Intro
to book – autobiography (March 13, 2014)
“The Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.”
Every week (sometimes more than once a week) I step into the
pulpit and beseech the Holy Spirit that the Eternal Word, begotten by the
Father, may once again become flesh, all 160 pounds of me, and for a few brief
moments may open a channel of communion between God and God’s people.
When I began doing this, almost forty years ago, I thought the goal of
preaching was communication –
sending a message, and hoping it would be received. “Communion” was something that happened during a later part of the
Mass. But I realize more and more that communicating the message is only one of
the steps along the way to true communion
– our communion with God, which leads to communion among ourselves.
I am not an expert on other Christian denominations, but in
Catholicism “the Word of God” is more than ink on paper (or a screen!). It is
much more than a mental or even a “spiritual” reality. It is a sacrament – it became flesh. As often
as a (false) Platonic separation between the so-called “material” and the
so-called “spiritual” worlds insinuates itself into our thinking, the typically
Catholic thirst for ritual and symbol comes to the rescue.
So – as much as I, as a poet, love and cherish and play with
words, this book is NOT about “words”, no matter how carefully arranged. It is
about how THE WORD continues to become flesh.
The Word – God’s Word – is a sacrament, a visible, tangible
means by which God’s love for us is made present and strengthened. And in the
preaching of the Word, the preacher IS that visible, audible means. Anyone who
proclaims or preaches the Word without feeling the electrical sparks of divine
energy making their hair stand on end does not know what he or she is doing.
Although I have
experienced countless moments of ministry that have moved me in many ways, the
moments of preaching have touched me in a special way. A preacher can pretend
to be someone they are not: but the true humanity of the preacher, in all its
strengths and all its weaknesses, is obvious to everyone who pays attention. I
have become more and more convinced that it is only by my being completely
transparent can I become the two-way mirror in which people can see God’s love both
in the scripture and tradition of the Church, but also in the workings of their
own heart.
So what is this instrument, this clump of human flesh and
bone, mind and spirit, who is writing this book? What is the material God is working with?
My story began when I was born in 1948, the oldest of five
children in a very happy, quite religious home, The first thirteen years of my
life were spent in the most quiet obscurity, safe in the most lily-white suburbs
of Detroit. I was both extremely intelligent, and very small for my age. Being
severely nearsighted, and quite shy, I spent little time socializing and
playing with other children, preferring to find my refuge in books, The words
“geek” and “nerd” would have applied to me.
And yet – God had a plan for me. There were many hidden
qualities which would only be revealed over a course of many years. During
seventh grade, Fr. Justin Guiltnane, SCJ, a hearty priest with an Irish twinkle
in his eye, came to give a vocation talk in our school. He handed out a
pamphlet that on the back had a map of the world, showing all the countries in
which the Priests of the Sacred Heart worked. That map knocked me over like
Saul of Tarsus. “I’m going to be a
missionary!” an inner voice shouted. “I’m
going to travel to those places I have only read about!”
And so it was – my
first conversion experience. Of course, nobody else understood. My parents
were dumbfounded. This 4 foot 5 inch, 70
pound, nearsighted, painfully shy BABY was going to leave home? It was a
testimony to my stubbornness – and also to their faith – that they entrusted me
to the Priests of the Sacred Heart.
And so began the first of my many journeys – to many parts of
the world, and to the most unknown continent of all – the depths of my own
heart -- and the secrets which others have shared with me. I’d like to share a
bit of that pilgrimage with you.
In this book, I will describe how the significant events in
my life were God’s way of leading me into this ministry – sometimes pruning and
cutting away obstacles, other times leading me (throwing me?) into unknown
territory. I will guide you through the process involved in preparing homilies,
and let you look over my shoulder as I try – sometimes failing, hopefully
succeeding – to be that transparent space through which people can allow the
Word of God to speak and to change their hearts.
The first homily I’d like to share with you is on a theme I
turn to quite often -- of recognizing God’s will. I do not see God’s will as a
puzzle which I need to painstakingly work out. As Gabriel Marcel said: “life is not a problem to be solved, it is a
mystery to be lived.”
God is not a far-off goal, a Holy Grail which must be sought
through heroic striving. God is closer
to me than my own self. I consider “my
soul” to be like a tiny piece of “God’s soul” which is yearning to be rejoined
to its source. A child does not have to be lured and cajoled, much less
threatened, to walk and to talk; the urge, the necessity surge from deep within
and will not rest until it is accomplished. And so we all strive to see and
know God; as St. Augustine said, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in
you.”
I have always known I was a pilgrim. When people ask, “Did you know what you were
DOING when you left home at 13 years old?” And I respond, “OF course not! Do YOU
know TODAY what YOU are doing?” But that was OK. I don’t need to know the
destination; I trusted that I was on the
right path. And fifty years later, though I am hopefully wiser, I still do not
yet understand the depth of the mystery God has planted in my heart.
My goal as a homilist is
not to tell people what to do; I try to imitate Jesus, who told
stories and asked questions to help people listen to the wisdom that is already in
their hearts, the divine thirst that leads us all forward.
In this Advent homily, I recognize the very mixed emotions
which people feel as Christmas approaches. I do not think it is helpful to try
to separate the “good” spirit of Christmas from the “evil” commercialism and
consumerism. People have already learned how to live with that. What I wish
people would get is an ADULT experience of Christmas – not a vicarious living
out of a children’s fantasy, but a real experience of wonder and delight
at God’s becoming a real part of our daily life.
Jesus in this Gospel does not give any moral codes. He simply
says, “Be ready.” For children, being ready for Christmas is a delight; how
many of us lose that feeling of delight, even as we go through the motions of
preparation? How can we feel the divine presence as we dash about, cook,
decorate, gift-wrap and wear ourselves out?
HOMILY -- NOTE: In my current phase of preaching, after 35
years of experience, I like to come down into the aisle, and ask individual
people direct questions. In addition to spoken responses, I accept gestures and
facial expressions as responses.
In
this written text, I put the people’s responses,( and my own interpretations), in
parentheses:
Are you ready?
Are you ready?
Are you ready for Christmas? (adults
shake their heads- no)
(I
ask the children – are YOU
ready? They are more excited)
It may take us a few more weeks, my
fellow adults, but with time, we will be
ready for Christmas. But that is not the question Jesus asks in the
Gospel. He says:
“Be awake; you do not know the hour.”
Parents -- are you ready for your children to grow up? (they shake heads)
Others –
are you ready to get old?
To
get Sick?
To Die?
(stronger reaction)
Few
people are ready to die. My father IS
ready to die. He is content. He is 95
years old, nearly blind, hard of hearing, can’t really walk. He sits in his
chair and waits for the phone calls we make. One day, it will be the Lord,
calling him home.
He
is ready to die.
Am
I ready for him to die? No.
Am
I ready For me to die? No.
So
the advice of Jesus in today’s Gospel – to be awake, to be ready -- is hard to
take. What does it really mean to be awake, to be ready?
Let’s
look at the responses we just gave.
Children are ready – they can hardly wait for Christmas. Why? (answer – they receive gifts)
And
why are we adults not ready? (answer –
because we need to BUY the gifts, and wrap them, and decorate, and cook, etc.)
But
by doing all those chores, we know we WILL be ready, right? (nod heads)
So
we see there are two ways of being ready:
Sometimes,
it means being in control, and
sometimes it means being powerless.
Children
are ready for Christmas when they are ready to be surprised in wonder. They are
powerless; they cannot make the calendar speed up. But they are content.
The
youngest child would rather play with the box than with the gift, right? She is
wondering what it is.
Adults
are ready for Christmas when they have closed and wrapped the boxes – when
everything is ready. We are under control.
We don’t like surprises, do we? Adult surprises are usually bad, aren’t
they? (mixed response)
But
we need to be ready in both
ways. As the Gospel says, One will be
taken, the other will be left. We don’t know which of the two will be picked.
That is the trick.
(Now
I pause and walk over to another part of the church; this is a change of
pace). How do we prepare?
--How
do you prepare for a meal?
You
decide who will be there – ordinary or special?
Decide
what to prepare – sometimes, the occasion dictates; other times we get to
choose what to prepare.
Buy
the food – this costs! No discussion or
argument – just do it.
Know
what to do with each ingredient – either
use your wisdom and experience, or
follow directions.
Set
the table – this is what children can do.
This is what I can do. But it DOES make a difference, on a special
occasion.
Serve
the meal
– this can be the fun part, but only when you MAKE it fun.
(I
change places again – step up closer to the people)
How
do you prepare for life? (LONG pause)
Who
will be there with you? (shorter pause)
– God sends us the people in our lives; family, the people we encounter each day.
sometimes we can choose – we tell young people to stay away from bad
influences; do we do that as adults?
n Just as in
cooking, sometimes, we can decide what recipe
to prepare ; at other times, the
occasion dictates what we do. So in
life, there are times we get to choose, other times choices are forced upon us.
Many of you decided to emigrate to the
United States; you had control over some things, but most of the time it was out of your control.
Just as in preparing a meal, or a feast,
life is a mixture of things that we have some control over, and things we
cannot control. What Jesus tells us is
that we can, indeed, be ready in BOTH ways – we can be as excited as children,
seeing the beauty and the wonder in the world, and also as adults, going to
work, taking care of the family and the home.
True wisdom is knowing how to have BOTH
the joy of children, and the security which adults need to provide. If we have
that wisdom, we will be ready for whatever comes, whenever it comes, because we
know that God holds us lovingly in his hands.
Pilgrimage:
I have often pictured
my life as a pilgrimage; my favorite Gospel story is of the disciples on the
road to Emmaus. Discouraged, confused, their amazement bursts out at the
ignorance of this stranger on the road. Doesn’t he know that the world has
ended? That all is in vain? The stranger begins slowly and gradually to paint a
picture of the Messiah totally different than the one they had had – the false
image which was crushed on Calvary.
The two striking events in this story for me are these: the wonderful explanation
given by the stranger does not change their hearts. It is only in the
moment of intimacy, when they invite the stranger in to stay with them – only
in the breaking of the bread is he revealed.
This story reminds me that “the words” of the homily are not
the key moment in the liturgy. My goal as preacher is to begin the process – to
pique the curiosity of the participants so that they take the risk of inviting
God to come into their homes, their hearts, as did the disciples. Afterwards,
when they have met the Lord, they may comment: “Were not our hearts burning
within us as we talked on the road?”
As a homilist, it is my task to make their hearts burn, while
recognizing at the same time that the goal is to meet and recognize and know
their Lord.
I wrote this poem as I was meditating on the Emmaus story. It
seems we are always looking at Jesus from the outside. I wonder; what was it
like for HIM? What were the days in the tomb, and the descent into hell, like?
What was it for him to be resurrected into a new life? Here is my version:
Emmaus
The
sky!
Azure.
I am
entranced.
Has it
always been this clear?
I feel
each pebble in the path –
no
longer obstacles,
but
humble servants,
holding
me up
in
service to Mother Earth.
I am
still reeling from the shock,
that
flash of light, the divine energy
that
shocked my being.
I
truly am made new.
I
overtake a couple on the path.
The
woman seems familiar; I remember
her
face, lifted up, not in prayer,
not in
adoration,
but
distorted by grief,
a
fountain of tears.
Now, her
tears are silent,
racked
by an occasional sob.
Her
husband stoic, determined to move on.
My
heart goes out to them;
what
depth of sorrow!
They
tell me of an awful death,
their
most lofty dreams
shattered,
nailed to a cross.
Suddenly,
my hands and feet begin to throb,
a
sudden pain stabs my heart.
It
DID happen;
it
was more than a dream!
Now, I
feel it – the scourging, the insults,
the
terrible load crushing my shoulders,
my
body falling apart.
I
called out to My Father –
called
out –
called
out.
He
heard me, he heard me
but did not answer.
I felt
alone, emptied out, abandoned.
And
when I had gone down, further down,
below
consciousness, below feeling,
It
happened.
Transformation.
I
startle back to the present.
Fortunately,
Cleopas, absorbed in
his
own story, did not seem to notice my reverie.
I feel
such immense pity, a love
even
greater than before.
It
fills my bones, my veins –
it
blazes out the top of my head.
Yes!
That’s it! The Father and I
ARE
one! He is here.
The
suffering, the purification,
going
down to death, to hell,
yes,
this was necessary.
My
nature, my self –
good
as it was –
needed
to be lifted up by going down
in
order to be transcended.
Suddenly,
I realize we have reached their humble town.
They
offer me hospitality –
all
that they have. I am touched.
An
exchange of love.
What
did I do with friends?
Now I remember.
We
break the bread.
Now we remember.
Transformation
again!
Not
the painful stripping of before, not
the
fullness of glory, but
the
simple grace of feeling the divine
in a
wandering down the path,
in the
breaking of the bread.
All of
it divine.
My purpose in writing this book is to put this collection of
homilies into a context. The written copy in itself carries only a tiny
fraction of the impact of a homily given in a certain context, to a specific
congregation; but by sharing with you some of the process that went into the
development of the homily, I want to invite you “behind the scenes” so you can appreciate
how God works with humble clay like us.
Nice - Very nice.
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