In Exaltatione S. Crucis

According to tradition, around 320 A.D. Saint Helena (the mother of the Emperor Constantine) found (invenit) the True Cross on which Christ had been crucified. Unlike some Crusader-identified sites, many of the older sites associated with New Testament events - e.g., the site of Calvary and the Holy Sepulcher - and the churches erected on those sites have authentic ancient tradition behind them. (Photo: Jerusalem's Church of the Holy Sepulcher). The site which early Christians in Jerusalem identified with Calvary and the Holy Sepulcher had been in effect protected, so to speak, by the decision of the Roman Emperor Hadrian (Emperor 117- 138) to erect there a temple to Venus. Two centuries later, the first Christian emperor, Constantine the Great, demolished the Temple of Venus and erected the Basilica complex of the Holy Sepulcher on that sacred site. The new shrine was dedicated on September 13, 335. Then, the next day, September 14, the relic of the Holy Cross that had been discovered by Saint Helena was brought out for public veneration. Hence the origin of today's feast day. 

Over time, Saint Helena's Finding of the Cross came to be venerated on other dates (May 3 in the Latin Church). Meanwhile, in 614, the Persians conquered Jerusalem and made off with the relic. Then, the Persian defeat by the Emperor Heraclius in 628 was the occasion for the relic's return. As a result, September 14 became now primarily a commemoration of that glorious event. Since the abolition of the separate May 3 feast in 1961, today has become the annual celebration of the entire mystery of the Cross as a sign of glory and of Christ's complete victory.

Prior to Paul VI's Breviary reform, the old Office contained an account of the return of the relic of the Cross to Jerusalem in 628. The three lessons of the former Second Nocturn recounted how the Persian King conquered Jerusalem and, how 14 years later, the Roman Emperor Heraclius eventually defeated the Persians, recovered the Cross, and solemnly carried it into jerusalem. The sixth lesson then continued:

Heraclius, regally adorned as he was with gold and precious stones, was brought to a standstill at the gate which led to Calvary. The more he tried to press forward, the more he seemed rooted to the post. Heraclius himself and all the people were astonished, but Zacharius, Bishop of Jerusalem, spoke out: "O emperor, think how little you are imitating the poverty and humility of Christ Jesus, when, in triumphal robes you carry his Cross." Immediately Heraclius took off his royal robe and his shoes. He put on a coarse garment, resumed his journey, and completed easily the rest of the way. The Cross was replaced on Calvary on the very spot whence it had been taken by the Persians. From this time forth the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, celebrated annually on this day, began to take on new importance, in commemoration of this event.

It may be a detail easy to pass over, but I have always found something particularly appealing in the symbolism of how Heraclius, having found it hard to move forward (indeed impossible) when arrayed in all his regalia, easily completed his journey once he became willing to dress poorly. In a society such as ours, which so largely measures people by their material success and judges their worth by such standards as how fashionably and expensively dressed they are, this ancient story is yet another useful parable about the ultimate worthlessness of so much of what we conventionally value and how ultimately freeing and liberating it actually is to adopt a very different sort of path.

Sully

This week, I saw the new film Sully, about the successful crash-landing of a damaged passenger airplane in the Hudson River on January 15, 2009, about its heroic Captain Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger, and about the heroic rescue work by NY ferries and First Responders that enabled all 155 on the plane to escape with their lives. While attention rightly goes primarily to the quick-thinking captain who safely steered the plane away from  crashing into a crowded city, the film also rightly highlights the quick response by NY ferries and First Responders. Watching that - as native New Yorker - I felt justly proud of my great home city and its citizens. Seeing it on the 9/11 weekend complemented memories of heroic New Yorkers on that earlier tragic day - but this time with a much happier outcome!

Since the "Miracle on the Hudson" was an historical event, the outcome of which we are already familiar with before seeing the film, the movie itself lacks real suspense. Even so, the story is retold in such a way that every moment of the flight and rescue is grippingly exciting, even though we already know the happy ending.

The real tension in the film comes from the virtual persecution Sully appears to receive from seemingly narrow-minded, bullying bureaucrats conducting the NTSB's post-crash inquiry. It seems like a classic case of no good deed going unpunished, and it is virtually impossible to feel any sympathy for the unimaginative architects of the inquisition against the hero pilot. There has been some controversy about this aspect of the film and about exactly how accurately the NTSB bureaucrats have been portrayed. (Presumably, that is one reason the names of the actual investigators are not used.) 

Leaving that issue aside, Sully remains a powerful evocation of one of the more positive and uplifting events in our recent post-9/11 national history, a celebration of a good man who did his job well and in the process saved many lives and deservedly is now seen as a hero, and a celebration also of communal heroism in a great city. 

James J. Young, CSP

In Washington, DC, 30 years ago today, Paulist Father Jim Young (August 3, 1940 - September 12, 1986) died after an apparently short illness. He had been Director of Formation and Seminary Rector during my entire post-novitiate time as a Paulist seminarian at Saint Paul's College (1982-1986), and his death came as a serious emotional blow. Remembering him now, 30 years later, I am repeating, largely unchanged, some of what I posted here on his 25th anniversary, just five years ago.

Jim was only 46 years old when he died, still seemingly in the prime not only of a vigorous life but of a distinguished priestly career. A Philadelphia Irish Catholic, Jim had entered the Paulists in 1960 and was ordained a priest in 1967. He’d ministered at Chicago’s Old St. Mary’s Parish and Boston’s Park Street Paulist Center and at the Weston School of Theology, and was nationally known for his pioneering work in outreach to Divorced Catholics. From 1978 to 1986, he served as Director of Formation and Superior of the Paulist Washington Community, the role in which I came to know him. Jim was also my personal Formation Adviser.

Jim was a classic 1960s liberal. Raised and formed in the vibrant, urban, ethnic, pre-conciliar Church, he was part of that aggiornamento generation that had eagerly embraced change and was pushing in new directions. But Jim was also a liberal in the important sense that he was someone secure enough to be open to and accepting of others, and so free from the rigid intolerance of any political incorrectness, whether in politics or in religion, that is so often found - increasingly so - in liberalism today.

No doubt, it was precisely that open and accepting character that enabled him to recognize the varied gifts and differing talents of the seminarians he governed. He saw value in me, when some others did not. His approach seemed to be to try to discern whatever gifts and talents a particular student might have to offer and how that person might serve effectively and well as a Paulist priest. 

Jim was an optimist, whose joy in his own ministry was not only evident but infectious. It permeated the environment at St. Paul’s College in the early to mid-1980s, which was challenging but even more importantly encouraging. Undoubtedly there were flaws in the formation program, which was obviously enough a creature of its time; and there were aspects about it to be reconsidered. But the overall atmosphere at St. Paul’s College in my time was positive. As individual seminarians, we all had our ups and downs, and some left. But for most of us, I think, it was a good and growing experience of what is nowadays called “human formation.” Overall it was happy place – a good and relatively safe place to get to know oneself and others and God.

We were a small group compared to the numbers that building had been built to accommodate, but we were a large group compared to the smaller formation community of more recent years. And the building helped too – creating community by forcing us to spend much more time together than the radically renovated building did after 1986. There may be something to be said for having to shave next to each other every single day!

I left St. Paul’s College to begin my diaconal assignment on February 7, 1986. The only time I saw Jim again was the following May at the Paulist ordination in New York. I remember his friendly smile when he saw me at the pre-ordination festivities and how happy that made me. Looking ahead to my own ordination (which I then expected would be happening one year later), I wrote to ask him to preach at my First Mass and received a nice card from him promising to do so. I still have that card somewhere. When he became ill later that summer, I called him in the hospital. Apparently as yet unaware of the gravity of his illness, he told me he expected to have to return to St. Paul’s College to convalesce before moving to his new assignment in San Francisco. Not being in Washington myself, it was only in his final days that I learned how seriously sick he really was. By the time I returned to Washington to attend his funeral, I already knew that I would not be ordained a priest the following year and might never be. So I found myself mourning not only a good friend and mentor but also the vocation he had so supportively encouraged me in, but which had just recently been snatched away.

In his homily at Jim’s funeral, Fr. George Fitzgerald said: “I believe that at the core of Jim’s priestly ministry was a passion to steer people from the pain back to the beauty which God sees in all his creatures. In this sense, to so many anguished hearts, Jim was simply a beautiful guy. To one he was a friend, to another a teacher, to someone else a spiritual guide, to still another a ray of hope, a vessel of compassion, a help in time of trouble.”

Requiescat in pace.

15 Years

Fifteen years ago today, The United States experienced a terrorist attack, that was both unexpected and unprecedented and which has profoundly altered our society. I remember that day as vividly as if it were yesterday. At that time, my current associate and I were both associate pastors together at the Paulist "Mother Church," the parish church of Saint Paul the Apostle in New York City. That morning, I walked to the local polling place to vote in the mayoral primary. I recall commenting on the clear blue sky and what a beautiful day it was - a good day, I suggested, to walk over to Central Park.

Back at the parish office, my colleague told me that he had just heard that an airplane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center’s “Twin Towers.” I went to check the news on TV. By then, a second plane had crashed into the other tower, and I watched in horror as each of the towers collapsed. It quickly became a day like no other. The primary voting was cancelled, as the entire city shut down. Even the Starbucks on the corner closed, as police barricaded our street. For days the acrid smell from the burned buildings and their contents hovered in the air, penetrating everything. For weeks, we were a city in mourning, as one funeral after another was celebrated – many of them nearby at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. At. Saint Paul’s, we celebrated with special sadness the funeral of one of our beloved choir members, a member of the flight crew on the hijacked United Flight 93 that crashed in Pennsylvania. Meanwhile, that following Friday, in observance of a presidentially proclaimed national day of mourning, over 1000 people attended the noon Mass at Saint Paul’s. September 11 is still remembered annually at the Paulist Mother Church with special ringing of bells at 8:46, 9:03, 9:37, and 10:07 – recalling the exact times when the four planes crashed into the Twin Towers, at the Pentagon, and in Pennsylvania.

When we remember September 11, 2001, we remember a day of personal and communal tragedy, and also of courage and commitment, heroism and generosity - people at their worst and people at their best. 

In the aftermath of that sad September 11, however, our country has changed in curiously complex ways – not necessarily all for the better. It seems to me that we have become a much more fearful people. We are increasingly conscious of enemies and naturally seek to maximize our safety. But there is also something else about the fearful people we have become, something in certain respects very much out of character with the best and most preponderant American traditions. And this has happened precisely at a time when the new and complex challenges of a rapidly changing society and a new order of world affairs may require us to relearn some of the most important lessons of our American experience and recover our most deeply rooted spiritual and religious traditions - as a much needed alternative to fear.

The Dawning of Salvation

Your birth, O Virgin Mother of God, proclaims joy to the whole world, for from you arose the glorious Sun of Justice, Christ our God; he freed us from the age-old curse and filled us with holiness; he destroyed death and gave us eternal life. 

Those words (from the antiphon at the Benedictus at Morning Prayer today) summarize the significance of the Church's celebration of the birth of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

(The photo is of Giotto's early 14th-century fresco of the Nativity of Mary in the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua, Italy.)

Today's celebration is one of the oldest Marian feasts in the calendar. Its origin is thought to be connected with the dedication of a church in Jerusalem - now known as the Church of Saint Anne - erected on a site associated in tradition with the home of Mary's parents. From the Eastern Church, the feast came to Rome toward the end of the 7th century. The celebration of Mary's day of birth (a liturgical privilege she shares only with Jesus and John the Baptist) is also an early testimony to the Church's faith in Mary's freedom from sin from the beginning of her life.

Curiously, a similar idea also exists in Islam. In Muslim tradition, Mary and Jesus are the only two born totally free from Satan's power. The Quran also recounts Mary's birth in a story seemingly influenced by the Old Testament account of Hannah's conceiving and giving birth to Samuel (cf. I Samuel 1). 

A sermon ascribed to Saint Augustine, which used to be read in today's Second Nocturn, highlights the ancient patristic parallelism between Mary and Eve: The canticle of Mary silenced the wailing of Eve. In the contemporary Office, the Mary-Eve parallelism is expressed through the scripture reading from Exodus 3 (replacing the traditional First Nocturn readings from the Song of songs). Then, instead of Augustine, it is Saint Andrew of Crete whose words we read. For him, Mary's birth was the prelude to the foreordained union of the Word with flesh and is the mystery that stands at the frontier where types and symbols give way to reality, and the old is replaced by the new.

Lots to think about on this feast!

Meanwhile, here in East Tennessee, today marks the 28th anniversary of the creation of the Diocese of Knoxville. Accordingly, today's feast is observed as the patronal feast of this diocese.