Homily: Saturday, 1st Week of Advent

 Readings Is 30:19-21, 23-26; Psalm 147; Mt 9:35–10:1, 5A, 6-8

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What’s really remarkable is how unbelievably busy Jesus was. Listen again to how Matthew describes this typical day in the public life of our Lord:

“Jesus went around to all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the Gospel of the Kingdom, and curing every disease and illness” [Mt 9:35].

The Pharisees had just accused Jesus of collaborating with Satan: "He drives out demons by the prince of demons" [Mt 9:34]. It was, after all, a rather stupid thing to say, so Jesus simply ignores them, and immerses Himself in His ministry. He teaches and preaches in the synagogues, helping the synagogues flourish from within, for it’s the people who hear Him, it’s the people who will be changed by the Word of God. But he teaches and preaches to the crowds as well – to Jews and Gentiles – in the streets, on the hillsides, along the lakeshore. Nobody is forgotten, no one is exempt. As He later commissioned His disciples: “Go, therefore, make disciples of all nations” [Mt 28:19].

And healing? Oh, yes, the healing power of the Holy Spirit flows like a torrent through the hands of the Word. He cures disease, injury, blindness, every imaginable disability, but these are always secondary, aren’t they? For what He seeks above all is the repentant soul, the sinner who, in all humility, seeks salvation through the healing power of Jesus.

He was on the go, non-stop, preaching, teaching, and healing. And then what did He do? Why He told the apostles to do exactly the same: to proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom; to “cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, drive out demons” [Mt 10:8].

I read those words and let them sink in, and then I recall what my bishop said at my ordination when he instructed us, telling a group of soon-to-be deacons how our lives would change.

“You are called to preach, to teach, and to heal,” he told us. “Easy words to say today, but not so easy to carry out.” I remember thinking to myself, Okay, I think I can handle the preaching and teaching, but what’s this about healing?

There I was, just minutes before ordination, and I’m questioning whether I can handle or even understand what God wants of me. And then my bishop added, “But don’t get all self-important; this isn’t just your calling; it’s really the calling of every disciple of Jesus Christ.” That was about 25 years ago, and despite all my supposed busyness, my days are lazy indeed when compared with the ministry of Jesus.

What about you? How often do you proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom? How many of your friends, your golf buddies, the folks you play cards with…how many of them even think about the arrival of the Kingdom? The Good News is really good, brothers and sisters. And if you’re a disciple, a follower of Jesus – and I assume you are – then you and I better get busy.

And then there’s that healing thing. It took me a while before I came to understand what it all meant, and God wanted of me. And it was all because of Diane. She decided we should be hospital chaplains.

Now, I really didn’t like spending time with sick people, but God always calls us to our weakness, doesn’t He? He does that so we’ll come to understand that it’s through His power, His grace that we can accomplish anything.

In the beginning I would walk into a hospital room and greet the patient, “Hello, I’m Dana, today’s on-call chaplain. How are you today?”

And he’d just look at me and reply, “I’m in the hospital. How do you think I am?”

Not a good beginning, so I learned to ask different questions, to stick to the basics…

“Have they been treating you well?”

“Where are you from? Do you have family here?”

“Have you been talking with God much lately?”

“How about you and I just take a moment to pray together?”

Before you know it, I’m listening to the stories of their lives, the challenges they face, their fears and worries. That’s when I came to realize that God actually does work through us and in us, that others come to know God’s love and to know God because we reflect His Presence.

How many people in your life need God’s Presence in their lives? Will you take the time, just as Jesus took the time, to share God’s healing, forgiving love with them?

Yes, indeed, discipleship is a fulltime job.

 

 

20 Years of Diaconal Ministry

Three weeks from today (May 24) I will celebrate the 20th anniversary of my ordination to the permanent diaconate. It seems like yesterday, so I'm having a little trouble coming to grips with the fact that it's been 20 years since that special day.

Ordination - Fall River Diocese - Bishop Sean O'Malley

As this anniversary approaches I have been drawn to reflect on both my life and my ministry during those two decades. Although much has certainly happened in my life and the life of my family, I find myself wondering whether my ministry has borne very much fruit. This is probably a natural reaction, and I should just turn it all over the God and trust that, through His grace, I have done more good than harm.

I suppose the years my brother deacons and I spent in formation were reasonably effective in preparing us for our ministry. But even so, the subsequent 20 years were filled with so much that was unanticipated and unexpected.

Hospital chaplaincy, for example, was one of those ministries I intentionally resisted. Except when absolutely necessary, I had avoided hospitals. I didn't like being around sickness and, to borrow a phrase from a younger generation, "Hospitals creep me out!" And then, about five years ago, Dear Diane volunteered the two of us as hospital chaplains at The Villages Regional Hospital. Now I find myself looking forward to our assigned days, largely because I learn so much from those whom I visit. I trust I have been able to offer them some comfort, but I know they've been a constant source of joy to me.

As Diane and I visit these wonderful patients, going from one hospital room to another, I can't help but recall St. Paul's words on how God, to demonstrate His power, calls us to our weakness:

[The Lord said to me,] "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness." I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me. Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong [2 Cor 12:9-10].

My experience in other ministries has been similar. Before arriving at my present parish, my knowledge of things liturgical was pretty much limited to those rites in which I was directly involved as a deacon. I'm certainly no liturgist. But then, to my surprise, my pastor made me the nominal head of our liturgy committee. Today most parishioners believe (wrongly) that I am personally responsible for everything liturgical that occurs in the parish. And their varying views of what constitutes proper liturgy can result in some interesting feedback. I strive, however, to do all for God's greater glory and trust that our liturgies will please Him and strengthen the faith of His people. I try to learn from my mistakes and, once again, in weakness we are called, and I hope I will continue to be a willing servant.

My previous parish on Cape Cod was blessed with many young families and so Baptisms were frequent. What a joy it is to bring a beautiful new life into God's Church through this sacrament. Yes, infant baptisms are always joyous occasions, so different from funerals. In those days I was occasionally called on to conduct an evening vigil service for a parishioner who had died, but because I was still working full-time, I rarely assisted at funerals. But now, ministering in a parish that serves thousands of retirees, baptisms are rare and the various funeral rites have become a major diaconal ministry. This, too, was unexpected.

As a veteran and retired naval officer, I am often called on to conduct committal services at the National Cemetery just down the road in Bushnell, Florida. It is a distinct honor to complete the funeral rites for our veterans who have given so much of their lives for others.

Since Diane and I "retired" to Florida 13 years ago, the one ministry that has been a constant in our lives is the Wildwood Soup Kitchen; and, again, it was Diane who brought it about and "volunteered" me. Along with a few hundred other volunteers representing over 30 local churches, we serve God's people when they come to us hungry and in need of His love. Diane is the Thursday cook and I'm the Thursday captain (an ambiguous title that means I do whatever the cook tells me). This past Thursday we prepared and served or delivered 393 meals so the need is great. This is another of those ministries that took me by surprise and has resulted in much joy.

We deacons, of course, are at the lowest level (the order of the diaconate) of the three Holy Orders. Above us are our priests (the order of the presbyterate) and our bishops (the order of the episcopate). And this is very good indeed. Because of my many years as a naval officer, I am quite used to following orders and am happy to do whatever is asked of me. I suppose I was pre-formed to be a deacon.

Most pastors -- sadly, not all -- like having us around because we willingly relieve them of much time-consuming parish work, freeing them to carry out the important pastoral work expected of them. Being a lowly deacon -- a servant -- then is a reward in itself. But we must be careful not to revel in our lowliness, for pride can infect even the most lowly among us.

And this leads me to perhaps the most surprising aspect of my ministry as deacon. Before I was ordained I can't recall any parishioner ever asking me for advice on things spiritual. It just never happened. After all, I was simply another parishioner. What could I know? (The honest answer, of course, was, "Not much.")

But once I was ordained things changed. I had been a deacon for less than 24 hours when a parishioner approached me and wanted some advice on how best to encourage his wife of 30 years to convert to Catholicism. As I recall, she was an Episcopalian who attended Mass with him every Sunday. My first thought was, what do I know about Episcopalian to Catholic conversion? The answer, of course, was little or nothing. And so I asked him, "Why are you asking me for advice?" He looked surprised and replied, "Because you're a deacon." I then asked, "I've known you for years. Why didn't you ask me before?" His reply? "You weren't a deacon then."

I suppose this man might well have had a better grasp of the effects of ordination than I. After all, as the Catechism affirms when discussing the ordination of deacons:

"The sacrament of Holy Orders marks them with an imprint ("character") which cannot be removed and which configures them to Christ, who made himself the 'deacon' or servant of all" [CCC 1570].

The parishioner seemed to understand that with ordination comes a configuring to Christ (however imperfect) and that the Holy Spirit would be there to assist me as I struggled to respond to his need.

During my years as a naval officer and later as a consultant and teacher, I was often called on to advise people on a variety of issues, some personal and some professional. As a deacon, however, I must be especially careful since the advice given often relates to a person's journey to salvation. It is not something to be taken lightly.

Let me conclude this post with a few thoughts on giving advice -- things I've learned, often the hard way, over the years.

First of all, giving advice can sometimes be dangerous. If the advice turns out to be wrong, or if it is misinterpreted, the advisee will often turn on the advisor, blaming him for any undesirable outcome. Of course, this is inherently unfair since advice is just that: merely advice. It is offered, not commanded. And the advisee must still decide whether to accept or reject it. He cannot abdicate his responsibility for actions taken, regardless of the advice he has received. Of course, the advisor has a responsibility to give his best advice.

The best advice for advisors?

Know your subject, and know it well. Don't give advice on subjects about which you lack expertise.

Know the other person and their level of knowledge. The only way to do this is to ask questions, and continue to do so until you are comfortable with the answers. (It's hard to be quiet when you're an expert.)

The perceived quality of advice is usually based on a combination of the recognized knowledge and experience -- the expertise -- of the advisor. An effective advisor not only knows his own limitations, but also understands the capabilities and temperament of the one he advises. Advice that cannot or will not be followed is no advice at all.

When the advice relates to human activity, other factors, many of them unknown or unanticipated, can influence the outcome. All other things being equal, the more specific the activity, the more predictable the outcome, and the more likely the advice will be sound.

For example, Dear Diane once advised me on the best way to make a hard-boiled egg, a snack I particularly enjoy. The task is specific, with relatively simple steps, and if I follow her advice closely, the desired outcome is always achieved, and I, the advisee, am content.

But if, for some inexplicable reason, I were called on to plan and prepare a complete, multi-course dinner for eight guests, and do so personally without Dear Diane's active supervision, no amount of specific advice would prevent a disastrous outcome. The main task is well beyond my current capabilities and the specificity needed would overwhelm me. In this instance, the best advice would be to call a caterer.

Advisors also get into trouble when dealing with generalities. We can think and speak in generalities but you and I don't do general things. All of our actions are specific. And to make the transition from the general to the specific is never easy.

Some years ago a young man came to me for some spiritual advice. I was not a spiritual director, merely a deacon, but something in my homily that morning got his attention, and so after Mass he approached me in the sacristy. I was in a bit of a hurry, so when he told me he felt "spiritually empty," I asked him about his prayer life. He responded that he had none. My advice? I tossed him a few spiritual platitudes and ended with, "You have to deepen your prayer life and develop a personal relationship with the Lord."

Was this good advice? Well, I suppose so, in a general sort of way. But then, fortunately, I noticed the look of complete confusion on his face and realized he didn't know what I was talking about. A few minutes of dialogue convinced me he didn't know how to pray. I also learned that he hadn't been in a church since his Confirmation almost 15 years earlier.

The Holy Spirit had drawn that young man to Mass that morning and in my haste I had almost sent him away empty. Indeed, he would have left in worse shape spiritually since my initial advice was, to him, incomprehensible. Eventually we met several times to discuss prayer and spirituality, and I'm happy to say that he is now an active parishioner.

I'm also happy to say that I leave most spiritual direction to those better trained than I to perform this challenging work. But answering others' questions on their faith, advising them on specific issues, helping them understand God's enduring love for them -- all this and more have been a wonderfully surprising part of my diaconal ministry for the past 20 years. I don't know how long our loving God will allow Diane and me to minister to His people, but any time is a blessing for which we thank Him daily.

Confronting Illness

Increasingly I seem to be spending time with those who suffer from illness of one kind or another. This, I suppose, should be expected since my ministry as a deacon certainly involves visiting the sick. Another obvious reason for this increase is that earlier this year Dear Diane and I began to minister as volunteer chaplains at our local hospital. After all, one doesn't go to the hospital with the expectation of encountering too many healthy people. And then there's my age and that of many of my friends and acquaintances. Most of us are at or approaching an age when we begin to encounter serious threats to our health. As a consequence we seem always to be praying for or visiting those who are hospitalized, or awaiting surgery, or in rehab, or entering hospice care. As you might expect, all of this is reflected in our conversation when we get together with our friends. Although we might begin by sharing stories about our grandchildren, the conversation inevitably devolves into a discussion of the three D's: doctors, diseases and drugs.

Now you might think all this involvement with illness would be depressing; but I haven't found it so. Indeed, I have been buoyed, literally raised up, by many of the most seriously ill people I have encountered. Their illnesses seem to have focused their minds and hearts on what is truly important. Let me pass along a few examples:

On one of my recent chaplain days at the hospital Dear Diane had a doctor's appointment of her own that morning and couldn't join me until later.  And so I was alone when I entered the room of a woman who suffers from several forms of cancer. After I introduced myself she told me she was a "believing Christian" -- as I recall, she later indicated she was a Baptist -- and then thanked me for stopping by. We spoke a while about her illness and then she said (these might not be her exact words, but they're close enough):

You know, one of the blessings I've received from my illness is the understanding and firm acceptance that our stay here on earth is purely tentative. It's a little like being on probation, isn't it? We are such fragile creatures, but God, and only God, can make us strong enough to face the end of our stay here with faith and really with a kind of happiness. I find that wonderful, but very strange at the same time. 

She is a perfect example of the surprising benefits and joys of hospital ministry. I'm not convinced that I bring very much lasting comfort to those I visit, but they certainly do educate me about the human condition.

Something else Diane and I have discovered as we make our rounds at the hospital relates to the love and care provided by family and friends. So often the patient's spouse will be there when we enter a room. Many of the patients we visit have been married 40, 50 or 60 years and the love between husband and wife has an almost physical presence. More often than not the spouse will be the one with the questions and concerns, the one who asks us to pray with the patient, the one who seeks signs of hope. This obvious care and concern, this open manifestation of faith, tends to have a positive effect on the spouse who is ill. The patient who has a caring, loving spouse and a devoted family seems to be the happier, more hopeful patient.

Interestingly, these same hopeful patients are those who often have the most visitors. Here in our large retirement community strong friendships seem to form rather quickly, resulting in informal but equally strong networks of solidarity formed to help and care for those in need. On many occasions we have entered a hospital room to find two or three friends and neighbors visiting the patient, seemingly very pleased to be there. They, too, usually join us in prayer before we leave the patient.

I should be used to the miracles God works in the lives of those who suffer because I witness them so frequently. A few weeks ago a parishioner approached me after daily Mass and said she wanted to discuss the meaning of suffering. Now I know that this woman suffers from the early stages of Alzheimer's and has experienced many severe problems. As you might expect, her life has undergone significant changes.

At first I tried to get her to talk about her own situation, but she'd have none of it. "Oh, no," she said, "I'm fine. I just want to know what suffering is all about. Someone told me it's a bad thing to suffer, and that didn't sound right to me."

I agreed that what she'd been told wasn't right. "How can suffering be bad," I asked her, "if Jesus instructs us to take up our cross in imitation of Him?"

And so we talked about the Cross, about how we can come to discern God's plan in our lives, about how the key to that discernment is the Cross of Jesus Christ. We shared our joy that Christ, the Word of God Incarnate, has taken on our weakness, our humanity, and done so through the mystery of the Cross. I mentioned to her that one of the "joys" of accepting the suffering in our lives is that we can become, through this, a source of hope and salvation for others. With this her face brightened into a wide smile. And then she asked, "Do you mean, I can just climb up on that Cross with Jesus, and be with Him, and just suffer right alongside Him?"

As I have said already, those who are ill, those who suffer have become my best teachers.

Pax et bonum...

Blogging Again

It's been almost two weeks since my last post and I've received more than a few emails from friends (and others) asking whether I've given up this little hobby of mine. I suspect some were hoping for a "yes" answer, but unhappily for them I can say definitively that Being Is Good will continue to appear, although  not perhaps so regularly as before.

I've just been busy, and despite my best intentions am not always able or willing to spend time sharing these unworthy thoughts of mine. I had naively believed that retirement, even retirement as a still ministering deacon, would mean more free time to do that which I enjoy. Silly boy! I'm afraid a form of Parkinson's Law begins to govern the lives of permanent deacons as soon as they retire from their civilian occupations. It's probably best stated as: Ministries multiply to the point where they fill all the available waking hours of the deacon and his wife.

Now, I'm not complaining...really I'm not. I truly enjoy every ministry in which I am involved. That, in itself, is an undeserved blessing for which I am exceedingly grateful to God. My teaching and preaching ministries are a joy, and I can't imagine not being able to facilitate, or at least be an active part of, the parish's two weekly Scripture Study sessions. And for nine years now the Wildwood Soup Kitchen, our fellow volunteers, and the wonderful people of God we serve have been a major part of our lives. No doubt there will come a time when Dear Diane and I can no longer do the work, but I prefer not to think about that possibility.

There are more, and among them is a new ministry -- new at least to us -- and one that we have come to enjoy immensely. Since the beginning of the year Dear Diane and I have been working several days each month as volunteer on-call chaplains at our local hospital. It's really not all that demanding. On our assigned days we're on call for a 24-hour period and also spend perhaps four hours or so at the hospital visiting new arrivals and others who need to be reminded of God's presence and love in their lives. It's a very ecumenical ministry. We visit everyone who doesn't specifically state they want to see no chaplain: Catholics, Protestants of every denomination, Jews, unbelievers....everyone. So far, I'm convinced we have received far more from the patients we visit (and their families) than they could possibly have received from us. What a wonderfully rewarding ministry. It's never the same, never routine, always a blessing...and the hospital gives us a free lunch! As Mr. Levi, one of our favorite soup kitchen patrons, would put it, "God is good, Mr. Dana. God is truly good." Amen!

Dear Diane and I returned just a few hours ago from our annual deacon couples retreat. About 50 couples attended. It was one of those Friday evening through Sunday noon weekend retreats at which the retreat master tried to accomplish far too much. At least that's the way it seemed to me. I believe a two-day retreat should focus only on one aspect of our spiritual and ministerial lives and delve into that aspect at some depth. Doing so offers the possibility of real change and spiritual advancement, as opposed to a wide-ranging approach that skims the surface of many different aspects of our spiritual lives. In the latter instance one comes away thinking, "Wow, that's a lot to absorb into my life, a lot of changes to make, but I really have no idea where or how to start." I would rather, for example, spend a weekend on a retreat that focused on the shared prayer life of a deacon and his wife, and enter into that one subject at far greater depth. But this is a topic for another post, after I've had more time to absorb all that I experienced this weekend.

Five deacons' wives (Diane center)

During the retreat Dear Diane and four other deacons' wives (see the photo above) were asked to give reflections on various aspects of Mary's life as described in the Gospels of Luke, Matthew and John. Each of these five women did a marvelous job.

Our Bishop Emeritus here in Orlando, Bishop Norbert Dorsey, C. P., died Thursday evening at the age of 83. His passing added a note of sorrow to our retreat. A Passionist priest, Bishop Dorsey was the Bishop of Orlando when I arrived here from Massachusetts in early 2004. Shortly thereafter he retired to be succeeded by Bishop Thomas Wenski, now Archbishop of Miami, who was replaced in turn by our current Bishop John Noonan. I met Bishop Dorsey only a few times but was impressed by his gentle and kind nature and his infectious smile. I will join several of our parish's deacons as we attend his funeral in Orlando this coming Thursday.

Finally, I haven't had time to sort out all my thoughts on Pope Benedict's resignation and impending departure from the Papacy. I love the man dearly and certainly understand his reasons. Humility has always been his most evident virtue and his decision highlights this fact. But I will miss him terribly and am convinced that much of what he has done as Pope will only bear fruit long after he has gone. Pray for him.