Note: It seems hard to believe that my ordination to the permanent diaconate was 25 years ago today. I and 20 other men were ordained by Sean O'Malley, then the Bishop of Fall River, at St. Anthony's Church in New Bedford, Massachusetts. Yes, it was a wonderful day, followed by so many other wonderful days.
This morning I assisted at daily Mass celebrated by another Fr. Gerry -- Fr. Gerry Cunningham -- who said too many kind things about Diane and me and made the Mass even more special than it always is.
My homily follows...
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Readings: Acts 16:22-34; Ps 138; John 16:5-11
After 25 years as a deacon, I’ve come to realize that 25 years really isn’t all that long. I think this has something to do with my age. After all, I was past 50 when I was ordained. The second realization is that I’ve learned a lot in those 25 years, and I trust I’ve changed at least a little. You'll have to check with Diane for the truth of that.
Perhaps I should really say, I’ve been changed, because I’ve really done very little myself. That’s the odd thing about vocations; they always begin with God’s call. We merely respond. In truth, though, I have two vocations.
The first is my
vocation as husband. This was a calling I really couldn’t avoid. You see, I knew
I would marry Diane the first moment I met her. It might have been a blind date,
but I saw the future clearly.
The second was my vocation as a permanent deacon. For over 20 years I’d thought about the diaconate, on and off, mostly off, until my pastor told me he was certain God was calling me. Diane and I talked about it, prayed about it, and finally responded and accepted it. After years of formation, I was ordained and then we faced the humbling reality of allowing God to blend these two vocations.
I didn’t always listen to God, and made a lot of mistakes, but He’d always call me back. As you might expect, I occasionally made the big mistake, believing it was my vocation, my ministry. Of course, it’s not. God calls. We respond…or try to. Then His Spirit, the Advocate, as Jesus called Him in the Gospel, leads, and guides, and continually surprises.
Most of us, if we’re faithful Christians, want to follow Christ. But too often we actually think we can plot the correct path all by ourselves. Not only that, we want to be honored and praised for doing so. I suppose we want the fruit; we want others to recognize and accept the proof of our right thinking, of all the good we do. Do I have to tell you that this is totally, completely wrong?
I recall a bishop once remarking how he admired those who developed successful ministries. And then we place his words alongside those of St. Therese as the 24-year-old saint lay dying: “My ministry will begin -- after my death.”
Even bishops can be
wrong…sometimes.
Just consider Paul and Silas in today’s reading from Acts – arrested, stripped, flogged, imprisoned...I don’t know about you, but I suspect I’d be feeling pretty bad about things if that happened to me.
But what did they do? They prayed together and sang hymns into the night. Then an earthquake opened the prison doors and removed their chains. Did they escape and run? Nope, instead they evangelized their jailor who was about to commit suicide. He actually took them to his home, tended to their wounds, and he and his family were all baptized.
Do you see the deep faith of these two men?
Do you see that the ministry of evangelization, the primary work of the Church, was not something they did? It was the fruit of their prayer, something God did through them. They thought not of themselves, but only of God. It wasn’t their ministry; it was God’s work…Opus Dei. And they were simply filled with joy that God would use them no matter the cost to them.
Even after 25 years,
I’m still a long way from that kind of faith.
Let me tell you a secret. We deacons can be a complaining lot, especially when we get together. The Church, you see – or at least parts of the Church – even after 50 years, still hasn’t figured out exactly what to do with us. And so, we groan and moan about not being used as we believe we ought.
But then I remember what the word deacon means. It means servant, one who serves others not himself. We’re called to be servants, but servants to whom? Quite simply, we’re called to serve God’s people, all God’s people. That’s right, anyone and everyone. By doing so, we serve God and His holy Church.
When it’s put that way it’s pretty straightforward, but it demands a level of humility that escapes most of us. I've always thought of humility as the foundational virtue, the virtue without which all other virtues simply cannot be. My father had a funny line about humility. He used to say, "Humility's a strange commodity; once you know you have it, you just lost it."
In a sense, that’s the second secret.
I’d been a deacon only a few years when a priest I knew asked if I’d speak to some seminarians who were only a year or two from ordination.
Surprised, I asked him, “Speak to them? On what?”
“Oh, on the permanent
diaconate, of course.”
Well, in the midst of my little talk, I revealed that second secret. You see, I’d spent years as a layman in our parish and knew a lot of the parishioners. I also knew that many were far holier than I was or would ever be. And yet as a deacon I was called to serve them, to counsel and encourage them, to pray with them, to preach to them, to teach them.
That’s when I realized I could do none of that. That was all God's work, perhaps done through me thanks to His Holy Spirit. You see, those young seminarians, once ordained to the priesthood, would likely be assigned to a parish where they knew very few people. It would take those holy young priests a while to recognize and accept that those they served would often be far holier. But God always seems to call us from our weaknesses, doesn’t He? For it’s then He is most productive.
Brothers and sisters, open your
hearts and souls to the work of the Holy Spirit in your lives. Let the Advocate
do His work.
God still uses earthquakes, little events to shake up our lives, to cause us to turn to Him in faith and hope, so we can see the needs that surround us. You and I may not be imprisoned, but so many in our world are locked up, living in prisons of their own creation. You may be the one whom God chooses to set them free.
God love you.
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