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The "Pastor's Corner" is a collection of essays written by Father McCreary on a variety of subjects including Church teachings, social issues of the day, and things to think about. They are published weekly in our Church Bulletin. Click on a essay title below to jump to that essay, scroll down to read them all or click on a subject above to view more essays. |
From
the Pastor's Desk  Very Reverend Glenn McCreary, V.F. |
Saints
This liturgical year (2006) I'd like to draw our attention to some of the saints. Their stories speak the faith and love and justice that we're trying so hard to live right now. I hope their lives can give us a richer sense of our Catholic Christian history. I hope some of them become truly our friends and mentors on our way to the kingdom.
Helen, dowager Roman empress
Swede Erik
Norwegian Olaf
Henry and Cunegunde
Margaret of Scotland
Hedwig of Poland
Elizabeth of Hungary
Louis of France
November 26th, 2006
St Cecelia, November 19th, 2006
Elizabeth of Hungary, November 12, 2006
St. Martin of Tours, November 5th, 2006
St. Martin, October 29th, 2006
Gianna Molla, October 8th, 2006
St Clare of Assisi and St Francis, October 1st, 2006
Saint's Feast Days, September 24th, 2006
St Pio, September 17th, 2006 (stigmata)
(Litany of the Saints)
St John Chrysostom, September 10th, 2006
St Jane de Chantea, August 13th, 2006
St Junipero Serra, June 25 th, 2006
St Anthony, June 11th, 2006
Patron saint of lost things
St Boniface, June 4th, 2006
(Resurrection's Church Bell history)
St Justin Martyr, May 28th, 2006
St Rita of Cascia, May 21st, 2006
St Peter Damian, May 7th, 2006
St Athanasius, April 30th, 2006
St Catherine of Siena, April 23rd, 2006
St Joseph of Arimithea, April 9th, 2006
Julian of Norwich, April 2nd, 2006
St Hildegard of Bingen, March 26th, 2006
Felicity and Perpetua, March 5th, 2006
St Katharine Drexel, February 26th, 2006
St Valentine, February 12th, 2006
St Scholastica, St. Benedict's sister, February 5th, 2006
Fourteen Holy Helpers, January 29th, 2006
St Melchior, St Balthasar, St Gaspar, (the magi)
January 8th, 2006
St Elizabeth Seton, January 1st, 2006
St Thomas Becket, December 25th, 2005
St Herman Contractus, December 18th, 2005
St Catherine of Alexandria, St Viviana, St Barbara,
St Lucy, St Anastasia
December 11th, 2005
Santa Claus, December 4th, 2005
St Andrew, November 27th, 2005
Helen, dowager Roman empress
Swede Erik
Norwegian Olaf
Henry and Cunegunde
Margaret of Scotland
Hedwig of Poland
Elizabeth of Hungary
Louis of France
November 26th, 2006
This Sunday we celebrate Jesus Christ as our King. We've heard him
preach about the kingdom of God. We saw him die under the sentence of
a pretender king of the Jews. We pray in the Lord's Prayer "Thy
kingdom come," a petition that looks forward to the end of the
time and the last judgment and the true beginning of God's kingdom.
Although kings like Herod and government officials like Pilate may have
been Jesus' enemies, although Nero and many other Roman emperors persecuted
the early Christians, we count many royal people-emperors and empresses,
kings and queens, princes and princesses among the saints.
These royal and political saints come from every age of the Church's
history, from every part of the world.
We remember Helen, dowager Roman empress, who urged her son Constantine
to honor the rights of Christians. We remember Edward the Confessor
and Edmund the Martyr, kings of England. We remember the Swede Erik
and the Norwegian Olaf. We remember the emperor and empress from a thousand
years ago-Henry and Cunegunde. We remember Margaret of Scotland and
Hedwig of Poland and Elizabeth of Hungary. We remember Louis of France,
who fed the lepers and brought back the crown of thorns from the Holy
Land.
All these folks had power. All these folks had money and influence.
But they also had God's grace to help them use that power, that money
and that influence for good. They defended the rights of the oppressed.
They created systems to care for the poor. They built hospitals and
schools. They recognized the Church's role in culture and society. They
looked to God for guidance in prayer and reflection. They made their
realms a little bit more like the kingdom of God.
We may not be royal personages. We may have only a modest bit of power
or money or influence. But we have God's grace. And that grace can change
and mold our lives and our world.
We can be voices for the oppressed and the poor. We can find our way
to volunteer at hospitals and schools. We can support the church's mission
in our neighbors and throughout the world. We can be people of prayer.
And above all, we can enflesh those words we pray so often in the Our
Father: Thy kingdom come!
St Cecelia, November 19th, 2006
I once worked in a church that boasted a huge balcony. I suspect the
builders of the church always intended that a magnificent pipe organ
would fill the space. Alas, that never happened.
But at the back of balcony was an unusual stained glass window. In the
center of the window was an image of a pipe organ (perhaps the last
remnant of the builders' dreams). And around that instrument were the
patron saints of music. And yes, that's right-the multiple patron saints
of music!
Cecelia, the Roman martyr whose house was used for the celebration of
Mass in the church's early days, sat at the organ. King David-who longed
to build a temple for Israel's liturgy and who wrote many of the Psalms
we still sing-held his harp. Two bishops stood by: St Ambrose, whose
musical leadership in the church of Milan helped move St Augustine to
conversion; and St Gregory the Greater, who eventually gave his name
to our oldest and finest musical tradition-the Gregorian chant.
In some parts of the world, St Cecelia's feast day this week will mean
concerts of music sacred and secular. At some points in our Catholic
history, a St Cecelia's ball-a night of dancing and music-was the last
chance to celebrate before the quieter weeks of Advent waiting began.
In any case, St Cecelia calls to gratefully celebrate the role of music
in our lives-and especially in our church's life.
As Catholics we know that we sing our liturgy. We don't add music to
our services to dress them up or to draw people in by the entertainment
value or to provide an emotional uplift. We sing at liturgy because
it's the very nature of liturgy to be sung. We sing because the wonder
of God's grace cannot be contained by anything as pedestrian as mere
spoken words.
As we celebrate St Cecelia, we ask her prayers for our parish musicians.
How blessed we've been with the Resurrection Singers for over 30 years
of ministry. How blessed we've been with the Parish Choir in more recent
years. How blessed we've been with organists and cantors, choirs for
adults and young people throughout the past 65 years. How blessed we've
been as our congregation again and again raises its united voice in
praise to the God who heard Cecelia's song, who inspired David's melodies,
who blessed the work of Ambrose and Gregory.
Elizabeth of Hungary, November 12, 2006
The stories about Elizabeth of Hungary abound.
As a child, she was moved by the sight of the crucifix in church to
take off her own royal crown and place it before the altar. Why should
she wear gold and gemstones, she reasoned, when he Savior had only a
crown of thorns?
She spent her life and fortune in good works. Though supported by husband,
Louis of Thuringia, she often met with opposition from others in her
household. The story is told, that once, when Louis had been away, Elizabeth
had housed so many of the sick in their home that even Louis' bed had
been taken. On his return, the servants were quick to tattle: Elizabeth
had placed a leper in her husband's bed.
This move seemed even too much for supportive and charitable Louis.
He rushed to his bedroom and tore open the door. Lying on Louis' bed,
still wounded in hands and feet and side, was Christ himself. The Lord
looked at Louis and asked, "The foxes have lairs and the birds
their nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head. Would you
refuse me your bed, too?"
Later the plague struck the region. Now the plague was not only a deadly
disease, but it disrupted social and economic life. Sick and dying farmers
no longer tended the fields. Merchants were afraid to bring food to
sell into disease-ridden towns and cities. Those who did not die of
plague often weakened and died from hunger.
Elizabeth knew her duty. She had bread and food enough. On a winter's
night, she went out from her castle bearing loaves of bread for the
poor.
Once again, those nasty servants went running to Louis. His wife was
going into town! She was going to the houses where the plague had killed
and would kill again. She would bring the disease back into her own
household, into her own family. What was Louis going to do about it?
Louis pursued his wife. He found her on the roadway walking. He demanded
she explain what she was doing. What was carrying under her cloak? Elizabeth
replied it was bread for the hungry. But when she opened her cloak to
show him, her cloak was miraculously full of roses-roses in the dead
of winter, roses red as wine, roses red as blood.
May Elizabeth send us out boldly into a cold world to work for justice,
to feed the hunger, to seek peace.
St. Martin of Tours, November 5th, 2006
The first saints the church honored were the martyrs. Dying for the
faith tied a person's life up with the death and resurrection of Christ.
To visit a martyr's tomb, to remember a martyr's anniversary was to
touch the same passionate love that brought Jesus to his cross.
But in time, the church began to recognize holiness in less dramatic
Christian lives. And the first of these "confessors"-those
who witnessed the faith without dying-was St Martin of Tours.
Martin was born into a Roman military family. His father was stationed
in Gaul. Martin himself went into the army. Though his parents were
pagans, he felt called to the relatively new Christian faith. (All this
happened in the 4th century.)
As a catechumen and a young soldier, Martin saw a beggar shivery in
the frost and cold. He took his own cloak and, with his sword, divided
it into two and gave half to the beggar. That night in a dream, Jesus
appeared to Martin, wearing the half of the cloak given to the beggar.
Martin realized that God wanted more than half a cloak; God wanted his
whole life.
Martin immediately sought baptism. He resigned his position in the army-which
got him thrown into prison until the particular conflict was over. After
being freed from prison, he took refuge with the great theologian and
bishop, St Hilary of Poitiers. Under Hilary's tutelage, Martin's gifts
for scholarship and prayer and charity were well tuned.
The people of Tours elected him their bishop. He lived an exemplary
life as a bishop. He carefully visited his parishes. He preached against
heresies that would diminish the divinity of Christ. He founded a monastery
where he himself chose to live. And, he kept up the work that brought
him to Christ in the first place: he continued to hear and respond to
the needs of the poor.
St. Martin, October 29th, 2006
St Francis is the saint for animals, right?
Well, yes, Francis preached to the birds and tamed the wolf of Gubbio.
Francis wrote the Canticle of Creation (We know it as the hymn "All
Creatures of Our God and King.").
But Francis wasn't the only saint who had to do with animals.
Two of the evangelists appear in art with their animal symbols taken
from Ezekiel and Revelation: Luke with an ox, John with an eagle.
Anthony of Egypt lived as a hermit in the company of a pet pig.
Jerome, a bit more adventurous, shared the cave of the Lord's nativity
in
Bethlehem with his tame lion.
St Benedict tamed a raven.
The crusader king, St Louis of France certainly went nowhere without
his horse.
Hugh of Lincoln (once a parish patron saint because of St Hugh's chapel
in Hughesville) had a tame swan.
Julian of Norwich took a cat with her into her nun's cell.
St Soulange and St Bernadette both worked as shepherds.
Near our own time-and our own part of the world-St Martin de Porres
took an active interest in all of God's creation.
Martin, a Peruvian Dominican, devoted his life to people in need. He
fed the poor, he clothed the naked, and he visited the sick and the
imprisoned. But he also had a soft spot for animals. He cared for them
when sick or injured. He created a shelter for homeless animals-in 16th
century Lima.
But Martin wasn't driven by sentimentality. Too many folks in our time
worry more about the plight of seals and whales than they do unborn
human children. Too many people of our day have protested over fur coats
and too few over Darfur.
But not so, Martin de Porres. Martin loved the animal world. But he
also loved the human world. And, most of all, Martin loved the God who
created and sustained all life. God calls us to the same attitude-to
love all life, friend and stranger, family and enemy, small and great.
back to top
Near the beginning of the film Sister Act a youthful Whoopi Goldberg
is asked to name the apostles. She guesses: John, Paul…George..and
Ringo?
If we took a pop quiz in a church some Sunday morning on the names of
the twelve apostles, how many would we come up with? Yes, Peter and
Paul. Maybe Andrew and Matthew and John. Some would guess (wrongly)
with Luke.
But I think many of us would remember Jude. We might not know what he
did during the life of Jesus. But we know about his special patronage.
Jude is the saint for impossible cases. For things worse than the lost
items Anthony can find, or diseases more terrible than Rocco could cure,
or houses more stubborn than Joseph can sell, we turn to Jude.
But who was this man? Why this odd patronage?
Jude appears in the list of the apostles almost at the end. He's paired
with Simon Zealotes. And he's always distinguished from Judas Iscariot.
(Remember, in Greek Judas and Jude are exactly the same name. In English-just
to keep our minds clear--we use an Anglicized form for the good one,
and the Greek form for the betrayer.)
He questions the Lord at the Last Supper: Why doesn't he reveal himself
now to the whole world? He's in the crowd for the preaching and the
miracles, at the ascension and on Pentecost. Later he writes a letter
that we find near the end of the New Testament-a letter encouraging
people to be strong in a difficult world as they wait for a new heavens
and a new earth. The letter doesn't really tell us much about Jude.
It's mostly about the church and the world.
But maybe that's why Jude can be in charge of impossible cases. His
anonymity made him just such an impossible case. Always confused with
Judas the Betrayer, always lost in the noisiness of apostles like Peter
and Thomas, writing a letter with none of the tenderness of John or
the theological passion of Paul or the fireworks of the Apocalypse.
But then the gospel was never really about Peter or Paul, Thomas or
Jude, you or me. The gospel is always about God's love revealed in Christ
Jesus-a love that allows the impossible to happen. And Jude, ever so
obscure, was touched and transformed and became an instrument of that
love for the church, for all time. May his prayers and example lead
us out of our impossible situations into the eternally possibilities
of God's love.
We all know Hedwig as Harry Potter's snow-white owl. But Hedwig isn't
a name from the mysterious world of witches and wizards. Hedwig is a
saint's name and very, very much part of Western civilization.
Hedwig came from Bavaria. She was aunt to St Elizabeth of Hungary. They
both came from a family that took its Christian faith quite seriously.
They went to Mass, they said their prayers, they strove to make their
world a more just and peaceful place.
Hedwig married Henry I, Duke of Silesia, part of modern day Poland.
She and her husband raised a large family. That wasn't an easy task;
some of those children created a good deal of heartbreak for their parents.
Hedwig and Henry brought Christian principles to bear on how they governed.
They listened to the complaints of the poor. They showed mercy to those
convicted of crimes. They urged the wealthy-above all by their own example-to
share their abundance with those in need. They supported the church,
especially communities of prayer-monasteries and convents.
Hedwig can model Christian faith for us today. We think we have trouble
raising children and keeping them Catholic? So do Hedwig and she did
it.
We worry about the injustices and violence in our world. So did she
and she made a difference.
We struggle to bring our Catholic values to our businesses, our offices,
our voting booths. In her own way, so did Hedwig and so can we.
We look for time for make some sense of our lives. So did Hedwig-that's
what those churches and convents and monasteries are all about.
Hedwig lived a saint's life in world sometimes different, but often
so much like our own. We can live saints' lives in this world, in our
world.
Gianna Molla, October 8th, 2006
Gianna Molla should still be alive. She should be a grandmother-even
a great grandmother. She should be looking back over a long and respected
career as a physician. She should bump into former patients at the supermarket
and keep up reading the medical journals from a comfortable armchair.
And her life might have taken that cozy turn except for two things:
a pregnancy and a cancer.
In the winter of 1961, Italian scientist and physician, wife and mother
Gianna Molla was pregnant. During that pregnancy she was diagnosed with
uterine cancer.
Now, there were treatments for her cancer. And, even as a Catholic,
she could have chosen those treatments. Yes, as a Catholic, she understood
that the fetus she carried was a human person, deserving the respect
any human life demands.
But Gianna also knew that in Catholic medical ethics there had long
stood a principle called Double Effect. She could have chosen the surgery
that would have ended her child's life. Not because the child wasn't
really alive, not because the mother's life mattered more than the child's,
and not because a civil constitution gave her privacy rights over her
body. She could have chosen surgery-intending only the life-giving good
it promised and regretting the death-dealing tragedy it threatened.
But she didn't. This scientist, this medical person, this devout Catholic
chose her child's life over her own. She didn't opt for suicide or euthanasia,
either. The doctors were to work to save both lives, if possible. But
she had lived virtuously and faithfully; she had nothing to fear from
death. But she wanted to give that chance to life-virtuously and faithfully-to
her daughter.
In the end, she died of cancer one week after bearing her last child.
She died in great pain, but proclaiming over and over her love for Jesus.
That love had led her to embrace the wisdom science gives. That love
kept her close to her husband. That love nurtured her children. That
love made her to be counted among the saints.
St Clare of Assisi and St Francis, October 1st, 2006
The pope was worried about St Clare of Assisi. She wanted a new type
of religious community for women. She wanted her followers to live without
any possessions at all. She wanted them to beg for the daily food and
clothes and lodgings. To the pope that sounded like a very dangerous
life for anyone - especially for a woman.
When Clare continued to insist on absolute poverty for her nuns, the
pope offered her an out: He would dispense her, he would absolve her
of any vow or promise she might have made to God.
Clare responded to the holy father: "You may absolve of my sins;
but you can never absolve me from following Christ."
St Francis, like his advisor and supporter, Clare, was uncompromising
about the gospel. We've sentimentalized him. We've set his words to
schmaltzy melodies. We've put his statue out in the garden to double
as a bird feeder. We admire his gentleness-which was a very real part
of Francis-but we forget about how stubbornly faithful he could be.
Remember, Francis drove his family to distraction by giving up his property
and title to wander about the countryside in imitation of Christ.
Remember, Francis heard the crucified Lord tell him to rebuild his church
and he began to gather stones and mortar.
Remember, Francis kissed the lepers and washed their bodies and prepared
their food-a check in the mail wasn't enough: he had to do something.
Remember, Francis preached to the birds not because they were cute little
creatures, but so that the human hearers would attend more carefully
to God's word.
Remember, Francis marched alongside Crusaders and forced himself into
the presence of the Sultan, hoping to convert his Muslim foes.
Remember, Francis gave the world the first Nativity scene-not so the
Mall could sell more stuff at Christmas, but that Christians might understand
the poverty God endured in the incarnation.
Remember, Francis in fasting and prayer received the stigmata-the five
wounds of Christ in his own body. The stigmata did not make Francis
a celebrity; rather, it added to his pain and his prayer as he died
in sickness and poverty.
Francis heard Christ's call and responded. No arguments, no compromises,
no easy ways out, no dumbing down the gospel. He knew, like Clare, that
following Christ was his one obligation, the one thing that gave meaning
to his existence.
Saint's Feast Days, September 24th, 2006
Usually we celebrate a saint's day on the day the person died-his or
her entry into God's kingdom.
But sometimes the details of a saint's life remain hidden in the mists
of antiquity. And we often choose another day-most often the day a church
was consecrated in their honor. Take, for example, St Ann.
We know that she lived and died. We know that she was the mother of
Mary. But we don't have details like the exact day she died. So we've
kept her feast in the middle of July, the anniversary of the dedication
of St Ann in Jerusalem.
And likewise with the feasts of angels and archangels. These mysterious
creatures don't have death anniversaries. And the feast of the archangels-Michael,
Gabriel, and Raphael-we celebrate this Friday, originally the dedication
anniversary of the church of St Michael in Rome.
That's the history. Legends, of course, won't leave things there
The legend of Michaelmas claims that September 29 was the day when the
archangel Michael battled Lucifer, the rebellious angel, in heaven.
As we read in John's Revelation, Michael won the battle and the devil
was cast down to earth.
The story goes that Satan landed in a patch of blackberries. (Remember,
thorns were part of the curse after the fall of Adam and Eve.) Angry
at this painful and embarrassing turn of events, Satan cursed the blackberries
and they became bitter. And to this day, so the legend warns, blackberries
will be bitter after September 29.
It may just be a silly legend. It certainly has no claim over history
or science. But the story tells a truth: we may be living in a dangerous
and hurtful world. We may encounter pain. We may know some bitter turns
in life. But God will be victorious. And the work of his archangels
continues God's victory. Perhaps this Friday, we might pray again the
old prayer to St Michael:
| Holy Michael Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O prince of the heavenly host, thrust down into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who wander through the world seeking the ruin of souls. |
St Pio, September 17th, 2006
(Litany of the Saints)
Every time we bring a child to the baptismal font, we sing the litany,
asking the saints to pray with us and for us and especially for the
child being baptized.
Some of the names in that short litany are obvious. Would we ever think
of leaving out Mary, the mother of our Savior? Would we skip over John
the Baptist-especially at a baptism? Would we forget about Peter, the
first pope?
Sometimes we hear the name-or a form of the name--the child will bear.
That's the child's special patron saint.
But we also name some other people particular to this parish: St Hugh
(we once had a chapel in Hughesville named for him), St Therese of Lisieux
(we see her in the stained glass door opening on the ramp), and St Pio.
Pio is named because we honor his image just inside the main doors of
the church.
But who is St Pio? And why do we honor him?
St Pio-popularly called Padre Pio before his canonization-lived in the
middle of the 20th century.
He was a priest, a Capuchin (a particular type of Franciscan) monk in
Italy.
And he had the stigmata.
The stigmata made Pio rather famous. The stigmata are the wounds of
Christ in the hands, the feet and the side that some saints have been
privileged to bear. St Francis of Assisi was the first and the most
famous to bear the stigmata.
And Pio in the middle of the 20th century had those same wounds on his
body. They bled. They hurt. They had to be bound up in cloths. People
saw the marks on Pio's hands. We have photographs. This was no medieval
legend, no film studio special effects. It happened.
But as much as we might be amazed or perhaps a bit confused by the stigmata,
that's not why Pio is a saint. Pio is a saint because he lived his Christian
vocation faithfully. Pio is a saint because he resembled Christ in his
words and actions. Pio is saint because of the way he celebrated the
Mass, the way he heard people's confessions, the way he preached God's
word.
St Pio reminds us that we all are called to be the body of Christ-wounded
and glorious. We may not bear the wounds on our body, but we can show
Christ to the world-in our words and actions, in our prayers and attitudes,
in our words of justice and mercy.
St John Chrysostom, September 10th, 2006
How do we know about the life of someone who lived long ago?
In more recent times, we'd look up newspaper articles that would tell
the story. We could build the biography of a military or government
by researching acts of parliaments or accounts of battles. People of
influence in any walk of life would live on in the accounts written
by admiring disciples or cynical detractors. Diaries and letters could
be a goldmine to tell the tales of the famous and the obscure.
St John Chrysostom, archbishop of Constantinople in the late 4th century,
comes alive to us in his sermons.
In those eloquent discourses-John's nickname, Chrysostom, is Greek for
"golden mouth"-a very real person emerges.
In sermons for Lent and Easter, we meet a kindly bishop patiently explaining
the faith to the RCIA. In wedding homilies, we hear him complain that
couples spend more energy on the party than the sacrament. We encounter
a man who instructs the faithful on how to reverently receive the eucharist-the
right hand cupped as a throne under the left for the royal feast. We
listen to his complaints about the injustices of the world-complaints
that sent him often into political exile. We hear his challenge that
Christians ready to give money to decorate the altar with furnishings
of gold and silver ought to be just as ready to feed, clothe and house
the poor who are also the body of Christ.
But a common thread runs through St John's preaching. He knows and loves
God's word. The scriptures-Noah saving the baptized in his ark, Mary
at Cana inviting people to see the deepest meaning of marriage, parables
calling the faithful to live as citizens of the kingdom, the great work
of God in the dying and rising of Jesus, the Spirit's continuing miracles
through apostles and prophets-were heart and center of John's existence.
And so with as well. Our liturgy is filled with scripture-the multiple
readings each Sunday, the prayers so often drawn from the Bible, the
psalms that bring us into Mass and lead us to communion. Our doctrine
forms out of scripture and tradition-the two sources of truth Christ
handed on to his church. Our moral vision, articulated with the use
of human reason, springs out of a Biblical vision of God's creative
plan. Our most beloved prayers-the Our Father, the Hail Mary-come directly
from the gospels.
Scripture is a rich resource for us as Catholics. To read the Bible
prayerfully can change our lives. It draws us closer to Christ. It opens
our eyes to the whole history of God's dealings with the human race.
It challenges us to live more authentically our faith.
Monday, September 11, our weekly scripture study begins again. I'm not
able to be there-Monday evenings I celebrate eucharist with our parishioners
at SCI Muncy. But so many of our parishioners have told me how much
that weekly encounter with the scriptures means to them. And if you
haven't been to scripture study before, why not now? You're always welcome.
Spend some time with the word. Spend some time with your fellow Christians.
Spend some very special time with the Lord.
St Monica, August 27, 2007
I don't need to tell you about St Monica. Let her son, the great theologian
and bishop, tell you in his words.
Before Augustine became a Catholic, he experimented with all the world
could offer. He kept a mistress and fathered a son. He explored all
sorts of religious and philosophical ideas-ranging from astrology to
heretical forms of Christianity. And through it all, as he tells God
and us:
|
My mother, your faithful servant, was weeping
for me to you, weeping more than mothers weep for the bodily deaths
of their sons….For nearly years after this I wallowed in
the mud of the pit and the darkness of falsehood, often trying
to rise and then being plunged back again all the more violently.
Yet all this time that chaste widow, holy and sober (such as you
love)…never slackened in her weeping and lamentations, never
ceased in all hours of prayer to weep before you about me….
|
God heard and answered Monica's prayers. Augustine's son, Adeodatus,
was baptized. Her pagan husband entered the church before his death.
And Augustine found his way to the faith. Now Monica longed for heaven.
Augustine remembers her words:
|
My son…There is only one reason why
I wanted to stay a little longer in this life, and that was that
I should see you a Catholic Christian before I died. Now God has
granted me this beyond my hopes; for I see that you have despised
the pleasures of this world and have become his servant. So what
am I doing here?
|
Augustine and his brother stand at Monica's sick bed. They express
the hope that she may recover and return to her home (she had fallen
ill while traveling). Monica reprimands them in her final words to Augustine-and
to us:
|
You may lay this body of mine anywhere. Do
not worry at all about that. All I ask of you is this, that wherever
you may be you will remember me at the altar of the Lord….Nothing
is far from God, and there is no reason to fear that, at the end
of the world, he will not recognize the place from where to raise
me up.
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Augustine mourns his mother:
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…My soul was wounded and my life was,
as it were, torn apart, since it had been a life made up of hers
and mine together….We poured forth our prayers to you when
the sacrifice of our redemption was offered for her….I remembered
how devoutly and with what holiness she conducted herself in your
sight, how kind and considerate she was to us.
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And he asks the prayers of his readers-which is us:
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Inspire your servants, my Lord and God…
that as many as read this may remember at your altar Monica, your
servant, [a] fellow citizen in the eternal Jerusalem for which
your people in their pilgrimage sigh from the beginning of their
journey until their return home.
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May we live and die so well.
St Rose, August 20,2006
Last weekend we heard at Mass about Mission Ecuador-our parish's participation
in outreach to people in Quito and Latacunga. What an opportunity to
reflect on some of the saints of the Andes.
This Wednesday, we honor St Rose of Lima, the first American-born person
to be canonized. Rose, the daughter of rather middle-class Spanish people,
devoted her life to prayer and the service of the poor. She lived in
a small house in the middle of her parent's garden. It became her hermitage
where she spent hours in prayer. Her prayer and her penances-which often
took somewhat odd forms (she wore a silver crown of thorns on her head)-led
her to identify with the sufferings of others. She spent much time and
energy caring for the sick among the poor, the indigenous peoples and
slaves.
A generation after St Rose's time, St Mariana lived in Quito. She, too,
devoted
her life to prayer and penance. She also cared for the needs of the
poor, establishing in her own home a school for native children. During
an epidemic in Quito, she publicly offered herself to God as sacrifice
in union with Christ's sufferings. Her body can still be seen under
one of the altars in one of the beautiful churches in downtown Quito.
And remember, Rose and Mariana were lay women-just like most of us.
They gave to God and to others while living in the secular world. They
did have the support of a religious order, they did not possess the
prestige of clerical status. But their work, their prayer, their love
touched the lives of many people-rich and poor, indigenous and Spanish.
The work which Rose and Mariana began has never ended. As Christ told
us, the poor are with us always. As we have shared this past years in
Mission Ecuador, we have continued their work among the poor of South
America. We have helped to offer housing to elderly native people. We
have helped provide for the education of the poor. We have supported
health initiatives for those who could not afford it.
St Jane de Chantea, August 13th, 2006
These summer find us often in the company of other people. We go on
vacation to visit friends and family. We gather for class and family
reunions. We make the round of summertime weddings. Even if we're very
private people, we still live in a network of relationships.
St Jane de Chanteal, whose life we celebrate this Friday, offers us
the image of life devoted to relationship.
As a young woman, Jane married the Baron de Chantel. Their marriage
was loving and strong. After his death as a result of a hunting accident,
Jane was thrown into deep grief. She wasn't sure she could ever forgive
the man who had accidentally killed her beloved husband. She didn't
knew where she'd find the emotional resources to continue raising her
children and running the family estate.
Jane found the strength and grace she needed through other people.
17th Century France was experiencing a religious renewal. Jane found
herself in a circle of great religious leaders: Cardinal Berulle, an
important spiritual writer; Jean Jacques Olier, a leader in seminary
reform; Vincent de Paul, renowned to his ministry to the poor, and Francis
de Sales, the exiled bishop of Geneva.
The last of these, St Francis de Sales, became Jane's great friend.
He helped her find her faith once more. And he guided her as a spiritual
director to be a good mother, a just and strong administrator of her
family's worldly goods, and eventually the foundress of the Visitation
Sisters-and order that welcomed the "unconventional" religious
vocations.
To the end of her life, Jane related to other people. Although a nun,
she continued to nurture her family and take care of her responsibilities
in the world. As a mother superior, she guided women seeking how they
might serve God. As a spiritual friend, she continued to walk her spiritual
journey with St Francis de Sales.
Much of her interpersonal relationships happened through letters: letters
that questioned; letters that encouraged; letters that taught; letters,
above all, that spoke her love for God and her love for the people God
had placed in her life.
Perhaps these summer days, when we find ourselves relating to others,
we might claim St Jane's model and prayers for ourselves. Like her,
may we value God's love. Like her, may we put that love into action
as we keep Christ's new commandment: "Love one another, as I have
loved you."
St Junipero Serra, June 25 th, 2006
Most of our ancestors brought their religion with them to America.
They might have been German or Irish, English or Italian, Slovak or
Polish. They may have been Catholic or Protestant, Orthodox or Jewish.
But they came to this New World with their faith. Europe also sent missionaries
to America, men and women who would preach the gospel to peoples who
had never heard the name of Jesus.
St Junipero Serra was one of those early missionaries. Born in Spain
he was sent first to Mexico, then from Mexico to California, walking
for the best part of his journeys. He founded churches, many of which
still stand today. Some of those churches-think of San Diego and San
Francisco-became the nucleus of cities which still bear their names.
Although secular historians would paint Serra as just another prop of
the Spanish Conquista, the evidence suggests otherwise. St Junipero
was deeply convicted that the peoples of this newly discovered land
needed the gospel of Jesus Christ. He believed-as the Catholic church
has always believed and still believes-that Jesus Christ is Savior for
the whole world.
St Junipero believed-as the Catholic church has always believed and
still believes-that people need to be treated with justice. The historical
records show him in constant argument with the Spanish governors over
the treatment of the native peoples. He protested early and often against
abuses. He argued against the often harsh policies of the military forces.
He worked to see that people were fed and given medical treatment.
St Junipero reminds us that we have a missionary vocation. The faith
was not handed down to us to be a private possession. Jesus calls us
to preach the gospel to every creature. Jesus commands us to live in
justice and charity.
With this missionary attitude in mind, please be ready to welcome Fr
David Hamm, our missionary speaker next weekend. He comes to us on behalf
of missionaries in our own country-in areas where the faith still struggles,
in places still suffering from the aftermath of last summer's hurricanes.
Please hear him as he calls us to our mission as people of God. Please
respond generously to the needs he puts before us.
St Anthony, June 11th, 2006
Patron saint of lost things
click
here for St Anthony's "Prayer to Recover Lost Things"
We all know about St Anthony-the patron saint of lost things. We misplace
our car keys or an important paper. So, we turn to Anthony to help us
find whatever we've lost.
But, why this connection between Anthony and the lost items of our lives?
Sometimes the patron saints make sense. St Francis loved animals, he
becomes their patron. St Patrick preached the gospel to Ireland, he
becomes the patron of Ireland. St Thomas More held a government position,
he becomes the patron of politicians. But, lost items? What's that to
do with Anthony's life.
St Anthony joined the Franciscans in the 13th century. He wanted to
be a missionary. He wanted to preach the good news in North Africa.
He wanted to attract Muslims to the Christian faith.
But, in the end, St Anthony was sent to preach the gospel in Italy.
To Anthony, as much as to us, that project must have sounded like taking
coal to Newcastle. Peter and Paul had preached the gospel in Rome in
the 1st century. Roman emperors had been Christians since Constantine
in the 4th century. Rome, the city of the popes, was the center of the
Christian world. What possible need could Italy have for a missionary?
St Anthony was very much needed in Italy. Human nature being what it
is, many Christians had taken their faith for granted. Many had been
baptized and confirmed, many had fallen away from the practice of the
faith. Many, in essence, were lost. And Anthony, by the eloquence of
his preaching, found them and brought them home to God.
Our late holy father, Pope John Paul II often called for a "new
evangelization." Europe and the Americas inherited a culture born
of the Catholic faith. But, in some respects we've lost that faith.
Catholics no longer participate in the eucharist as they once did so
faithfully. Children no longer care to receive or hand on the faith
of their ancestors. The number of unchurched people continues to grow.
Trendy religions-Hollywood Buddhism, Kabbalah for the stars, even Dan
Brown's mysterious "sacred feminine"-attract people who have
lost their real religious roots.
The Lord's commission to his disciples-"Preach the gospel to all
the nations"-takes on a special meaning for us today. Learn how
to explain what we believe to friends and family. Be aware of the forces
that work against religion (For example, there is no vocation crisis
in the poor nations of Africa and Asia. Can it be that materialism holds
back the vocations of America and Europe?) Make this faith attractive
to others. Let people see the love-a love found first in the Trinity
itself-that is the basis of our Catholic faith. Be ready-by words and
actions-like St Anthony in 13th century Italy to find the lost in our
21st century world.
St Boniface, June 4th, 2006
(Resurrection's Church bell history)
Our architects needed some information. They needed to know about the
bell in our tower. What are its dimensions? Who made it? When was it
cast? So we checked on those answers and discovered it's a very old
bell.
1856-150 years ago the bell in our tower was cast. For 150 years that
bell has called people to worship, tolled the death of church and civil
leaders, announced the arrival of Christmas and Easter, and, in these
more recent years, marked the moment of the Mass' consecration.
Now, obviously, we've only been here some 65 years as a parish. Where
was our bell before that? I'm told it came to us from St Mary's High
School-the St Boniface parochial high school that preexisted Bishop
Neumann. But, before St Mary's, the bell hung in the tower of the first
St Boniface Church in Williamsport-established in 1857.
That tower bell is certainly the oldest piece of our church-much older
than the stained glass or the statues or the crucifix. And it connects
our parish to a larger history-to those German immigrants who built
parishes first at Immaculate Conception in Bastress and at St Boniface
in Williamsport.
But, it also connects us ever more deeply into history, to St Boniface,
the apostle and patron of the German peoples.
Boniface came to Northern Europe from England, where he was a Benedictine
monk. He, and St Walburga, a Benedictine nun, preached the gospel, converted
the pagans, and established parishes and monasteries throughout Germany.
Boniface worked with the Roman Emperors Pepin and Charlemagne to bring
order and justice to their peoples.
Boniface carefully balanced local creativity with a need for unity with
the universal church, especially in liturgical matters. When Rome was
besieged with political and social problems, Boniface's cathedral in
Mainz became an influential center for music and liturgy. And we all
have benefited from that preservation and development of Western culture.
And, so the legend goes, Boniface gave the world its first Christmas
tree. The story tells that he cut down an oak sacred to the Druids and
an evergreen sprung up in its place. Boniface was quick to explain the
symbolism of Christ as the tree of everlasting life.
In the end, while preparing for a Pentecost confirmation Mass, Boniface
was attacked and killed by some of the very pagans he hoped to bring
to the Christian faith.
This Pentecost, let's look back with gratitude to our past. Thank God
for the apostles and holy women who first felt that Pentecostal flame.
Thank God for missionaries and martyrs who handed down and witnessed
to the Spirit's power. Thank God for those who carried the faith to
our land and for those-not so very long ago-who had the vision and courage
to build a church among us.
St Justin Martyr, May 28th, 2006
The day after The Da Vinci Code opened the Sun-Gazette ran a front
page story, interviewing folks as they left the theatre. One woman remarked
that she was curious about the origins of Christianity and that the
film "made her wonder." She really had no cause to "wonder."
The origins of Christianity are actually quite well documented. This
Thursday we honor one of the early witnesses to the faith, St Justin
Martyr
St Justin was born in Palestine around the year 100. He died, at the
order of the Roman authorities, around the year 165AD. A convert to
the Christian faith, Justin wrote some books. Two of them, his Apologies,
were written to the Roman Emperor, Pius Antoninus. Justin wanted to
show the emperor exactly what Christians believed and how they lived.
Justin told the emperor that Jesus Christ was God, the Son of the world's
creator. But Dan Brown would tell us that Constantine, ruling 150 years
later, made Jesus divine!
Justin told the emperor a story that echoes our gospels-a divine Jesus
who preached, died and rose from the dead. None of Dan Brown's tales
of escapes from the cross, a marriage to Mary Magdalen and a relocation
to the south of France!
Justin didn't share with the emperor his personal opinions, one set
of ideas about Christ among many, many others. He witnessed to the common
faith of all Christians. But Dan Brown would have us believe a wildly
diverse picture of early Christianity, with all sorts of people writing
over 80 theologically inconsistent gospels!
Justin relates to the emperor the patterns of Christian worship. He
describes Sunday Mass-and it sounds like Sunday Mass much as we celebrate
it today. Yet Dan Brown would have Constantine-again, 150 years later-force
Sunday as the new holyday. And Brown would have us believe that early
Christians and ancient Jews engaged in ritual sexual activity!
Perhaps most telling of all, Dan Brown wrote a popular novel. He'll
be famous for a time. He'll be rich. Justin told the truth. The emperor
didn't listen to this words (but nearly 2000 years later, we're still
reading them) and Justin was killed.
But, what need for curiosity or wonder? Who do you believe-the rich
novelist or the martyr?
St Rita of Cascia, May 21st, 2006
On Monday we celebrate the memory of St Rita of Cascia. St Rita's life,
on the whole, was not a happy one. She wanted to be a nun. Her parents
decided she should be married. Her husband was an abusive and unfaithful
man. Her sons were no better. Husband and both her sons met violent
deaths.
In 14th century Italy, Rita had few options. Parents made decisions
for children. Husbands made decisions for wives. Safe houses for abused
women didn't exist. Sobriety programs were still in the future. Rita's
culture, Rita's society failed to insure justice for people like her.
And we should be grateful we live in a day when support is available
for abused and hurting people.
But we still honor Rita's holiness. The church holds her up as an image
of forgiveness. Her prayers for her husband and her children challenge
us to bring mercy into the hurtful places of our lives. Christ, who
while dying prayed for his persecutors, calls us to have regard for,
both the abused and the abuser, the victim and the criminal, the person
in the right and the one who does the wrong. We always say "No"
to violence and injustice. But at the same time, we always say, "Yes"
to the humanity of all persons.
Now, after her husband and her two sons were all murdered, Rita became
the nun she always wanted to be. She spent the remainder of her life
in prayer and reflection. She was drawn especially to the mystery of
the Lord's suffering and death. Late in her life she received a partial
stigmata-she was marked with the sign of the crown of the thorns. In
art, St Rita is pictured quite literally wearing the crown of thorns.
Perhaps, here as well she teaches us. The sufferings that come to us-sickness,
bereavement, difficulties in our workplaces and families-can lead us
to Christ and his cross. With St Rita, we can echo St Paul's words:
In our sufferings we make up what is lacking, we have a share in the
redemptive sufferings of Jesus Christ.
back to top
St Peter Damian, May 7th, 2006
If you've been to the movies lately, you probably know they've done
a remake of The Omen. It's the story about a child, Damien, who acts
rather oddly around crosses and holy water. His rather dim parents take
quite a while before they figure out their son is really Satan's offspring.
All the while the audience thinks: Why don't these people get it? Don't
they see the name-Damien? Demon?
But it's really the moviemakers who have it wrong. Damien doesn't come
from "demon." Really, Damien's a saints' name-several times
over.
The ancient world knew the medical men and martyrs, Cosmos and Damien.
We hear their names in the Roman Canon, the eucharistic prayer we use
on great feast days.
St Peter Damian was an 11th century monk and church reformer.
And this Wednesday, the church celebrates a Damien closer to our day-the
blessed Damien de Veuster of Molokai.
In the middle of the 19th century, Damien left his native Belgium to
preach the gospel in Hawaii-which was not a fashionable resort at that
time.
He turned to the most neglected segment of that society-those suffering
from leprosy. Leprosy was a disease inadvertently introduced by European
and American explorers. The Hawaiian peoples had no natural resistance.
The Hawaiian government located some 600 lepers on the island of Molokai.
There they lived in isolation and poverty, with minimal health care.
Damien acted as their priest and as their doctor and their undertaker.
He treated them with respect and love. Under his care, they might not
have a cure, but they lived and died with dignity
.
Damien himself contracted the disease and died at the age of 49. But
perhaps his greatest battles weren't against leprosy but were against
the bigotry and indifference. Others, even other Christians, found him
too lowborn, too inclined to mingle with the native population, too
intent on good works as a way of salvation. The novelist, Robert Louis
Stevenson, came to his defense in these words:
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…we have failed, and another has succeeded;
… we have stood by, and another has stepped in; … we
sit and grow bulky in our charming mansions, and a plain, uncouth
peasant steps into the battle, under the eyes of God, and succours
the afflicted, and consoles the dying, and is himself afflicted
in his turn, and dies upon the field of honour - the battle cannot
be retrieved as your unhappy irritation has suggested.
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St Athanasius, April 30th, 2006
We know the Apostles' Creed. Legend says the 12 apostles wrote its
twelve statements. That's the short one we use when we pray the rosary.
That's the one posed as questions for people receiving baptism and confirmation.
We know the Nicene Creed. That's the longer one we pray at Sunday Mass.
It's gives us a bit more information about the relationship of Jesus
with his Father. It came out of the early church council at Nicea.
And then there's the Athanasian Creed. We don't really know that one.
We never pray it in public. And it's longer-much, much longer with all
sorts of information about how the Father and the Son and the Spirit
relate to each other, one God in three divine persons, equal in majesty,
glory and power. It reflects the teaching of St Athanasius.
St Athanasius was an Egyptian and, after attending the Council at Nicea,
was chosen archbishop of Alexandria. Aside from the normal work of being
bishop-preaching the word, celebrating the sacraments, attending to
the needs of the poor and oppressed-Athanasius contended with heresy.
One of his priests, Arius, put forth the opinion that Jesus just wasn't
God in the way the Father was God. At best, Jesus was a normal human
being whom God adopted as his Son-much the way any good person could
be said to be a child of God.
Arius' views were popular. They were, after all, pretty easy. No more
figuring out how God could become human. No questions about what it
was like for Jesus to be divine. Arius' faith had a rational appeal.
Believers didn't have to leave everything to mystery. They could understand
because there just wasn't much to understand.
But, St Athansius recognized that popular and easy and rational though
Arius' opinions might be, they weren't the faith handed down by the
apostles. The gospels speak of a Word made flesh, of Jesus God and human
in Mary's womb, God and human on the cross, God and human interceding
for his people in heaven. Those difficult doctrines, those confusing
mysteries couldn't be explained away.
Now, St Athanasius' teaching got into political trouble. The Roman emperors
liked Arius' teaching. If Jesus of Nazareth wasn't God, then many of
the things he said-about sexual morality, about caring for the poor,
about not seeking revenge on one's enemies-could be dismissed. If God
wasn't walking about in Galilee, Roman emperors could claim that we
really didn't know what God thought about all those moral issues. And
those emperors liked their adulteries, their wealth and their murderous
plots.
So Athanasius finds himself in exile-once to Belgium, several times
into the Egyptian desert. But in the end, St Athansius returns. The
church hears and accepts his teaching. They even write it into a creed!
Now it's our turn to live Athanasius' faith. Witness to God's work in
Jesus Christ. Live God's justice and charity. Celebrate the life-giving
sacraments. Proclaim Athanasius' creed not with our words, but with
our Christian lives.
St Catherine of Siena, April 23rd, 2006
Any Catholic knows the pope is the bishop of Rome. St Peter, chosen
by the Lord to shepherd his flock, eventually lived and died in Rome.
And that's where the popes, Peter's successors, have lived and worked
for nearly the past 2000 years, right?
Well, yes-except for 74 years in the 14h century when the popes lived
in Avignon, France. And that strange situation-the bishop of Rome living
far outside of Rome-ended only because of the determination of a 29
year old Dominican nun, St Catherine of Siena.
From her childhood on, Catherine was deeply in love with Jesus and his
church. She was pained by the divisions that plagued the church. She
saw that the church could not rise to the challenges of the times, particularly
the growth of Islam in Christian nations, largely due to the politically
and economically motivated infighting within the Christian community.
Her opportunity came at last when armies from various Italian cities
prepared to march against Avignon and Pope Gregory XI. The pope, who
had corresponded with Catherine for many years, called on her to negotiate
a peace.
Although peace would not come in Gregory's time, Catherine convinced
him to return to Rome and to be the spiritual leader that Christianity
and Europe so badly needed. And after Gregory's death, Pope Urban VI
looked to Catherine for advice and counsel. And she gave it honestly
and freely. Catherine encouraged the pope to remain steadfast in difficult
times. And she never shied away from pointing out his weaknesses, his
contribution to the troubles of the day. Near the end of Catherine's
life, Urban called to Rome to be one of his most trusted advisors.
St Catherine could hold many honored titles: a church reformer, a skilled
and compassionate politician, an intelligent writer, a woman of deep
and committed prayer. In 1970, Pope Paul VI added another title: St
Catherine, out of respect for the teaching given in her writings and
the example of her life, was named a Doctor (meaning a learned teacher)
of the Church, one of the first of only three women to hold that distinction
(The others are St Teresa of Avila and St Therese of Lisieux.).
St Salome, April 16th, 2006
We know the Easter story so well. We know that Easter begins with a
group of women.
The male disciples hid behind locked doors. They feared that what happened
to Jesus might happen to them. And so the women-not considered a great
danger to the Roman authorities-made their way to the tomb that morning.
The women found it empty. The women met the angel who told them the
good news of the resurrection. The women were the first to meet the
risen Lord. The women were the first to tell the word: "He is risen!"
Some of those women became quite famous-Mary Magdalen's story (the real
story from the gospels, not the silly fake history put out by The Da
Vinci Code) is well known. Others remain just names on the list: "the
other Mary."
But one of the women, often overlooked as we hear the story, boasts
a history as well-told as Magdalens. Her name is St Salome.
The gospels identify Salome several ways. She's Mrs. Zebedee. She's
the mother of the apostles, James and John. She might even be that mysterious
"sister" to Our Lady, who went with her to the cross.
In any case, Salome was a disciple. Just like her more famous sons,
she left behind her home, her family, her comfort zone, to traipse around
Galilee and Judea with Jesus. She listened to the parables. She saw
the miracles. She pondered in her heart who this Jesus really might
be.
And Salome made mistakes as well. One day, she drug her two sons with
her to confront Jesus. Could they please have the seats of honor in
the much-preached kingdom, at the right and left hand of Jesus? Her
ambition for her family, her misguided love opens the door for Jesus
to teach about the humility that would mark his life, the humility that
should mark the lives of his followers.
But, St Salome persisted. She and her son John braved the consequences
and stood under the cross. She went to the tomb with spices and ointments
to offer that last tribute to her teacher and friend. She told unbelieving
and mocking disciples that she found the tomb empty and Jesus alive.
And St Salome continues her mission. She tells us how to celebrate today,
this Easter day. She tells us to persevere even we make mistakes. She
tells us to follow the Lord generously and constantly. She tells us
to shoulder our share in the cross. She tells us never to give up hope
in the God who gives and gives and gives life.
St Joseph of Arimithea, April 9th, 2006
The gospels don't tell us a great deal about St Joseph of Arimithea.
He was a wealthy and influential Jewish man. He didn't like how the
religious authorities were dealing with Jesus. And when Jesus died on
the cross, Joseph showed up at Pilate's office to offer his own tomb
for Jesus' burial. That's the history.
But legend didn't let Joseph off so lightly.
Stories went about that Joseph was a relative to Jesus-on Mary's side
of the family. That's part of the reason why he was so concerned about
a burial place for Jesus. After all, family should look out for family.
But the legends go further to tell us that when Jesus was a young man,
he traveled widely with St Joseph. Joseph's wealth came from some tin
mines he owned. And they just happened to be in Cornwall-that peninsula
jutting off the western side of Britain, near Wales.
And in those mysterious hidden years of Jesus' youth, he was in really
in the care of St Joseph of Arimithea. And so Jesus lived in Cornwall
and helped manage the family's business.
Later Jesus went back to Israel-perhaps when his foster-father, the
other St Joseph, grew ill and died. Then he became the carpenter of
Nazareth. And we know the rest of his story-leaving Nazareth to proclaim
God's kingdom, ultimately meeting with opposition and misunderstanding,
dying with criminals, buried in Joseph of Arimithea's tomb
After the resurrection, St Joseph goes back to Cornwall. This time Joseph's
no businessman. Now he's an evangelist. He tells the people that the
young man they once knew was really God's Son. And that he died and
rose again so that God could save the world from misery and sin and
fear.
Of course, they don't believe it. Not Jesus! Not that awkward teenager!
Not that quiet young man! Joseph gets frustrated because he can't find
the words to convince them. In his frustration, he cries out "Yes,
it's true-he died and lives, he is Son of God and Savior!" Each
time he repeats his words, he bangs his staff against the ground.
But then that wooden staff sticks in the ground. He's hit the earth
so hard that his staff has plunged into the earth. He tries to pull
it out, but he can't.
Then Joseph and the people see the miracle: the staff has rooted into
the ground. Branches and blossoms sprout forth. And the people believe
Joseph's words, they believe Jesus is their Savior.
Now, we know the story's probably just a legend, but a legend that speaks
a great truth. What do we do with the good news of Jesus' death and
resurrection? How do witness that saving event? What words, what actions
tell our skeptical word that God has loved them even unto death?
Julian of Norwich, April 2nd, 2006
Julian of Norwich was an anchoress, a very special type of hermit.
Alongside her parish church she had built a small room with two windows-one
looking out into the street, one looking in to the church. After she
(and her cat) entered that room, the workers plastered the door shut.
She would never leave. She would spend the rest of her life confined
to that one room. And she did it for God: the God who would come to
her in holy communion each day through that church window, the God she
would see in the people who came to the street window asking her prayers
and her advice.
Julian's life was not easy. But whose life was in early 15th century
England? She lived during years when the Plague ravaged Europe. The
view outside her cell must have been coffins lined up for burial. The
sounds from inside the church would have been largely the somber chants
of the Requiem Mass. People came to her window with questions: Why do
people die? Why is their suffering in the world? Where is God? What
could possibly be the meaning of this short and often painful life?
Julian wrote a book, The Revelations or Showings (the
first book ever written in English by a woman). In it she talks about
her experiences of God. She has visions of Christ in his scourging,
his crucifixion and death. She describes his dying body in almost gruesome
detail. She watches Mary suffering along with her Son-and Christ suffering
along with his Mother. And where does this tortured reflection in the
midst of suffering world lead Julian?
Julian looks at Jesus on the cross and sees the God who is both mother
and father to us.
A mother suffers to bear her child. So Jesus carries us within him
in love and travail, until the full time when he wanted to suffer the
sharpest thorns and cruel pains that ever were or will be, and at the
last he died.
A mother feeds her child. So Jesus can feed us with himself, and
does, most courteously and tenderly, with the blessed sacrament, which
is the precious food of true life.
A mother holds her child. So Jesus can lead us easily into his blessed
breast through his sweet open side, and show us there a part of the
godhead and of the joys of heaven, with inner certainty of endless bliss…giving
us the same understanding in these sweet words which he says: See, how
I love you, looking into his blessed side, rejoicing.
As we draw near to the end of Lent and the beginning of Holy Week, perhaps
Julian's unexpected vision can help us find this God who loves us so
tenderly and so passionately.
St Hildegard of Bingen, March 26th, 2006
Today's Laetare Sunday. We know that laetare is Latin for "Rejoice."
And we know why we rejoice: Lent is half way over. We're well on our
well to celebrating Easter.
But who is called to rejoice? In the Entrance Song from the missal,
the text says Laetare, Jerusalem. Jerusalem, the church on earth rejoices.
But even more richly, Jerusalem, the church of the saints in heaven--whom
St Paul calls our heavenly mother, rejoices.
In the 12th century a German nun, St Hildegard of Bingen, wrote volumes.
She wrote theology. She commented on scriptural texts. She had plenty
to say about how people needed to live better lives. She composed music
that still enchants the ear. She told about visions she had seen.
One of her visions she titled "Symphony of the Blessed." She
begins by describing
the saints in heaven:
|
Then I saw the lucent sky,
in which I heard different kinds of music, marvelously embodying all the meanings I had heard before. I heard the praises of the joyous citizens of Heaven, steadfastly persevering in the ways of Truth; and laments calling people back to those praises and joys; and the exhortations of the virtues, spurring one another on to secure the salvation of the peoples ensnared by the Devil… |
She continues with songs-set to music and available on various current
CDs-addressing the saints-Mary and the angels, patriarchs and prophets,
apostles and martyrs, confessors and virgins and holy souls in purgatory.
In the end, she makes her prayer to Christ. Perhaps her joyful words
can become our prayer this Laetare Sunday:
| Praise be to you, O Christ, King of the angels! O God, who are you who had this great counsel in you? It destroyed the hellish drink, which poisoned publicans and sinners; and now they shine in celestial goodness. Praise therefore be to you, O King! O Father almighty, from your ardent heat flows the fountain; guide your children with a favorable wind on the waters, that we may lead them into the celestial Jerusalem. |
St Joseph, March 19th, 2006
A very long time ago, a famine came to Sicily. The rains didn't fall.
The wells dried up. The sun scorched the sprouting grain. The fruit
trees and the grapevines lost their leaves. Stores of food for animals
and humans began to run out. What could the people do? They were near
starvation. Would they just die? Where could they turn?
They turned to St Joseph. After all, didn't he bring Mary into his house
when she was young and pregnant and afraid? Didn't he find the stable
when all Bethlehem's inns were full? Didn't he rescue his wife and child
from persecution? Didn't he build things to help people live-houses
and tables and plows? Didn't he teach his Son a trade-and a way of life?
St Joseph answered the people's prayers. The rains came. The crops grew
again. Orchards and vineyards bore their fruit. The thirsty had plenty
to drink. The hungry had plenty to heat. The people didn't perish, they
lived.
And in gratitude the people remembered St Joseph who had remembered
them. On his feastday they celebrated with a great meal-much as our
Pilgrims celebrated that first Thanksgiving Day. They covered their
tables with the richest of foods-pastas and breads and cakes. And in
the middle of the tables, they placed a statue of St Joseph.
And, like our Thanksgiving Day, St Joseph's feast wasn't a one time
occurrence. Every year those grateful people remembered St Joseph. They
put his statue in the middle of the table. They feasted even in the
middle of Lent. And they remembered to give something to the poor.
And St Joseph's Table grew beyond those Sicilian villages. Other towns
and villages took up the custom-in Italy and France, eventually in the
New World, especially in Louisiana. And even here, at Resurrection.
This Monday, March 20, celebrate at St Joseph's Table. After we gather
at the Lord's table for the 9:00am Mass, we'll bless the food before
our parish shrine to St Joseph. Come honor this great saint. Come feast
in the midst of our Lent. Come to share some of our blessings with God's
poor.
St Patrick, March 12th, 2006
Some of us may remember What Lent Used to Be Like-or, more, likely
we remember our parents or grandparents telling us What Lent Used to
Be Like.
Lent meant no meat on table. Lent meant a score of personal sacrifices-no
dessert, no alcohol, no smoking. Lent meant almost mandatory attendance
at religious events-daily mass, Stations of the Cross, parish missions,
etc. Lent meant Sunday Masses when the choir sang without the organ
and when a purple veil hid the sanctuary from sight. Lent meant standing
in long lines waiting for a turn to make that necessary Easter confession.
Lent meant no parties, no dances.
But, in the midst of What Lent Used to Be Like there was always a chance
for an interruption. Laetare Sunday would bring flowers on the altar
and instrumental music from the loft. And feastdays would let us break
the sobriety of Lent.
And among people of Irish extraction, St Patrick's Day-which always
falls during Lent--offered just such an interruption. A St Patrick's
Day Party, a St Patrick's Day Dance, a St Patrick's Day Parade could
legitimately break up the 40 days of fasting.
But, let's not reduce St Patrick to an excuse to opt out of Lent for
24 hours, as if he were some sort of Anti-Lenten Saint. When we think
about Patrick's life, we encounter a very Lenten saint.
Lent is a time of reconciliation. Patrick was not Irish. He was a Briton
of Roman ancestry. He first went to Ireland when Irish pirates captured
him and sold him as a slave to Irish landowners. Going back to Ireland
and spending his life there sharing the gospel was a great gesture of
forgiveness. Where do we need to find and to offer forgiveness?
Lent is a time to honor tradition. Patrick's father was a deacon and
his grandfather a priest. He inherited his Catholic faith and he wanted
to hand it on to others. Do we walk this Lenten journey, trusting the
wisdom of our ancestors in the faith who fasted and prayed before us?
Lent is a time of prayer. Patrick's found his first vocation in the
monastery of Lerins. He spent many years learning to know God before
he started to preach God. How will we grow in our knowledge of God this
Lent?
Lent is a time for evangelization. This we know about Patrick: he preached
the gospel to the Irish, using language and symbols they could grasp-think
of that shamrock held up as an illustration of the Trinity. In Lent
we prepare those who will be received into the church at the Easter
Vigil. How have our words and our examples led others to Christ and
to his church?
Felicity and Perpetua, March 5th, 2006
On Easter Eve when we sing the Litany of the Saints, we'll ask the
prayers of two women, Felicity and Perpetua. We hear their names every
time we pray the Roman canon-that long Eucharistic Prayer with the names
of the saints. Who were these woman? How did they rate such notice in
our prayers? How did their names rank way up there with Mary and Joseph,
Peter and Paul?
Perpetua and Felicity were young mothers. Young mothers living in northern
Africa around 200AD. And they were Christians. Christians in a pagan
land, part of the Roman Empire with its system of gods and goddesses.
And Perpetua could write.
And she wrote the story of what happened in Carthage that year 203.
She wrote about the Emperor in Rome wanted to do away with the Christians.
She wrote about her family who begged her to renounce the faith and
save her life. She wrote about her friend Felicity, who gave birth in
prison and gave that child to be adopted by a Christian family. She
wrote about their trial and what the judge said and how the crowds taunted
the women and how they answered. She wrote until she could not write
anymore. Until someone else had to continue the story. Someone else
who could describe these two young women tortured by wild animals to
entertain a stadium. Someone else who would tell how they died by the
sword and how they lived to the end as Christians-praying, forgiving,
loving.
What's their story tell us today? What power do their names bring to
our worship?
Perpetua and Felicity tell us that women have always mattered in God's
plan. Mothers and sisters, daughters and friends have lived and died
for this faith of ours.
Perpetua and Felicity tell us that Africa has a Christian history. Long
before Islam, Africa knew great the ologians (think St Augustine!) and
holy hermits (think St Antony of the Desert and St Mary of Egypt) and
brave martyrs. Just like the Holy Land and Europe, Africa gave us our
Catholic faith.
Perpetua and Felicity tell us about values. They tell us that God's
truth is worth dying for. They tell us that friendship will carry us
through to the end. They tell us that love and mercy wield more power
than political influence or social position.
Perpetua and Felicity tell us about our Lenten journey. They walk with
us through these desert days. They show us the cross in all its terror
and power and wonder. And in the end they bring us to living waters,
to the fresh spring of the Lord's resurrection.
St Katharine Drexel, February 26th, 2006
Lately people have talking about what they'd do if they won the Powerball.
Some $365 million dollars.
Last year, the film Millions told the story of a British boy who finds
millions of pounds in a field near his home. He thinks the money came
from God. He works hard-with the help of some saints who keep popping
into his life-to spend those millions the way he should.
For most of us, spending millions and millions of dollars will always
be the stuff of dreams and stories. But, for St Katharine Drexel spending
a great deal of money and spending a very long life were real issues.
In 1858 Katharine Drexel was born into great wealth. Her family were
quite successful Philadelphia financiers. She and her two sisters lived
comfortably and traveled widely. Her family was devoutly Roman Catholic.
And they expressed their faith not only by sharing the liturgy and the
sacraments but also in their charity towards others. They assisted the
poor from their goods and from their own homes. They used their money
to generously endow Catholic educational and charitable concerns.
After her parents died, Katharine inherited a fortune. She began to
spend it on others. She had been particularly moved by the plight of
Native Americans. She began to advocate for Catholic policies to help
Indians in their physical poverty and to extend them the spiritual goods
of the church. (In the late 19th century, the federal government had
assigned various religious denominations the responsibility of educating
Indians, a policy that favored Protestant Christianity and essentially
removed freedom of religion from Native Americans.)
While traveling in Italy, Katharine met with Pope Leo XIII who challenged
her to give not just her money, but her self to the Native American
missions. She struggled to eventually realize that God had called her
to found a religious order of women who would care for the spiritual
and temporal needs of the Indians-the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament.
As her outreach to Native Americans brought her all over the United
States, she discovered the very real needs of African Americans-living
in great poverty, without educational or vocational opportunities, and
only cautiously welcome in Catholic parishes. Soon she expanded the
vision of the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament. They would work in African
American communities-building schools (including Xavier University in
New Orleans), welcoming people to church, giving young people a future.
St Katharine Drexel lived a long life, dying in 1955. Perhaps that life,
spent so generously for others, can help us enter this Lent. What can
we give to others? How can we make our church a place of welcome, a
place of justice, a place of charity? How can we give not only our words
and our money, but how to give ourselves to the work of God in our world?
Polycarp, February 19th, 2006
When I was seminary, one of my classmates obtained a pet goldfish.
He decided to sponsor a little contest to find a suitable name for the
fish. The person whose suggestion was chosen as the best name would
win some sort of prize.
The names submitted generally had some religious significance: Ichthus
(the Greek word for fish and a acronym for Iesous Xristous Huios Theos
Soter-Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior)-too hard to say; Peter (the
fisherman)-too often pictured in the gospel doing fishing; Jonah-too
big of a name for so little a fish. The prize, and the hapless animal's
name, went to Polly Carp, a play on the name of the 2nd century bishop
and martyr, St Polycarp of Smyrna.
Now the fish-naming contest may have been trivial, but St Polycarp was
far from trivial. Polycarp was one of the Apostolic Fathers of the Church,
called "Apostolic" because they were disciples of the twelve
apostles. Polycarp himself was a disciple of St John and a friend of
St Ignatius of Antioch-who was alleged to have been the boy Christ singled
out as an example of child-like faith.
Polycarp's life left three treasured documents: His letter to the Christian
community at Philippi (which echoes the joy and confidence that St Paul
found in that church only a few decades previously), St Ignatius' letter
to Polycarp (where the elder bishop encourages the younger in his ministry,
and the eyewitness account of his martyrdom.
At 2:00pm on February 23, 155, the 86-year old Polycarp was brought
before the Roman magistrates and accused of atheism, of failing to believe
in and sacrfice to the gods of the Roman state. "For 86 years have
I served Christ and he has done me no wrong. How then can I blaspheme
my King and Savior?"
The authorities condemned to death by burning. In the midst of the flames
the aged bishop praised God in words echoing the prayers of the mass.
He offered his life as a sacrifice, willingly accepting the cup of the
martyrs. Onlookers reported that his flesh took on the appearance of
bread baking and the scent of incense filled the air.
After his death, the Smyrnan Christians gathered the few remains of
their pastor's bones, treating them like precious stones and burying
them. They explained in their account of the event, the Martyrium Polycarpi,
that "There the Lord will permit us to meet together in gladness
and joy to celebrate the birthday of his martydom both in memory of
those who fought the fight and for the training and preparation of those
who will fight," one of the Church's earliest references to the
cult of relics and the keeping of saints' days. Celebrate Polycarp this
Thursday. Don't take the faith for granted: remember all those who so
nobly suffered to hand on the truth of Christ. Strive to live that faith
in self-sacrifice and generosity, in joy and love.
St Valentine, February 12th, 2006
"Love is all around," the bulletin board in the Child Care
proclaims.
Signs of love are all around in the middle of February: hearts and cupids,
flowers and chocolates, cards to send and dinner reservations to make.
Love-romantic love especially-takes center stage.
But, Valentine's Day is really St Valentine's Day. There's a Christian
piece to our late winter celebrations of love.
Now, St Valentine is only a Christian piece to the holiday. The origins
of the day go back to pagan times. Winged cupid with his arrows is no
angel, but a Roman god. Some say the exchange of romantic greetings
on this day finds its roots in rituals honoring the goddess Juno. Others
argue that these early pre-spring (Remember, it's a Roman holiday) days
were full of signs of love and new life-birds nesting and blossoms blooming.
But, St Valentine, who at least gives the day its name, had something
to add. Christians have always loved to baptize pagan feasts: the feast
of the Invincible Sun becomes Christmas, Midsummer night revels celebrate
the birth of John the Baptist, the Celtic night of the dead turns into
All Saints and All Souls. And St Valentine, martyred in Rome around
280, has something to say about love. Not the starry-eyed love of movies,
not the mushy sentiments of a greeting card, not the obsession with
sex that masquerades as love, but a love that can give absolutely everything,
a love that will risk everything-even life itself-on the kingdom of
God. That's St Valentine's love, the love of martyrs, the love of Christians.
Recently, Pope Benedict wrote his first official letter, his first encyclical,
to the Catholic Church. He called it Deus Caritas Est ("God is
love."). He talks about love in the scriptures, about love in the
ancient world and the modern. He talks about the charity we extend to
those in need and the self-sacrificing love that builds families and
churches. And he talks about love in a very everyday, down to earth
fashion. The theology is there, but he expresses it so that all believers
can read and understand.
Deepen your appreciation of Christian love. Read the pope's words. You
can find it online at www.usccb.org
, www.dioceseofscranton.org
or www.vatican.va
(or go to www.resurrectiononline.net , choose "Links"
and choose "United States Bishops' Conference," "Diocese
of Scranton," or "Vatican.") Find the spiritual edge
to this St Valentine's Day.
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St Scholastica, St. Benedict's sister, February 5th, 2006
When the news media heard the newly elected pope's name choice-Benedict-they
scurried around for information. Why this name? Who was the Benedict
the pope wanted to honor? What insights about a new pope could they
gain from the name he chose?
They certainly learned about Benedict XV, a peace-loving pope in the
face of World War I's cruelties. They looked back further into history
and found the great St Benedict, the one who founded monasteries and
whose monks and nuns evangelized virtually all of northern Europe. And
in the meantime, Catholic booksellers have been quick to offer information-many
of the catalogs that show up in the parish mail feature books and tapes
and icons about Benedict.
But, in all this, did anyone bother to tell us that St Benedict had
a sister? And a twin sister at that!
Benedict's sister, Scholastica, shared his passion for Christ. She,
too, saw a need for renewal in the church. She, like her brother, understood
that true renewal comes from contact with the living Christ. The church
needed to be rooted and grounded in prayer. And, at least some folks
needed to devote their entire lives to the ministry of prayer.
Scholastica established a monastery for women about five miles away
from her brother's community. Both Benedict and Scholastica worked tirelessly
to keep their monasteries, to keep the spirit of prayer and simplicity
and hospitality alive in the communities. But each year, they had one
day off-one day when sister and brother would meet at a little house
between their monasteries.
Pope St Gregory the Great-himself a Benedictine and the pope who first
sent monks and nuns north to convert the nations-relates the story that
one year Scholastica wanted to detain her brother in conversation through
the night. When he explained that he had to get back to the monastery
he bowed her head in prayer and suddenly torrential rains began to fall.
She had her wish: she could spend more time with her beloved brother.
Three days later she died. And St Gregory explains "It is not surprising
that she was more effective than he; since, as John says, God is love,
it was absolutely right that she could do more, as she loved more."
We celebrate St Scholastica this Friday. May this wise woman, our sister
in the faith, teach us to love well. May she show us the power of Christ's
great commandments: to love God with all our heart and soul and to love
our neighbor as ourself.
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Fourteen Holy Helpers, January 29th, 2006
As Catholics we sometimes deal in a sacred arithmetic. We have 1 God.
We confess 2 natures (divine and human) in Christ. We speak of 3 Persons
in the Trinity. We proclaim 4 gospels. We honor the 5 books of Moses
(the first five in the Old Testament). We have 6 days of the week when
we can work. We have many 7's: sacraments, gifts of the Spirit, sins
and virtues, corporal and spiritual works of mercy. We count 8 beatitudes,
9 choirs of angels, 10 commandments, 12 apostles and 14 Holy Helpers.
Fourteen Holy Helpers? Yes, in the Middle Ages a group of saints was
designated as the Holy Helpers because their prayers could be relied
on to cover a variety of human needs and concerns. They included St
Acacius (for soldiers-he was one-and against headaches-he was beheaded!),
St Barbara (against lightening), Saint Catherine of Alexandria (for
success in exams), St Christopher (for traveling mercies), St Cyriacus
(for abused and suffering children-he was martyred at the age of 3),
St Denis of Paris (against headaches-he was beheaded on Montmartre),
St Erasmus (against stomach problems-he was martyred by disembowelment),
St Eustace (for hunters), St George (for soldiers, Boy Scouts and the
English people and, one imagines, against dragons), St Giles (for the
handicapped and the homeless), St Margaret the Martyr (for pregnant
women), St Pantheleon (for those in the medical professions), St Vitus
(for those suffering from epilepsy) and St Blaise (against throat ailments).
This Friday we celebrate Blaise. We remember his ministry as a bishop
in 4th Century Armenia. We recall the legend of his life: how in times
of Roman persecution, he fled to the woods. There the wild animals-including
the great cats who would normally be employed in tearing Christians
to pieces in the arena-became his gentle friends. While living in hiding
he saved the life of a peasant child choking on a fishbone. The child's
mother gratefully brought the saint a gift of candles to brighten the
darkness of the forest.
And so, on St Blaise Day, we bless throats and ask the saint's prayers
in these sore-throat days. And, remembering that anonymous and grateful
woman, we give that blessing with candles, the candles blessed the previous
day to honor the Lord's Presentation.
St Paul, January 22, 2006
The Week of Prayer for Christian Unity originally fell between two
Catholic feast days: the Chair of St Peter at Antioch (January 18) and
the Conversion of St Paul (January 25). The liturgical reform of Vatican
II decided that one Chair of St Peter-at Rome on February 22-would be
quite enough celebration. But the Conversion of St Paul remains a feast
and the closing day of Christian Unity Week.
How appropriate! Paul, in his own way, lived in a very divided Christianity.
As a Pharisee he opposed the early Christian movement, a heresy-a dangerous
division within the Jewish faith. In the Acts of the Apostles, Paul
has only to show up in a synagogue (in the hopes of preaching Jesus
as the long-awaited Messiah) for a fight to break out.
Nor was St Paul's life noticeably more peaceful in the Christian community.
He himself attests to a deep disagreement he had with St Peter. (Paul
insisted on virtually no distinctions between Jews and Gentiles; Peter
seemed to want a more gradual approach to unifying these different Christian
traditions.) St Peter would write a New Testament letter acknowledging
how confusing Paul's epistles could be. And St James writes a letter
that challenges Paul's theology of grace (St Paul talked about salvation
by means of faith; St James said that both faith and works were necessary).
And yet, Paul persists in proclaiming "one Lord, one faith, one
baptism." He complains loud and long about the divisions in the
church at Corinth. He points to the one eucharistic bread and cup as
a model for the unity of believers. He describes the church as the Body
of Christ, with each believer as a necessary member. He continues to
work with fellow apostles even when they don't share his particular
agenda.
St Paul encourages us to keep at the work of Christian unity. We sometimes
discover that other Christians don't share key beliefs and practices.
We sometimes wonder if we're playing on the same team morally-whether
we're talking about sexuality or the rights of the poor or the justice
of war. We can walk into another church and find ourselves almost lost
in their worship: where are the songs we know? Where the scripture we
hear? Where have the table, the cup and the bread gone?
But, for us as for St Paul, there can only be "one Lord, one faith,
one baptism." The task of dialog, the task of common prayer, the
task of shared work for justice, the task of simple charity remains
with us. If St Paul, amidst the divisions in his church (and often in
his life), can work for unity, so can we
St Agnes, January 15th, 2006
In the year 304, a 12 old year girl named Agnes made a vocation choice.
She decided she didn't want to get married. Agnes decided not to opt
for children and family. She wanted to live as single Christian woman-a
consecrated virgin, in the church's technical language. Agnes wanted
to serve God and God's people in prayer and good works.
In the larger society of early 4th century Rome, Agnes' decision didn't
go over. 12 year old girls were supposed to prepare themselves for engagement
and marriage. They weren't supposed to make their own decisions. One
of the young men interested in Agnes and angry when he was rejected
denounced her as a Christian to the authorities. In the end, she was
put to death for refusing to worship the Roman gods.
The cruelty of St Agnes' martyrdom may shock us. How could a society
execute a 12 year old girl? How could a culture refuse to allow her-as
a child and as a woman-the right to make a vocational choice?
But St Agnes' life and death perhaps can challenge us to look at our
own world, our own society. Are we really so much better than those
ancient Romans?
Have we not written off the value of the unborn child? And even as we
as Catholics complain about abortion, have we really done everything
we can to ensure that a mother has the wherewithal to bring a pregnancy
to term and to raise the child?