Convocation Presentation
Take a good look – this has never happened before, and will most probably not happen again. Believe me, the irony of this is not lost on me: that I, of all people, am addressing this Convocation about a previous Convocation centering on our connections with each other.
I approached the June Convocation with minimal enthusiasm and low expectations. I came prepared with my Portable Curmudgeon, a marvelous collection of cynical one-liners and essays. My favorite, on the back cover, was from Albert Camus: “There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.” I steeled myself – just get through it – this too shall pass etc.
We aren’t members of a religious community – most of us are quite independent spirits. Our most nourishing friendships are not only with other priests. It’s hard to find specific actions – things we can do that will actually help. Why focus inward when there are so many important issues coming at us, such as the Year of Faith, Catholics Come Home, The New Evangelization, strengthening the RCIA, just to name a few. Actually, I just made a good case for all of us going home. Let me try to make a better one for working through this.
First of all, our current situation is hurting us. When I read through some of the survey responses comments from the June convocation, I saw some cynicism, throw-away lines, etc. – and I love a good one-liner more than most. But above all, I saw a genuine search for ways to improve our cohesion, a real willingness to challenge ourselves, and some deep expressions of pain and confusion. One comment that stands out: “I’m not sure if this convocation did anything to help the divisions among the priests. I now realize how different we are, and I’m not sure that’s good.” The comment ended with a call to stop petty insults. Several comments mentioned “the elephant in the room” – a term that also came up in several of the meetings of the priestly life committee that I attended in preparation for today. There are many topics that we are afraid to bring up to each other. We don’t seem to know how to deal with our differences.
Second, and perhaps even more important, our divisions are hurting our ministry. People in our parishes are aware of some of the hostility and disrespect that we have allowed to corrupt us (it is corruption in the fullest sense of the word), and it severely undermines our credibility in ministry. People can deal with diversity and differences between us; they are appalled and weakened by public expressions of rancor.
From the positive side, I was strengthened by the expression of our ideals that came up in every talk presentation that I witnessed, and in every table discussion in which I participated. I was surprised that it had such an effect on me. The simple statement that we are all priests for the same reason: a response to God’s call, and a defining commitment to serve him and his Church, resonated powerfully with me, and just melted many of my defenses. It’s not that it was news – it’s something we all know. But there was power in the fact that this common bond was expressed and received. I could feel it in the room. Many hearts and spirits were more open. Praying together, celebrating the liturgy – both the Eucharist and the Divine Office, has always been powerful.
In our comments, we expressed repeatedly a desire for a deeper sense of community with each other and with our bishops. The fact that many of you reached out to me, even with just a simple “hello” and sometimes, a discreet scanning of my name tag, made a difference. There is nothing profound or extraordinary here, and yet, it’s something I remember with real appreciation and gratitude.
From a different angle, the adage “Know Thyself” is the underpinning of spiritual growth. It isn’t self discovery for its own sake. It is a recognition of who we are in the light of God’s love, the creative interplay between His unconditional acceptance and His unrelenting challenge. As I see it, the purpose of the June convocation today’s gathering is to grow in recognition, individually and collectively, of who we are, and what God is calling us to be. We have tremendous gifts. We don’t have the right to do anything less than to fan them into flame, and to tend them in ourselves and each other, that God’s gifts may bear much fruit.
I would like to structure my reflections under three headings:
What is diversity that we need to celebrate?
What are some divisions that need healing?
How can we respond in a way that honorsand expresses our commoncommitment to discipleship and ministry?
Diversity
I believe that the fundamental root of positive diversity lies in the very nature of God, and the mystery of his interaction with creation, especially us humans. We are finite beings, who reflect the infinite. By definition, no one can grasp or reflect the entirety of the mysteries that are at the heart of our faith. Each one of us, when faithful to God’s call, has a unique way of embodying him. Each one of us is an authentic representation of the mysteries of God; each one of us reveals him in a way that no one else can. In our being, we reveal the truths of God in a way that is real, but limited. We have areas of clarity and recognition; there are fundamental aspects of these mysteries that we miss. I remember several instances of standing under a brilliant night sky. I couldn’t possibly take it all in, but everywhere I looked, there was grandeur and beauty. Even more awe-inspiring was the knowledge that my sight could only perceive the smallest fraction of what was right there in front of me. No wonder that the brilliant night sky of the desert was so often the setting of God’s interaction with his people!
There is another essential aspect to the great mysteries of our faith. Their life-giving power lies in the tension that is inherent between the poles of their truth. It’s like the tension that makes it possible for the stringed instrument to “sing”. Most of the major heresies have their root in an inability or a refusal to accept the tension that is at the very heart of Truth. Examples:
The Trinity and Unity of God – 3 Persons united in a generative Love that poured itself out, and still pours itself out, into creation. We can never fully understand it, but everywhere we look, we can see more of the overwhelming beauty of God.
The humanity and Divinity of Christ - God’s eternal Word, through whom everything was created, the image of the invisible God, both entered and departed his life on earth with an inarticulate cry! How do you put that together? Look at the vastly different portraits of Jesus in the Gospels of Mark and John. And yet, all of it is Truth, a central part of the deposit of faith.
God’s immanence and transcendence – at once, totally Other, and yet, we are temples, the place where he dwells.
The Church – the spotless Bride of Christ, and yet a thoroughly human and sinful institution. Its ministry of unity and leadership in the person of the pope, and the “sensus fidei” – the Spirit’s guiding presence in the entire body of believers
Every major mystery at the heart of our faith is infinite truth; by definition, we cannot understand it, but everywhere we look at it, it reveals something of the essence of God. It is a truth that has within itself a life-giving tension between its poles. Each of us is a partial reflection of the infinite; by creation and design, we reflect different aspects of the Mystery of God. There are parts that resonate with us; there are parts we just don’t get. Just as tension is inherent in mystery, is will be inherent in us and between us. This is where the image of the mosaic is so powerful – each tile in the mosaic is true, necessary, and incomplete. By creation and design, not by defect, we desperately need each other to complete the image.
The image of the Body of Christ, used often by St. Paul, is even more explicit and compelling. All the parts are essential. They all need each other. They can’t all be the same. And yet, they are unified, forming one body. By creation and design, not by defect, we are unique, we are different, we need each other, that the body may be complete.
I just want to add that this doesn’t lead to theological mush – an “anything goes, it’s all good” attitude. In the words of the old adage, “Don’t open your mind so far that your brain falls out!” Critical thinking is absolutely necessary. Truth is objective. There is such a thing as falsehood, as heresy. Our attempts to reflect God’s truth need to be tested – by their fruits, by the 2000 years of the Church’s lived experience of faith, and by her teaching authority; by the criterion of faithful discipleship. But within these boundaries is a tremendous variety, often carrying with it tension and apparent contradiction, that genuinely communicates the Truth of God, and reflects the tension inherent in Mystery. All these expressions are essential, and carry out God’s will that we may be instruments of his self-revelation. We need an openness to each other that is rooted in common discipleship and in humility.
This isn’t just boring theory. It is at the heart of who we are, and what we do. It determines how we interact with each other as brother priests, how we work with our bishop. It determines our attitude toward the people we serve and reveals itself in our prayer and worship. We rightly see the Mass as the source and summit of our lives of faith, and as the center of our ministry as priests. I’d like to tell you three stories of celebrations of the Eucharistic liturgy that I experienced. And, in honor of Archbishop Pilarczyk, a footnote.
A great celebration in our cathedral. A long procession, incense, dignity and solemnity in every movement, word and gesture. Dr. James Moore, playing his voice like the fine instrument it is, the choir, and the whole assembly singing “God of the Heights, God of the depths, the organ, trumpets, percussion, the triumphant final chords, “Lord Jesus, Come”. The prayers of ordination. The assembled priests all laying hands on the newly ordained, the awe that filled that imposing space… I knew I was in the presence of God
A jarring change of scene: the old Purcell high school gym – structurally, a center courtyard surrounded by classrooms & interior hallways – not a window in the place; the Opening Mass for the School year - 900 + high school boys, packed in too close for comfort. Clarence Rivers, before Mass, trying to get us to sing “God is Love …” we were pathetic! He sang back at us our strangled whiney sound, cajoled and almost begged us to sing, and finally challenged us with a gender-specific anatomical reference to guide us in finding our masculine power, and after we were done laughing and blushing, he tried again. A few brave pioneers sang out in full voice, and the sound began to build and to swell, we started to look at each other in shock and awe, and we blew the roof off that place. Clarence realized that if he did the usual thing of ending the practice, telling us to be quiet and remember we were in God’s presence etc. – usually appropriate and effective – he would never get that energy back, so he motioned the procession to start, and Mass began with that stifling gym filled with the power of our voices. I didn’t have the theological framework back then, but I sensed what Fr. Rivers had done: he accepted us where we were, and engaged and challenged us to move beyond that, and gave us the tools and the safety to join as a community, singing praise to God and praying the Mass together. Even then, I knew that I was in the presence of God.
Change the scene again. A Cincinnati suburban home, loaded with more 70’s clichés per square foot that the best set designer could have dreamed up, all the way down to the green and rust flecked shag carpet in the family room, where we gathered to celebrate a home Mass. We were probably, at least in part, 70’s clichés ourselves: the pastor, trying to change with the times, a young long-haired associate, a thoroughly green deacon; newly empowered, assertive members of worship committee & parish council who often had more enthusiasm than sense, a few family members, a DRE who was just a little bit superior to everyone –and yet, as we started to pray the liturgy together, I was overwhelmed that this so ordinary setting was transformed by the Lord’s presence in our midst, and that this small group of flawed believers was given the power, by God’s grace, to bring about the Lord’s presence among us, in our gathering, in the proclamation of the Word, and the Breaking of the Bread. We felt the unitive and transforming power of the Lord’s presence in the forms of bread and wine, his Body and Blood, which we shared among ourselves. I knew that I was in the presence of God, and I knew, more than ever before, that I, and the rest of this assembly, played a part in bringing that presence into our midst. That cliché-ridden ranch house became sacred space.
Three radically different settings, unified by one central truth: we have the power to bring God’s saving action in history into our midst when we follow the Lord’s command to “Do This in Memory of Me”. This is the theological foundation of Judeo-Christian worship since the days of the Exodus. All three experiences changed me. All of them expressed the truth about our central act of worship. None of them said it all. The cathedral liturgy radiated transcendence and awe; I felt small and almost overpowered by God’s presence. The Mass in the gym dramatically revealed the importance of the human bond and interaction between worship leader and assembly; it started with the opening hymn, and carried over into the whole experience of prayer throughout that liturgy. And the home Mass expressed the Lord’s nearness in the most ordinary things – things he himself used when he gave us the centerpiece of our lives of prayer and faith, and the “immeasurable scope of his power in us who believe”. But the home Mass didn’t have the sense of transcendence and reverence of the cathedral, or the energy of the packed gym. And the experience of each one opened my eyes and my spirit in a different way to the Lord’s presence. For me, all were necessary, all were complementary.
The footnote: Benediction. I know it isn’t liturgy, but it is a part of the ritual tradition of the Church. I also have to admit that I don’t gravitate toward Benediction; I feel its focus on Christ’s presence in the Eucharistis more static; the dynamic presence in the Mass, culminating in the breaking and sharing of the Lord’s body and blood, is far more powerful to me. But the enthronement of the consecrated host in the monstrance, the incense, the hymns, the gestures of reverence, all give witness to transcendence. And when I look atthe faces of the people gathered in prayer, the expression I see is the one I imagine on Thomas’s face when the Lord came back to the Upper Room and invited him to probe the nail marks & insert his hand into His side. All Thomas could say was “My Lord and my God!” And when Benediction is celebrated in connection with the Mass, as a closing prayer after a period of exposition after Mass, it affirms the Lord’s dynamic presence while emphasizing reverence and transcendence, elements often lost in the casual attitude that many congregations display toward the Lord’s presence on the altar. My personal conclusion: often, forms of prayer that aren’t naturally attractive to me could point to areas of my own life of faith where I might need to grow. (The only reason for all those qualifiers is that I’m not quite ready to admit this in public.)
Factors that can lead to division
I’ve said a lot about our diversity as a necessary part of God’s plan. But there is also the reality of division. There are several factors that we need to recognize that could easily drive us apart, things that color our experience and our vision.
I am probably the youngest member of this presbyterate who experienced most of the aspects of the “old” seminary. I was there during the reign of Msgr. Krumholtz, in the days of the closed campus, Grand Silence, dorm riots, and readings from the Martyrology during meals in the refectory. The vivid stories of the ways the martyrs died were almost as appetizing as the food! I grew up with the Latin Mass, and assisted in the celebration as a server. My parish churches were grand, gothic spaces, St. Francis de Sales and St. George in Cincinnati. I sang in parish and school choirs, experienced the beauty of chant, the sense of awe and transcendence in the very formal Tridentine Mass. But I also felt the regimentation, the distance between priest and people, the division of the worship space by the communion rail. My early religious education – the Baltimore Cathechism – gave a sense of order and certainty, but seemed closed to any questions that weren’t just set-ups for the answers. I experienced Vatican II as John XXIII described it – opening the windows of the Church; I felt the fresh air of freedom, and I inhaled!