Last Call at Mount Paul

Today, Memorial Day, the Paulists from the New York City area concelebrated a Memorial Day Mass at the parish cemetery in Milton, NJ. That is the cemetery to which were transferred last year the bodies of the many Paulists who had previously rested in the Paulist cemetery at the Paulist Novitiate at Mount Paul, Oak Ridge, NJ. Their transfer to the local parish cemetery was necessitated by the perhaps inevitable, but no less sad for that reason, sale of the former novitiate property to the State.

After the Mass, we Paulists gathered for one last time at our old novitiate for a Memorial Day barbeque. Hosted by our new Vice President, Fr. Sean Foley, who has so expertly managed both the property and the transfer of bodies through this tragic time of transition, the barbeque was a wonderful celebration of Paulist community. It was, however, a bittersweet celebration, since it will likely be the last time most of us will ever set foot on that property, that special place where most of us once spent one of the most formative years of our lives. By now, the novitiate house itself has already been stripped of its furniture. (Note the attached picture of the novitiate chapel, which gives a whole new meaning to “bare ruined choirs.” Much of the chapel furniture – including altar, pews, and statues – has thankfully already found a new home now here at St. Paul the Apostle in New York).

I entered the Paulist Novitiate at Oak Ridge on August 24, 1981, and made my First Profession there on August 7, 1982. Subtracting the 2 months spent in another wonderful place since then also lost by the Paulists, the University Parish in Morgantown, WV, I spent 9+ months of my novitiate year at Oak Ridge. I understand that Mount Paul was not every Paulist’s favorite place, but it was certainly one of mine. In the late 1980s and early 1990s when I was at Good Shepherd and later working at 1011, I used to like to drive out to Oak Ridge on a day off to enjoy the company of the novices and the Paulist priests in residence – especially the late Jim Finley. After my ordination in 1995, I visited Mount Paul to celebrate Mass there, finally bringing my formations story to its belated but happy conclusion. I attended several Paulist burials there in the old cemetery and several First Professions – including the last one ever to take place there in August 1997. In recent years, I have gone there less often. With no novitiate there, the house seemed strangely empty – a place that seemed to have lost its purpose.

Transitions are always sad, and that was certainly how I felt today as memories (both pleasant and painful) flooded my mind and brought tears to my eyes. As we turn the last page and finally close the book that was the Paulist story at Mount Paul, I recall Isaac Hecker’s hope that, in psite of everything, we are indeed “living and working in the dawning light of an approaching, brighter, more glorious future for God’s Holy church.”

Trinity Sunday

Almost 30 years ago, when I was a Paulist novice, I sought some guidance from my confessor regarding my bumbling prayer life. He told me to pray personally – not just to God in general, but to each Person of the Trinity. At the time, I found his advice surprising - and somewhat perplexing. For me, the Trinity was always a bit of an abstraction – a doctrine I duly believed in, of course, but not something I gave a lot of thought to.

I say this, despite the obvious fact that I was baptized in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, on which occasion my godparents on my behalf made a profession of faith in the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. My sins have been forgiven many times in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit; and as a priest I have in turn many times absolved the sins of others in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. As a priest, as the Church’s representative, I have also witnessed marriages, at which rings have been exchanged in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. We have all been blessed – and have blessed ourselves - in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Finally, the principal prayers of the liturgy are all addressed to the Father, through the Son, in the unity of the Holy Spirit. In short, my entire life – and the lives of all of us, both individually and as a Church community – have been defined, formed, and shaped by the awesome mystery of who God is, that defines the Triune God’s relationship with us and ours with God.

Admittedly, the words we use to talk about the Trinity, words like “nature” and “person,” when used not as we use them in ordinary language, but as arcane technical terms of philosophical language, may seem – especially perhaps to post-modern ears – to be much too abstract. For all its apparent abstraction, however, the doctrine of the Trinity is our fundamental – and uniquely Christian – insight into who God is. It distinguishes Christian faith from all other religious beliefs – including the other monotheistic religions.

Human beings, created in the image and likeness of God, have a built-in, natural longing for God. As St. Augustine famously said, “You have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in You.” Yet, while the existence of a God may be knowable by the natural light of human reasoning, who God is in himself, however, is something we could never know on our own. That had to be revealed to us. Hence, God himself has revealed who he is – one God in three distinct Persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

We do not worship three gods, but one God – a unity of Persons in one divine nature or substance. Each of the three Persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, is truly God. They are not three modes or appearances of God, but three identifiable Persons, each distinctly God, but in relationship to each other, that is to say, their distinction resides solely in their relationship to each other: the Father to the Son, the Son to the Father, and the Holy Spirit to both.

There is a famous 15th century icon which purports to portray the Trinity, utilizing an ancient tradition of imaging the 3 Persons of the Trinity in the story of God’s appearance to Abraham in the form of 3 angels. In that icon, the Father is seated on one side, gazing lovingly at the Son (the most public figure in the picture, who is seated prominently in the center, gazing lovingly at the Father), while the vibrantly-robed Holy Spirit is seated on the other side. In this image, the three Persons appear to gaze at each other in mutual, loving communication, into which the Son seems to be inviting us as he points out into the world, even as he continues to gaze lovingly at his Father.

On the one hand, the doctrine of the Trinity expresses our uniquely Christian insight into the inner life of God – where the Son is the image of the Father, the Father’s likeness and outward expression, who perfectly reflects his Father, while the Holy Spirit in turn expresses and reveals the mutual love of Father and Son. At the same time, the Trinity also expresses something fundamental about how God acts outside himself. Who God is in himself is how God acts; and how God acts reveals who God is.

Already in the Old Testament, God was revealing himself as reflected in personified divine Wisdom: the first-born of God’s ways, poured forth from of old, at the first before the earth [Proverbs 8:22-23]. Our redemption was not some divine after-thought. The incarnation of the Son and our redemption were part of the plan of creation, externally expressing the inner life of God.

God’s action outside himself is the indivisible, common work of the Trinity, which each Person performs according to his unique personal property. Thus the 2nd Ecumenical Council of Constantinople in 553 confessed: “one God and Father from whom all things are, and one Lord Jesus Christ, through whom all things are, and one Holy Spirit in whom all things are.”

It is, of course, the Son, one in being with the Father, the visible image of the invisible God, through whom, as St. Paul wrote to the Romans, we have gained access by faith to the grace in which we stand [Romans 5:2]. Risen from the dead and seated at the right hand of the Father, the Son has sent the Holy Spirit upon his Church, which is the Body of Christ and the Temple of the Holy Spirit. In St. Paul’s words, the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us [Romans 5:5]. The Holy Spirit is inseparable from the Father and the Son, in both the inner life of the Trinity and his gift of love for the world. The Holy Spirit unites us with the Father in the Body of Christ, the Church. Through the sacraments, Christ continues to communicate the Holy Spirit to the members of his Church. Thus, in the Eucharistic Prayer, at the very heart of the Mass, the priest petitions the Father to send the Holy Spirit, so that bread and wine may become the body and blood of Christ and that those who receive Christ’s body and blood may then be transformed into the image of Christ as participants in the mission of the Church.

So it is no merely theoretical abstraction that God's grace is given to us from the Father, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit. As the 4th century Bishop and Doctor of the Church, St. Athanasius, famously wrote in one of his letters: “When we share in the Spirit, we possess the love of the Father, the grace of the Son, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit himself.”

Homily given at St. Paul the Apostle Church, May 30, 2010.

Memorial Day

Memorial Day – or Holiday Weekend?

After the American Civil War, many communities set aside a special day to honor those who had died in that war. In 1868, Gen. John A. Logan, commander-in-chief of the Union veterans’ organization “The Grand Army of the Republic,” designated May 30 as Decoration Day, for the purpose of decorating the graves of Civil War veterans. The first state officially to recognize the holiday was New York in 1873. By 1890 it was recognized by all of the northern states. The South at first refused to acknowledge the day, honoring Confederate dead on other days until after World War I (when the holiday became the day to remember all American war dead). The alternative name Memorial Day, first used in 1882, became common after World War II and became the holiday’s official name in 1967. The unfortunate “Uniform Holidays Bill” of 1968 then moved Memorial Day to the last Monday in May, beginning in1971. In a Memorial Day address in 2002, the VFW observed: "Changing the date merely to create three-day weekends has undermined the very meaning of the day. No doubt, this has contributed greatly to the general public's nonchalant observance of Memorial Day."

So we are left with the question: Memorial Day – or Holiday Weekend? Much as the banal concept of the weekend has helped eviscerate Sunday, as “the Lord’s Day,” I suspect the holiday weekend has likewise diminished the social and civic significance of so many American holidays – an impoverishment to our common cultural life, no doubt, but one that is likely here to stay.

That being said, it may still be worth the effort to remember what Memorial Day was supposed to be about. During the Second World War, at the Sacred Heart altar in the south aisle of St. Paul the Apostle Church, there was an easel with the names of all parishioners serving in the Armed Forces and also a plaque with the names of all Paulist priests serving as military chaplains. After the war, a Commemorative Tablet, with the names of those parishioners who had given their lives for their country in that war, was placed on the west wall. After the September 11, 2001, terrorist attack, the Sacred Heart altar again served as a site to honor the memory of those who had died as a result of that terrible event. A more permanent memorial was designed in 2005, now located to the east of the altar, dedicated to the memory of all who worshipped in this church or who lived or worked in our neighborhood and who lost their lives on that tragic, never-to-be-forgotten day.

In his De Cura Pro Mortuis, (On the Care for the Dead), St. Augustine of Hippo (354-430) wrote: “Remembrance and prayers for the dead are signs of true affection when they are offered for the departed ones by the faithful most dear to them. There can be no doubt that these prayers help after life those who while alive merited them. Should some emergency prevent the bodies of the dead from being buried at all, should lack of facilities hinder them from resting in a holy place, prayers for the souls of these dead should not be neglected. The Church has taken upon herself, as an obligation, prayers for the dead. … The care bestowed upon the burial of the body … is merely an act of humanity regulated by affection for ‘no man hates his own flesh.’ …If these offices are paid to the dead, even by those who do not believe in the resurrection of the body, how much more should they be paid by those who do believe in the resurrection on the last day. Thus these duties toward a body which, although dead, is destined to rise again, are in a way a testimony of faith in that belief.”

The Constraining Power of the American Story

When my European friends ask why we Americans seem so willing to tolerate poor public services (or, more to the point, seem so unwilling to pay collectively for better ones), or why we seem so reluctant to restrict gun ownership, etc., I generally respond by recalling the priority placed on freedom among American values. It is not that individual freedom and autonomy are the only values most Americans care about. Most Americans, thankfully, are not libertarians. But it is the case that in their hierarchy of values individual freedom and autonomy generally matter more to Americans (mostly descendants of immigrants who left more authoritarian societies behind to find opportunity here) than they seem to matter to many in other societies. The result is that we are more disposed to sacrifice in those other areas in order to maximize our individual freedom and autonomy. Society and community also count in the American story (sometimes very prominently), but the overall narrative more often than not prioritizes freedom and autonomy over society and community.

Perhaps that is why, despite the continued prominence of religion and the generally conservative tenor of our culture, the individualistic “sexual revolution” of the 1960s has so successfully institutionalized itself. For decades now, our society has been divided along moral and cultural fault lines that continue to replay the conflicts of the 60s. In one sense, the revolutionary changes (sexual and otherwise) associated with my “Baby Boomer” generation’s behavior in the 60s (including the turn to a much less civil style of political discourse, which has since metastasized beyond anyone’s expectation) may represent a real wound to the Body Politic. At the same time, however, it is evident that such changes have penetrated deeply into the general culture, resulting in a widespread willingness to accept, condone, or at least tolerate all sorts of behaviors which would undoubtedly have been condemned (even if hypocritically so) a few decades ago.

Thus, abortion proponents have very successfully framed their advocacy of access to legal abortion not in terms of what it means for its victim, the unborn child, or its effects upon society at large, but rather as an issue of the individual’s right to choose. Such an approach carries enormous weight. It resonates with the American narrative of freedom. In the case of abortion, however, the stakes are so high and the damage done so dramatic that the opposition to its legalization has remained strong in spite of everything. On so many other issues, however, issues on which reasoned debate about the social implications and consequences of this or that might seem warranted, once the issue has been framed in terms of the narrative of individual freedom, the end result is almost inevitable. Such is the constraining power of the American story.

By breaking apart the post-war consensus on basic issues, however, the 1960s opened the door to reimagining everything that had been inherited – including the values and practices of the Liberal Welfare State (even in its admittedly modest American version). As the storied accomplishments of post-war prosperity suddenly seemed to be on the wane in the 1970s, opposition to the Liberal Welfare State got a new lease on life. Successfully tapping into the narrative of freedom and autonomy, the “Reagan Revolution” of the 1980s also resonated with the American story.

If Bill Clinton represented the inevitable institutional triumph of the 60s, his “New Democrat” orientation also embodied an acceptance of many of the ideas of the 80s. His successor, George W. Bush, may have identified more ardently with those 80s ideas and may have been more strongly supported by those still seeking in part to overturn the 60’s. Yet commitment to that latter goal always seemed secondary.

It is a popular political stereotype that “liberals” promote personal and sexual autonomy while repressing economic liberty, and that “conservatives” promote the latter while repressing the former. While that may well be true at the more intensely ideological extremes, my impression is that most of those in the center seem to have accommodated autonomy in both areas within the overarching freedom narrative that is the American story.

The current economic crisis may have emboldened the hard-core ideological left, but it has not resulted in any wholesale abandonment of the narrative of economic autonomy that so successfully reasserted its place in the American story in the 1980s and after. No solution to our current cultural and political impasse stands any serious likelihood of success unless it too can be convincingly expressed within some form of the American story’s freedom narrative. That applies as well to approaches rooted in other (e.g., religious) narratives.

As Isaac Hecker suggested in The Church and the Age (1887), “it is impossible, humanly speaking, that a religion can maintain itself among a people when once they are led to believe it wrongs their natural instincts, is hostile to their national development, or is unsympathetic with their genius.”

Pentecost Sunday

Today is Pentecost Sunday, “the Birthday of the Church.”

Until modern times, Pentecost was observed as one of the greatest festivals of the church year, on a par with Easter. It had an octave equal to Easter’s, and even had its own Saturday morning vigil (complete with prophecies and a blessing of baptismal water). At one time, Kings and Queens were expected to wear their crowns publicly on Pentecost. About all that’s left of all that now, in post-Christian Europe, is the 3-day Whitsun weekend. That’s not unlike the situation with our 3-day weekend next week. Until relatively recently, what we still nostalgically call “Memorial Day” was a real civic holiday with meaning and social significance, not just another excuse to contribute further to climate change and do other environmental damage by driving to the beach or to the mall.

“Pentecost” is a Greek word referring to the 50th day – originally the 50th day after the Passover. Its Hebrew name, Shavuot, means “weeks,” a reference to the week of seven weeks that began with Passover. Originally an early summer thanksgiving feast at the time of the ancient Israelite wheat harvest, Shavuot was the second of the three great pilgrimage feasts in the Jewish calendar – the first being the spring feast of Passover and the third the great autumn harvest festival of Sukkot, which the New Testament typically calls “the Feast of the Tabernacles.” Pentecost originated as a joyful thanksgiving for the early summer harvest of grain, strawberries, cherries, peas, and asparagus. Two loaves, made from new flour, would be offered to God as the first fruits of the grain harvest. Whereas at Passover seven weeks earlier unleavened bread had been offered, at Pentecost ordinary bread was offered in the form of fully leavened loaves.

Shavuot is celebrated on the 6th day of the 3rd month of the Jewish calendar – 50 days after Passover. By New Testament times, Shavuot had become a commemoration of the covenant at Mount Sinai, the giving of the 10 Commandments, which (according to Exodus 19) all happened just about 7 weeks after the exodus from Egypt. It was to celebrate Shavuot that "devout Jews from every nation under heaven" came as Pentecost pilgrims to Jerusalem, in the familiar story read today from the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 2:1-11).

Just as summer fulfills the promise of spring, the covenant at Mount Sinai fulfilled the promise of Israelite nationhood of which the exodus had been but the beginning. And, just as the covenant at Mount Sinai fulfilled the promise of Israelite nationhood, of which the exodus had been but the beginning, likewise the coming of the Holy Spirit fulfilled the promised of the resurrection, transforming the disciples from fear-filled followers of a now absent Jesus into faith-filled witnesses commissioned to transform the whole world – beginning with that initial polyglot group of Pentecost pilgrims.

In our liturgical calendar, Pentecost marks the transition from Easter to Ordinary Time, the time of fulfillment, the time of the Church, when the promise of Christ’s resurrection should be reflected in our ordinary lives. As his Church, we worship the Risen Lord, now ascended to glory and seated at the Father’s right hand. Meanwhile, as his Church, we continue Christ’s life and work in the world.

According to Acts, there were 120 persons present in what tradition calls the Upper Room. Artistic renditions often focus particularly the 12 apostles along with Mary, the Mother of Jesus. In a famous mosaic in the dome of the Basilica di San Marco in Venice, however, the 16 nationalities (Parthians, Medes, Elamites, etc.), who are mentioned in the story as having heard the Gospel preached in their native languages (thus undoing the damage done to the human community as a consequence of the Tower of Babel) are all represented in the scene, each by a male and female pair (an image of the universality of the Church).

For the Holy Spirit has not been given to us just so that we can feel good about ourselves, so that we can continue Christ’s presence among us in some purely private way (as if the Church were just a social club or some sort of inward-looking therapeutic community). On the contrary, the community which continues Christ’s life and work in the world must be as broad and wide as the world itself, which is why it must speak as many languages as there are to be heard in the world.

Many of us, when we were back being prepared for Confirmation, memorized the 7 gifts and the 12 fruits of the Holy Spirit. Today’s gospel promises that the Holy Spirit will teach us everything and remind us of all we have been told. So let’s recall what we all learned long ago. The 7 gifts of the Holy Spirit are … wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and fear of the Lord.

We call these gifts of the Holy Spirit, because we don’t start with them or produce them on our own. They are given to us – to transform us into true children of God and coheirs with Christ, to enable and empower us to live in a new way and thus fulfill the Church’s mission in the world. The results of that transformation, the visible effects we experience and recognize of the Holy Spirit at work in our lives are what we customarily call the 12 fruits of the Holy Spirit. And they are … charity, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, generosity, gentleness, faithfulness, modesty, self-control, and chastity.

That’s how the promise of the resurrection is fulfilled and expresses its effect in our ordinary lives, which is the point of Pentecost.

Pentecost is thus the annual liturgical observance of what happens every week with the transition from Sunday to Monday. From our Sunday celebration around the unleavened bread which has become the body of our Risen Lord, we are sent forth, to renew the face of the earth as one body and one spirit in Christ, as the Risen Lord’s permanent presence in the leavened bread of our daily lives in the world.

In that sense, Easter doesn’t end at Pentecost, and Sunday doesn’t end on Monday, anymore than Mass ends with the Dismissal. We do indeed depart, but we do so changed and energized – sent forth in the power of the Holy Spirit to renew the face of the earth.

Homily given at St. Paul the Apostle Church, May 23, 2010.