Another Kilmer Poem - for Memorial Day

A few days ago I included Thanksgiving, a little poem by Joyce Kilmer, in another of my posts. It’s one of those poems that challenges us to rethink our understanding of the events and influences that can dominate the times of our lives. It also asks us to accept that nothing is simply coincidental, that God can bring good out of everything, even that which from an objective, human perspective can seem downright evil. I’ve always believed that as he wrote Thanksgiving, Kilmer might well have been thinking of St. Paul’s famous words to the Romans:

“We know that in everything God works for good with those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose” [Rom 8:28].

Kilmer certainly believed this, and realized God is always in control despite our foolish attempts to subvert His plan for humanity. Everything is a gift for those who love the Lord, even though we don’t understand how God will bring good from it. Believing this, we must then thank God for everything. 

The poet was also “called according to His purpose” in both his life and his death. Perhaps most fittingly, Kilmer wrote this poem from the trenches of World War One. Immersed in the chaotic horror of that war, Sergeant Kilmer faced death and destruction daily. He was highly respected by both the troops and the officers of his battalion. Sadly, Kilmer died in that war, killed instantly by a German sniper on July 30,1918. And yet, although an enlisted man, he was buried next to the officers with whom he served, a most unusual honor in those days. But in truth it was more of an honor for the officers than for Kilmer.

Anyway, all this thinking and writing about Joyce Kilmer, brought to mind another of his brief poems that I read years ago. I’d forgotten the name of the poem, so I had to do a little searching, and finally found it. I had mistakenly remembered its title as “Princes,” but it turned out to be “Kings.” I thought it particularly relevant for our world today, especially Kilmer’s description of the perversion of power. Yes, indeed, the “Kings of the earth” will be so very surprised when in their powerlessness they are called to account by the Prince of Peace. Here’s the poem:

                       Kings

The Kings of the earth are men of might,

And cities are burned for their delight,

And the skies rain death in the silent night,

And the hills belch death all day!

But the King of Heaven, Who made them all,

Is fair and gentle, and very small;

He lies in the straw, by the oxen's stall -- 

Let them think of Him to-day!

It’s evident why so many critics disliked Kilmer. He was simply too simple. He wrote for everyone, unlike so many poets who wrote only for each other and for the literati who could get them published in all the right journals. Kilmer also didn’t disguise his Christianity which he displayed prominently in so much of his work. No doubt this was a major irritant to the faithless denizens of New York’s literary circles. 

Of course, as simple as I am, I’ve always enjoyed his poetry. Some of this appreciation for Kilmer might stem from a few rather vague connections. I was brought up in Larchmont, a suburb of New York City, a village where Kilmer also lived for a time. Of course, he died long before I was born, and 30 years before we moved to Larchmont, but we were both parishioners of St. Augustine Parish. Because of this parish connection, he was somewhat of a local celebrity and the Dominican sisters who taught in the parish school introduced us to his poetry early, in the fifth or sixth grade. My parents were also friends with an older woman, who had known Kilmer as a young man. Apparently, her family had lived next door to Kilmer. She spoke about him often and waxed eloquently about the “handsome, young poet.” So, I suppose I was primed to like him and his work, but I think that’s true of most of our earliest influences. 

Today though, on this Memorial Day, we can pray that the "Kings of the earth" will someday actually approach the Prince of Peace on their knees in repentance. But in the meantime, I am called to remember and thank God for so many of my friends and comrades who sacrificed their lives for you and for me and for generations to come. Because of my own involvement, I especially thank God for those who died during the Vietnam conflict. But I also thank God for those who died in so many other conflicts, including Sergeant Joyce Kilmer, another hero who served a nation and its people and selflessly sacrificed his life for us. 

May Almighty God bless them all and keep them.

May His face shine upon them and be gracious to them.

May He look upon them with kindness and give them peace.

May Almighty God bless them, 

   in the name of the Father,

   and of the Son,

   and of the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

Grief and Thanksgiving

Note: To respect the privacy of those involved, I have not used any names in this post.  

______________________

On occasion we all get a bit down, thanks to little irritants that loom up and take on an importance far exceeding their reality. This is no virtue because, in truth, it’s more than a little selfish. Were Diane not so kind, she could tell you of my susceptibility to these episodes of self-centered grumpiness. But in my defense, I can honestly say they never last long and are soon overwhelmed by the joy of living each day God has given me. I suppose we’re all rather selfish critters until we step away from ourselves and focus on others and on the Other. The catalyst for this change, at least in extreme cases, often involves coming face to face with tragedy. When tragedy strikes close to us, the minor irritants of our lives become almost meaningless in light of another’s deep suffering.

This past Friday, I got a call from a local funeral director asking if I would conduct a brief service at the funeral home for a young man of 33 who had died just days before. The deceased’s wife would fly in that evening from the northeast with two of her husband’s friends. The funeral director hoped I could conduct the service early Saturday afternoon. My schedule was clear, so I agreed. When I asked for more information about the man, I was told he was involved in telecommunications, and that he and his wife had been married only six months. The couple were both immigrants from Belarus, as were the friends accompanying her. The funeral director then informed me the young man had committed suicide. He had hanged himself. Death at a young age is always tragic and death by suicide doubly so. 

I realized I had to speak with the young widow as soon as possible and was given her cell phone number. I managed to catch her on her way to the airport. She spoke excellent English which is good because my Belarusian is non-existent. We talked for only about 10 minutes because I could tell she was devastated and probably needed time with her friends. But she had told me enough about her husband so I could at least prepare the service and my homily. He was Catholic and she is Orthodox. “A kind and generous man,” she said, but a man also afflicted with addictions that plagued and depressed him. “But he truly loved God,” she added, “and I think he just wanted to escape his problems and be with Him.” 

When I arrived at the funeral home, his body was in an open casket in the chapel. His widow, a lovely young woman, was standing over him, stroking his head and sobbing almost uncontrollably. I approached her and quietly introduced myself. She simply thanked me for agreeing to be there, then hugged me long and hard. It reminded me of the hugs I used to receive from Diane when I returned from a long Navy cruise to the Western Pacific. I think she saw in me, this grandfather-like figure with a deacon’s cross around his neck, a faint connection to God, someone who could make some sense of everything. I could see her husband had been a strapping and handsome young man, and like his two friends, who spoke little English, was no stranger to hard work. As you might imagine, the scene was one of almost inescapable sorrow and I realized I had to inject it with a real sense of hope.

Too many Christians believe suicide is somehow irredeemable, always an insurmountable obstacle to salvation. I have never accepted this, and often argued with those who expressed such a merciless belief. I call it merciless, because it denies both the mercy and justice of our loving God. You and I can never know what lies deep within the heart of another, and to believe otherwise is to assume we possess divine knowledge. Suicide is not a normal response to life’s challenges, and too often is driven by any number of mental instabilities, including addictions. Full consent may not be present when one makes such an agonizing decision, especially when it is made precipitously. Is it sinful? Yes, of course. But so too are many other things you and I do on a daily basis. Divine Mercy cannot be limited by you and me. By trying to do so we turn ourselves into little false gods who actually believe we can know the mind and heart of our one, true God, and then demand He follow our lead when it comes to salvation. I’ve always taken hope knowing that God wills all to be saved. How did St. Paul put it?

“First of all, then, I ask that supplications, prayers, petitions, and thanksgivings be offered for everyone, for kings and all in authority, that we may lead a quiet and tranquil life in all devotion and dignity. This is good and pleasing to God our savior, who wills everyone to be saved and to come to knowledge of the truth. For there is one God. There is also one mediator between God and the human race, Christ Jesus, himself human, who gave himself as ransom for all” [1 Tim 2:1-6].

We don't make salvation decisions about others; we let God do that. Far better if you and I simply trust and pray for the souls of those who have gone before us.

Another serious side-effect of suicide is the presence of guilt that can overwhelm the survivors, especially spouses, parents, and even children. As I told this young man’s widow, if you are tempted to dwell on all you could have said or done differently, thinking that you might have prevented this tragedy, don’t go there; it’s not a good place. Such thoughts are never beneficial and only drive you to despair. I really believe Satan is the one who plants these thoughts in grieving hearts. I also told her, "If you should find yourself there, leave." As St. Paul instructed us, offer supplications, prayers, petitions, and thanksgivings. "Pray for the soul of your husband; thank God for the time you had with each other; and pray too for his parents and family in Belarus who are surely grieving with you." We will not know the answers to all of our questions until we are with God in heaven. It is so much better to spend our time here thanking Him. 

I really believe the best antidote for grief, and pain, and hardship is thanksgiving. I know I’ve posted this poem by Joyce Kilmer before, but I think it deserves another reading, especially today. Kilmer wrote it while in the trenches during World War One, not long before he was killed by a German sniper. He was 31 years old.

                Thanksgiving

The roar of the world is in my ears.
Thank God for the roar of the world!
Thank God for the mighty tide of fears
Against me always hurled!

Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife,
And the sting of His chastening rod!
Thank God for the stress and the pain of life,
And Oh, thank God for God!

Reflection: Divine Mercy Novena - Day 6

 At this time of year, our parish prays the Divine Mercy Novena, led by our deacons and ably aided by our wonderful musicians. I was asked to lead Day 6 and Day 9, and so today I led the first of these. I usually begin with a brief reflection on some aspect of Divine Mercy as revealed to us in St. Faustina's Diary. Here's the text of my reflection:

________________________

Welcome to day 6 of our Divine Mercy Novena.

A few weeks ago, a parishioner came up to me after Mass. He'd just seen an announcement about this Divine Mercy Novena and remarked that Divine Mercy didn't seem to mix well with pandemics and wars.

As you might expect, I vehemently disagreed and suggested that God's mercy and our extension of it was exactly what our world needed. I realize it's been a difficult few years and we're all in a bit of a funk, and not just because of masks, vaccinations, testing, family separation, and all the rest. Far more painful has been the loss of many friends and loved ones. I know I miss them all and the older I get the more frequent these losses. But we take hope in the promise that, soon enough, we'll be with them again.  Yes, indeed, life and death continue, as does God’s love for His people. This, too, sometimes escapes us when we’re affected by grief.

Now, in the midst of the Easter season, we are also reminded of God’s great gift to the world: His Divine Mercy. The other day, reading a few pages of St. Faustina’s Diary, I came across these words of Jesus:

“You are to show mercy to your neighbors always and everywhere. You must not shrink from this or try to absolve yourself from it" [Diary, 742].

Meditating on this command from Jesus, I couldn't help but recollect all those times when I have been less than merciful, those times when I looked the other way rather than confronting another's need head-on. Sadly, there were far too many instances, too many to count.

There's nothing new about this command; indeed, if it were new, we would have every right to suspect the validity of the visions and private revelations experienced by St. Faustina. True private revelation can do nothing but confirm and reinforce divine revelation as found in sacred scripture and apostolic tradition.

And, of course, this same plea to mercy is stated explicitly in the Gospel:

"Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy" [Mt 5:7].

When Matthew describes Jesus’ depiction of the final judgment, we will all experience [Mt 25:31-46], we encounter a judgment focused on the mercy we have extended to each other. As I reflected on Jesus' command, and on my own failure to obey it fully, I realized how grateful I am that we have a merciful God, who willingly forgives and forgets the sins of the repentant.

In other words, our personal failure to extend mercy to others can be overcome by God's infinite mercy when we come to Him in true repentance and a willingness to change, to undergo conversion. Without this gift of mercy and forgiveness none of us would be saved.

Today, as we pray together at the foot of the Cross, when we look up at our crucified Lord, do we tear open our very being? Listen to the prophet Joel, who revealed God’s will:

“Rend your hearts, not your garments, and return to the Lord, your God, for He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, and relenting in punishment.” [Joel 2:13]

Do we rend our hearts exposing all to God’s merciful gaze?

Do we come to Him, ready to die to self and sin?

Praying the chaplet on this 6^th day of our novena, can we abandon ourselves to His Divine Mercy?

Joyce Kilmer, the Catholic poet, another of my favorites, was struck down by a sniper's bullet during World War One. But in the midst of his wartime experience, surrounded by the destruction and devastation and death in the trenches, he wrote a little poem called "Thanksgiving." 

     The roar of the world in my ears.
     Thank God for the roar of the world!
     Thank God for the mighty tide of fears
     Against me always hurled!

     Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife,
     And the sting of His chastening rod!
     Thank God for the stress and the pain of life,
     And Oh, thank God for God!

Brothers and sisters, that's exactly what we must do: just thank God for everything.

Thank God for the joys and the pains of our lives.

How did St. Paul put it?

"We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to His purpose" [Rom 8:28].

It’s all a gift, even when it's beyond our understanding.

Yes, thank God for His mercy which makes life itself livable. 

 

COVID-19 Bible Study Reflection #4: Divine Mercy

Originally written on April 21, the following is the fourth of my weekly COVID-19 updates sent out to the participants in our parish's Bible Study program. 

The other day I was asked to transform these updates into talks and make video recordings of each. Yesterday, with the help of our wonderful A/V folks, we recorded all four. I expect they will soon be posted on the parish website. I'm not certain, but I believe they will be posted individually, perhaps one per week over a series of weeks. I'll post the details here on this blog once I have them.

____________________


As we make our way through this challenging time, it’s easy to become focused solely on the pandemic. All those news conferences, the steady stream of statistics, the hourly statements of physicians, researchers, politicians, and media “experts” have left us numb. Shut up in our homes, inundated by all this virus information, we can forget that life and death, beyond the virus, continue. Let me explain. 

So far, and this will likely change, I have lost no relatives or close friends as a result of this virus. This is not to belittle the many lives that have been lost, or the many others who have become seriously ill. It is simply a fact. 

But in the past few weeks, I have lost several friends whose deaths were completely unrelated to the coronavirus. One succumbed after a long battle with cancer, another died as a result of a massive stroke, and a third from the effects of MS.

David Lyons, Jr.

But then, just yesterday, I read of the murder of a young man, David Lyons, a senior at South Sumter High School. He was gunned down in broad daylight in the streets of Wildwood, just a few blocks from the Wildwood Soup Kitchen where Diane and I have volunteered for 16 years.

It was there, in the soup kitchen, where we met first David a few years ago. He came to volunteer for a while and joined our Thursday team doing whatever was asked of him. A bright and likeable young man, we all thought the world of him. His loss has affected us deeply. We pray for his soul, for his family, and trust that those responsible for his death will be brought to justice.

Yes, indeed, life and death continue, as does God’s love for His people. This, too, sometimes escapes us when we are surrounded by so much tragedy. But now, in the midst of the Easter season, we are also reminded of God’s great gift to the world: His Divine Mercy. 

On April 19, the Second Sunday of Easter, we celebrated Divine Mercy Sunday, and I know many of you have been praying the Divine Mercy chaplet daily. This is a good thing to do, and I encourage you to continue. The other day, reading a few pages of St. Faustina’s Diary, I came across these words of Jesus:

“You are to show mercy to your neighbors always and everywhere. You must not shrink from this or try to absolve yourself from it" [Diary, 742].

Meditating on this command from Jesus, I couldn't help but recollect all those times when I have been less than merciful, those times when I looked the other way rather than confronting another's need head-on. Sadly, there were far too many instances, too many to count.

There's nothing new about this command; indeed, if it were new, we would have every right to suspect the validity of the visions and private revelations experienced by St. Faustina. True private revelation can do nothing but confirm and reinforce divine revelation as found in sacred scripture and apostolic tradition. And, of course, this same plea to mercy is stated explicitly in the Gospel: 

"Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy" [Mt 5:7].

We encounter this in greater detail when Jesus depicts the final judgment we will all experience [See Mt 25:31-46], a judgment focused on the mercy we have extended to each other.

As I reflected on Jesus' command, and on my own failure to obey it fully, I came to realize how grateful I am that we have a merciful, forgiving God, one who willingly forgives and forgets the sins of the repentant. In other words, our personal failure to extend mercy to others can be overcome by God's infinite mercy when we come to Him in true repentance. Without this gift of mercy and forgiveness none of us would be saved.

Whenever I become discouraged by my own failures, I turn to the Bible where we encounter not only the sins of those especially chosen by God, but also God’s mercy and forgiveness. Indeed, it’s the very humanity of those described in the Bible that convinces us of the truth of what we read. 

The lives of the patriarchs revealed in Genesis, for example, are what separate the Old Testament from the historical and spiritual writings of other ancient peoples. In the writings of other cultures, the failures and sinfulness of their human leaders rarely arise. According to most chronicles, the ancient kings and pharaohs, the priests and sages, were all near-perfect beings. They won every battle, they were always wise and just, and their children were perfect mirror images of themselves.

Among the ancients the only place we'll ever encounter two sons like Jacob and Esau is exactly where we find them, in the Bible: one, along with their mother, conniving and deceitful, and the other arrogant and foolish. And yet Jacob, with all his blemishes and sins, is one of the great patriarchs of our Judeo-Christian tradition.

Perhaps Jacob’s sons offer us one of the best examples of sinfulness in need of mercy and forgiveness, when out of envy they plan the murder of their brother, Joseph, and eventually sell him into slavery [Gen 37]. 

Joseph Sold into Slavery by His Brothers

We encounter this again and again. Consider David, the great king who also happened to be an adulterer and murderer [2 Sam 11]. David’s son, King Solomon, who neglected God's gift of wisdom, became enamored of foreign women (quite a few of them, actually), and turned to idolatry [1 Kgs 11]. And remarkably, these two kings, perhaps along with Hezekiah, Josiah, and a few others, were probably the best of the bunch.

So…What are we to think?

Well, in truth, we should thank God for the gift of the flawed men and women who fill the pages of God's Word; for what a gift they are to us! In these broken, oh-so-human lives we come face to face with God's enduring forgiveness. We come face to face with God's mercy.

If you worry about your family being mildly dysfunctional, just take a closer look at Abraham's, or Isaac's, or Jacob's. Despite all their problems, all their sinfulness, God's mercy just overflows into their lives. And God wants to shower you and those you love with that same outpouring of mercy.

Brothers and sisters, without God's mercy, we would be - what's the best word? ...We would be doomed! 

Without God's mercy our sins would overwhelm us. 

Without God's mercy, there would be no Incarnation, no redemptive sacrifice on the Cross, no Resurrection to offer us the hope of eternal life. 

Without God's mercy there is no salvation; for the Incarnation is the supreme act of mercy, the supreme act of our merciful, loving God.

He becomes one of us, He lives with us, He teaches us, He forgives us, He heals us, He loves us, and He suffers and dies for us. He does all of this for our salvation. He does all of this so we can be healed. That's right. Without God's mercy there can be no healing. And we are all, every single one of us, in need of healing, aren't we?

What about you? 

Are you in pain, physical pain, the kind that can scream at you, causing you to question God's love?

Do you suffer from illness, one of those devastating, fear-laden illnesses that makes prayer so very hard?

Have you been attacked by depression, or another spirit-draining affliction that seems to attack your very humanity?

Perhaps you are faced with a combination of many things, some little, some not so little, that overwhelm you and your ability to deal with them?

Or maybe you are simply afraid, afraid of the future, afraid of the unknown, afraid of death, and need the consolation of the gift of faith.

What kind of healing do you seek?

But what about the healing you actually need?

When we place ourselves at the foot of the Cross, when we look up at our crucified Lord, do we tear open our very being, do we rend our hearts exposing all to His merciful gaze? Do we come to Him, ready to die to self and sin? Looking at Him, do we find ourselves completely overwhelmed by this incomprehensible act of divine merciful love?

You see, brothers and sisters, I don't know the fulness of God’s plan for me, and I certainly don’t know God's plan for you...and neither do you. But I do know what He wants of both you and me.

He wants you, He wants me, He wants every single one of us to come to Him, to abandon ourselves to Him, to allow His will to move within our lives. 

But it's never easy to set aside our own willfulness and abandon ourselves to God's will. When our wills dominate, we end up broken; and yet it's through that brokenness that God call to us. This is another of the paradoxes surrounding God’s love. God knows when our need for His mercy, for His healing touch, is greatest.

At some point, though, we will all be broken physically, broken beyond repair. As St. Paul reminds us, our mortal bodies are just temporary dwellings:

“For we know that if our earthly dwelling, a tent, should be destroyed, we have a building from God, a dwelling not made with hands, eternal in heaven. For in this tent we groan, longing to be further clothed with our heavenly habitation” [2 Cor 5 :1-2].

But, in the meantime, struggling through the trials of this life, we can easily slide into a kind of despair, thinking we're not deserving of God's mercy. We become like Peter who, when he suddenly comprehended the gulf between his sinfulness and God's greatness, could only say:

"Depart from me, O Lord, for I am a sinful man" [Lk 5:8].

But Jesus didn't depart, did He? In fact, it was then, at that very moment, that Jesus called Peter and the others to be Apostles, to be sent into the world, to be fishers of men.

So many, fully aware of their sinfulness, came to Jesus seeking healing; and there were others, sinful and repentant, whom Jesus actually seemed to seek out. 

Consider, for example, the woman caught in adultery whom Jesus saved from the mob of scribes and Pharisees that had planned to stone her to death. Once Jesus had turned the mob away, He said little to the woman. Their conversation was brief:

Then Jesus straightened up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She replied, “No one, sir.” Then Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and do not sin again.” [Jn 8:10-11]

Knowing her heart, Jesus sees both her repentance and her thankfulness, and so extends His forgiveness, His mercy. On her part, she is called to change her life by following His command: “…do not sin again.”

Neither do I condemn you...

Here we see Jesus fulfilling the Law through the application of Divine Mercy. The disciples come to understand what Jesus meant when he began His ministry with the words:

“This is the time of fulfillment. The kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the gospel” [Mk 1:15].

I’ve always liked that seemingly odd Gospel passage from Matthew when the disciples of John the Baptist question Jesus about fasting. It’s a brief passage:

Then the disciples of John approached him and said, “Why do we and the Pharisees fast, but your disciples do not fast?” Jesus answered them, “Can the wedding guests mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them? The days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast. No one patches an old cloak with a piece of unshrunken cloth, for its fullness pulls away from the cloak and the tear gets worse. People do not put new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise the skins burst, the wine spills out, and the skins are ruined. Rather, they pour new wine into fresh wineskins, and both are preserved” [Mt 9:14-17].

It’s an interesting passage, isn’t it? It’s really not so much about fasting as it is about the New Covenant that Jesus makes with us, “the time of fulfillment.” This New Covenant is not simply a patchwork on the old covenant; it's not old wine poured into old wineskins.

No, Jesus offers us to something wonderfully new, and He demands something new from us. He calls us to “repent” of our sinfulness, to “Go, and do not sin again.”

But there is more, much more. This newness is also the Gospel, the command to love God and to love each other as we love ourselves. That's right, brothers and sisters, we're to look beyond ourselves, to die to self and sin and live for the other. And we're to do all this even in the midst of hurt and grief and illness and pain, even in the midst of a pandemic that has turned our world upside-down.

Just as He called Peter and the Apostles, Jesus calls us in our brokenness. He calls us when illness and fear seem to overwhelm us. And He calls us in our sinfulness when our flaws are most apparent. It's then that our need for His mercy is greatest.

Flannery O'Connor

Among my favorite writers is Flannery O'Connor, who wrote so many wonderful stories of sinfulness and repentance, of forgiveness and mercy, and of redemption. A Georgia girl, she died in her late thirties due to complications resulting from lupus. It was a battle that lasted her entire adult life. While in the midst of all her suffering, she wrote some remarkable words in a letter to a friend:

"I have never been anywhere but sick. In a sense sickness is a place, a very instructive place, and it's always a place where there's no company, where nobody can follow. Sickness before death is a very appropriate thing and I think those who don't have it miss one of God's mercies" [The Habit of Being].

Have you ever thought of the afflictions of your life, of your need for healing, as a mercy? I know I never had. With the exception of appendicitis at the age of ten, my only serious illness was in my infancy, so I it’s hard for me to comprehend fully what Flannery O'Connor meant by those words. 


But our Lord certainly understands, for He reminds us always that fear has no place in the Christian's heart. And so, again, when we suffer, when we turn to God in prayer, what are we to do?

Joyce Kilmer

I really believe the first thing we should do is thank Him. 

Joyce Kilmer, the Catholic poet, and another of my favorites, was struck down by a sniper's bullet during World War One. But in the midst of his wartime experience, in the midst of the destruction and devastation and death in the trenches, he wrote a little poem called "Thanksgiving." 

     The roar of the world in my ears.
     Thank God for the roar of the world!
     Thank God for the mighty tide of fears
     Against me always hurled!

     Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife,
     And the sting of His chastening rod!
     Thank God for the stress and the pain of life,
     And Oh, thank God for God!

Brothers and sisters, that's exactly what we must do: just thank God for everything. 

Thank God for the joys and the pains of our lives. They are all gifts, even when they are beyond our understanding. 

Thank God for His Divine Mercy, for without it we would have no hope.

Yes, thank God for life itself. 

Then, today and every day, we can let Him focus on the healing. After all, He's pretty good at it.

Homily: Mass and Healing Service - July 8, 2017

Readings: Gn 27:1-5,15-29 • Ps 135 • Mt 9:14-17

--------------------------------------------

Jacob tricks his father, Isaac

What wonderful readings the Church has given us today. Hearing the story of Jacob and Esau only cements my belief in the historical truth of much of the Old Testament. The story of this ancient family is so very human it must be true.

Indeed, passages like today's from Genesis are what separate the Old Testament from the historical and spiritual writings of other ancient peoples. In the writings of those other cultures the failures and sinfulness of their human leaders rarely arise. Yes, according to their chronicles, the ancient kings and pharaohs, the priests and sages were all near-perfect beings. They won every battle, they were always wise and just, and their children were perfect mirror images of themselves.

Among the ancients the only place we'll ever encounter two sons like Jacob and Esau is exactly where we find them, in the Bible - one, along with their mother, conniving and deceitful, the other arrogant and foolish. And yet Jacob, with all his blemishes and sins, is one of the great patriarchs of our Judeo-Christian tradition.

Of course we see it again and again...if only among the kings of God's people. David, the great king who also happened to be an adulterer and murderer. His son, Solomon, who neglects God's gift of wisdom, becomes enamored of foreign women (quite a few of them, actually), and turns to idolatry. And these two kings, perhaps along with Hezekiah, Josiah, and a few others, were probably the best of the bunch.

So...what are we to think?

Well, in truth, we should thank God for the gift of the flawed men and women who fill the pages of God's Word...for what a gift they are to us! In these broken, oh-so-human lives we come face to face with God's enduring forgiveness. We come face to face with God's mercy.

If you worry about your family being mildly dysfunctional, just take a closer look at Abraham's, or Isaac's, or Jacob's. Despite all their problems, all their sinfulness, God's mercy just overflows into their lives. And God wants to shower you and those you love with that same outpouring of mercy.

Brothers and sisters, without God's mercy, we would be - what's the best word? - doomed!

Without God's mercy our sins would overwhelm us.

Without God's mercy, there would be no Incarnation, no redemptive sacrifice on the Cross, no Resurrection to offer us the hope of eternal life.

Without God's mercy there is no salvation; for the Incarnation is the supreme act of mercy, the supreme act of our merciful, loving God.

He becomes one of us, He lives with us, He teaches us, He forgives us, He heals us, He loves us, and He suffers and dies for us. He does all of this for our salvation. He does all of this so we can be healed.

That's right. Without God's mercy there can be no healing. And we are all, every single one of us, in need of healing, aren't we?

Why are you here today? What kind of healing do you seek?

Are you in pain...physical pain, the kind that can scream at you, causing you to question God's love?

Or maybe an illness, one of those devastating, fear-laden illnesses that make prayer so very hard?

Or is it depression, or another spirit-draining affliction that seems to attack our very humanity?

Is this the healing you seek?

What about the healing you need?

When we place ourselves at the foot of the Cross, when we look up at our crucified Lord, do we tear open our very being, do we rend our hearts exposing all to His merciful gaze? Do we come to Him, ready to die to self and sin? Looking at Him, do we find ourselves completely overwhelmed by this incomprehensible act of divine merciful love?

You see, brothers and sisters, I don't know God's plan for you...and neither do you. But I do know what He wants of you.

He wants you, He wants me, He wants every single one of us to come to Him, to abandon ourselves to Him, to allow His will to move within our lives. But it's never easy to set aside our own willfulness and abandon ourselves to God's will.

When our wills dominate, we end up broken, and yet it's through that brokenness that God call to us.  He knows when our need for His mercy, for His healing touch, is greatest.

At some point, though, we will all be broken physically, broken beyond repair. As Paul reminds us this mortal body is just a tent, a temporary dwelling, until you and I move into that eternal dwelling which God has prepared for us [2 Cor 5:1].

But in the meantime, it's so easy to slide into despair, to think that we're not deserving of God's mercy. We become like Peter who, when he suddenly comprehended the gulf between his sinfulness and God's greatness, could only say: "Depart from me, O Lord, for I am a sinful man" [Lk 5:8].

But Jesus didn't depart did He? In fact, it was then, at that very moment, that Jesus called Peter and the others to be Apostles, to be sent into the world, to be fishers of men.

Did you listen closely to today's Gospel passage from Matthew? It isn't really so much about fasting as it is about the new covenant that Jesus makes with us. And it is new indeed. It's not the patchwork of the old covenant; it's not old wine poured into old wineskins.

No Jesus is offering us something wonderfully new, and He demands something new from us. This newness is nothing less than the Gospel, the command to love God and to love each other as we love ourselves.

That's right, brothers and sisters, we're to look beyond ourselves, to die to self and sin and live for the other. And we're to do all this even in the midst of hurt and grief and illness and pain.

Just as He called Peter and the Apostles, Jesus calls us in the midst of our brokenness. He calls us when illness and fear try to overwhelm us. And He calls us in our sinfulness, when our flaws are most apparent. It's then when our need for His mercy is the greatest.

Flannery O'Connor

One of my favorite writers is Flannery O'Connor, who wrote so many wonderful stories of repentance, mercy, and redemption. A Georgia girl, she died in her late thirties after a long battle with lupus. It was a battle that lasted her entire adult life. While in the midst of all her suffering, she wrote some remarkable words in a letter to a friend. Listen to them:

"I have never been anywhere but sick. In a sense sickness is a place, a very instructive place, and it's always a place where there's no company, where nobody can follow. Sickness before death is a very appropriate thing and I think those who don't have it miss one of God's mercies." [The Habit of Being]

Have you ever thought of your affliction, your need for healing, as a mercy? I know I never had. My only serious illness was in my infancy, so I suppose I cannot fully comprehend what Flannery O'Connor meant by these words.

But our Lord certainly understood, always reminding us that fear has no place in the Christian's heart. And so, again, when we suffer, when we turn to God in prayer, what are we to do?

I really believe the first thing to do is to thank Him.

Joyce Kilmer, the Catholic poet, is another of my favorites. He was struck down by a sniper's bullet during World War One. But in the midst of his wartime experience, in the midst of destruction and devastation and death he wrote a little poem called "Thanksgiving." 

     The roar of the world in my ears.
     Thank God for the roar of the world!
     Thank God for the mighty tide of fears
     Against me always hurled!

     Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife,
     And the sting of His chastening rod!
     Thank God for the stress and the pain of life,
     And Oh, thank God for God!

Brothers and sisters, that's exactly what we must do: just thank God for everything.

Thank God for the joys and the pains of our lives. They are all gifts, even when they are beyond our understanding. Yes, thank God for life itself.

And then, today and every day, we can let Him worry about the healing.

After all, He's pretty good at it.

Thank God for Strife

Sometimes, inundated as we are by all the craziness and violence, all the strife of the world, we can be tempted to question whether God is paying attention to His creation. But such thinking is deeply heretical and simply echoes the beliefs of the deists that God is a kind of eternal, cosmic watchmaker who makes the watch, winds it up, and then just sits back and watches it run for good or ill. God, of course, is nothing like that. He is the God who creates out of love, the God who enters into His creation and into the lives of those He loves, and does so to the extreme. No divine "watchmaker," no indifferent God would send His Son into the world to be killed by those He created in a divine act of redemption. No, indeed, our loving God does the unthinkable.

Anyway, this all crossed my mind this morning after Mass as I stood at the copying machine in the parish office waiting for some of my course materials to be copied. (I do some of my more serious thinking while standing around waiting for things.) As I waited my cellphone buzzed, alerting me to a news flash. Apparently a shooting in nearby Orlando had resulted in several fatalities. I said a quiet prayer for those who had died and then oddly found myself offering a prayer of thanksgiving.

Kilmer in Uniform

I wasn't sure why I was thanking God for strife and mayhem, but then recalled a poem I had read a few weeks ago. It was written by Joyce Kilmer, an American poet killed by a sniper's bullet during the Battle of the Marne in World War One. The father of five, he was only 31 years old.

Most people remember Kilmer because of his most famous poem, "Trees," which you might have been forced to memorize in 8th grade as I was. (Thanks to the late, great Sister Francis Jane, O.P. for that.)

In my library I have a two-volume edition of Kilmer's Poems, Essays and Letters that I occasionally open. My liking for him probably relates to the fact that he lived for a time in my hometown of Larchmont, NY and attended the same church my family attended -- St. Augustine Parish. The poem in question is appropriately titled, "Thanksgiving":

Thanksgiving

By Joyce Kilmer

The roar of the world in my ears.

                Thank God for the roar of the world!

          Thank God for the mighty tide of fears

  Against me always hurled!

                     Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife,

                    And the sting of His chastening rod!

                      Thank God for the stress and the pain of life,

        And Oh, thank God for God!

Yes, indeed, we, not God, are responsible for all the strife in the world, and it is only by His grace that we continue. And for this, and even for the "sting of His chastening rod," we can thank God.

The critics never cared much for Joyce Kilmer's work. Most considered his poetry too simple and far too religious. These, as you might imagine, are the very traits I find most enjoyable in his poems.

Apparently, however, the leadership at the New Jersey Turnpike Authority disagree with the critics and, like me, enjoy Kilmer's work. As you travel north on the turnpike, you will encounter the "Joyce Kilmer Service Area" where you can stop for high-priced gasoline and even higher-priced fast food. I consider it a mandatory stop, a waypoint on a minor pilgrimage of sorts, and buy milkshakes for Dear Diane and me.

One can only hope the poet would be amused, if not altogether pleased.

World War One Redux

In a recent post, Tree Hugging, I mentioned World War One during a discussion of the poet, Joyce Kilmer, who died in combat during that war. And then yesterday evening I happened to catch a report on the historical ignorance of many young Americans. The reporter had asked a sampling of high school and college students a few seemingly simple questions, among them: When did World War One take place? and Whom did the United States fight in World War One? According to the reporter, a significant majority could not answer either question accurately. He said if they came within five or ten years on the first question he gave them credit, and he did the same on the second question if they could name just one of the enemy combatants. By the way, he asked similar questions about World War Two, sadly with similar results. How did Edmund Burke put it? “Those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it.”(Burke, by the way, was the first to say this, long before similar words were uttered by the philosopher, George Santayana, who often gets the credit.) All of this got me thinking once again about this surprising war. I call it "surprising" because at the time it seemed to take so much of the world by surprise.

Over the top: Into the Valley of Death

Have you thought much about World War One lately? After all, last year we celebrated, if I may use that word, the centennial of the start of that war in August 1914. And for the next three years many books and articles addressing the war and its causes and consequences will doubtless appear. Some will be written by authors bent on viewing the past through the filters of their present-day ideologies. But I expect a good number will be written by historians and others who will make a sincere effort to uncover and present the truth about the conflict and those who took part.

Irish Troops in the Trenches: Somme

Over the years I've actually collected quite a few books on World War One, and during the past few months I've been reading (and rereading) a few of them. Of course, Barbara Tuchman's award-winning history, The Guns of August (1962), tells the dramatic story of the months immediately prior to World War One. As I recall I first read the book during my last week of freedom before entering the U. S. Naval Academy in June 1963. 

In the Trenches: the Living among the Dead

David Fromkin's 2004 book, Europe's Last Summer, also addresses the period leading up to the war, although the author offers a different and perhaps more controversial explanation of its causes. And while I don't necessarily agree with all of Fromkin's conclusions, he does present an interesting case. 

I also found Joseph Persico's book on the war's climatic ending, Eleventh Month, Eleventh Day, Eleventh Hour (2004), a fascinating read. This book fills a historical void by describing the final day of the war in remarkable detail. 

Historian Margaret MacMillan wrote about the Paris peace talks of 1919 and the resulting Treaty of Versailles which, instead of ensuring World War One was "the war to end all wars" actually set the stage for the even greater destruction of World War Two. Her book, Paris 1919, gives the reader a front-row seat at the six months of talks that set that stage for another century of conflict that remains with us today. 

J.R.R. Tolkien and the Trenches of World War One

And for fans of J.R.R. Tolkien, I recommend John Garth's Tolkien and the Great War (2003). Garth looks to Tolkien's combat service during World War One to uncover the roots of his famous trilogy, The Lord of the Rings. A young Army lieutenant, Tolkien managed to survive the Somme, a horrendous battle that took the lives of two of his closest friends, along with 300,000 others on both sides. Garth makes a strong case that Tolkien's subsequent writings were greatly influenced by his wartime experiences in which he witnessed first-hand the war's devastation. Another book on a related subject is Joseph Loconte's A Hobbit, A Wardrobe, and a Great War in which the author examines the influence of World War One on the writings of both Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. I have not yet read this book, so I really can't comment on it, but from the reviews I've read, it sounds interesting. I expect it will eventually find its way into my library.

Maurice Baring

But the books I have enjoyed the most are those written by contemporaries, especially those who played an active role in the war. One of my literary heroes, a man too often overlooked, is Maurice Baring. Novelist, poet, playwright, diplomat, world traveler and travel writer, and a close friend of G. K. Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc, Baring led a most remarkable and adventurous life. During the war he was a ground officer assigned to the staff of the legendary Boom Trenchard (aka, 1st Viscount Hugh Trenchard) who was busy in France creating the Royal Flying Corps. Closely associated with those early combat aviators, Baring wrote a wonderful book based on his diaries and describing his experiences: R.F.C.  H.Q.  1914-1918. For anyone interested in the early days of military aviation, it's a must read. If you'd like to know more about Baring the man, I suggest reading his fascinating autobiography, The Puppet Show of Memory. He's one of those people you wish you had known.

H. H. Munro ("Saki")

Another of the tragic casualties of World War One was H. H. Munro, the author of so many marvelously funny short stories who wrote under the pen name of Saki. Like Joyce Kilmer, Munro would not accept an officer's commission but decided to enter the Army as a common soldier, even though his age would normally exempt him from service. And like Kilmer he too was killed by a German sniper. Munro was 43 when he entered the Army and 45 when he died. Although I recommend anything written by Munro, I especially enjoyed his short novel, When William Came. Published in 1913, a year before the start of the war, it's a bit of a fantasy describing an authoritarian occupation of Great Britain after it loses a war to Germany. In writing the novel Munro makes the case that in a world where evil exists the best way to ensure peace is to be prepared for war. 

And lastly, about 30 years ago, while nosing about in a now-defunct local bookstore in Harwich on Cape Cod (Staten Hook Books), I came across several copies of the monthly publication, Current History. First published in 1914 by the New York Times, it is still published today but by a private publisher. Anyway, I found a dozen copies dating from 1915 through 1920 and purchased them all at a dollar apiece. Each issue consists of about 200 pages of articles, commentary, photographs, and political cartoons on the war, its causes, and its aftermath. The issues covering the peace talks and the formation of the League of Nations are particularly fascinating and include complete speeches and commentary by many of the actual participants. I was also intrigued by the articles covering the revolution in Russia as it was happening. Just to give you an idea of the content of these monthlies, I've included a few covers (below) from 1917 and 1919. (Click each to enlarge.)