Homily: Tuesday, 2nd Week of Lent

Sometimes, after I've prepared a homily, the priest will let me know that he'd like to preach. And that's OK, never a problem. It's good for me to prepare so I can appreciate God's Word even more. The below homily is the one I didn't preach today, but thought my tiny band of readers might find it of some benefit.

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Readings: Is 1:10, 16-20; Ps 50; Mt 23:1-12

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I have to admit, listening to today’s Gospel passage from Matthew always causes me to cringe a little.

Jesus, of course, was talking about the Pharisees and Scribes and their hypocrisy, and warning the people, especially His disciples, about following their example. As we see throughout the Gospels, these spiritual leaders of the Jewish people didn’t really hide their hypocrisy too well. It wasn’t just obvious to Jesus, but we suspect everyone saw it.

Indeed, Jesus offers us a sad litany of their offenses, everything from grasping honor and privileges for themselves to making life unbelievably difficult for others. But Jesus is also letting His disciples know that they, too, can fall prey to these same failings, and so the warning extends across the centuries to us as well. And there’s one sin -- and I think we can safely call all these failings sins -- that strikes me with the greatest force. It’s when Jesus says, “For they preach but they do not practice.”

You see, as a deacon, a man once declared by my bishop to be a true “servant of God” – he actually said that to all of us at our ordination. Anyway, when I hear Jesus say this about those Pharisees, I find myself wanting to hide behind that “seat of honor” over there.

It’s a very obvious seat isn’t it? Comfortable too. Yes, indeed, no matter how crowded the Mass, I’ve always got a great seat don’t I? Heck, the parish even gives me a parking place, so the old deacon doesn’t have to tire himself out.

But it’s really that preach and practice thing that troubles me. I’m preaching right now, and soon enough I’ll probably be telling you how to live your lives during this season of Lent. I did just that at a couple of Masses this past weekend.

And yet, like you, I too am a sinner. Most of the faults I address in homilies and the remedies I preach have their source in my own behavior, or in that of those I love and know best. Yep, it’s always easier to identify the sins of family and friends, isn’t it? We know them so very well, just as they know us.

Anyway, as I dig deeper into my own conscience to uncover my faults, I realize how different I am from the man I was 30, 40, or 50 years ago. I guess my spiritual life, my struggle toward some degree of holiness, has actually progressed, not as far as I’d like, and certainly far below the Lord’s hopes…

On a wall in our home, hangs a rather large portrait of Jesus – it’s the Divine Mercy image – and I’m serious, but sometimes when I glance at it, Jesus seems to be shaking His head at me…Maybe it’s just my aging vision, but I think it’s more than that. He’s just showing me I have a long way to go.

Lent, though, is a good time for introspection, a time to take a good, hard look at ourselves – a time to let God reform us, to transform us, into His ways

It’s also a time for simplicity, a time to turn away from the busyness of the world and its false attractions and promises.

But perhaps most importantly, it’s a time for sacrifice. So often we try to avoid any kind of sacrifice because sacrifice often means suffering, and yet it’s there, in our sacrifices, where Jesus Christ comes to meet us.

It’s there, when we bear our everyday crosses, that He comes to us and carries them with us.

Jesus never said that living the Christian life would be easy; but He did promise we wouldn’t be alone. He would join us.

Yes, I suppose I’m guilty of a touch of hypocrisy, but thanks to Jesus’ words, at least I know it, and can repent. Maybe some of those Scribes and Pharisees also came to recognize their hypocrisy when they listened to Jesus, and then they too repented.

Perhaps they, too, heard Isaiah’s message, one they would have known well:

“Wash yourselves clean!...[and] set things right”

And how do we do that? We change, for that’s what repentance means.

“Put away your misdeeds from before my eyes; cease doing evil; learn to do good. Make justice your aim: redress the wronged, hear the orphan's plea, defend the widow.”

Oh, yes, so let me leave you with another thought:

Don’t be too critical of deacons and priests, of bishops and popes, for we too are human and subject to the whole range of human failings.

How much better simply to pray for us, as we pray for you.

  

In Memory...Always

Memory is one of God's great gifts because it keeps alive the people and events of the past so we can, in a certain sense, relive and reappreciate them. We can also learn from these memories, since in hindsight they often provide lessons that teach us how to live better lives. Equally important, though, our memories can be shared with others, with future generations, so they too can benefit from the experiences that have formed us into who we are. We shouldn't, then, hide these memories, but should pass them on, telling the stories of those who have gone before us.

My everyday thoughts, and I expect yours too, are often interrupted by memories, some sought and many unbidden, memories that call me back to other times and places. But Memorial Day is different. On this day we make a conscious decision to remember some very special individuals: those who have sacrificed their lives for our country, for their fellow citizens, and for the timeless values enshrined in our Constitution. 

For many Americans these memories are very personal, reminding us of family members, other relatives, friends, and those with whom we served. For me, today calls to mind a long list that includes many friends, shipmates, and Naval Academy classmates who made the ultimate sacrifice, most during the Vietnam, conflict. I've probably mentioned some of these men in previous Memorial Day posts, but that's okay; we really can't mention them enough. Indeed, hardly a day passes when I don't think of some of them and pray for them and their families. Here are just a few.

2nd Lt Henry Wright, USMC, was a Naval Academy classmate (1967) and a friend. Henry, only 21, was our first classmate to lose his life in combat. Henry led a platoon to the relief of a company under attack south of Da Nang during the communist Tet offensive. He led an attack against heavily entrenched enemy positions and was mortally wounded while directing covering fire for the evacuation of wounded Marines. During the action he carried his wounded radioman to safety and tended to him until the arrival of a corpsman. Henry died on February 6, 1968...forever young.

Captain Ron Zinn, US Army, was my brother Jeff's West Point classmate (1962) and roommate. Because we lived only 50 miles from West Point, Ron often spent weekends at our home and treated me like a kid brother. (The photo is of Jeff and Ron on their graduation day.) Ron was an amazing young man, a world-class race walker who represented the USA in two Olympic games (1960 and 1964). But he was an Army officer first and during his tour in Vietnam, he died as a result of small arms fire during a firefight in Gia Dinh province. Ron was only 26 when he died on July 7, 1965. My brother, Jeff, also a Vietnam vet, died on January 19, 2010 

There are many others, most of them classmates who died in Vietnam or while training for combat: Hal Castle, Bart Creed, Jim Hicks, Guido Carloni, Tom Lange, and so many more. And I have to add another classmate, Mike Smith, astronaut and pilot of the ill-fated Challenger space shuttle...all good men. How did Our Lord Jesus put it?

"No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends" [Jn 15:16].

We thank them all today and every day for their sacrifice; and we thank God for their letting us share in their lives.

Have a prayerful Memorial Day.

Priorities

An old friend sent me the below tribute in honor of those who have devoted their lives to defending our country. I don't know who wrote it but the author suggested we pass it along to others, so I thought I'd simply post it on my blog, along with a few of my own comments. 

I'm not a big fan of professional athletics. I haven't watched a major league baseball game in years and haven't attended one in decades. The NBA and NFL have both lost me as well. The NFL, for example, has displaced religion in the lives of many Americans, who would much rather devote their Sundays to football than to "keep holy the Sabbath Day." Indeed, this fanatical focus on professional (and college) sports, along with all the other celebrity worship that permeates our society, is symptomatic of our nation's moral decline. When we remove the "cult" -- the religious foundation -- from our culture, we are left with nothing.

I find it remarkable that so many of our professional athletes, who have reaped rewards unavailable elsewhere, seem to despise the nation that provided them with the opportunity to achieve such material success. One would think they would be overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude. Instead they pay homage to groups like "Black Lives Matter," a movement founded by committed Marxists whose stated goal is not the saving of all, or even most black lives, but the destruction of the family and religious faith, two major obstacles to the power they seek. It's all very sad, and so we pray for them, knowing we have a loving God who has promised to be with us "until the end of the age."

As for me, I was honored to have been able to serve my country and its citizens for many years as a officer in the U.S. Navy. During all those years, and even afterwards, I lost many Naval Academy classmates and close friends. Some lost their lives in combat, others in aircraft accidents, and some as a result of the lingering effects of wounds or agent orange. But none died in vain, despite what the current crop of neo-Marxist protesters and rioters scream at us as they try to destroy our nation and its history, while belittling all the good the United States has brought to the world.

The tribute (and its fitting rebuke) follows: 
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To the NFL and its players,

If I have brain cancer, I don't ask my dentist what I should do. If my car has a problem, I don't seek help from a plumber! Why do you think the public cares what a football player thinks about politics? If we want to know about football, then depending on the information we seek, we might consult with you, but even a quarterback doesn't seek advice on playing his position from a punter.

You seem to have this over-inflated view of yourselves, thinking because you enjoy working on such a large-scale stage, that somehow your opinion about everything matters. The NFL realizes the importance of its "image" so it has rules that specify the clothes and insignia you can wear, the language you can use, and your "antics" after a touchdown or other "great" play. But somehow you and your employer don't seem to care that you disgrace the entire nation and its 320 million people in the eyes of the world by publicly disrespecting this country, its flag, and its anthem! The taxpaying citizens of this country subsidize your plush work environments, yet you choose to use those venues to openly offend those very citizens.

Do you even understand what the flag of this country means to so many of its citizens before you choose to "take a knee" in protest of this country during our national anthem?

You may think because you are paid so much that your job is tough, but you are clueless when it comes to tough. Let me show you those whose jobs are really tough.

You are spoiled babies who stand around and have staff squirt Gatorade in your mouths, sit in front of misting cooling fans when its warm, and sit on heated benches when its cold. That's not tough, that's pampered.

You think you deserve to be paid excessively high salaries because you play a "dangerous" game where you can incur career-ending injuries. Let me show you career-ending injuries!

You think you deserve immediate medical attention and the best medical facilities and doctors when injured. Let me show you what it's like for those who really need and deserve medical attention.

You think you have the right to disrespect the flag of the United States, the flag our veterans fought for, risked limbs and mental stability to defend, and in many cases died for. Let me show you what our flag means to them, their families, and their friends.

You believe you are our heroes, when in reality you are nothing but overpaid entertainers, who exist solely for our enjoyment! Well, your current antics are neither entertaining nor enjoyable, but rather a disgrace to this country, its citizens, all our veterans and their families, and the sacrifices they have made to ensure this country remains free. You choose to openly disgrace this country in the eyes of the rest of the world, yet with all your money, still choose to live here rather than any other country. People with even the slightest amount of "class" will stand and respect our flag. Where does that put you? You want to see heroes...here are this country's heroes!

You can protest policies, the current government, or anything else you choose. That is your right. But when you "protest" our flag and anthem, you insult the nation we all live in and love, and all those who have served, been wounded, or died to keep it free. There is nothing you can do or say that will make your actions anything more than the arrogance of a classless people, who care about themselves more than our country or the freedoms for which our veterans and their families have sacrificed so much, all to ensure you have the right to speak freely. Our country is far from perfect, but if you can point to any other country with greater freedom and opportunity, then you just might want to go there and show respect for their flag! 
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That's all of it...a fitting tribute to those who, since the Battles of Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775, have sacrificed their lives and their livelihood for this remarkable nation.

God bless America, folks. 

Memorial Day

I suppose it's a sign of age, but I still can't get used to this Monday holiday thing. For my younger readers, assuming I have any, the change came about in 1968 when Congress passed the cleverly named Uniform Monday Holiday Act. As a result, in 1971 Memorial Day began to be celebrated on the last Monday of May. 

I much preferred it when Memorial Day always fell on May 30, no matter what. It seemed far more sacred when it didn't just mean the third day of a three-day weekend. In some respects, and to a large portion of our citizenry, Memorial Day has lost its meaning. This morning, for example, I watched as a stream of young, college-age kids were interviewed on some beach. For most Memorial Day simply meant another day to party, instead of a special day to thank those who gave their lives so they could enjoy theirs. 

I really can't envision an easy way to educate the younger generations on such things since our school systems probably teach that our dead soldiers, sailors, and marines were just a collection of militaristic racists, fascists, and Islamophobes. Too many of their parents haven't a clue either, so maybe it's up to the grandparents, while we're still around. 

My opinion? Get rid of all those three-day weekends. The birthdays of George Washington (February 22) and Abraham Lincoln (February 12) got dumped in favor of the insipid Presidents Day, now celebrated on the third Monday of February. I would guess a vast majority of American under the age of 40 don't know that Presidents Day celebrates the lives of these two men: Washington and Lincoln. A few years ago, one of our soup kitchen guests told me that Presidents Day celebrated "Obama's birthday." She was more than a little disappointed when I informed her of its actual purpose.

And then there's Columbus Day...Yes, we still celebrate the anniversary of Christopher Columbus' arrival in the Americas. Originally celebrated on October 12, it was moved to the second Monday of October. 

Of course, the politically correct crowd considers Columbus to be guilty of genocide and lump him together with such pleasant people as Adolph Hitler. Although it's still, thankfully, a national holiday, many states have stopped celebrating Columbus Day, replacing it with such holidays as Indigenous Peoples Day or Discoverers Day or Native American Day. I'm sorry, but I'll stick with Columbus. And do you know something else? I'm glad the Europeans came here and took over, bringing Christianity with them. Yes, they weren't always kind to the natives, but in truth the natives had a history of being far more brutal to each other. This doesn't excuse those who mistreated the indigenous folks, but like today too many didn't practice their Christian faith. Anyway, come October 12, I will raise a glass of good Italian wine in a salute to that intrepid explorer.

This year, because the nation will celebrate Memorial Day on Monday, May 25, and since May 30 falls on Saturday, I've decided to celebrate Memorial Week instead. 

I will thank God first for the many men I knew well who gave their lives for us -- men like Henry Wright and Bart Creed, just two of many of my Naval Academy classmates (1967) who lost their lives during the Vietnam conflict. I'll also remember Ron Zinn, my brother's West Point classmate (1962) and roommate who died in combat in Vietnam. This week I will pray for the souls of these men, as well as all the other valiant men I knew who sacrificed their lives for our freedom. 

USNA Class (1967) Service Deaths

I will also thank God for those in my family who served this country honorably but are no longer with us. Since none of them died in combat, I realize it's more fitting to celebrate their lives on Veterans Day. But each of these men were more than willing to give up their lives for their country. I think of my grandfather, Sgt. John McCarthy, who served in the Philippines during the Spanish-American War and then took part in the rescue mission to Peking during the Boxer Rebellion. I think, too, of my Uncle Bill Dorley, who served in the Navy aboard an Atlantic destroyer during World War One; and my father, Colonel John McCarthy, who served in Europe during and after World War Two; and my brother, Major Jeff McCarthy, who, like me, served in Vietnam. 

I ask you all to call to mind those you knew who gave their lives so that we might live ours in freedom. Thank God for them this week. Pray for their souls, that our loving God take them into His eternal embrace. Jesus said it best the night before He died: 

"Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends" [Jn 15:13].

And remember, too, that freedom is a precious commodity. Too many of our politicians have little or no respect for freedom or for those who died defending it. Keep that in mind when you vote this November.

Pray for our nation this week.

A Memory Almost Forgotten

Youth has the benefit of experiencing a kind of temporal slow-motion. Hoped-for events seem always so distant that when they finally arrive most of the expected enjoyment has already been savored. For a child the anticipation is nearly as wonderful as the reality. As we age, however, time seems to compress causing the future to collide with the present. We hardly have time to look forward to a future event because it has already arrived, or more likely, has joined the rest of our life in a jumble of memories. And the past is indeed a jumble.

This all came to mind yesterday as I approached a local railroad crossing. I've always enjoyed watching trains -- a delight I inherited from my father -- although these days I miss seeing the caboose, that final appendage to every freight train. The caboose, the train's exclamation point, let everyone know the train has passed. And as a child I could always count on a wave from the brakeman as the caboose roared by. But, sadly, technology has now eliminated the caboose, and today's children will suffer, if only mildly, the loss of that wave.

Anyway, as the barrier lowered, the lights flashed, and the warning alarm clanged, I obediently brought my Kia to a stop. I was the one and only car at the crossing and, looking to my left, I could see an oncoming freight train moving along at a good clip. Powered by three engines, the train consisted of 105 cars (I counted). I had even opened the car window so I could fully experience the noise, the smell, the sight of all those freight cars rumbling by as I waited more than patiently. And then it was gone. The barrier lifted and the train joined all those other experiences -- small, large, and in-between -- that make up my past. That train passing in front of me is really no different from the movement of the other events of my life as they pass from future to present to past.

It's unlikely I will actually recall this experience as a unique event that occurred early one February morning in 2018. It will probably merge with dozens of similar experiences joining all those other trains I've watched over the years. But memory is a strange thing, and some experiences, so intense or so meaningful, will always stand out as unique events, never to be forgotten or absorbed into a mass of like incidents. And as I drove through that railroad crossing, I suddenly thought of Henry Wright and said aloud, "Oh, my gosh, I forgot February 6th, the day Henry was killed."

I am ever amazed how the memory of such events is triggered. Why did I think of Henry yesterday morning? I haven't a clue. But as soon as I got home I went directly to a thick book just published by my U. S. Naval Academy class of 1967 as a remembrance of the 50th anniversary of our graduation. It contains biographical sketches of most of my classmates, living and dead. I turned to Henry's entry just to ensure I had the date right. I did. His entry is below. Click on it for a larger image.

Henry Arthur Wright was a 1967 classmate who, along with me and a couple of dozen other classmates, spent four years together in the same company. (The Brigade of Midshipman was divided into 36 companies.) 

Henry was a remarkable young man, a true over-achiever determined to prove, if only to himself, that he had what it takes to do great things. Henry didn't need to prove this to those who knew him, because we were already convinced of his capabilities. The photo below is his USNA yearbook photo.

Henry Arthur Wright

Henry chose to become an officer in the U. S. Marine Corps and at graduation was commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant. Like every new Marine officer, he spent the next few months at The Basic School at Quantico, Virginia. On January 5, 1968, just six months after graduation from the Naval Academy, Henry was in Vietnam as a platoon commander. One month later, on February 6, Henry was mortally wounded leading his platoon in relief of a company of Marines near Da Nang. He was the first of our classmates to sacrifice his life in combat. And it truly was a sacrificial act, for his bravery under fire was recognized by the award of a posthumous Bronze Star and, of course, a Purple Heart. Among the youngest members of our USNA class, Henry was just 21 years old at the time of his death. He is indeed "forever young."

We lost too many classmates in the Vietnam conflict. They were all remarkable men, true heroes every one. But to me Henry was special -- not simply because he was the first to lose his life, but because I knew him so well. He was indeed a friend. (Henry's profile on the Virtual Wall: Panel 37#, Line 76)

Marines Near Da Nang

A few months ago, a TV show recalling the Tet Offensive brought Henry to mind and I could hardly believe it had been 50 years since his death. I promised myself that on February 6 of this year, I would remember February 6, 1968 by having a Mass celebrated in Henry's name for the repose of his soul. And then, of course, in the busy-ness and unceasing movement of life, I simply forgot. I will make up for that lapse this week. Fortunately, Henry is now in eternity where time and memory presumably have less meaning. But these are still meaningful to me and to all those who knew this wonderful young man.

Rest in peace, Henry. We will never forget you.

Back Home Again

Dear Diane and I were away from home for about ten days, visiting friends in Bradenton, Florida and then sailing off on a brief, five-day cruise in the Western Caribbean. The weather was perfect, and we enjoyed our two port visits to Grand Cayman Island and Cozumel, Mexico. Our ship, the Carnival Paradise, was, despite its name, most un-Eden-like. The 2,500 or so passengers were of the younger, party-hearty persuasion so I spent much of my time searching for quiet, out of the way spots to sit and read while sipping one of those oddly named, umbrella garnished drinks. The food was reasonably good, good enough at least to satisfy my humble tastes.

Carnaval Paradise at anchor in Grand Cayman

We had visited Grand Cayman a few years ago so we decided to spend just a few hours in George Town window shopping and strolling along the waterfront. After a lovely lunch at a local restaurant, we returned to the ship and simply relaxed.

Diane - Grand Cayman

That's when I caught sight of a yacht owned by Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen. The Tatoosh is nearly 300 feet long and comes equipped with just about everything, including its own helicopter. It reportedly cost Allen $160 million, but remarkably is not the largest of his yachts. Another, the Octopus, at 414 feet long is truly a mega-yacht. Octopus is the world's largest privately owned yacht and cost Allen $200 million back in 2003. It has a crew of 60 and sports two helicopters, one forward and one aft. And to think I spent several minutes in one Grand Cayman shop questioning whether I should buy one T-shirt or two. Apparently even Allen believes his two mega-yachts are one too many since he's put Tatoosh up for sale. If you're in the market, check out the details here.

Paul Allen's Tatoosh at anchor in Grand Cayman

I don't envy Paul Allen his wealth, but I do worry about where his salvation falls among his priorities. I suspect it would be very difficult to sail the Octopus, or even the Tatoosh, through the eye of a needle.


For me the highlight of the trip was a visit to the Mayan ruins at Coba on the Yucatan peninsula. Getting there involved a half-hour ferry ride from Cozumel to the mainland, and then an hour long bus ride to the ruins. Luis, our guide, is of Mayan descent and was able to provide interesting commentary along the way. After our arrival at the site, Luis led us on a one-mile forced march along a dirt road through the jungle. For someone who couldn't be over five feet tall, Luis could certainly walk fast.

Mayan Pyramid at Coba -- after my climb

The central edifice among the ruins is the great pyramid, reputed to be the site of human sacrifices of a truly horrific nature that involved heart removal and decapitation. We were told the Coba pyramid is the only Mayan pyramid visitors are still permitted to climb. Naturally I had to make the ascent. It wasn't as easy as it looks since it's quite steep and the steps are high, narrow and slippery, offering this aging body and its size-12 feet a definite challenge. The descent was actually scarier than the climb, but I was accompanied by a young Italian boy named Giacomo with whom I practiced my limited Italian. Like me, Giacomo was a bit anxious and so he and I encouraged each other and provided needed moral support on the way down: "Va bene, Giacomo, va bene."

About half-way up the pyramid

Another interesting ruin was the ball court, the site of highly competitive games with serious consequences. It seems the captain of the losing team would necessarily be sacrificed after his loss. I would guess the average Mayan preferred being a coach potato to an athlete.

The ball court where some very serious games were played

Skull-stone in floor of ball court -- added incentive to win

Since the infamous Mayan calendar ends on December 21, many people around the world apparently interpret this as a certain indication of an imminent, apocalyptic, world-ending calamity. I can say only that I encountered no eschatological signs during our visit. All was quiet and normal. Indeed, even the local vendors were busily selling rugs, onyx statues and other crafts, as well as snacks for our return bus ride. It would seem, then, that the Mayans themselves anticipate no catastrophe. And so when we returned home I saw no reason to delay putting up our Christmas decorations and buying gifts for the grandchildren.

Aren't you happy you weren't born in Yucatan 1,000 years ago? And happier still you don't have to worry about maintaining two mega-yachts? The very fact of our being is good, and we are all blessed by God in so many countless ways. Take some time today to thank Him for those blessings.

Pax et bonum...