Life Lived in Love

Today's familiar gospel story (Luke 7:36 - 8:3) has historically also been the basis for one of the New Testament’s most famous instances of mistaken identity – identifying this story's sinful woman in the city with Mary Magdalene. The confusion may be largely due to the fact that Mary Magdalene is in fact mentioned at the end of the story - not however as the sinful woman but as one of the presumably wealthy women, whom Jesus had cured of evil spirits & infirmities, who accompanied Jesus and the 12 from one town and village to another, and who used their personal resources to provide for the material needs of Jesus and the 12. If nothing else, the story of those wealthy women serves as an apt reminder that, from the start, the Church’s mission has always depended upon collaborators able & willing to help pay the bills!

Another misunderstanding concerns Jesus’ relationship with the Pharisees. Pharisees were pious laymen, committed to living as religiously as possible, devoted to observing all the commandments of the Law, but while remaining in society (in other words, not withdrawing into the desert as certain other contemporary Jewish groups apparently did - and certain Christian groups would later do). Pharisees also had certain distinctive beliefs and practices that separated them from the more conservative, priestly aristocracy, known as the Sadducees. Jesus shared many of their beliefs (for example, belief in the eventual resurrection of the dead). After the destruction of the Temple, the Pharisees emerged as the leaders in post-Temple Judaism, setting the stage for most of the next 2000 years of Jewish life. As such, they were in a sense the rivals of the other group to emerge from 1st-century Judaism, the Christians. Reflecting this family quarrel between the Jews who accepted Jesus as the Messiah and the majority who did not, the New Testament tends to highlight the conflicts between Jesus and the Pharisees. Even so, stories such as this one, in which a Pharisee invited Jesus to dine with him, remind us that the actual historical relationship between Jesus and the Pharisees was not always unequivocally hostile.

Needless to say, this was not coffee at Starbucks that jesus was invited to. It was a real meal in the Pharisee’s home, precisely the kind of social intimacy and religious fellowship one did not normally share with just anyone.

Shortly before this, Jesus had been acclaimed as a great prophet. The gospel says this report about him spread in all the surrounding region. I suspect Simon the Pharisee had also heard this and wanted to see for himself. Prophecy had long ago officially ceased in Israel, and it was not expected to reappear until the coming of the kingdom. Hence, the excitement generated first by John the Baptist and then by Jesus. Was Jesus really a prophet? Was he the prophet whose coming was so eagerly expected? And how would one know for sure?

This accounts for the Pharisee’s reaction to Jesus’ apparent acceptance of the sinful woman’s attention. If Jesus really were a prophet, the Pharisee said to himself, surely he would know who and what sort of woman she was! Probably he wasn’t the only one there thinking such thoughts! Such formal dinners were public events with other observers in attendance. The woman’s presence in the crowd standing behind the guests, watching the festivities, would probably have been unremarkable. But, when she started weeping and began to bathe Jesus’ feet with her tears, wiped them with her hair, kissed them, and anointed them with ointment, that was not normally accepted behavior at such an event. Whoever she was, if she hadn’t had a reputation already such unusual behavior would surely have given her one! Hence Simon’s reaction, which he politely kept to himself!

We, however, do know what he was thinking. We also know who Jesus really is! “If only you knew who and what sort of a prophet Jesus is,” we want to say to the Pharisee! Instead, we wait for Jesus to respond. Jesus, of course, does know who and what sort of woman is touching him – better than the Pharisee does. Hence, his little parable about the 2 debtors – intended to suggest to Simon that, if only the Pharisee understood his own need for forgiveness, then he too might respond to Jesus just as the woman did.

The point of course is that we are all in need of forgiveness. Simon the Pharisee had taken an important first step in inviting Jesus to his home, but that was as far as he was willing to go. His failure to appreciate his need for what Jesus had to offer – nothing less than the forgiveness of sins and reconciliation with God – inhibited him from responding to Jesus as the perhaps more obviously sinful (but also more thoroughly repentant) woman did.

When we hear this story, knowing already all that we know about who Jesus really is, we recognize the insufficiency of the Pharisee’s hospitality. But the challenge of such a story is to see ourselves in the Pharisee's place. From God’s vantage point, everyone is like the debtors in the parable, totally unable to repay. Everyone is in need of forgiveness – from God who is willing to write off our debts, reconciling us to himself through Jesus his Son, who has loved us & given himself up for us (Galatians 2:20). So everyone should also really respond to God’s forgiveness as exuberantly and lavishly as the uninhibited sinful woman in the city did. This story is more than a curious tale about an anonymous woman often mistakenly identified with someone else. It is an invitation – more than an invitation, a challenge – to go beyond the Pharisee’s superficial curiosity about Jesus, to come to know who Jesus really is, to realize what he has to offer and to embrace him in a life lived in love.

The story ends with Jesus journeying from one town & village to another, preaching and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom of God, accompanied by the 12 and some women who had been cured of evil spirits & infirmities. What was that already but a gathering of the Church in miniature? What was that already but a gathering of the Church in miniature, what the Church was then and what it must no less likewise be now – a community of forgiven sinners, reconciled to God and to one another, caring for one another and the world around them, in a life lived in love!

Homily given at Saint Paul the Apostle Church, June 12-13, 2010.

Hypatia

This afternoon, I saw the new Alejandro Amenábar film, an English-language Spanish production, set in a vividly depicted late 4th-early 5th century Alexandria, as the classical world was finally coming to an end. It tells the famous story of Hypatia, the celebrated female Philosopher-Mathematician, who devoted her life to study and teaching in Alexandria’s legendary library at the Temple of Serapis. Alexandria at that time was a truly turbulent place, where Christians, Jews, and Pagans all lived and interacted. By then, the Empire had a Christian emperor, and the Christians were rapidly growing in numbers and in political power, while the previously powerful pagans were correspondingly in decline. The film powerfully portrays this ongoing tension and the rising conflict among the three groups, all of which are depicted as increasingly “intolerant” (by today’s standards). It dramatically tells the story of how pagan intolerance of Christianity contributed to and was in turn succeeded (and defeated) by Christian intolerance of paganism.

Christians (among them the future bishop Synesius) as well as pagan students attended Hypatia’s erudite classes, until a pagan-initiated street brawl ended in a Christian takeover of the library (c. 391), transforming its temple into a church. Having salvaged what scrolls she could, Hypatia continued her speculative studies in her home, until her purported influence on the Roman Prefect of the city (her former student Orestes) caused her to be murdered by a Christian mob.

The younger Orestes had also earlier aspired to be Hypatia’s suitor. The neo-Platonist Hypatia, however, had no interest in such love and dramatically displayed her disdain for physical sexuality. Meanwhile her family slave Davus both falls in love with Hypatia and becomes a Christian. The story of Davus, which I presume is a cinematic fiction, gives the film a personal, emotional, and erotic edge it would otherwise lack.

As historian H.A. Drake has shown in Constantine and the Bishops (Johns Hopkins U. Pr., 2000), the first Christian Emperor pursued a religious policy aimed at imperial stability and social cohesion, in which Christians and pagans could coexist in civic harmony. Had the political situation not developed differently, how might the relationship among the empire’s religions have sorted itself out? Might the mutual respect among Hypatia, Orestes, and Synesius have provided an alternative model for a society in transition?

Corpus Christi

Undoubtedly, the most distinctive (and probably most popular) custom associated with the celebration of Corpus Christi is the public procession in which the Blessed Sacrament is carried in a monstrance through the local streets with great solemnity and festivity, as an expression of belief in and devotion to the sacrament of the Eucharist.

26 summers ago, I was visiting Montreal with a Methodist friend from the Midwest. It just happened to be the feast of Corpus Christi. As we toured the old city, we found ourselves in a crowd outside the historic church of Notre Dame, where a crowd was waiting for the Corpus Christi procession to begin. Caught up in the mood, my friend and I became part of the throng, following the Blessed Sacrament through the narrow streets.

Since then, I have experienced any number of Eucharistic (as well as non-Eucharistic) outdoor processions. Perhaps the most impressive, certainly the most moving, would be the outdoor Eucharistic procession every summer afternoon at the shrine of Our Lady of Lourdes in southern France. After being exposed all day under an outdoor tent, the Blessed Sacrament is carried outdoors, accompanied by groups of sick pilgrims and their caregivers, to the massive underground basilica, the only structure large enough to contain the vase number of pilgrims present on any given day. Empty, the basilica resembles an ugly underground parking lot. Crowded to capacity for afternoon Benediction, however, the experience is, as my British friends would say, “brilliant.”

A more traditional word for such a sacred experience would be “awesome” (a word which really used to mean something before its contemporary reincarnation as a synonym for “nice.”) Thus, for example, we used to begin the Mass for the consecration of a Church with the Patriarch Jacob’s words in Genesis: How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God’ this is the gate of heaven; and it shall be called the court of God [Genesis 28:17].

We build and consecrate churches (with a small “c”), so that the Christian community (the “Church” with a capital “C”) can assemble to pray, to hear God’s word, to celebrate the sacraments, and, most especially, to participate in the Eucharist. Christ is present in his church whenever we faithfully gather together in his name. He is present whenever the scriptures are read and explained and the sacraments are celebrated. Above all, he is present in a special and unique way in his Body and Blood - prefigured by the bread and wine offered by the priest and king Melchizedek (Genesis 14:18-20), established as a sacrament by Christ at the Last Supper (1 Corinthians 11:23-26), celebrated daily at the altar, permanently reserved for ongoing adoration in the Tabernacle, and exposed on occasion in a monstrance for public adoration. This celebration of Corpus Christi highlights all of that and invites us all to a deeper devotion to the Real Presence of Christ in this most Blessed Sacrament.

Corpus Christi always reminds me of something else that happened to me that same summer 26 years ago. It’s a story I’m sure I’ve told before, but it’s one well worth repeating. I was in Toronto that summer, as a Paulist seminarian serving at St. Peter’s parish, the very same Toronto parish where, 11 years later, I would finally be ordained a priest. One of my regular student responsibilities that summer was to bring Communion to Catholics in one of the local hospitals. One patient on my list turned out to be an elderly Hungarian woman, who knew no English. Needless to say, I know no Hungarian. So my feeble attempts to communicate were worthless. Bear in mind, that so much of our training in seminary seemed to be focused on how we communicate compassionately, etc. Unable to communicate at all, I felt like a total failure. All I wanted to do was get out of there as fast as possible. But I was trying to be conscientious. So I made one last try to see if at least she wanted to receive Communion. I took out a Host and held it up for her to see. Instantly, her confusion gave way to recognition. She made the sign of the cross and began to pray.

I think the memory of that incident has stuck with me all these years because it probably taught me more about the Eucharist than any of my classes ever did. Simply, quietly, but clearly, it illuminated the inner reality at the root of all our Eucharistic devotions and practices. It illustrated for me how the Eucharist really is Christ’s way of assuring us that he is with us – no matter what. Wherever we go, whatever we do, whatever our successes or failures, rich or poor, healthy or sick, we always have a place at the Lord’s table. In the Eucharist, Christ remains with us, no matter what, blessing our ordinary and sometimes somewhat messed up lives with the real, flesh-and-blood presence of God himself, who invites us – like the 5000+ people in the Gospel – to eat until we have enough.

There is an ancient expression concerning the Eucharist, associated with the great St. Augustine, Become what you receive. In the Eucharist, we receive the Body and Blood of Christ, our Risen Lord, really and substantially present for us in his Church. Becoming what we receive, we ask Christ to do with us what he does with bread and wine. We ask him to take us in his hands, to bless us, and to give us to one another with the same love with which he has given us himself – for the life of the world.

Homily given at St. Paul the Apostle Church, June 5 & 6, 2010.

Year for Priests Finale

This evening, the Oblate Sisters of Jesus the Priest, who are such an integral part of our community life here at the Paulist Motherhouse, hosted a celebration for the Paulist Fathers to mark the conclusion of this “Year for Priests.” Like everything the Sisters do, the celebration was meticulously planned and executed – even to the photographs displayed in the dining room.

We began, of course, with Mass in our beautiful House Chapel. Basing himself on today’s Gospel about the Sadducees’ challenge to Jesus about the resurrection (Mark 12:18-27), our new Paulist President, Michael McGarry, focused on Jesus’ response about God being a God of the living, linking that to the theme of priestly witness to a God who is God of the living and to the spirit of gratitude which must characterize our priestly life and ministry.

Then we had a wonderful dinner with the Sisters and other guests, complete with mariachi music!

Priestly fraternity takes many forms and is experienced in different ways in different places at different times. One particular experience of priestly fraternity, which I have enjoyed now for almost 10 years (and which I am about to leave behind as I prepare to move to a new assignment), has been our common life at the Paulist Motherhouse. The 59th Street House (as it has traditionally been known) is, of course, a “rectory” for those of us engaged in the ministry of the parish. But for all of the 25 or so Paulists who live here at any given time it is our home. By extension, it is also “home” for all other Paulists, who may return here to visit, much as family members may on occasion return to visit the family home. I remember how, when I was stationed in Toronto, I sort of felt that way when I would be back visiting at 59th Street. This was so even though at that time my parents still lived in the NYC area, and their house functioned recognizably as a central family home for me and my two sisters. With my mother and surviving sister and her family all on the West Coast now, 59th Street will likely emerge even more as that one special place to come home to.

Hello, Knoxville!

After 10 years as Associate Pastor at what we Paulists affectionately call our “Mother Church,” St. Paul the Apostle Parish in New York, I have been appointed Pastor of Immaculate Conception parish, Knoxville, Tennessee.

The city of Knoxville was established in 1794. By the mid-19th-century, railroad construction had brought numerous Catholic immigrants to East Tennessee and, in particular, to Knoxville which had become a hub for the construction. Accordingly in 1855, the first Roman Catholic parish in Knoxville was established, under the patronage of the Immaculate Conception. (That ancient doctrine had been dogmatically defined by Blessed Pope Pius IX in 1854). The small original church, which had survived undamaged through the Civil War, was eventually replaced by the present Victorian Gothic structure, dedicated September 19, 1886. In 1973, the Paulist Fathers (who had had an earlier history of mission activities in Tennessee) were invited to Knoxville to serve both the University of Tennessee Catholic community and at Immaculate Conception Church. In 1988, the Diocese of Knoxville was created out of what had been the eastern Tennessee counties of the diocese of Nashville. Immaculate Conception is now a thriving, multi-cultural Catholic parish in the Diocese of Knoxville.

I will have a lot more to say about my new parish after I am actually there!

I plan to visit for several days at the end of June and expect to move there in late July.