6th Week of Easter
May 19, 2020
Acts 16: 22-34Provincial House, New Rochelle, N.Y.
This homily also
takes note of priestly anniversaries occurring in these days, including your
humble blogger’s on this date.
“The crowd in Philippi joined in the attack
on Paul and Silas” (Acts 16: 22).
When we left our 2 heroes yesterday, they’d
just made a promising start at evangelizing Philippi, an important Roman colony
in the Greek region of Macedonia—their 1st step in bringing the Good News to
Europe (Acts 16:11-15).
The lectionary skips the passage that
follows (16:16-21), in which our apostles managed to get into trouble. Paul cast a demon out of a slave girl. Since the demon used the girl to tell
fortunes and so earned money for her owners, they were angry about the demon’s
departure, and with it their income. (No
sympathy, obviously, for the plight of that 1st-century victim of human
trafficking.) So they instigated an
anti-Jewish riot, identifying Paul and Silas as the chief culprits. Our reading today resumes the story.
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In 2 Corinthians Paul asserts his apostolic
bona fides by listing what he’s suffered on account of his preaching: imprisonments, floggings, the ineffective
stoning at Lystra that was recounted last Tuesday, shipwrecks, perilous river
crossings, dodging bandits, dealing with hunger and thirst, heat and cold, and
always facing obstinate opponents: Jews,
Gentiles, and those he labels “false apostles.”
Today’s episode at Philippi tells of just one of those beatings and
imprisonments. Paul gladly suffered all
these pains for the sake of the Gospel, for a share in Christ’s cross and in
hope of a share in Christ’s glory.
We remember the warning Mama Margaret gave
her newly ordained son: “to begin to say
Mass is to begin to suffer.”[1] “Begin to say Mass,” of course, sums up the
whole priestly ministry. Where did that
unschooled peasant woman come by such insight?
Probably by her shrewd observance of the country priests she knew in
Capriglio, Castelnuovo, and the rest of the neighborhood.
Today’s the 42d anniversary of the
ordination class of 1978, of whom Frs. Steve Dumais, Jack Janko, John Puntino,
Ken Shaw, Roy Shelly, and yours truly are still around, while Jon Parks suffered
and went prematurely to the Salesian Garden.[2]
A look at the community calendar reveals
that we have 8 other anniversaries in these days: Fr. Rich yesterday, Fr. Dennis on Thursday, Frs.
John and Tom on Friday, Fr. Dominic on
Sunday, Frs. Dave and Tim on the 26th, and Fr. Gus on the 28th.
How do priests share in the cross of our
Lord, as Mama Margaret so wisely understood?
How do they share in the sufferings and toils of Paul, Silas, and the
other apostles? Not from physical
beatings or prison (in this part of the world), or from shipwrecks (except
maybe for Fr. Dennis[3]). But all of us could tell our own tales.
We’ve celebrated Mass when not feeling well
or after a short nite’s sleep, or when conscripted at the last minute. We’ve spent hours in uncomfortable
confessionals. We’ve answered sick calls
in the middle of the nite. We’ve made emotionally
draining rounds of visits to the hospitalized, the homebound, and the grieving. We’ve been verbal punching bags for every
parishioner or parent with a gripe against the Church—and sometimes from
complete strangers. We’ve been looked at
askance, perhaps verbally abused, because of the failings of other
priests. We’ve borne the sufferings,
worries, and losses that our students, parishioners, and families have entrusted
to us. We’ve had misunderstandings and
disputes with other clergy, parish councils, school boards, even
provincials. One online column I read
recently, and now can’t locate for the life of me, stated that in the mystery
of sacramental Reconciliation, in the mystery of being alter Christus,
who bore our sins to the cross, confessors take on the sins and atonement of
their penitents.
On the other hand, can we imagine the joy
of Paul and Silas as they revealed the Lord Jesus to their jailer and his
family and baptized them? Yes, we can
imagine, because as priests—and Bro. Bernie knows this too—we’ve been
privileged to share sacramental joy with so many students, parishioners,
friends, and family members. How many
times has someone said to us after a homily or liturgical celebration, “That
really touched me,” or “That was just what I needed right now”?—and we know it
wasn’t our work but the Holy Spirit flowing thru us, like that living water
Jesus promised to the Samaritan woman (John 4:10).
We
can truly praise God along with the psalmist (138:1-2,8):
I
will give thanks to you, O Lord, with all my heart,for you have heard the words of my mouth;
I will worship at your holy temple,
and give thanks to your name.
Because of your kindness and your truth,
you have made great above all things
your name and your promise.
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