Deacon Dan Pallo - Funeral Homily

Yesterday our pastor, Fr. Kenny, joined by three priest concelebrants -- Fr. Tom Connery, Fr. John McCracken, and Fr. Glen Baptiste -- conducted the funeral of Deacon Dan Pallo. Our priests were joined by the parish deacons as we all asked our Lord to take Deacon Dan into His loving and eternal embrace. 

Here's perhaps my favorite photo of Dan and his wife, Eleanor, taken at our home back in 2008.

I was blessed that Dan asked me to preach at his funeral, and I trust my words were both fitting and proper, and also provided some solace to Dan's extended family. My homily follows:

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Readings: Lamentations 3:26,28-29b,31,41,58; Psalm 23; Romans 14:7-9,10c-12; Matthew 11:25-30

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Oh, how we will miss this good man, this brother deacon, this servant of God.

But no one will miss Dan as much as this wonderfully extended family that he cherished so very much. To you, Dee and Karry and Amy, and to Dan’s stepchildren, whom he loved as his own – Rita, Tom, John, Randy, Kim, and Kurt – and to the grandchildren and great-grandchildren…so many names, my aging brain can't hold them all. Yes, to all of you, my brother deacons and I join with Fathers Kenny, Tom, John, and Glen, as well as the other priests who gladly help our parish, and extend our heartfelt condolences, as you mourn the loss of this remarkable man who played such an important role in your lives.

I first met Dan at a meeting the day he arrived here at St. Vincent de Paul. Our pastor at the time, Father Peter Sagorski, had invited Dan to attend the meeting and in walked this large man. Asked to tell us about himself, he quietly and humbly revealed his life in about three sentences. Oh, yes, he also mentioned his wife, Eleanor.

My first thought? “I’ve got to get to know this guy.”

Yes, we became friends. We even worked together at the Wildwood Soup Kitchen for many years. But we weren’t – how can I put this? – we weren't buddy friends. We didn’t get together for a beer or golf. No, our personal friendship was different, because the two of us were so very different. I guess you could call us spiritual friends. When we talked or got together, we inevitably found ourselves talking of our ministry as deacons.

Too often I would get all wrapped up in the “stuff” of ministry – what we do and how we do it. But Dan tended to focus on the “who” of our ministry. And, yes, we helped each other, but in truth, Dan was the greater helper. He’d likely disagree, but he’d be wrong. You see, Dan helped me relearn that being a deacon was to be a servant, to be like Jesus, to serve everyone God placed in my life.

I chose the readings we just heard because they often came up in our conversations and also helped me recall Dan as a deacon and friend. Indeed, those words we heard from Matthew 11 described him so well:

“Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourself” (Mt 11:29-30).

In so many ways, these words of Our Lord defined Dan’s ministry and his life.

Joined with the Lord, throughout much of his life Dan carried half of that yoke on his broad shoulders – raising those three girls on his own, often overwhelmed, but always being the father they needed. He did so without complaint, for he, too, had learned meekness – and know that meekness is not weakness, far from it. God’s call to be meek is really a call to strength – to turn from oneself, to look to the other in need, and then to act.

Note, too, that Jesus joins meekness and humility. I’ve always believed humility is our foundational virtue. For without humility, the other virtues become what today is called “virtue signaling” – simply a means to let others see how very good we are. Dan didn’t signal his virtues. In his humility he just lived them, quietly and consistently. For humility is merely acceptance of the reality of who we are. And Dan understood that.

That was how he lived his life and how he approached his death: “and you will find rest for yourself.” Dan’s death was one of pure acceptance, happily accepting the gift God now offered him. How many of us could face death with such acceptance? How many of us, when it comes to our own lives, can believe so completely the words we utter daily?

 “…Thy will be done, one earth as it is in heaven” (Mt 6:10). 

Yes, when it comes to our own lives, so often we like to place our will above God’s.

Dan’s daughter, Karry, collected over 5 pages of family thoughts on her father – from kids and step-kids and grandkids – words that revealed so much about who Dan was. And yet, everything I read, all the wonderful family stories, merely reinforced what I already knew.

One thing stood out: how Dan quietly taught his family – and taught me as well – not so much by his words but by his actions. Let me give you an example. In our 2^nd reading Paul admonished the Romans:

“Why then do you judge your brother? Or you, why do you look down on your brother? For we shall all stand before the judgment seat of God” (Romans 14:10).

One day, some years ago, Dan reminded me of the meaning of those words. I often assisted him with the Catholics Returning Home program he had introduced to the parish. 

Dan got to know the participants well, while I would just come in occasionally and conduct a session. One day, as I was speaking on the Eucharist, one of the participants continued asking very negative questions. I answered each question with a smile, but found myself thinking, “Why does this guy want to return to the Church? He doesn’t seem to like it very much.”

After everyone had left, while Dan and I were talking about the group, I said something to the effect, “Yes, a nice bunch of folks…except maybe for the grumpy old man with all the negative questions.”

Dan just smiled and said, “How did St. Paul put it? ‘Why do you judge and look down on your brother?’” 

As you might expect, I had no answer. So, Dan waited a moment, let it sink in, then told me:

“Yeah, during the first session with this group, I felt the same about him, grumpy and negative. So, I asked him to stay a moment to tell me his story.

“He was treated badly by a pastor years ago, and it drove him from the Church. His wife, a devout Catholic, prayed for him constantly.

“She died recently, and the last thing she asked of him was to come back to the faith. That’s where he is now, coming back, asking questions no one had ever answered before. Thank you for answering them so well.”

Did you notice how Dan handled me? It took me a while to recognize what he'd done. First he chewed me out, then he taught me, and finally he thanked me. And that, brothers and sisters, was one of Dan’s strengths. 

I like to think I helped him as well. Once, while discussing aspects of our ministry, he said to me, “I know I’m not a very good preacher…”

I interrupted him: “Dan, we’re called to be servants, to preach, to teach, and to heal; and believe me, you teach a lot of folks how to serve, how to live the Christian life, leading them to God’s healing grace. Those are God’s gifts to you. Be thankful for them,” 

Yes, we taught each other.

Then there’s our first reading, from the Book of Lamentations. I think I can take credit for introducing Dan to that little book. Lamentations is not very popular because it’s filled with anguish over the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 BC. Long attributed to Jeremiah, modern scholars argue about that. But modern scholars seem to argue about everything.

Anyway, each of its five chapters is a poem or hymn, and the suffering man described in our reading from chapter 3 is often seen as a kind of foreshadowing of the passion and death of Our Lord. The message? If in our worldly sufferings, we recognize and confess our sins we can then rejoice and share in the glory of Jesus’s Resurrection. 

As I thought of Dan’s life, and especially his final days, the words of chapter 3 came to mind, God’s Word filed with hope for Dan and us.  Listen again:

“It is good to hope in silence for the LORD’s deliverance, for Him to save…when its weight lies heavy…yet there is hope.”

I was reminded of the loving care Dan provided for Eleanor during her long illness. Yes, “the weight of life often lies heavy, yet there is hope." Dan's loving care for Eleanor taught me a lot about caregiving, something I'm involved in today. And yes, we accept the gift of hope, reminding us that the virtue of hope is merely our certainty that God always fulfills His promises.

Those words were followed by a word to each of us:

“…though grief comes to us, He takes pity, according to the abundance of His mercy.”

Yes, we grieve, but God’s mercy, His love, knows no bounds. And because of God's mercy our grief can be touched with joy.

Then, finally, despite the hatreds and divisions we encounter in our world today, we’re told how to share God’s love in the midst of it all:

“Let us lift up our hearts as well as our hands toward God in heaven! You pleaded my case, Lord, you redeemed my life.”

Yes, indeed, we can lift up our hearts and hands today, thanking God for the life of this good man, this servant who loved God and His people. And so, we praise God for Deacon Daniel Pallo, and for each of you, and for me…for we have been redeemed.

Thanks be to God.

Homily: 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year C

Readings: Amos 8:4-7; Ps 113; 1Tim 2:1-8; Lk 16:1-13

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An angel appears at the faculty meeting of a large Catholic university and tells the academic dean he’s come to reward him for years of devoted service. He tells the dean to choose one of three blessings: infinite wealth, infinite fame, or infinite wisdom. Without hesitation, the dean asks for infinite wisdom. 

“You got it!” says the angel, then disappears.

All heads turn toward the dean, who sits glowing in the aura of wisdom. Silence fills the room, but finally, one old professor leans over and whispers to him, “Say something wise.”

The dean looks out at them all and says, “I should have taken the money.”

I guess academics can occasionally be funny.

Some years ago, when I was working at a Catholic college, I was involved in a conversation about the Gospels with an English professor. An agnostic, he claimed he'd lost his faith because he found the Bible “too depressing.”

“There’s no humor in the Bible,” he said, “even the Gospels. Everything is about sin and damnation. And Jesus never laughs. I can’t worship a God who doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

Well, before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “What do you mean? He created you, didn’t he?”

Ok, it was neither charitable nor well-received, but it was one of my better one-liners. Of course, I regret it to this day…kind of.

In truth, Scripture is full of humor; just read the book of Jonah. It’s a very funny book. And we actually encounter a lot of humor in the Gospels. I’ll admit, much of it is subtle – after all the four Evangelists weren’t stand-up comics – and recognizing it demands some knowledge of the culture and the times on the part of the reader.

The parable in today’s Gospel passage from Luke is a good example. It’s really a very funny story. Jesus surely meant His listeners to laugh at this steward, a complete scoundrel – lazy and dishonest, until it all finally caught up with him.

Although his boss fired him, he first demanded a full accounting of his stewardship.

Despite his dishonesty in business, the steward was remarkably honest about his own capabilities. He didn’t deny his sinfulness, and he recognized his limitations. How did he put it? Too weak to dig ditches and too proud to beg. But over time he’d evolved into a pretty clever crook. Looking to the future, he ingratiated himself with his boss’ debtors by reducing their debts.

Jesus doesn’t applaud the dishonesty of the steward, and the steward doesn’t get his job back. No, Jesus praises him only for acting shrewdly in response to his personal crisis. The punch line of the story is where Jesus says:

“…make friends for yourselves with dishonest wealth, so that when it fails, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.”

In other words, take your assets, your gifts, your cleverness, your self-knowledge, and your drive for self-preservation and spend it on that which is lasting -- that which has true value -- that which can’t be stolen or taken away by others.

Jesus isn’t telling us to imitate the dishonesty of the steward. Not at all. No, Jesus is telling us that to navigate our way in this world successfully, we must use our wits, the gift of our intelligence. We must focus on the important, lasting, holy road to salvation, a road paved with acts of love.

It’s the same message we find in John’s Gospel where Jesus tells us to act fully in the world, but not to be of the world. Jesus is telling his disciples, and He’s telling us: Use money, tainted as it is, to win friends, and thus make sure that when it fails you, they will welcome you into eternity.

Is He referring to the fair-weather friends who are sure to appear when we throw our money around? No, do we really think they have the power to welcome us into the Kingdom of God? Not hardly.

Neither is He referring to the parable’s dishonest merchants, the kind who work on the “you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours” principle.

So, who are these friends that we should cultivate and who will welcome us into God’s Kingdom? The answer’s right there in today’s first reading from the Prophet Amos.

Amos, not one of the professional prophets, was a simple fig-farmer and shepherd in Judea when God called him to prophesy to His people in the wealthy northern kingdom of Israel.

There he focused God’s message on these wealthy folks, on those who played a hypocritical role in the ritual worship of God, while at the same time ignoring God's will and exploiting the poor.

Amos uses powerful language, accusing the exploiters of buying up the poor as if they were just another commodity to be traded.

Yes, he told them, God sees what you do and will not forget your deeds.

Amos lived almost 2,800 years ago and yet his words have lost none of their impact.

The Gospel proclaims the same message, what the Church calls the preferential option for the poor.

How fitting that the first to hear the Good News were the poor shepherds of Bethlehem.

Yes, Jesus announced the Gospel first to the lowly, not to the great and powerful, and His public ministry continued that pattern.

He consistently sought out those on society’s outskirts: the poor, the helpless, the public sinners, the lepers, the despised, the world’s rejects and outcasts.

His Church, that’s us, struggles to do the same today, continuing His ministry to the poor and outcast of the world.

And the "poor" are not simply those deprived of material goods.

The poor are those who have no defense, those who cannot help themselves, those who have only God…and God's people.

Of course, Jesus ministered as well to the rich and powerful, but more often than not, it was to correct them, to tell them to let go of their greed, their pride, their hypocrisy.

And to remind them that everything they have is a temporary gift, one that belongs to God, not to them. They are mere custodians, stewards of God’s creation.

Yes, Jesus spent most of His time with the poor and calls us to do the same.

It is among them that his continual ministry of healing is mainly carried out.

It’s through this ministry that He continues to encourage them and console them and heal them.

And so, the friends Jesus is telling us to cultivate are the poor and helpless of this world, for it is they who will welcome us into the Kingdom.

There’s a perfect echo of this in chapter 25 of the Gospel of Matthew: Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers that you do unto me.

Here Jesus specifically identifies Himself with the poorest of the poor. He makes it the clear duty of the disciple to serve his master by serving them.

Now we can serve them, by sitting down in our comfortable homes and writing checks to Catholic Charities. And that’s a good thing to do. After all they need the cash.

But how about really serving the poor, by getting up-close and personal with the least of our Lord’s sisters and brothers?

That doesn’t come natural to a lot of folks, but even if we’re a long way from being at ease with everyone, I can promise it’s well worth it, for them and for you.

The soup kitchen, the food pantry, our outreach ministries, our jail and prison ministry, our Eucharistic ministry to the sick and homebound, and so much more.

Ronald Knox, the English convert and theologian of the last century, referring to this Gospel parable, wrote:

“This parable is only meant to emphasize a single point – that we must make proper use of our worldly goods while we have still time to do it.”

And in this parish, many of us don’t have a lot of time – the time to gain the only thing that matters in the end: the kingdom of God. We are in the time of grace; we are in the time when God has mercy on us and gives unsparingly. But when the time comes, at the end of our lives, for us to appear before God, the time of grace will have ended.

Mary, our Blessed Mother, prophesied in her wonderful prayer, her Magnificat, that Jesus would lift up the lowly. And to Mary we acknowledge our sinfulness when we surrender “the hour of our death” to her care. We will then face the moment of divine justice and mercy.

But unlike the steward in the Gospel, we don’t have to wait until the last minute. We can and should begin today.

If Jesus can love those who are despised by the world, then so can we.

If Jesus can speak words of encouragement and healing to those who need it most, then so can we.

If Jesus can touch the leper and forgive the sinners He encounters, then so can we.

Mark: So Much To Tell Us

As I mentioned in a recent post, I've been preparing for the re-opening of our parish Bible Study, which had essentially been shut down since the COVID pandemic hit us last March. 

Among the first and most difficult decisions...Where exactly to begin? As a result of COVID I had time to prepare many Scripture-based reflections that were really unconnected, each focusing on a unique passage or book of Scripture. I also prepared some new study guides (as I call them) for a number of books, and for some reason decided to address many of the minor prophets, a group of Old Testament books that tend to receive little attention. I had hoped to spend some of our first sessions discussing these books...but then I asked the Holy Spirit for some inspiration and direction, and surprisingly found myself being called to Mark's Gospel. Surprised because the idea of starting with Mark hasn't even crossed my mind. But trusting in the Spirit, we will, therefore, turn to Mark when we once again meet together next Monday and Wednesday.

The more I thought about it, though, the better it seemed. Mark is actually a wonderful place to restart our studies, for many reasons. We are currently in the midst of liturgical Year B, the year in which our Sunday Gospel readings are drawn largely from Mark. What we read during our sessions will then be reinforced at Sunday Mass...and vice versa. 

Mark also presents the Good News in an almost breathtaking fashion, moving quickly through Jesus' ministry and the formation of the disciples, but always pointing to and leading us directly to Our Lord's redemptive act: His Passion, Death, and Resurrection. 

As we accompany Mark on this journey we also come to a better understanding of mission. We see the mission of the Son, sent by the Father -- a mission of remarkable love. We see the mission of John the Baptist, foretold and planned from all eternity. And we come to realize that each one of us has also been assigned a mission by the Father. It's not something you and I choose, but something God has chosen for each one of us and to which He calls us. Have you prayed for the Spirit's guidance, asked for His light to shine on the mission that God has chosen for you? Studying Mark helps us recognize this need.

Mark will teach us this and so much more, if only we listen to the Word.

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.

Reflection: Volunteer (Ministry) Appreciation Day

Yesterday our parish celebrated those parishioners who take part in the parish's many ministries. We invited them all to join us at Lake Yale, a large conference and retreat center run by the Southern Baptist Church. Lake Yale is a huge facility located on almost 300 lakefront acres.

More than 200 parishioners attended. We began the day in the auditorium with a welcoming talk by our pastor, Fr. Peter. After the introductions he went on to speak about Pope Francis and the role of the new evangelization at the parish level.

Afterwards we had some free time to wander about the lovely grounds and then enjoyed a hearty lunch in the center's cafeteria. After lunch we returned to the auditorium, where I exposed the Blessed Sacrament for an hour of adoration. During this hour I gave the following reflection on the spirituality of our parish ministries.

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Today I intend to reflect briefly on "the spirituality of volunteerism." Actually, I'm not exactly sure what that means, but it seemed like a good subject when I had to tell Father Peter what I planned to talk about...so we'll see how it goes.

Fortunately we're in the presence of Our Lord Jesus Christ in the Blessed Sacrament, and where Jesus is, so too is the Holy Spirit. And so we turn to the Spirit in the certain hope He’ll inspire and guide all of us gathered here today.

I'd like to begin, then, with a prayer, one written by one of our 20th century saints, Blessed Charles de Foucauld. I'll talk about him in a moment, but first his prayer...

Abba, Father
I abandon myself into Your hands.
Do with me what You will.
Whatever You may do,
I thank You.
I am ready for all,
I accept all.
Let only Your will be done in me
and in all Your creatures.
I wish no more than this, O Lord.
Into Your hands
I commend my soul.
I offer it to You
with all the love of my heart.
For, I love you, Lord,
and so need to give myself,
to surrender myself into Your hands
without reserve
and with boundless confidence.
For You, Abba, are my Father. Amen.

Blessed Charles de Foucauld

Blessed Charles was a remarkable man. After a stint in the French Army, a dramatic conversion, and his ordination to the priesthood, he spent the remainder of his life as a Trappist monk in the Holy Land and finally as a hermit in the deserts of North Africa. It was there, on December 1, 1916, that he was martyred, killed by the Taureg people whom he loved. He was beatified by Pope Benedict XVI in 2005.

I once read that during his life Charles never converted a single person, but in his death God brought into being several religious orders devoted to the spirituality he championed. As you can see by his prayer, it's a spirituality of abandonment, the sort of spirituality not practiced much in today's world. We’ll come back to this later.

Now, as you all know, today is our parish's Volunteer Appreciation Day. And I'm going to begin by doing something that's not very nice. I’m going to attack and undermine the very word itself, the word "volunteer" that is.

"Volunteer" is a very active word. It's one of those nouns that describes someone who acts, one of those words ending in "er", like leader, or teacher, or lawyer, or minister, or doctor...OK, doctor ends in "or", but you know what I mean. Volunteer is a word that emphasizes the person it describes. A volunteer is someone who takes the initiative and does something.

And I suppose that's fine if we're talking about a volunteer in a second grade classroom or someone who helps direct golf carts at a Villages polo match. Volunteering to do these things, and other similar work, is by no means a bad thing, but it all relates to man's work, the work of the world.

The work of the world isn't what we're celebrating here today. We're not celebrating volunteer work; we're celebrating ministry. Believe me, to be a volunteer is not the same as being a minister. And the difference is not trivial. A volunteer decides to do something, which places the credit almost wholly on the volunteer. But a minister responds to a call, a call that originates with God, and so the credit, all the glory, must go to God.

In ministry it is God who takes the initiative. Understanding this leads us to the first truth we must accept as we reflect on our calling within this parish community. Quite simply, you and I are not simply volunteers doing man's work in the world.

Here’s our first truth: We are ministers called to do God's work to change the world. And it's this truth that must define our spirituality.

Yes, it's good for the parish to show its appreciation, for without its ministers, without all of you who have responded to God's call, our parish would be an empty vessel. But it's even more important that you and I thank God for calling us to our ministries. And because ministry is God's work, by its very nature it is work beyond our capabilities. We can't do it alone.

This leads us to our second truth: We need God's help to accomplish His work, His ministry.

What have we discovered so far? As ministers we’re called to do God's work, not ours, and we can't do it alone.

This is harder to accept than you might think. We tend to think of ministry as “our ministry” rather than God’s. We get very possessive about it all, forgetting that it’s not us but God’s work that’s important.

Do you ever get that way? Do you ever find yourself grasping a ministry as if it’s some cherished possession, forgetting that it belongs to God not to you? God’s work must be done, but who does it really doesn’t matter.

Indeed, if we’re unresponsive or indifferent to God’s call, He’ll just call someone else, and quite likely call them from their weakness. It’s as if He’s reminding us, “You see. I found someone else. I found someone who didn’t resist my call, someone who’s willing to let me form them, to fill their emptiness with my love, someone with faith.”

“…to fill their emptiness…”

There’s a wonderful Greek word, kenosis. We encounter it as a verb, ekenosen, in Philippians 2:7 in the midst of St. Paul’s beautiful hymn on the wonder of the Incarnation: “…he emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.”

In this emptying, Jesus Christ, the Son of God impoverished Himself by taking on our humanity. In the same way, as His disciples, we’re called to kenosis, to an emptying of self so that He may form us and fill us with His love. You see, brothers and sisters, in His emptying Jesus takes all that is within Him and offers it to us. This is His gift to us. We need only accept it.

But you and I cannot fully accept God’s love in our lives if our minds and hearts are filled with ourselves.  For we, too, must experience kenosis; we must first empty ourselves. How did Blessed Charles put it in his prayer of abandonment?

I abandon myself into Your hands.
Do with me what You will.
Whatever You may do,
I thank You.
I am ready for all,
I accept all.

This prayer of abandonment, this prayer of openness to God’s will – is this our prayer as ministers? Or do we insist instead on telling God what He wants us to do.

This helps us define our third truth: To accept fully God’s call to ministry, we must first empty ourselves of ourselves. Kenosis, therefore, is fundamental to ministry, an essential companion to God’s call.

How does God call us? How does He speak to us? And how can we hear His call?

First if all, God speaks in silence, just as He did with Elijah on the mountainside [1 Kings 19:11-13]. There in the midst of all the noise and tumult and disruptions of the world -- amidst wind, and quake, and fire -- God came to His prophet and spoke in a "still, small voice."  And God still speaks to us that way today. He comes to us in the silence.

Indeed, how blessed we are, for God has left us the gift of Himself in the Eucharist, the gift of His very Presence, so we can exclaim "Emmanuel" -- "God with us." The Eucharist means God in us, God with us, God increasingly giving himself to us. We can escape all the noise and disruption of the world and kneel in His presence. We can answer in the silence of adoration which waits in patient, expectant stillness. We can wait for God, just like the servant in Psalm 123 who waits patiently, watching for the signal from master or mistress [Ps. 123:2].  We need, then, only respond in that silence, to that silence: "Here I am, Lord, I come to do your will" [Heb. 10:7].

And of one thing we can be certain: God's will for us always includes His will for others, His will for the others in our lives, especially for those least brothers and sisters of the Lord. Listen again to Blessed Charles. Toward the end of his life, speaking of Jesus’ description of the last judgment in Matthew 25, he wrote:

"I think there is no passage of the Gospel that has made a deeper impression on me or changed my life more than this one: 'Whatever you do to one of these little ones, you do to me.' Just think, these are the words of Uncreated Truth, words from the mouth that said, 'This is my body... this is my blood...' How forcefully we are impelled to seek Jesus and love him in the 'little ones'."

That’s right, brothers and sisters, it is to these least ones we are called to minister, for together with them we are the Body of Christ. And so we carry them all with us today in this celebration of our ministry. We carry them into God's presence here.

Are you connected to those with whom You share a little piece of this world? Do you carry them with you today? Have you carried the hungry the Jesus? The sick, the dying, the addicted, the angry, the hurt, the lonely? Have you brought them here with you, spiritually, so you can offer them to Our Lord, here in His presence? God wants to hear your prayer for them.

But God will not be limited. He won’t be constrained. And so He speaks to us beyond the silence. He speaks to us in and through the words of others. He might speak through the writings of a saint, or the letter of a bishop, or even the words of a homily, or the chance remark of a friend, or the comment of someone who’s not at all friendly.  And, of course, He speaks to us especially through the Word of His Revelation, through Holy Scripture. Yes, God will not be constrained.

But do you and I listen? Do we recognize God’s Word when it comes to us? It’s all the doing of the Holy Spirit who accomplishes God’s work in the world, His work within us. Listen to Him! And through the Holy Spirit your Father, or Jesus, your brother, will speak directly to you!

And when we hear God’s Word, nothing is more natural than to answer. You need not answer immediately, for it’s good to take some time to reflect on what God is asking of you. Like our Blessed Mother, you might need time to treasure these things and ponder them in your heart [Lk. 2:19].

And when you answer, keep it short. God really doesn’t need our prayer to be cluttered with words; but you and I need the discipline of a specific answer so we can’t hide from it later.

I even suggest that you write it down. For example, my own journal entry for yesterday included only this verse from First Corinthians:

"What have you that you did not receive? If then you received it, why do you boast as if it were not a gift?" [1 Cor 4;7]

…and a brief reflective comment:

Father, let me always be thankful for everything and everybody you send into my life.

God speaks and we respond.

I’ve only scratched the surface of our spirituality as God’s ministers, but I hope you might find some little piece of it to be helpful as you respond to God’s call to ministry.

And we should never forget that Jesus began His ministry with the words: “Repent and believe in the Gospel” [Mk 1:14]. With that in mind, I'll finish by once again turning to the words of Blessed Charles:

"Our entire existence, our whole being must shout the Gospel from the rooftops. Our entire person must breathe Jesus, all our actions. Our whole life must cry out that we belong to Jesus, must reflect a Gospel way of living. Our whole being must be a living proclamation, a reflection of Jesus Christ."

God love you, and thank you for your ministry.

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.

Homily: 28th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Isaiah 25:6-10; Psalm 23; Philippians 4:12-14, 19-20; Matthew 22:1-14

My wife and I just returned from celebrating our youngest son’s wedding on Nantucket Island in Massachusetts. Now, Nantucket is a very casual place, and so many of the wedding guests were dressed in, let’s say, alternative clothing. But unlike the king in today’s Gospel passage, I didn’t even consider banning them from the ceremony. Their style of dress simply didn’t bother me. The important thing was they were my son’s friends.

And so, if you’re like me, I suspect the parable we just heard might leave you feeling just a bit uncomfortable. We can’t help but feel a bit sorry for the poor fellow who got thrown out of the wedding banquet for not wearing the proper clothes. After all, the king had sent out servants to invite anyone who was available to attend the wedding...it didn't matter who you were or where you came from – “both bad and good” the Gospel says. But when the party begins, the kind of clothes you wear suddenly become a big deal.

Seems a bit odd, doesn't it? Well, this parable had long puzzled me, until I read a book by C. S. Lewis called “The Great Divorce.” Lewis’ book is a fascinating story, really an allegory, about our relationship with God and how Original Sin has driven a wedge between humanity and God.

In the book’s opening scene, several people are simply standing around in a large room which turns out to be heaven’s waiting room. Just beyond the other side of the door is the heavenly city, the New Jerusalem. It's the place they’ve always wanted to go to, but now that they’re there, they must accept that God has indeed saved them; that He has forgiven their sins and has a tremendous reward waiting for them.

So, where’s the difficulty? Well, for some of the people waiting in that room, the fact that God has done all this becomes a serious problem for them.

This is how Lewis sets it up: before leaving the room and stepping into heaven, everyone needs to put on "the armor of salvation. But some of them prefer their old, everyday clothes. One of them, actually, is very well dressed, but he's unwilling to remove the jacket of his achievements and accomplishments. Eventually he disappears into the small, dark hole of his egotism.

And then there’s a young man, standing in the corner with a slimy, red lizard perched on his shoulder. You get the sense that it represents some sin of lust. It turns out that this young man hates this creature but at the same time, it’s become so much a part of him that he refuses to knock it off his shoulder so he can put on the new armor.

When an angel approaches offering to kill the ugly thing, the young man resists, saying that if it is killed, he's not sure if he could survive. He hates it but he's not sure he can live without it. Urged on by the angel, trembling and fearful, he finally lets go of the lizard and cries out, "God help me! God help me!"

With that a fierce battle takes place, with the angel fighting the lizard; but then suddenly the reptile is turned into a glorious horse.Here is how the narrator in the story describes it:

What stood before us was the greatest stallion anyone had ever seen, silvery white, but with mane and tail of gold. The young man turned and leaped on the horse. Turning in his seat he waved a farewell, then nudged the stallion with his heels. And they both soar off, like shooting stars, toward the green mountains of heaven.

It’s really a great story. But what it tells us is that the young man finally clothed himself with Christ. Having nothing of his own, not even his past sins to cling to, he put his complete trust in God and traded his garment of shame for the robe of the King.

And isn't this precisely how St. Paul describes the sacrament of baptism? If we are baptized in Christ, says Paul, we must be clothed with Christ.

Parable of the Wedding Garment

You see, today’s parable is really about a choice we all have: whether to be clothed in Christ or to be wrapped up in our own self-love. The king desperately wants to fill the hall for his son’s wedding, and so he invites many guests. Notice that the king’s only request is that his guests be there at the feast. But giving in to their own self-serving motives, they callously – murderously – decline the invitation. Their refusal isn’t simply disobedience to the king; it’s a repulsion of love, symbolized by the wedding.

The king desires our presence at the feast, not for his sake, but for ours. Rejecting him is to be caught up in our own self-love, to be so preoccupied with ourselves that we have no desire to enter into the love of others. Such self-absorption in the presence of a loving God is an affront to Him, to His Son, and to the covenant signified by the wedding. It’s this same self-absorption, this same willfulness, that causes the one guest to obstinately discard his wedding garment.

Of course, in our theology we also understand this parable as a reference to the Eucharist; indeed, every celebration of the Eucharist is the marriage of heaven and earth! Our Eucharistic celebration is both wedding feast and marriage, and continually challenges us. How do we approach this Eucharistic feast, and how do we participate in the marriage that follows?

We are called to support those immersed into the Paschal Mystery through the Sacraments.

We are called to invite others into a new relationship with Christ and his Church.

Finally, we are all called to immerse ourselves into the life and ministry of Christ in the Church.

And Like any good marriage, our life and ministry in the Church should grow and evolve over time.

Most of us here today can recall a time when there really were no lay ministries, either pastoral or liturgical, in the Church. The professional ministries were those of clergy and religious. There were two additional ministries – those of acolyte and lector – ministries that remain in use today but limited to adult males on the path to Holy Orders.

There might not have been lay ministries, but many men and women were involved in a number of apostolates – the Holy Name Society, the Knights of Columbus, different women’s sodalities. And there were many charitable organizations, run largely by laymen and laywomen, and functioning as the Church’s charitable arm. My how things have changed…especially in our liturgical ministries:

Now lay ministers – boys and girls, men and women – serve at the Altar;

Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion, who are baptized, confirmed Catholics, give our Lord’s precious Body and Blood to His people;

Readers proclaim God’s Word making Him present to all of us gathered here;

Ministers of Music make a joyful noise unto the Lord, leading us as we lift our hearts and voices;

Sacristans, the unsung ministers who set up and clean up after us clergy;

And those who meet and greet the faithful, who lead them and direct processions, who take up the collections, who simply do whatever they are asked to do.

Yes, some are called to exercise special roles before the Altar of God, but every one of us is expected to be a full, active and conscious participant in the Eucharistic celebration in word, song, gesture and response. And when each of us fulfills his or her unique role in the Eucharist, our Mass becomes a fine “wedding celebration,” a reflection of our union with Jesus Christ. 

In the end, it is He, the Lord Jesus, who is the Bridegroom, and we, the Church, the Bride. He is the perfect spouse, the absolute right partner for us all.  It is He alone who brings us to new and eternal life. It is He who makes of us family, adopted children of our heavenly Father, brothers and sisters to each other in Jesus Christ.

The Lord has readied a feast for us, but we must be ready to accept his invitation.

So, have you been called by Christ?

Yes, definitely.

Have you been invited to the banquet of heaven?

Yes, for God invites everyone.

Does it matter what you wear?

Not if you arrive already clothed with Jesus Christ.

"That I may come to the altar of God, to God, my joy, my delight." - Psalm 43:4

Ministry

      It didn't seem important

It didn’t seem important –

not at the time.

Just another poor man

dressed like the bums

who came knockin’ at the door

when I was a kid.

Remember?

You do if you’re old enough,

and didn’t live in a fancy house

with a fence and a gate

to keep the riff-raff out.

It didn’t seem important.

We gave him a meal,

a good hot meal,

with a nice dessert,

and seconds, until we ran out.

That seemed like enough.

It really did.

I even brought him coffee –

cream, lots of sugar –

when he came in early,

as he always did.

It didn’t seem important – 

at least not to me.

Handing him the cup

I could smell the booze,

the old stale smell

of cheap booze.

He’d slur a “thankya,”

but missing all those teeth

he was hard to understand,

so I’d just nod and

hurry back to the kitchen.

It didn’t seem important –

until he died.

They found him lying there,

early on a cold morning,

curled up on the hard ground

behind the bushes,

right outside the door

of the soup kitchen.

It just didn’t seem important

to talk with him

or pray with him...

…and so I never did.

- Deacon Dana McCarthy