Homily: Vigil, Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul

Note: I've already posted a homily for this solemnity (back in June of 2011), and this is pretty much the same homily, with only a few changes to reflect the differences in the readings between the Vigil Mass, at which I preached this past weekend, and the Sunday Mass, at which I preached in 2011. I've included it again because so many people have kindly contacted me about the earlier homily, asking if they could use it. Anyone can use any homily I post, anytime. And I don't care if I get credit. After all, the credit always goes to God, and homilies are supposed to shine the light of truth on the Word of God, not on the preacher. 

Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo ad gloriam. [Ps 115:1]

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Readings: Acts 3:1-10; Ps 19; Gal 1:11-20; Jn 21:15-19

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God calls us all to be saints, and for that very reason saints can really be irritating. After all, how can normal folks like you and I possibly become as holy as a Francis of Assisi or a Mother Teresa? How can we mirror the courage of the martyrs?

The saints set some very high standards, so high as to seem virtually unreachable.  And that can be pretty discouraging as we stumble along on our own journey of faith. Can we ever achieve the saintliness that God wants for each of us?

Quite simply, no. Because no one becomes a saint through his own efforts. It’s God who makes saints.

If you want evidence of this, of God’s saint-making handiwork, look at the two saints we honor today. Today is the Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul, the greatest of the Apostles, two men chosen by Jesus: one to lead His Church and the other to spread the Faith throughout the world. God could hardly have chosen two more different or unlikely men as these two.

Simon Peter, the callused, sun-burnt fisherman, a man of action, a rough and tumble blue-collar worker of first-century Galilee. A man full of bluster and passion, one who often spoke and acted before thinking. A seemingly simple and straightforward man, but beneath the surface, a complex man full of flaws.

Yes, he responded to Jesus' call, and yet often resisted the message and mission that went with it. He spent three years with Jesus listening to a message he didn't really comprehend. His faith underwent wild swings from deeply fervent to barely lukewarm. He could pledge undying loyalty to Jesus one day, then deny Him the next – a man who failed the test as often as he passed it. And yet Jesus chose this man, Simon Peter, this complex mix of human strength and weakness, to lead His Church.

Recall that day described by Matthew. The disciples, standing with Jesus under the rocky cliffs at Caesarea Philippi, are asked by the Lord: "And you, who do you say that I am?"[Mt 16:15]

Jesus, Peter at Caesarea Philippi

Only Peter dares to respond, openly proclaiming the revelation he’s received from the Father: "You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God." [Mt 16:16]

It’s to Peter alone that Jesus then turns and declares: "You are 'Rock,' and on this rock I will build my church." [Mt 16:18]

Commissioned by Jesus, he is first among the Apostles, the first Vicar of Christ, the first Pope, the one chosen to represent the entire church: "I will entrust to you the keys of the kingdom of heaven. Whatever you declare bound on earth shall be bound in heaven; whatever you declare loosed on earth shall be loosed in heaven." [Mt 16:19]

And then in today’s passage from John we join Peter and the apostles as they encounter the risen Jesus. And what an encounter it is, a breakfast of loaves and fishes prepared by Jesus Himself. They’re on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, where Jesus had made a charcoal fire, a fire not unlike that at which Peter had warmed himself in the high priest's courtyard the night Jesus was arrested. Here, by the fire, it’s Peter alone whom Jesus asks to confess his love, not once but three times. [Jn 21:15-19]

Risen Jesus and the Apostles at the Sea of Galilee (Jn 21)

Peter’s threefold response, each a sign of love and faith, brings forgiveness, allowing him to recapture what he lost when, overcome by fear, he turned his back on the Lord, denying Him three times. Peter now knows he is weak, so he puts everything in Christ's hands: "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you."

Jesus’ command, too, is threefold: "Feed my lambs…tend my sheep…feed my sheep." With these words, the earlier promise at Caesarea Philippi is fulfilled. Peter is singled out. He alone is given primacy. He becomes the shepherd of the entire flock, the universal church. And because "the jaws of death shall not prevail against" the church, Peter's authority is passed on to his successors down through history to our present day, even until the end of time.

Only weeks later, on that first Pentecost, we see a new Peter, no longer fearful but bursting with zeal to spread the Gospel and baptize – to teach, to preach, to heal. He is a man transformed by the Holy Spirit. Such is the Spirit’s power, the power of God's grace, that it turns weakness into strength, cowards into martyrs, fishermen into popes. Peter is the Rock, not because of Peter, but because of Jesus.

Peter, the ordinary man who went on to do extraordinary things for God, gives us more than an example to follow. He gives us, the ordinary men and women of today, that which we need more than anything else. He gives us hope. He reminds us of the greatness to which we are all called. But like Peter, we can realize that greatness only if we first humbly acknowledge our own emptiness and weakness before God.

In contrast to Peter, Paul was no ordinary man. He came from Tarsus, a Hellenized cosmopolitan city in Asia Minor, a center of culture, philosophy, and education – “no mean city” Paul called it [Acts 21:39].

An educated Jew and a Roman citizen, Paul was also a Pharisee, one of those legalistic nit-pickers so caught up in the minutia of Mosaic Law that they had lost any understanding of its spirit. "Hypocrites," Jesus called them, "A brood of vipers" [Mt 12:34]. Clearly the Pharisees were not high on His list of role-models.

Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls (Rome)

We first encounter Paul, then named Saul, in the book of Acts. He takes part in the execution of Stephen, the first Christian martyr -- and, I might add, a deacon -- by guarding the cloaks of those who cast the killing stones. A zealous persecutor of the early Christian Church, Paul seems a most unlikely candidate for sainthood. But with God all things are possible.

We all know of Paul's miraculous conversion when Jesus reveals Himself on the road to Damascus. Like Peter, Paul accepts Jesus only because he first recognizes the truth about himself. Indeed, his conversion is symbolized by the scales that cover his eyes and blind him...scales that are removed only when he enters the embrace of the Church.

Paul not only embraces the Church, he goes on to become the great evangelist, the Apostle to the Gentiles, spreading the Gospel throughout the Roman Empire. As the spiritual descendants of those 1st Century Gentiles, we owe Paul a debt of gratitude for our Christian faith.

But Paul knows that the glory for his work goes to God, for it is through God's grace that he was brought to the Truth, and it is God's grace that sustained him in his ministry. Recall today's second reading in which Paul admits:

“But when God, who from my mother’s womb had set me apart and called me through his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son to me, so that I might proclaim him to the Gentiles.” [Gal 1:15-16]

Yes, Jesus called these two men, made them saints, and gave them to the Church: Peter who had been Simon and Paul who had been Saul.

Peter the fisherman, the small-town Galilean Jew. Paul the Pharisee, the scholar of the Law.

Peter always conscious of the Faith's Old Testament roots, and Paul who found in Christ, "all things new" [Rev 21:5].

Peter who had lived and walked with Jesus. Paul who encountered Him outside of time itself on the road to Damascus.

Peter and Paul in Rome. Peter in chains. Paul imprisoned.

Peter crucified on an inverted cross because he felt unworthy to die as His Lord had died. Paul martyred by the sword, as befit a citizen of Rome.

Two very different men, and yet their message and their example of total abandonment to God's Will go out through all the earth.

Then and now.

To Him be glory forever and ever.

A Comment on Comments

If you submit a comment to one of my posts, I'm happy to include it, but I have a few basic rules:

1. Anonymous comments will not be approved. If you're not willing to take ownership of your comment, I see no reason to include it. I don't even read anonymous comments before deleting them.

2. I will not approve comments containing profanity or other language I consider unacceptable. I get to decide the latter...After all it's my blog.

3. Occasionally a reader will submit a comment dripping with invective. I won't approve these either.

That's it.

Monument to Gavrilo Princip?

Among the people mentioned in my most recent post was Gavrilo Princip, the Bosnian Serb assassin who murdered Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary and his pregnant wife, Sophie, as they rode through Sarajevo in an open car on June 28, 1914. I suppose part of my purpose was to highlight certain coincidences in time, how personal and historic events often coincide. Well, another strange but related event has arisen. Moments ago I read that on Saturday, the 100th anniversary of the Sarajevo assassination, the Serbs in that city unveiled a monument to Princip, the man who triggered (literally) World War One and it's 16 million deaths. He was also at least indirectly responsible for bringing us the subsequent horrors that wracked the 20th century. 

Assassination of Franz Ferdinand and Sophie

Below is a photograph of a Serbian actor posing as Princip, pistol in hand, and standing in front of the newly erected statue of the young assassin. A bizarre, tasteless charade, but rather typical of what one can expect these days.

Honoring the Assassin

Apparently the Serbs consider Princip a hero of sorts, something I find more than a little disturbing. Just imagine the people of Richmond erecting a statue of John Wilkes Booth in 1965, a hundred years after the Lincoln assassination. Personally, I can't imagine it. 

Anyhow, in Sarajevo at the statue's dedication, Nebojsa Radmanovic, the Serb leader of the Bosnia-Herzegovina government, gave quite a tribute to Princip:

"Today, we have Gavrilo in East Sarajevo, a revolutionary, a man who to us, is one century of hope. We remember the Young Bosnia members and Gavrilo Princip proudly...Gavrilo Princip’s shot was a shot for freedom. His shot was a prelude to what some Europeans had prepared for years, and Serbs finished the war as winners. We remember Mlada Bosna and Gavrilo Princip with pride."

Gavrilo Princip

Yes, indeed, strange words of praise for the murderer of an empire's presumptive heir and his pregnant wife. And yet given the brutal ethnic cleansing carried out in the 1990s by the Serbs in Bosnia, in which over 100,000 were slaughtered, I suppose one can expect little more. Although the Serbs in Sarajevo celebrated Princip's marksmanship, across town the Bosnian Muslims and Catholic Croats were far less enthusiastic.

Another interesting side note is that Yugoslavia, Lebanon and Iraq, among others, were artificial, patchwork nations, poorly manufactured by the Europeans at the conclusion of World War One. One can only suppose that the problems that have plagued each of these nations in recent decades are just a manifestation of the law of unintended consequences. How foolish we humans are when we trust in ourselves.

Endings and Beginnings, Life and Death

Mom...R.N.

Today, June 28, is my mother's birthday. Martha Catherine McCarthy, née Cavanaugh, was born 105 years ago in Fairfield, Connecticut. She died far too young at the age of 67 and is buried on Cape Cod next to my father, John McCarthy, and my brother, Jeff, in Chatham, Massachusetts. Mom was a wonderful, faith-filled woman, a woman of tremendous patience and empathy who always seemed to know exactly what to say and do to ease the hurts and pain of others. The youngest of eight children, she hadn't yet entered her teens when her mother died, leaving her, until her father remarried, as the "woman of the house." I suspect she grew up quickly. Mom went on to graduate from nursing school and worked as an RN for several years before she and my father married on July 4, 1935. No day passes when I don't think of her. She is always with me, reminding me in her quiet way of what is right. Sometimes I actually listen.

Franz Ferdinand and Sophie

Back when I was in high school, I came home one afternoon all excited about a fact I had come across in my tenth-grade World History class: "Hey, Mom, did you know that Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated on your birthday?"

"Yes," she said, "I'm well aware of that. I was just a little girl at the time, only five"

"Do you remember it?"

"Just vaguely. I remember my father saying something about the 'stupid Europeans' but I don't think he or many others thought it would lead to war."

So ended the conversation. Both of my maternal grandparents had immigrated from Ireland and I expect they were happy to forget about all things European.

Memory's an interesting thing. Because of its connection to my mother's birthday, I've always known the date of that fateful event that occurred in 1914, one-hundred years ago today. The assassination of the archduke and his wife, Sophie, in faraway Sarajevo meant far more than the tragic deaths of two of Europe's royals. It not only put into motion the chain of events that led to World War One, but also precipitated the global insanity that made the 20th century the bloodiest in human history. Hitler's National Socialism, Mussolini's odd brand of Italian fascism, and the Communist slavery of Lenin and Stalin all grew out of this horrendous war. And yes, "the war to end all wars," the war that would "make the world safe for democracy," did neither but instead gave us an even more horrendous global war. 

Interestingly, although that first war ended with an armistice on November 11, 1918 -- at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month -- it wasn't officially over until the grossly irresponsible Treaty of Versailles was signed, interestingly on June 28, 1919, exactly five years after the Sarajevo assassination. This was also my mom's tenth birthday, a day I'm sure she remembered more clearly than the earlier date.

Yes, life and death often coincide on the calendar. Gavrilo Princip, the Bosnian Serb who assassinated the archduke and his wife, was born on July 25, 1894, exactly 105 years before the birth of my eldest grandchild, Pedro Santa Ana, who will celebrate his 13th birthday in a few weeks. The young assassin -- He was only 19 at the time -- died in prison of tuberculosis several months before the end of the war brought about by his actions.

Noor Inayat Khan

About 20 years ago, maybe a little more, I came across a book in a used book store in Norfolk, Virginia. Tucked away on a shelf labeled "Military History", it bore the intriguing but cryptic title, Noor-un-nisa Inayat Khan (Madeline). After flipping through its pages, I bought the book for all of three dollars. Once I began reading I couldn't put it down and finally finished it late that evening. 

I was captivated by the subject of this true story about a remarkably brave young woman. It was the story of Noor Inayat Khan, an Indian-born, Sufi Muslim who volunteered as an undercover agent for the British Special Operations Executive during World War Two. In June of 1943 she was flown to a secret landing site in France. For the next four months she worked with the French resistance radioing critical information back to London. While in Paris, she was betrayed to the Germans and captured in October 1943. She underwent a month of vicious interrogation during which she revealed nothing. Labeled an "extremely dangerous prisoner," she was sent to Germany where she was imprisoned for months in solitary confinement with her hands and feet shackled. Eventually Noor was sent to Dachau and summarily executed along with three other female undercover agents captured by the Germans: Yolande Beekman, Elaine Plewman and Madeleine Damerment.Their bodies were burned in the camp's crematorium.

Crematoria at Dachau

It was then I discovered that all four women were executed on the day I was born, September 13, 1944. I found this particularly interesting since I had actually visited Dachau with my family in the fall of 1951. Although I was just seven years old at the time, that visit made a lasting impression on me, especially the crematoria. Now, years later, I can't celebrate a birthday without thinking of this brave woman and her three companions whose lives ended just as mine was beginning.

Life and death, beginnings and endings -- every ending, every death brings a new beginning, new life. 

Western Trip Part 5: Everything Grand

I've stepped away from writing about our recent road trip to the West Coast simply because this past week has been so very busy. I've had to teach a couple of day-long courses for the diocese, programs that demanded a lot of preparation. I also came down with some sort of flu that put me in bed for a day of two. But that's all behind me now so I've decided to finish my little blog-based travelogue.

After leaving picturesque Barstow we made our way east, headed for Flagstaff, Arizona. We checked into another dog-friendly La Quinta Inn and because the day was still young, decided to make the one-hour drive north to Grand Canyon National Park.

As senior citizens we can take advantage of what is surely the best deal in America. For the remarkable sum of $10 a senior citizen can purchase a lifetime pass that lets one enter any national park free of charge. Actually, everyone in the car is covered by this little magic pass, so it is truly a great deal. Many parks charge entrance fees upwards of $20 or $25 per car. If you're interested, or if you know someone who is at least 62 years old, here's a link to the online application: Senior Pass. You can also purchase the pass at any national park.

When we arrived at the park's south rim visitors center the first interesting encounter involved several elk strolling through the parking lot. I'm fairly certain this was the first time I'd met up with elk in these circumstances so naturally I snapped a bunch of photos. Maddie was very excited to see these large critters which I suspect she assumed were just big dogs.

An elk at Grand Canyon National Park

We spent the next few hours marveling at the canyon itself. It is too magnificent to describe and indeed looks almost unreal as one stands on its edge trying to take it all in. Because it was a weekday in mid-May (children still in school), the expected crowds were manageable, but I was surprised that well over half the tourists were Chinese. Most were in large groups that had arrived in tour buses. They all seemed very impressed with the canyon and I did my part to aid our floundering State Department by volunteering to take several group pictures. I have yet to receive a single word of thanks from Secretary Kerry. (Photos of our visit follow,)

Dear Diane, Maddie and I at the South Rim

Grand Canyon View

Grand Canyon View

Grand Canyon View

Grand Canyon View

Grand Canyon View

Grand Canyon View

The next morning we rose early and drove south along one of the most scenic roads in America, SR 179,  which runs through the magnificent Oak Creek Canyon and leads to the beautiful town of Sedona. In Sedona we had breakfast at a terrific restaurant, Ken's Creekside Cafe, where we were seated on their patio so Maddie could join us. After breakfast we drove around town a bit, before retracing our drive back to Flagstaff and from there continued our eastward trek headed for Santa Fe, New Mexico.

View in Oak Creek Canyon

View near Sedona, Arizona

Sedona, Arizona

Lovely Navajo vendor - bought a pot from her

Along the way, just west of Winslow, Arizona, a town made famous by The Eagles in their 1972 song, "Take It Easy," we stopped to see the even more famous Meteor Crater a few miles south of I-40. I've stopped there at least three times in the past -- I just can't resist the place -- and the kind and loving Diane always humors me and let's me pay the exorbitant entrance fee so I can take more photos of this giant, mile-wide hole in the ground. It's actually quite impressive and makes one grateful that this large meteorite struck in the Arizona desert thousands of years ago and not in central Florida today.

Meteor Crater

Meteor Crater

Leaving the crater behind we soon crossed the border into New Mexico. Along the way we made another brief stop, this time in Thoreau, New Mexico, which happens to be the home of St. Bonaventure Indian Mission and School where our elder daughter, Erin, worked as a teacher back in the 1990s. Erin thoroughly enjoyed her time there teaching Native American children. As I recall most of the students were Navajo and Apache. While I snapped a few photos of the school we met one of the teachers who's been at the school since the 1990s and thought she was probably Erin's replacement. Visit their website and support the work of this wonderful school by donating a few dollars.

St. Bonaventure Indian Mission and School, Thoreau, NM

St. Bonaventure Indian Mission and School, Thoreau, NM

St. Bonaventure Indian Mission and School, Thoreau, NM

In Santa Fe we stayed at another pleasant, dog-accommodating hotel, the Santa Fe Sage Inn. It had been a long day, so we grabbed a bite to eat and turned in early. We spent the next morning walking about in downtown Santa Fe. We stopped by a few art galleries, spent a quiet moment on the patio of a lovely little coffee shop, brought a couple of souvenirs at a sidewalk market, and then made our way to the Loretto Chapel and it's spectacular and very famous spiral staircase. Read the story of this seemingly miraculous staircase on the chapel's website: Loretto Chapel.

Morning coffee with Diane and Maddie

Silhouette of Sculptures atop a Sante Fe building

Unique Santa Fe tour guide

Native American crafts for sale in the Plaza

Locals chillin' in the Plaza

Loretto Chapel, Santa Fe

Amazing Staircase in the Loretto Chapel

After Santa Fe Dear Diane and I decided we'd had a wonderful time on this trip across the USA, but it was now time to go home. Poor Maddie, too, was beginning to get a bit punchy after three weeks on the road. We therefore stayed on the interstate highways and put the pedal to the metal. We did no more sightseeing and were home two days later.

So endeth the trip.

G. K. Chesterton, RIP

The great -- and I don't apply that word to people too often -- G. K. Chesterton died 78 years ago on this date in 1936. A convert to Catholicism, Chesterton can be counted among the most influential writers of his time. He was also a brilliant apologist for orthodox Christianity, a man who never tired of sharing the joy he experienced in being a child of God. A remarkably prolific writer, he authored dozens of books, both fiction and non-fiction, some truly wonderful poetry, and hundreds, perhaps thousands, of articles on almost every subject imaginable. Everything and everybody interested Chesterton. His friends ran the gamut of political and religious belief, which provided him with many opportunities to exercise the art of argument. But with Chesterton arguments were always an enjoyable experience, a chance to attack ideas but never the people who held them. An argument with Chesterton never turned into a quarrel.

I began reading Chesterton while still in my teens, after coming across some of his books in our home library (Thanks, Dad.), and I'm still reading him today, fifty years later. If you're not familiar with G. K. Chesterton, or if you've never read him, I suggest you take advantage of the recent resurgence of interest in him and his work. Indeed, for some time now Ignatius Press has been publishing his collected works, a project that will result in upwards of forty large volumes. This same press also publishes many of his more popular books in separate editions. Here's a link based on a search on their website: Chesterton on Ignatius Press. If you'd like a starting point, read Orthodoxy, or The Everlasting Man, or even some of his many Father Brown mysteries. I also suggest reading his insightful biographies of St. Thomas Aquinas and St. Francis of Assisi. 

Through his writings Gilbert Keith Chesterton has made my life a lot brighter and certainly more interesting than it would have been without him. Oh, yes, lest I forget...Last year his cause for sainthood was opened when Bishop Peter Doyle of Northampton, England, gave the go-ahead to begin the process. You can read about it here and here.

God bless GKC.

JFK Funeral, a Postscript

I received an email today from a friend who had read yesterday's post. He asked if I could pass along the words of one of the hymns our Naval Academy Catholic Choir sang on the White House lawn during JFK's funeral. He was particularly interested in the hymn, Above the Hills of Time the Cross Is Gleaming, which is sung to the tune of Londonderry Air. Londonderry Air is perhaps more widely recognized as the music of Danny Boy. 

[An interesting note, though: the words to Danny Boy, considered by many of us who are of Irish descent to be a true Irish ballad, was actually written in Bath, England by Frederic Weatherly, an English lawyer. And even more disheartening to us Catholics with roots in the Republic of Ireland, the tune -- Londonderry Air -- originated in County Londonderry now in Northern Ireland and is often played as the victory anthem of Northern Ireland. The tune has a rather complex history and is used as the music for the lyrics of well over a dozen songs.]

Anyway, here are the requested lyrics to the hymn we sung at the request of Mrs. Kennedy:

Above the hills of time the cross is gleaming,
Fair as the sun when night has turned to day;
And from it love’s pure light is richly streaming,
To cleanse the heart and banish sin away.
To this dear cross the eyes of men are turning,
Today as in the ages lost to sight;
And for Thee, O Christ, men’s hearts are yearning,
As shipwrecked seamen yearn for morning light.

The cross, O Christ, Thy wondrous love revealing,
Awakes our hearts as with the light of morn,
And pardon o’er our sinful spirits stealing,
Tells us that we, in Thee, have been reborn.
Like echoes to sweet temple bells replying
Our hearts, O Lord, make answer to Thy love;
And we will love Thee with a love undying,
Till we are gathered to Thy home above.

These beautiful lyrics were written by Thomas Tiplady, an English Methodist minister who was also a prolific writer of hymns. Born in 1882, he served as a chaplain in the trenches during the worst days of World War One and died many years later in 1967.

While I'm at it, I might as well include the lyrics to another hymn we sang that day. It happens to be one of my favorites, the Navy Hymn, or Eternal Father, Strong to Save. As I recall, because of time constraints, we sang only the first verse, but I might well have forgotten some of the details of that morning. It was, after all, over 50 years ago. As a naval aviator, I have always appreciated the third verse I've included below:

Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea! 

O Trinity of love and power!
Our brethren shield in danger's hour;
From rock and tempest, fire and foe,
Protect them wheresoe'er they go;
Thus evermore shall rise to Thee
Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.

Lord, guard and guide the men who fly
Through the great spaces in the sky.
Be with them always in the air,
In darkening storms or sunlight fair;
Oh, hear us when we lift our prayer,
For those in peril in the air!  

Here's a video of the Naval Academy Men's Glee Club, singing Eternal Father during a 2008 concert in San Antonio, Texas.I, too, was a member of the Glee Club, although several decades earlier.

 

As I said yesterday, that day in 1963 was a sad day for the entire nation, and a day I will never forget.

God's peace...