, who visited with her at least twice.


Clare died at the age of 59, in 1253, 27 years after her beloved friend, Francis, had died. In all those years she experienced severe pain, and was bed-ridden most of the time. Even at that she continued to busy herself with sewing altar linens for the churches around Assisi. Her last words, as she lay dying, were "Blessed are you, O God, for having created me."  And how blessed are we that God did so, holding up before us such an example of holy poverty!


     

"The Treasures of the Church"

If you and I had been living in Rome when Valerian was Emperor in the 3rd century, especially if we'd been in the upper tax bracket, life could've been rather tough. Can you imagine a Pope (Sixtus II) being arrested and dragged off, along with seven of his deacons, then summarily executed, except for one: the Archdeacon Laurence.


Tradition has it that the prefect ordered Laurence to provide information on all the Church's treasures, which, of course, was really the bottom-line of Valerian's persecution. So Laurence goes out and gathers together the sick and the poor of the city, well-known to him, since, as a deacon, he'd ministered to them by assisting them in their needs. He presents them to the prefect and says: "Here are the treasures of the Church"! To say the least, the prefect wasn't amused. Laurence, according to tradition, paid for his heroism with his life, being grilled on a gridiron. Like Jesus, "he went not up to joy but first he suffered pain..."


Because of the great devotion to Laurence's heroic martyrdom/witness, Constantine, a future emperor, later built a shrine and basilica over Laurence's tomb which was in one of the catacombs. The current Church of St. Laurence Outside the Walls, a double basilica, was built between the 6th and 13th centuries.


Laurence is one of that "great cloud of witnesses" surrounding us, who inspire us in our following of Jesus to bring God's reign to bear on our own society. His witness poignantly reminds us that the sick in body and mind, the poor, the needy, the homeless, the disadvantaged among us are "treasures" to whose needs you and I are called to tend. That would be a great expression of devotion to the memory of one of our great Church heroes.

John Mason Neale (1818-1866)

Blessed John Mason Neale packed a lot of living into less than 50 years of life! A priest, scholar, poet, translator, compiler, hymnodist, humanitarian for the plight of disadvantaged women and girls, and founder of a religious order, the Sisters of St. Margaret, Neale was born in London. In his short life he did more than any other person to make the rich heritage of Greek and Latin hymns available to his own and succeeding generations.


Among his works are Medieval Hymns and Sequences, Hymns of the Eastern Church, Liturgiology and Church History, and a 4-volume commentary on the Psalms. His hymn compositions include The Day of Resurrection, All Glory, Laud and Honor, and Art Thou Weary? 


Along with Alexander Hope and Benjamin Webb, Neale formed the Camden Society in 1839, later known as the Ecclesiological Society. They believed that by using Church reform in conjunction with the piety of Gothic architecture, England might recapture the religious perfection of the Middle Ages. In one of the society’s early letters, they say: “We know that [medieval] Catholick ethics gave rise to Catholick architecture; may we not hope that, by a kind of reversed process, association with Catholick architecture will give rise to Catholick ethics?” The Ecclesiologists earnestly believed that medieval people were “more spiritually-minded and less worldly-minded” than those of the modern world, and that it was their duty to help return England to its former piety.


John Mason Neale died at age 48 on the feast of the Transfiguration in 1866.

The Reign of God: Walking On Water

For over a month now the Church’s liturgy has been using Jesus’ fascinating parables and miracle stories in Matthew 13-14 to think about Jesus as the embodiment, the manifestation, the revealing of the reign/rule of God, the “kingdom”. The real miracle in last Sunday’s story of the feeding of the 5000 isn’t the multiplication, but rather the fact that Jesus demonstrates in his person what God’s reign looks like, namely, that people are raised above their oppression, their hurts, their suffering, and then begin themselves to share, through love and compassion, what they have, much or little, without leaving anyone in need. Today’s Gospel passage (Matthew 14:22-33) reinforces that theme with another beautiful story, whose setting is the Sea of Galilee.

The feeding apparently took place somewhere around Bethsaida, on the northeast corner of the Sea. Jesus asks the disciples to take the boat and go ahead to “the other side”, presumably to Ginnesar/Gennesaret, while he sends the crowd on their way. After this, Jesus climbs back up into the silence of the hills, alone, where he’d been praying after he’d gotten news of his cousin, John the Baptizer’s execution, and before the hungry crowd had arrived.

Matthew notes that, in the meantime, the disciples were having a rough go of it out on the Sea of Galilee, for severe winds had whipped up unexpectedly, as they often did, and they were being “battered by the

waves”. Somewhere between 3:00 and 6:00 AM (“the fourth watch of the night”) Jesus suddenly approaches the boat, “walking toward them on the sea”. The disciples reaction: “they were terrified, saying, ‘It’s a ghost!’ And they cried out in fear…”

It’s about at this point that preachers will look out and, perhaps, notice a faint smile or two among the faces of an educated, sophisticated congregation, maybe some even rolling their eyes! Before that happens, however, let’s be reminded that for the writers of both the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures there’s never a doubt that the Lord of nature and history can perform “mighty acts” and outward signs of power. “In both cases, Exodus and Resurrection, God acted from outside human history, and yet within its framework...It is only with this understanding of the God of Israel as an active, all-powerful God of history that we can go on to discuss the miracles with any meaning. For the biblical writers, miracles are interventions by divine power in the affairs of men, especially when considered as the means by which God declared [Godself] and [God’s] purposes to men.” (W. F. Albright & C. S. Mann, Matthew) As this applies to today’s nature miracle in the Gospel, where both Jesus and St. Peter walk on water, the miracle isn’t primarily a sort of external guarantee of the coming of the kingdom. It isn’t an appendage, a “verifying after-thought”, but rather as Jesus conveys, a sign and reality intimately bound up with the announcing of and the presence of the reign of God, “a demonstration of the order of God’s dominion against the darkness and chaos which can and does threaten man…” (Albright & Mann)

In the very opening lines of the Bible, in Genesis 1:1, we’re introduced to the most common mythological depiction of chaos: a turbulent sea. “...the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind of God swept over the face of the waters…”  The anthropologist, René Girard, views that image of chaotic and turbulent waters as due to the swirl of desires created in our lives.

In Matthew’s story, Jesus comes walking right over that swirl of desires, saying “It is I..Don’t be afraid.” How reminiscent of the “I am” sayings all throughout the Hebrew Scriptures and in the Gospel of John, especially, attesting to Jesus’ divine nature. Jesus embodies in himself God’s loving desire that you and I may rise above the chaos of our experiences. Note that St. Peter is sustained in the midst of the unruly sea so long as he keeps his eyes fixed on Jesus. The minute he looks back to the swirling waters, he begins to sink again. What are the swirling waters of desires that distratct us and pull you and me under as we struggle in our walk towards the Lord? 

Perhaps the key verse in Matthew’s story is verse 31: "Jesus immediately stretched out his hand and caught him, saying to him, 'You of little faith, [literally, “little-faith-person”] why did you doubt?'" Note that Jesus "immediately" reaches out with loving support to save Peter, and only then reminds him that what’s wrong is his weak faith, instead of first rubbing it in about faith, and then reaching out, perhaps reluctantly, to save Peter.

Some may say that Peter, being a fisherman, ought to have known better and was extremely foolish in asking Jesus to have him come to Jesus on the water. Though, perhaps, it wasn’t a terribly bright idea, nevertheless, could it be that Peter risked leaving the boat in eagerness to come closer to Jesus, even though he could’ve chosen the safer course of staying on the boat with the other disciples? 

Jesus’ presence undoubtedly gave Peter the chance to take a risk. Even Peter’s hesitancy and bumbling gives us an unforgettably honest image  of what true faith looks like. Who of us can count the number of improbable directions and significant chances you and I have taken on our journey towards Jesus, and the many times we’ve acted even more stupidly and foolishly than the leader of the Apostles? God constantly invites us to “walk on water”, to leave behind the security of the known, and to venture out into the unknown, the chaotic: to walk in faith, by the Spirit.

The Letter to the Hebrews describes faith as “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen”, and encourages us to “run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross…” Faith emerges when you and I are in over our heads. When Jesus refers to Peter as a “little-faith-person”, he wasn’t demeaning Peter as a failure. The only real failure would be to give in to the fearfulness which holds you and me back in the boat, the fear which keeps us from keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus, even in the midst of the swirling waters of our darkness. 

Once he connects with Jesus by being caught, Peter comes back, not so much to the security of the boat, as to the security of Christ’s heart of love, the security of the reign, the kingdom, of God. There the noisy and turbulent winds cease, and Peter can acknowledge: “Truly you are the Son of God.”

The miracle of love, of Jesus catching us, saving us, from the fearsome and battering winds and waters of our experiences is happening all around us, every day, if only we have eyes to see and ears to hear. A touching NBC TV story recently, about the tragic situation of 11.3 starving people in the Horn of Africa, told of a small infant boy who was left by the side of the road because his mother had collapsed and died. A woman among the crowds, also travelling the road with her own five children, thin and hungry picked up the child, without hesitation, and brought him to the refugee camp. There she cleaned him up, gave him milk, nurtured and caressed him, and spoke quietly and humbly, telling a reporter that she was making this child one of her own.   

Brother Tolbert McCarroll, in his book Notes From the Song of Life (p. 59), suggests something on which you and I might reflect during the coming week: 

“Storms accompany all bornings. It is in the wild turbulence that we learn the skills for our growth.

As you travel along your path there must be many seasons. Without the cold and barren winter there can be no spring beauty...There are only two roads in life, growing and dying. The bud must go through the discomfort of unfolding or it will shrivel…

You must not remain in the pain. It is only the vestibule of change. Suppose that on a hot August afternoon you come upon a cool lake. You can make two good choices. You can suffer the discomfort and insecurity of jumping in[to] the lake. Or you can move away and come back to the lake another day. If you choose to remain fixed on the edge you will destroy yourself. There is no way of avoiding the shock of the plunge. No matter how clever you are the decision will always be the same -- leap or turn away. If you will not make the choice your strength will fade away. Most of your sorrow in life comes from trying not to choose or from taking a half step... 

Christ Transfigured: The Hope of Glory

From a sermon of St. Leo, Pope, On the Transfiguration

"The Lord displays His glory, therefore, before chosen witnesses, and invests that bodily shape which He shared with others with such splendour, that His face was like the sun's brightness and His garments equalled the whiteness of snow.


And in this Transfiguration the foremost object was to remove the offense of the cross from the disciple's heart, and to prevent their faith being disturbed by the humiliation of His voluntary Passion by revealing to them the excellence of His hidden dignity. But with no less foresight, the foundation was laid of the Holy Church's hope, that the whole body of Christ might realize the character of the change which it would have to receive, and that the members might promise themselves a share in that honour which had already shone forth in their Head. About which the Lord had Himself said, when He spoke of the majesty of His coming, 'Then shall the righteous shine as the sun in their Father's Kingdom' (Matthew 13:43), while the blessed Apostle Paul bears witness to the self-same thing, and says: 'for I reckon that the sufferings of this time are not worthy to be compared with the future glory which shall be revealed in us' (Romans 8:18): and again, 'for you are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God. For when Christ our life shall appear, then shall you also appear with Him in glory' (Colossians 3:3). But to confirm the Apostles and assist them to all knowledge, still further instruction was conveyed by that miracle.


For Moses and Elias, that is the Law and the Prophets, appeared talking with the Lord; that in the presence of those five men might most truly be fulfilled what was said: 'In two or three witnesses stands every word' (Deuteronomy 19:15). What more stable, what more steadfast than this word, in the proclamation of which the trumpet of the Old and of the New Testament joins, and the documentary evidence of the ancient witnesses combine with the teaching of the Gospel? For the pages of both covenants corroborate each other, and He Whom under the veil of mysteries the types that went before had promised, is displayed clearly and conspicuously by the splendour of the present glory. Because, as says the blessed John, 'the law was given through Moses: but grace and truth came through Jesus Christ' (John 1:17), in Whom is fulfilled both the promise of prophetic figures and the purpose of the legal ordinances: for He both teaches the truth of prophecy by His presence, and renders the commands possible through grace.


The Apostle Peter, therefore, being excited by the revelation of these mysteries, despising things mundane and scorning things earthly, was seized with a sort of frenzied craving for the things eternal, and being filled with rapture at the whole vision, desired to make his abode with Jesus in the place where he had been blessed with the manifestation of His glory. Whence also he says, Lord, it is good for us to be here: if you will let us make three tabernacles , one for You, one for Moses, and one for Elias. But to this proposal the Lord made no answer, signifying that what he wanted was not indeed wicked, but contrary to the Divine order: since the world could not be saved, except by Christ's death, and by the Lord's example the faithful were called upon to believe that, although there ought not to be any doubt about the promises of happiness, yet we should understand that amidst the trials of this life we must ask for the power of endurance rather than the glory, because the joyousness of reigning cannot precede the times of suffering."

A Sentinel For the People

Father of mercy, 

you made St. John Vianney outstanding

in his priestly zeal and concern for your people.

By his example and prayers,

enable us to win our brothers and sisters

to the love of Christ

and come with them to eternal glory. 

The liturgy for the commemoration of John Vianney includes two very apropos readings: Ezekiel 3:17-21 and Matthew 9:35-10:1. God speaks to the prophet in the first reading: "Mortal, I have made you a sentinel for the house of Israel; whenever you hear a word from my mouth, you shall give them warning from me..." Translating this to the responsibility which any spiritual leader bears toward the people s/he is called to serve, one almost fairly trembles at hearing this. If nothing else, it's a vivid reminder to a leader to keep his/her spiritual house in order, to do ministry selflessly, i.e., so that God may be honored in all things, and for the avowed purpose of enabling others to experience "the love of Christ".

John Vianney (1786-1859) was born in Dardilly, near Lyons, France, ordained a priest in 1815 in Grenoble, after miserably failing his pre-ordination tests, and after tutoring by which he was just able to pass. In 1818 he was assigned to the parish at Ars, a neglected, run-down, outback church with unruly, lukewarm members. He stayed at Ars for the rest of his life. He exemplified in his own person Matthew's description of Jesus in the Gospel: "When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd..." Through loving care of the people, prayer, personal sacrifice, and tireless dedication to the sacrament of Penance, which eventually drew thousands of penitents to his confessional, St. John Vianney created a true center of "the love of Christ". Aside from the hours, most of his day, which he spent hearing peoples' confessions and reassuring them with words of forgiveness and peace, he spent the rest of his time praying before Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. He himself characterized these times as simple conversations with Jesus, when he would look at Jesus and Jesus would look back at him in love.


On August 4, 1859, John Vianney died at age 73. Biographers record a number of miracles performed throughout his life. He seems to have had supernatural knowledge of the past and future, and healing powers for the sick, especially children. On October 3, 1874, Pope Pius IX proclaimed him Venerable; on January 8, 1905, Pope Pius X declared him Blessed and proposed him as a model for parochial clergy. In 1925 Pope Pius XI canonized him a Saint, and in 1929 St. John Vianney was designated as the patron saint of parish priests.   

Someone Who Will Love You

Three years ago I took a two-week Spanish language immersion course. Our maestra, Lydia, was a charming 20-something woman from Mexico. One day another participant, a school teacher, and I were chatting with her. I believe she was either about to be engaged or was already engaged to her boyfriend, who was from the U.S. Lydia was expressing her misgivings and anxiety about taking Michael to visit and meet her family in Mexico. She spoke of the attitudes of some in Mexico being very opposed to the U.S., much of that originating in the perceived stress which many U.S. young people put on their partners to provide things: fancy cars, money, clothes, etc. In other words, promoting the myth of the "perfect" partner. Then Lydia commented: "These are not of interest to me. I don't believe there is any perfection. I want someone who will love me."


Whether or not you or I concur with Lydia's perspective, one thing we can say for sure about the Scriptures for Pentecost 7, Proper 13 is that they speak of a God who loves you and me beyond measure. Isaiah (55:1-5) begins with an attention-getting invitation: "Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price..." It looks like a joyful invitation, but embedded in it is a plaintive, even a slightly sarcastic, note, made obvious by the rhetorical question: "Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?" In an age of rampant consumerism, to which Lydia alluded, it's a question you and I need to seriously ask ourselves. God promises rich food; an unending covenant of love; and fulfillment of the promises made to David: God's steadfast love.


Psalm 145 is a paean to God's compassion and all-encompassing love, not just of humankind, but of all of God's creatures. "The Lord is gracious...full of compassion...loving to everyone...upholds all who fall...lifts up...is loving in all his works...is near...fulfills the desire...preserves all..." There's a clear link between God's compassion and God's justice: God's love is what sets things right. There are even ecological implications, as theologian Carol Dempsey points out: "All forms of life -- and indeed the earth itself -- suffer today because of human injustice and irresponsibility. Many voices are crying out, some audible such as those of women and young children, [think of the 11.3 million starving in the Horn of Africa] some not understood, [think of senior citizens dependent on Social Security, and the suffering and disabled on Medicare -- all threatened by the current obscene game-playing of our Congress and the Tea Party] such as those of the salmon trapped by dams, and some inaudible, such as that of the land as it lies stripped of nutrients, parched in some places and polluted in others. The voices that call upon God represent the magnificence of a grand biodiversity." If God treats all with love, compassion and justice, what does this say about our own responsibility: as individuals, as local communities, as churches, as a nation?


The miracle story in Matthew (14:13-21) is the only one which appears in all four Gospel narratives. That probably gives us a hint that this message was really important in the early Church's life and memory. The context of the passage is that Jesus has just heard about the execution of his cousin, John the Baptizer. The crowd hears that Jesus has gone off to a deserted place and they follow on foot. They come with deep needs for compassion, love and healing, and they're determined to get to the Master. Jesus reacts with characteristic empathy and open-armed concern, identical with that of God's in Psalm 145. He heals the sick; he feeds them, dismaying the disciples by delegating to them the responsibility of providing the food. The feeding is set against the backdrop of two ancient traditions: 1) the Exodus desert feeding (Exodus 16) -- "In the morning you will see the glory of the Lord..."; and 2) the feeding of 100 men, with 20 loaves and fresh ears of grain, ordered by the prophet Elisha (2 Kings 4:42-44). 


The real miracle isn't the multiplication of the loaves and fish, but rather the fact that Jesus himself embodies the compassionate, loving God of the Hebrew Scriptures, and that he begins to demonstrate what the reign of God looks like, namely, that people are raised above their oppression, their hurts, their suffering, and then  begin themselves to share, through love and compassion, what they have, much or little, without leaving anyone in need.


God's gifting of Godself -- in the feeding of the 5000 and in the Eucharist -- happens among ordinary folks, with all their flaws and greatnesses, in the most unlikely of places, times and situations of everyday life...Even in a Spanish language classroom, with a retired priest and an educator, conversing with their young Mexican teacher who simply wants "someone to love [her]"...as we all wish.


The Word of God which we share together in Eucharist and which feeds us each time we come together, assures us that despite the imperfectness of this world and of us human beings who inhabit it, there is One who loves us unconditionally, perfectly; One who heals us, who brings justice to us and to the earth, indeed, to all of creation: the Holy One who fulfills, as no other can, our innate yearning for "someone who will love [us]".