Holy Thursday 2012
As we celebrate the institution of the Eucharist, let us remind ourselves of the two main dynamics at work in the world we inhabit. They are opposite to each other, and we live in the tension between them. If one of them gains the upper hand, our lives are impoverished, even made impossible. We strive to turn that tension into a harmony, but often fail in our effort.
One dynamic leads us to fly apart, to move away from the centre and to establish our own individual identity and happiness. The other dynamic leads us to come together, to form community, to commune with each other. Both are essential: strong communities are made up of individuals who have found their own way in life and who rejoice in their own uniqueness; but if there is no community, each one of us becomes an island unto itself, isolated, and ultimately unhappy and unfulfilled.
Two expressions of this dynamic are found in the founding documents of the United States and Canada. The US trilogy is “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”. The Canadian trilogy is “peace, order, and good government”. And many of the political battles going on both sides of the border have to do with the tension between these two.
The problem we face in our day is that the first dynamic is permeating our culture, our way of thinking and acting. The media advocate a world in which each individual is able to achieve his or her goals without any sacrifice, any need to consider the needs of others and to work together with them in a harmonious way. The fulfillment presented to us as an ideal is empty, hollow. Some people achieve this kind of fulfillment, but on the backs of others, and they eventually find out that the victory they have won is not worth winning. This is evidenced by addiction, drugs, and at times suicide, even among people who in the eyes of our culture have made it. A key ingredient is missing from their lives.
Fortunately the second dynamic is at work in the world as well: many people come together to form communities, coalitions, networks, and they find their own fulfillment and identity in reaching out to others, helping them as best they can. They struggle, at times their lives and their networks are messy and ambiguous, but they play an essential role in keeping the world balanced.
Both dynamics are at work in our parish. We want parishioners who are strong, confident, secure in their own identity, but we also want parishioners who are able to forget themselves and their own prerogatives and reach out to help others. Without the first dynamic, there is no new energy to harness as we try to build community; without the second, we have prima donnas who are determined to get their own way and to shape everything according to their own views. In both cases you end up with inertia and impasse.
Our parish is part of the ambient culture, which means that the first dynamic, the one in which we fly apart and become isolated from each other, needs to be kept in check and the second developed more strongly.
The Eucharist, the institution of which we celebrate today, is the way God provides for the building of community in our world. The energy of the Eucharist builds a community made up of strong individuals. When we eat the food that is set before us each day, we transform this food into ourselves, and we thereby foster our own individual well-being. When we come up to receive communion, we partake of a food which does the exact opposite. Instead of our transforming the eucharistic food and drink into ourselves, that food and drink transforms us into itself. It is the bread of everlasting life, the wine of joy without end, the bread and wine of the banquet of the world to come in which God and we sit down together and share a meal at God’s table. So rather than the food becoming our body, we become and are built into the body of Christ which we receive. The body of Christ is not simply the risen body of a certain individual, Jesus Christ: the body of Christ includes all of us. We are all members of the body of Christ, we are members of one another, we are in profound solidarity with every member of the human race for which Jesus died on the cross.
This means that when we line up to receive communion, we receive not only the body of the individual risen Jesus Christ, but we receive one another because we are members of his risen body and in his body of each other. We do not only touch each other, reach out to each other – as for example in the washing of the feet which Jesus models for us today – but we eat each other. This we do not in a cannibalistic sense but in a spiritual sense: we become part of one another in an intimate spiritual sense that goes beyond the closest union which human beings can achieve on their own. This is not a mere symbol but a reality in the full sense of the word.
Does this mean that we become some kind of communal ant-hill in which our own individual selves are flattened out and we are interchangeable cogs in a machine, with no unique characteristics? No. If we study chapter 12 of Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians, each one of us is unique, has unique gifts, is called to forms of service that are unique. But we are unique in an interdependent way in which the uniqueness of each strengthens all, and we form one body. The tension between becoming our unique selves, and coming together in community can be resolved, as we see in this beautiful reflection of Paul.
This mystery we celebrate today is a mystery of faith. We are surrounded by the tensions and struggles of the present world, and those struggles and tensions are within us as well. We feel them deeply. Still we believe that when we receive communion we are receiving the food of the world to come promised by Jesus, the world we hope for beyond this life, the world in which all is in all as Jesus brings the Kingdom to the Father. In the Eucharist the world to come has established a beach-head in our world which is passing. The energy of the Eucharist is already at work in our world, even if we do not perceive it clearly.
This is the inestimable grace which we receive when we receive communion. God has provided for us in a way that is beyond our hope and our own imagining. The Eucharist is food is to be received not casually, routinely, but with a deep sense of thanksgiving and an openness to the ways in which God wants to transform our lives as individuals who struggle to build community, whether in our families, in our parish, in our work-place, or in the world as a whole. Let us be deeply thankful for this energy of the world to come already unleashed in our midst, in a world with its joys and sorrows, its achievements and heartaches, marked by many tensions and tragedies. The final word is that of Jesus. The peaceful energy of his love will absorb and transform the evil that surrounds us, and bring us into a place of fulfillment and communion with God and with one another.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Speaking with real authority
Homily for the Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B 2012
“They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.” Any number of people can get up in front of a crowd and put on the trappings of authority, claiming truth for their message. In some cases the reaction will be immediate: this is an impostor, this person is suffering from delusions, from megalomania. The audience will turn away and not listen. In other cases they will listen, but not recognize that the spellbinding person before them is a fraud, beset with deep psychological problems, and they are carried away, often with terrible consequences. Just think of Hitler or of many contemporary dictators who manage to fool their people at least until they wake up and realize that they have been living in a nightmare.
But in the case of Jesus, there was a sense among the crowds that his authority was genuine. His words deserved to be heeded. “What is this? A new teaching – with authority!”. They were puzzled, their universe was being turned upside down because of what Jesus was advocating, many of them eventually rejected him, but they sensed his authority.
In this Gospel passage his authority is proven by the fact that he is able to command the unclean spirits and they obey him. The crowds are amazed. They know that there is something powerful and without precedent in what Jesus is saying and doing.
But there are many other instances of Jesus projecting a sense of authority. He reads the beautiful passage of Isaiah in the synagogue of Capernaum, which begins “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me” and tells them in no uncertain terms that those words are being realized in his person. He says to the crowds: you have heard it said, referring to the many convoluted interpretations of the law proposed by the scribes and pharisees, but I say to you, speaking on his own authority, speaking words that are direct, compassionate, challenging, full of wisdom. We normally finish our prayers with AMEN, which is a word by which we agree and make our own what the prayer has expressed. Often Jesus begins his words with AMEN: Amen, Amen, I say to you. He is not agreeing with something else’ authority. The AMEN, the sense of trust and reliability is grounded in his own person. Another instance: to prove his claim that he can forgive sins, he cures the paralytic. There are many similar Gospel scenes.
Where does this authority come from? Of course being who he is, the Son of God from all eternity, he spontaneously speaks as God would speak, but without drawing attention to his prerogatives. He doesn’t tell people ahead of time that he is divine. He speaks in human terms and lets his words speak for themselves.
If we go to the first reading, we find another source of his authority. He has authority because he listens to God his Father. The prophet which Moses predicted is to speak in the name of God, to speak the words that God commands him. In other words his authority to speak as a human being is enhanced by listening to God his Father and being attuned to the movements of the Holy Spirit, as Jesus did during his human journey. It is not for nothing that Jesus spent long hours in private prayer, often on a mountain top apart from his disciples. This is a secret source of his authority.
Listening to God, but also listening to other human beings. A younger person can try to put on the mantle of authority and speak of things which he or she has not really experienced, and those of us who are older will see through him. An older person who has heard, seen, experienced life over many decades, who has rejoiced, who has suffered, who has shared in the joy and suffering of others, does have something to say. This helps us explain why Jesus spent most of his life hidden away in Nazareth, living the life of his village, learning a trade. He could have been out there preaching, but he needed to learn the lessons of life enough that when he opened his mouth during his public ministry, people would readily recognize that he knew what he was talking about.
None of us has the authority to speak as Jesus spoke. But in the lives we lead within our families and our communities there are times where we are called upon to take on the mantle of authoritative speech and to say something that comes from deep within our hearts and is meant to make a difference in the lives of others.
How can we prepare ourselves for this role of authority? Like Jesus we must listen, we must observe, we must learn what is going on around us. Above all we must listen to God in prayer, to be enlightened by him, to receive the promptings of his Spirit that invite us to speak a powerful word. Otherwise our words will have only the trappings of authority; they will at best be harmless and without impact and at worst cause much damage.
Does all this listening mean that we are subservient? No. Look at the example of Jesus. He was in constant contact with His Father and he spoke the words the Father wanted him to speak. But in doing that he spoke with his own power, his own authority, his own conviction. He made his own all he had heard and observed and the ensuing words came from him.
Likewise with us. Many speak with arrogance, with self-sufficiency, with false self-confidence : listen to the debates going on right now in the endless political season south of the border, and you might catch some of this going on. Others like to protect themselves with appeals to the authority of others. Their speech is studded with references and quotations. Rather than demonstrating authority, this demonstrates insecurity. We seek for that middle space where we are able to make our own what we have heard and reflected on stand by it with confidence. This is my role as preacher. I could launch out on my own with no reference to the Gospel and the teaching of the Church and you would soon realize that I am a fraud. I could cover my traces with one papal document after another, and you would get the sense that I am overly careful and maybe trying to impress. I try to find a middle space where I am both totally receptive and docile and totally confident and authoritative.
This is your role in many areas of life. How to find that middle space. That is the question. The example for all of us is Jesus who listened in depth and compassion to what others had to say, but who spoke with authority when his turn came. Let us follow his example, and hear his words, allowing them to change our lives.
“They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.” Any number of people can get up in front of a crowd and put on the trappings of authority, claiming truth for their message. In some cases the reaction will be immediate: this is an impostor, this person is suffering from delusions, from megalomania. The audience will turn away and not listen. In other cases they will listen, but not recognize that the spellbinding person before them is a fraud, beset with deep psychological problems, and they are carried away, often with terrible consequences. Just think of Hitler or of many contemporary dictators who manage to fool their people at least until they wake up and realize that they have been living in a nightmare.
But in the case of Jesus, there was a sense among the crowds that his authority was genuine. His words deserved to be heeded. “What is this? A new teaching – with authority!”. They were puzzled, their universe was being turned upside down because of what Jesus was advocating, many of them eventually rejected him, but they sensed his authority.
In this Gospel passage his authority is proven by the fact that he is able to command the unclean spirits and they obey him. The crowds are amazed. They know that there is something powerful and without precedent in what Jesus is saying and doing.
But there are many other instances of Jesus projecting a sense of authority. He reads the beautiful passage of Isaiah in the synagogue of Capernaum, which begins “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me” and tells them in no uncertain terms that those words are being realized in his person. He says to the crowds: you have heard it said, referring to the many convoluted interpretations of the law proposed by the scribes and pharisees, but I say to you, speaking on his own authority, speaking words that are direct, compassionate, challenging, full of wisdom. We normally finish our prayers with AMEN, which is a word by which we agree and make our own what the prayer has expressed. Often Jesus begins his words with AMEN: Amen, Amen, I say to you. He is not agreeing with something else’ authority. The AMEN, the sense of trust and reliability is grounded in his own person. Another instance: to prove his claim that he can forgive sins, he cures the paralytic. There are many similar Gospel scenes.
Where does this authority come from? Of course being who he is, the Son of God from all eternity, he spontaneously speaks as God would speak, but without drawing attention to his prerogatives. He doesn’t tell people ahead of time that he is divine. He speaks in human terms and lets his words speak for themselves.
If we go to the first reading, we find another source of his authority. He has authority because he listens to God his Father. The prophet which Moses predicted is to speak in the name of God, to speak the words that God commands him. In other words his authority to speak as a human being is enhanced by listening to God his Father and being attuned to the movements of the Holy Spirit, as Jesus did during his human journey. It is not for nothing that Jesus spent long hours in private prayer, often on a mountain top apart from his disciples. This is a secret source of his authority.
Listening to God, but also listening to other human beings. A younger person can try to put on the mantle of authority and speak of things which he or she has not really experienced, and those of us who are older will see through him. An older person who has heard, seen, experienced life over many decades, who has rejoiced, who has suffered, who has shared in the joy and suffering of others, does have something to say. This helps us explain why Jesus spent most of his life hidden away in Nazareth, living the life of his village, learning a trade. He could have been out there preaching, but he needed to learn the lessons of life enough that when he opened his mouth during his public ministry, people would readily recognize that he knew what he was talking about.
None of us has the authority to speak as Jesus spoke. But in the lives we lead within our families and our communities there are times where we are called upon to take on the mantle of authoritative speech and to say something that comes from deep within our hearts and is meant to make a difference in the lives of others.
How can we prepare ourselves for this role of authority? Like Jesus we must listen, we must observe, we must learn what is going on around us. Above all we must listen to God in prayer, to be enlightened by him, to receive the promptings of his Spirit that invite us to speak a powerful word. Otherwise our words will have only the trappings of authority; they will at best be harmless and without impact and at worst cause much damage.
Does all this listening mean that we are subservient? No. Look at the example of Jesus. He was in constant contact with His Father and he spoke the words the Father wanted him to speak. But in doing that he spoke with his own power, his own authority, his own conviction. He made his own all he had heard and observed and the ensuing words came from him.
Likewise with us. Many speak with arrogance, with self-sufficiency, with false self-confidence : listen to the debates going on right now in the endless political season south of the border, and you might catch some of this going on. Others like to protect themselves with appeals to the authority of others. Their speech is studded with references and quotations. Rather than demonstrating authority, this demonstrates insecurity. We seek for that middle space where we are able to make our own what we have heard and reflected on stand by it with confidence. This is my role as preacher. I could launch out on my own with no reference to the Gospel and the teaching of the Church and you would soon realize that I am a fraud. I could cover my traces with one papal document after another, and you would get the sense that I am overly careful and maybe trying to impress. I try to find a middle space where I am both totally receptive and docile and totally confident and authoritative.
This is your role in many areas of life. How to find that middle space. That is the question. The example for all of us is Jesus who listened in depth and compassion to what others had to say, but who spoke with authority when his turn came. Let us follow his example, and hear his words, allowing them to change our lives.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
King of Darkness and King of Light
Homily for Epiphany 2012
Trained as I am in the spirituality of St. Ignatius Loyola, when beginning my prayer on scriptural texts, such as the ones for this celebration, I will take account of all the persons present in the text. Today’s Gospel is rich in personages: the Christ Child, Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, unless they had already gone back to their fields, the hidden presence of God the Father and of the Holy Spirit. One question remains: how many kings were there? We can find the first two very easily: Jesus is acknowledged as King, worthy of homage and adoration. There is his dark counterpart, King Herod, who wanted him dead.
Are there any more kings than that? Our attention turns to the wise men. We presume that there were three of them because there were three gifts, but we do not know that for sure. They come from the east and are enshrouded in mystery. The term used for them in the greek text is Magi, which we translate as wise men. They could have been astronomers, astrologers, interested in unusual confluences of stars and planets in the sky; they could have been scholars who had some knowledge about the sacred texts and customs of various religions, and noticed the predictions that there would be a newborn king of the Jews. They were also seen as kings, as in the well-known hymn “We three kings of orient are.” They could have been all of these. The beauty of the Gospel story is that it stimulates our imagination.
Herod and Jesus are certainly kings, and the contrast between them is stark. This contrast is described in the first reading of today’s mass, in which we hear:
“For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you.”
These words have come true time and time again. They were true at the time of Jesus. The Roman Empire was a mighty political and military machine. Peoples were beaten down, exploited. Today we complain about violations of human rights; in that time there were no human rights. You will readily notice in the New Testament the struggle of the Jewish people under the Roman thumb. They were desperate for a messiah, a king to lead them out of the intolerable situation they were in.
An especially repulsive instance of that darkness we find in the Gospel reading of today. It is King Herod, the client king of Judea who held power over the Jews, power delegated by the Romans. He kept a rough peace, but ruled by arbitrary whim, and, intent on consolidating his own power, had countless people put to death, including members of his own family. As we know, he organized the slaughter of male infants two years old and younger in Bethlehem to get rid of the potential rival brought to his attention by the three wise men.
But then the first reading continues “...but the Lord will arise upon you and his glory will appear over you. Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.”
Light and darkness are caught up in a relentless struggle, but in the end light overcomes the darkness. This is the whole point of today’s feast.
The powerless, speechless, vulnerable infant of Bethlehem is a total contrast to Herod. He is a king whose reign will last forever. Herod dies very soon after these events, most certainly having hastened his death by his own decadent life style. He was a king racked by insecurity and paranoia. He promoted conflict, fear, to maintain his hold on power. The new king born in Bethlehem was indeed the king of peace. So sure of his relation to the one he called Father, he let go of his prerogatives as God and took on our human condition in all its vulnerability, taking on the form of a slave, as Paul tells us in his letter to the Philippians.
Today we celebrate the appearance on the scene of this new King, and the term used in New Testament times for the appearance of a king or emperor in a particular part of his territory was “epiphany.” Epiphany is a triumphal feast of light.
The three wise men, or kings, play a key role in today`s story. They are the intermediates between the Herod the king of war and Jesus the king of peace.
To begin with, they help us focus on the light that replaces the darkness. That light emerges for them as a bright spot on the horizon, a mysterious star. They are strangely attracted to it, out of their scientific curiosity, but then with a sense of hope and anticipation, and decide to follow it. They had heard of the promise that a new King of the Jews would be born, and this mysterious star might lead them to him. They come to Jerusalem, the capital city of Judea, seeking further information. They are open-minded and open-hearted people, seekers of God, but as soon as they ask about this new king, they create fear and not rejoicing in the Herod’s entourage, who asked themselves: Is this new king, which they knew was predicted, going to be a rival of Herod? Will he be a threat to the political order which they and many others enjoyed? Of course Herod wanted this potential rival snuffed out before he had a chance to establish himself, and providing the wise men with the information they sought, namely that the child was destined to be born in Bethlehem, and sought to use the wise men as a further source of information, not to pay homage to the child but to kill him. Of course we know how the wise men managed to elude Herod on their return home, and how the holy family fled into Egypt.
So the star led them to Bethlehem, and they came into the fulness of the light emanating from the new king. They paid homage to him, with gifts of gold, symbolizing that he was indeed a king, of frankincense, symbolizing that he was God and worthy of worship, and of myrrh, symbolizing that he was a human, and like all human beings, would taste suffering and death.
Not only do the texts of today`s mass allude to events two thousand years ago, they describe our own world. There are many King Herods in our world. Some of them have recently gone to their deaths, but others continue with their snipers and tanks to maintain their uncertain hold on power. Their violence at times floods our television screens and fills us with disgust. But there are other dark kings whose violence is more subtle and hidden. At the same time the King of peace is still with us, but not serving as a military leader to help us overcome our enemies by force. To change the balance of military forces in our world would be a superficial outcome. Unless hearts are changed, minds find new ways to think about peace, the violence will recur again and again.
What about the three wise men, who follow the star that leads them to Bethlehem? There are many men and women in our world who do not know the King of Peace as we know him, but who are attracted to him, and seek the path that will lead them to him. They struggle for peace, for justice. Often in their lives, even if they do not know or recognize Jesus, they give example of the self-sacrificing love that Jesus showed in his life. They are on a journey, following the star as best they can. I am sure we all know people like this.
But let us not only point at them. Let us point at ourselves. Like the three wise men we follow the star as best we can. Sometimes we stray from the path, but we find our way back. We know the promises of the scripture, and we trust that at the end of our journey God will be with us. We know the path to follow, and at the end of the path there is light for us. Can we be beacons of light for others, stars they can follow? Has the light of this feast totally enveloped us? Do we not need to go to the King of peace time and time again, to pay homage, to offer our own gifts, which may not be gold, frankincense, and myrrh, but other gifts close to our own hearts, and even the gift of our own selves. The Eucharist is the best way for us to offer this gift. Empowered by Christ’s gift of himself let us offer ourselves.
Trained as I am in the spirituality of St. Ignatius Loyola, when beginning my prayer on scriptural texts, such as the ones for this celebration, I will take account of all the persons present in the text. Today’s Gospel is rich in personages: the Christ Child, Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, unless they had already gone back to their fields, the hidden presence of God the Father and of the Holy Spirit. One question remains: how many kings were there? We can find the first two very easily: Jesus is acknowledged as King, worthy of homage and adoration. There is his dark counterpart, King Herod, who wanted him dead.
Are there any more kings than that? Our attention turns to the wise men. We presume that there were three of them because there were three gifts, but we do not know that for sure. They come from the east and are enshrouded in mystery. The term used for them in the greek text is Magi, which we translate as wise men. They could have been astronomers, astrologers, interested in unusual confluences of stars and planets in the sky; they could have been scholars who had some knowledge about the sacred texts and customs of various religions, and noticed the predictions that there would be a newborn king of the Jews. They were also seen as kings, as in the well-known hymn “We three kings of orient are.” They could have been all of these. The beauty of the Gospel story is that it stimulates our imagination.
Herod and Jesus are certainly kings, and the contrast between them is stark. This contrast is described in the first reading of today’s mass, in which we hear:
“For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you.”
These words have come true time and time again. They were true at the time of Jesus. The Roman Empire was a mighty political and military machine. Peoples were beaten down, exploited. Today we complain about violations of human rights; in that time there were no human rights. You will readily notice in the New Testament the struggle of the Jewish people under the Roman thumb. They were desperate for a messiah, a king to lead them out of the intolerable situation they were in.
An especially repulsive instance of that darkness we find in the Gospel reading of today. It is King Herod, the client king of Judea who held power over the Jews, power delegated by the Romans. He kept a rough peace, but ruled by arbitrary whim, and, intent on consolidating his own power, had countless people put to death, including members of his own family. As we know, he organized the slaughter of male infants two years old and younger in Bethlehem to get rid of the potential rival brought to his attention by the three wise men.
But then the first reading continues “...but the Lord will arise upon you and his glory will appear over you. Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.”
Light and darkness are caught up in a relentless struggle, but in the end light overcomes the darkness. This is the whole point of today’s feast.
The powerless, speechless, vulnerable infant of Bethlehem is a total contrast to Herod. He is a king whose reign will last forever. Herod dies very soon after these events, most certainly having hastened his death by his own decadent life style. He was a king racked by insecurity and paranoia. He promoted conflict, fear, to maintain his hold on power. The new king born in Bethlehem was indeed the king of peace. So sure of his relation to the one he called Father, he let go of his prerogatives as God and took on our human condition in all its vulnerability, taking on the form of a slave, as Paul tells us in his letter to the Philippians.
Today we celebrate the appearance on the scene of this new King, and the term used in New Testament times for the appearance of a king or emperor in a particular part of his territory was “epiphany.” Epiphany is a triumphal feast of light.
The three wise men, or kings, play a key role in today`s story. They are the intermediates between the Herod the king of war and Jesus the king of peace.
To begin with, they help us focus on the light that replaces the darkness. That light emerges for them as a bright spot on the horizon, a mysterious star. They are strangely attracted to it, out of their scientific curiosity, but then with a sense of hope and anticipation, and decide to follow it. They had heard of the promise that a new King of the Jews would be born, and this mysterious star might lead them to him. They come to Jerusalem, the capital city of Judea, seeking further information. They are open-minded and open-hearted people, seekers of God, but as soon as they ask about this new king, they create fear and not rejoicing in the Herod’s entourage, who asked themselves: Is this new king, which they knew was predicted, going to be a rival of Herod? Will he be a threat to the political order which they and many others enjoyed? Of course Herod wanted this potential rival snuffed out before he had a chance to establish himself, and providing the wise men with the information they sought, namely that the child was destined to be born in Bethlehem, and sought to use the wise men as a further source of information, not to pay homage to the child but to kill him. Of course we know how the wise men managed to elude Herod on their return home, and how the holy family fled into Egypt.
So the star led them to Bethlehem, and they came into the fulness of the light emanating from the new king. They paid homage to him, with gifts of gold, symbolizing that he was indeed a king, of frankincense, symbolizing that he was God and worthy of worship, and of myrrh, symbolizing that he was a human, and like all human beings, would taste suffering and death.
Not only do the texts of today`s mass allude to events two thousand years ago, they describe our own world. There are many King Herods in our world. Some of them have recently gone to their deaths, but others continue with their snipers and tanks to maintain their uncertain hold on power. Their violence at times floods our television screens and fills us with disgust. But there are other dark kings whose violence is more subtle and hidden. At the same time the King of peace is still with us, but not serving as a military leader to help us overcome our enemies by force. To change the balance of military forces in our world would be a superficial outcome. Unless hearts are changed, minds find new ways to think about peace, the violence will recur again and again.
What about the three wise men, who follow the star that leads them to Bethlehem? There are many men and women in our world who do not know the King of Peace as we know him, but who are attracted to him, and seek the path that will lead them to him. They struggle for peace, for justice. Often in their lives, even if they do not know or recognize Jesus, they give example of the self-sacrificing love that Jesus showed in his life. They are on a journey, following the star as best they can. I am sure we all know people like this.
But let us not only point at them. Let us point at ourselves. Like the three wise men we follow the star as best we can. Sometimes we stray from the path, but we find our way back. We know the promises of the scripture, and we trust that at the end of our journey God will be with us. We know the path to follow, and at the end of the path there is light for us. Can we be beacons of light for others, stars they can follow? Has the light of this feast totally enveloped us? Do we not need to go to the King of peace time and time again, to pay homage, to offer our own gifts, which may not be gold, frankincense, and myrrh, but other gifts close to our own hearts, and even the gift of our own selves. The Eucharist is the best way for us to offer this gift. Empowered by Christ’s gift of himself let us offer ourselves.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Truly Celebrating the New Year
Homily for the feast of Mary the Mother of God 2012
Today, one week after the feast of Christmas, the Church provides for us a liturgical feast for the New Year. The New Year is both a secular and a religious celebration. As a secular celebration, it takes place over a 24 hour cycle as we go through the different time zones of our globe. I turned on the TV set yesterday around noon, and I was greeted with the firework display that took place in Hong Kong, which is 12 hours ahead of us.
In this form of New Year celebration the assembled crowds with their streamers and champagne cry out in unison watching the digital display: “Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Year.” Or we might witness this count-down from the warmth and security of our home. The earth has gone around the sun once, and a new trip around the sun begins at that moment. But we know the new year will come to an end some 365 days later. The course of time is relentless.
But is this all there is to our New Year celebration? What about the religious dimension?
We will begin with the word “new” which carries two meanings. If you go to the New Testament in the original Greek, these meanings are expressed by two words for “new”, neos and kainos. The first word pertains to our secular celebration, the second to our religious celebration.
The first word, neos, is tells us something about the measurement of time. If I say that something is new in that sense, what I am saying is that it is new within its allotted life-span. A toaster is new today, might be considered new for a while longer, but five years later ends up in the dump, and nothing can be done about it. So together with the image of a robust child which represents 2012 there is the shrivelled up oldster who represents 2011. And some of us in the congregation here today feel that in our bones. We could say “we are getting older”, but to avoid raising alarm at our stents, bypasses, and replacement knees, we prefer to say “we are not getting any younger”.
The second word, kainos, tells us about newness in a completely different sense, and it is in that sense that the New Year is a religious occasion. We are not congratulating people for now being one year closer to their grave. We are wishing for them that in the course of the year something good will happen that is genuine and will make a permanent difference. This newness takes us beyond what we can measure on a clock. This newness will never grow old over the years and fall into oblivion.
So when we wish someone Happy New Year, the key point is not to hover over our watches and feel a sense of delight because 2011 on our digital display magically turns into 2012 at the precise moment of midnight. What we really want for ourselves and for all those around us is genuine renewal, newness that does not grow old. The previous year has had its painful and difficult moments. But the new year is the opportunity for a fresh new beginning for each individual, for the communities as a whole, for our world that seeks peace. We want the year to be new in the same sense as the new heaven and the new earth we hope for as Christians. We know that we will often fail in the course of 2012. We are filled with a sense of hope: things will be different. Just wait and see. We make new year resolutions but often fail to keep them. And this sense of failure is even tronger when we survey the world in its intractable struggles. In the face of all this, however, we believe that things will be really different in the new year, that there will be real progress. But let us remember that real progress is progress not in our own eyes but in God’s. That progress is slow in coming, often imperceptible, but it is genuine and lasting. Genuine renewal is far from the superficial signs of newness that modern advertising wants us to notice. We often hear the words “new and improved”. In some cases, maybe so, but in the end those words mean nothing. That newness will be caught up in the relentless wearing down of time. By contrast the newness we wish for everyone is a newness that lasts.
How can we find access to this genuine and lasting renewal of ourselves and of our world? Our hope is not in our own resources but in God’s grace bestowed upon us. So it is essential for us to celebrate the New Year as a religious feast. God is the only one that can give us a fresh new beginning, new hope, new energy.
Before the reform of the liturgy after Vatican II, the theme of the feast was the circumcision and naming of Jesus, an event that for new-born males took place some eight days after the birth. The Gospel still features the circumcision and the naming of Jesus. However the theme of the feast today is Mary as the mother of God.
Circumcision and naming in the Jewish tradition was akin to baptism, and introduces the newborn Jew into the life of the covenant, making him an heir to God’s promises. Jesus was born into the Jewish religion, and his devout parents followed the prescribed ritual for him. He was later baptised by John, and baptism became the introductory ritual for Christians. The newness baptism introduces does not gradually wither away and disappear, but it grows into eternal life. This is the promise of our own baptism.
How does Mary as the Mother of God connect with this celebration of the New Year? The Gospel we have read features an aspect of motherhood which is essential. To be a mother is not only to bear a child for nine months, and then to give birth to it. In her heart, her spirit, her psyche, the mother continues to bear the child after it is born. We see this in Luke`s Gospel passage today. She had just given birth to her child, and the extraordinary events that surrounded the birth impressed her deeply. She pondered them in her heart. There were the shepherds that came unannounced to visit; there was the unexpected arrival of the three kings. And of course the visit of the Angel Gabriel started this whole process of wonder. Who will this child be? What will he do? What will happen to him? In the presentation in the temple a bit later on the reflection was made more poignant. She was told that her child would be a sign of contradiction, that a sword would pierce her own heart. And, like every mother, she watched her child as he developed, and treasured in her heart the signs of new life that were emerging. The quality of his infant way of looking at her. His first steps. His first words. And this continued over his entire life, as indeed it does for all mothers with their own children. They continue to bear their children, to nurture them, to treasure them close to their heart throughout their entire life. They know them in an intimate way that is beyond words.
In the events surrounding Jesus’ birth there are signs of a newness beyond the ordinary. Mary is the mother of God, of the one who came to save us, to plant the seeds of the genuine newness that we wish to one another, that we wish for our world. She may not have been able to put anything into words at this stage of her life with Jesus, but she had a deep perception, an intuition, and little by little his role and her role would become clearer.
So to celebrate Mary as the mother of God is an excellent way for us to give ourselves over to the hope that God is really with us, that in spite of appearances to the contrary there are good things going on, things that bring people closer to one another and to God. This means that the words “Happy New Year” have a great power and meaning, a power and a meaning that come not from us but from God and God’s plans for us. He was named Jesus, and the word Jesus means “God saves”. Let us turn to the eucharist to continue to enact and celebrate our salvation.
Today, one week after the feast of Christmas, the Church provides for us a liturgical feast for the New Year. The New Year is both a secular and a religious celebration. As a secular celebration, it takes place over a 24 hour cycle as we go through the different time zones of our globe. I turned on the TV set yesterday around noon, and I was greeted with the firework display that took place in Hong Kong, which is 12 hours ahead of us.
In this form of New Year celebration the assembled crowds with their streamers and champagne cry out in unison watching the digital display: “Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Year.” Or we might witness this count-down from the warmth and security of our home. The earth has gone around the sun once, and a new trip around the sun begins at that moment. But we know the new year will come to an end some 365 days later. The course of time is relentless.
But is this all there is to our New Year celebration? What about the religious dimension?
We will begin with the word “new” which carries two meanings. If you go to the New Testament in the original Greek, these meanings are expressed by two words for “new”, neos and kainos. The first word pertains to our secular celebration, the second to our religious celebration.
The first word, neos, is tells us something about the measurement of time. If I say that something is new in that sense, what I am saying is that it is new within its allotted life-span. A toaster is new today, might be considered new for a while longer, but five years later ends up in the dump, and nothing can be done about it. So together with the image of a robust child which represents 2012 there is the shrivelled up oldster who represents 2011. And some of us in the congregation here today feel that in our bones. We could say “we are getting older”, but to avoid raising alarm at our stents, bypasses, and replacement knees, we prefer to say “we are not getting any younger”.
The second word, kainos, tells us about newness in a completely different sense, and it is in that sense that the New Year is a religious occasion. We are not congratulating people for now being one year closer to their grave. We are wishing for them that in the course of the year something good will happen that is genuine and will make a permanent difference. This newness takes us beyond what we can measure on a clock. This newness will never grow old over the years and fall into oblivion.
So when we wish someone Happy New Year, the key point is not to hover over our watches and feel a sense of delight because 2011 on our digital display magically turns into 2012 at the precise moment of midnight. What we really want for ourselves and for all those around us is genuine renewal, newness that does not grow old. The previous year has had its painful and difficult moments. But the new year is the opportunity for a fresh new beginning for each individual, for the communities as a whole, for our world that seeks peace. We want the year to be new in the same sense as the new heaven and the new earth we hope for as Christians. We know that we will often fail in the course of 2012. We are filled with a sense of hope: things will be different. Just wait and see. We make new year resolutions but often fail to keep them. And this sense of failure is even tronger when we survey the world in its intractable struggles. In the face of all this, however, we believe that things will be really different in the new year, that there will be real progress. But let us remember that real progress is progress not in our own eyes but in God’s. That progress is slow in coming, often imperceptible, but it is genuine and lasting. Genuine renewal is far from the superficial signs of newness that modern advertising wants us to notice. We often hear the words “new and improved”. In some cases, maybe so, but in the end those words mean nothing. That newness will be caught up in the relentless wearing down of time. By contrast the newness we wish for everyone is a newness that lasts.
How can we find access to this genuine and lasting renewal of ourselves and of our world? Our hope is not in our own resources but in God’s grace bestowed upon us. So it is essential for us to celebrate the New Year as a religious feast. God is the only one that can give us a fresh new beginning, new hope, new energy.
Before the reform of the liturgy after Vatican II, the theme of the feast was the circumcision and naming of Jesus, an event that for new-born males took place some eight days after the birth. The Gospel still features the circumcision and the naming of Jesus. However the theme of the feast today is Mary as the mother of God.
Circumcision and naming in the Jewish tradition was akin to baptism, and introduces the newborn Jew into the life of the covenant, making him an heir to God’s promises. Jesus was born into the Jewish religion, and his devout parents followed the prescribed ritual for him. He was later baptised by John, and baptism became the introductory ritual for Christians. The newness baptism introduces does not gradually wither away and disappear, but it grows into eternal life. This is the promise of our own baptism.
How does Mary as the Mother of God connect with this celebration of the New Year? The Gospel we have read features an aspect of motherhood which is essential. To be a mother is not only to bear a child for nine months, and then to give birth to it. In her heart, her spirit, her psyche, the mother continues to bear the child after it is born. We see this in Luke`s Gospel passage today. She had just given birth to her child, and the extraordinary events that surrounded the birth impressed her deeply. She pondered them in her heart. There were the shepherds that came unannounced to visit; there was the unexpected arrival of the three kings. And of course the visit of the Angel Gabriel started this whole process of wonder. Who will this child be? What will he do? What will happen to him? In the presentation in the temple a bit later on the reflection was made more poignant. She was told that her child would be a sign of contradiction, that a sword would pierce her own heart. And, like every mother, she watched her child as he developed, and treasured in her heart the signs of new life that were emerging. The quality of his infant way of looking at her. His first steps. His first words. And this continued over his entire life, as indeed it does for all mothers with their own children. They continue to bear their children, to nurture them, to treasure them close to their heart throughout their entire life. They know them in an intimate way that is beyond words.
In the events surrounding Jesus’ birth there are signs of a newness beyond the ordinary. Mary is the mother of God, of the one who came to save us, to plant the seeds of the genuine newness that we wish to one another, that we wish for our world. She may not have been able to put anything into words at this stage of her life with Jesus, but she had a deep perception, an intuition, and little by little his role and her role would become clearer.
So to celebrate Mary as the mother of God is an excellent way for us to give ourselves over to the hope that God is really with us, that in spite of appearances to the contrary there are good things going on, things that bring people closer to one another and to God. This means that the words “Happy New Year” have a great power and meaning, a power and a meaning that come not from us but from God and God’s plans for us. He was named Jesus, and the word Jesus means “God saves”. Let us turn to the eucharist to continue to enact and celebrate our salvation.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Christmas, Feast for the Homeless
Homily for Christmas Mass St. Patrick's Church Halifax 2011
Do we ever tire of Christmas? Every year at this time we celebrate it. For children the element of surprise, of wonder remains very strong. But some of us have celebrated this feast sixty or seventy times or more. This is my forty fourth Christmas sermon as a priest. What more is there to experience or to say? Is there not a danger of routine setting in?
In recent decades parts of the total Christmas celebration have become artificial, predictable, and in the long run boring. The feast of Christmas is now seen as a generic holiday, watered down to satisfy political correctness, and geared to the lowest common denominator. What is the lowest common denominator, you may ask. It appears to be the credit card machine. Christmas is blatantly exploited for commercial purposes. The beautiful hymns of years past are played less often, replaced by songs without real content or power to inspire, repeated over and over again. We are caught up in the rush, and we are expected to spend our quota of money to keep the economy going strong.
This superficial Christmas fails to satisfy us, but the real Christmas is genuine, full of surprises, and we are happy to celebrate it each year, no matter how old we get. We are celebrating not an event with only one dimension, but a mystery with endless facets, a mystery which becomes more attractive the more we enter into it. Love is that mystery, whether the love of God which is shown to us in the Christ Child come into our midst. or the love which, empowered by God’s love, we manage to show to one another, often slogging our way through the sites of commercial Christmas to find appropriate gifts.
An event which took place at St. Patrick’s Church a few days ago will help us reflect on one facet in particular of God’s love shown to us in this marvellous feast. Each year in one of the local Halifax Churches there is a memorial service for all the homeless people who have died in the course of the past year. This year was St. Patrick’s turn. Those present are invited to light a candle for a person they remember, and they often briefly speak about that person. Stories of heartbreak and of tragedy, but also of human dignity and resourcefulness. The homeless reveal themselves to us, but also us to ourselves, because in a deep sense we are all homeless. Like the many refugees living within our world, we are all on a journey to a better and more secure place, a place we can call home, not just for a time but forever. The homeless and the refugees know it deep in their bones, we sometimes forget it. But sometimes we do remember when the thought crosses our mind: “What is our world coming to? Can things continue this way? What will it be like for my children and grand-children to live in this world?”
Homeless persons and refugees play a key role in the birth of Christ. Christmas is a feast for the homeless. Towards the end of Mary’s pregnancy, Mary and Joseph were caught up, like refugees of today, in a politically motivated event upsetting for the poor and defenceless people of that day, a census in which you had to return to your place of origin to be counted. Mary and Joseph were homeless at a time when being at home, surrounded with familiar things needed for a birth, was most important. She was ready, but there was no place for her and Joseph, and she gave birth to Jesus in a shelter for animals.
Mary and Joseph were themselves homeless, but those who were the first to visit them according to Luke`s gospel, were also homeless. They knew what it is to be away from home. They may have had a home to go from time to time, but they spent many months with their sheep in the fields, guarding them day and night, and the comforts of home were not available to them as they ceaselessly sought for their sheep the best grazing land available. A life of poverty, of simplicity, of constantly being on the move. They are the ones who first received notice of the birth of a Saviour, and the first to visit the manger. Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds were specially favoured by God because they were homeless.
Paul tells us that when God the Son came into the world, he set aside his divine entitlement, his prerogatives, and totally shared the human condition in all its uncertainty and vulnerability. He could have been born in a palace, with trumpets blaring at his majestic entry into the world, with many slaves to attend to his needs, but instead he was born in a manger, to a couple without resources when they needed them most. And this was the pattern of his public life where, we are told, he often did not have a stone upon which to lay his head.
The question for us today is this: are we completely caught up in the comforts of our familiar surroundings, or is there a part of us which is homeless, insecure, without resources? There may be some of you here this evening who are experiencing homelessness in a painful way, struggling to find a good place to stay, whether in the literal sense of shelter or in a broader sense of relationships and community. But those of us who have a good home, a family, a community to enjoy, are called to be in solidarity with those who are homeless. Their homelessness is our pain and our concern. We are to be homeless with them. This is a season of sharing. Let us share with them something of the abundance we enjoy, and allow them to share with us something of the homelessness they experience. In the end Jesus came to lead us to a better home, a lasting home, a home with God. In this sense we are all homeless, but homeless with a sense of deep trust and confidence in Jesus who shares our homelessness that we might enter into the home of the One who sent him in our midst, the home for which we all yearn with every fibre of our being.
Do we ever tire of Christmas? Every year at this time we celebrate it. For children the element of surprise, of wonder remains very strong. But some of us have celebrated this feast sixty or seventy times or more. This is my forty fourth Christmas sermon as a priest. What more is there to experience or to say? Is there not a danger of routine setting in?
In recent decades parts of the total Christmas celebration have become artificial, predictable, and in the long run boring. The feast of Christmas is now seen as a generic holiday, watered down to satisfy political correctness, and geared to the lowest common denominator. What is the lowest common denominator, you may ask. It appears to be the credit card machine. Christmas is blatantly exploited for commercial purposes. The beautiful hymns of years past are played less often, replaced by songs without real content or power to inspire, repeated over and over again. We are caught up in the rush, and we are expected to spend our quota of money to keep the economy going strong.
This superficial Christmas fails to satisfy us, but the real Christmas is genuine, full of surprises, and we are happy to celebrate it each year, no matter how old we get. We are celebrating not an event with only one dimension, but a mystery with endless facets, a mystery which becomes more attractive the more we enter into it. Love is that mystery, whether the love of God which is shown to us in the Christ Child come into our midst. or the love which, empowered by God’s love, we manage to show to one another, often slogging our way through the sites of commercial Christmas to find appropriate gifts.
An event which took place at St. Patrick’s Church a few days ago will help us reflect on one facet in particular of God’s love shown to us in this marvellous feast. Each year in one of the local Halifax Churches there is a memorial service for all the homeless people who have died in the course of the past year. This year was St. Patrick’s turn. Those present are invited to light a candle for a person they remember, and they often briefly speak about that person. Stories of heartbreak and of tragedy, but also of human dignity and resourcefulness. The homeless reveal themselves to us, but also us to ourselves, because in a deep sense we are all homeless. Like the many refugees living within our world, we are all on a journey to a better and more secure place, a place we can call home, not just for a time but forever. The homeless and the refugees know it deep in their bones, we sometimes forget it. But sometimes we do remember when the thought crosses our mind: “What is our world coming to? Can things continue this way? What will it be like for my children and grand-children to live in this world?”
Homeless persons and refugees play a key role in the birth of Christ. Christmas is a feast for the homeless. Towards the end of Mary’s pregnancy, Mary and Joseph were caught up, like refugees of today, in a politically motivated event upsetting for the poor and defenceless people of that day, a census in which you had to return to your place of origin to be counted. Mary and Joseph were homeless at a time when being at home, surrounded with familiar things needed for a birth, was most important. She was ready, but there was no place for her and Joseph, and she gave birth to Jesus in a shelter for animals.
Mary and Joseph were themselves homeless, but those who were the first to visit them according to Luke`s gospel, were also homeless. They knew what it is to be away from home. They may have had a home to go from time to time, but they spent many months with their sheep in the fields, guarding them day and night, and the comforts of home were not available to them as they ceaselessly sought for their sheep the best grazing land available. A life of poverty, of simplicity, of constantly being on the move. They are the ones who first received notice of the birth of a Saviour, and the first to visit the manger. Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds were specially favoured by God because they were homeless.
Paul tells us that when God the Son came into the world, he set aside his divine entitlement, his prerogatives, and totally shared the human condition in all its uncertainty and vulnerability. He could have been born in a palace, with trumpets blaring at his majestic entry into the world, with many slaves to attend to his needs, but instead he was born in a manger, to a couple without resources when they needed them most. And this was the pattern of his public life where, we are told, he often did not have a stone upon which to lay his head.
The question for us today is this: are we completely caught up in the comforts of our familiar surroundings, or is there a part of us which is homeless, insecure, without resources? There may be some of you here this evening who are experiencing homelessness in a painful way, struggling to find a good place to stay, whether in the literal sense of shelter or in a broader sense of relationships and community. But those of us who have a good home, a family, a community to enjoy, are called to be in solidarity with those who are homeless. Their homelessness is our pain and our concern. We are to be homeless with them. This is a season of sharing. Let us share with them something of the abundance we enjoy, and allow them to share with us something of the homelessness they experience. In the end Jesus came to lead us to a better home, a lasting home, a home with God. In this sense we are all homeless, but homeless with a sense of deep trust and confidence in Jesus who shares our homelessness that we might enter into the home of the One who sent him in our midst, the home for which we all yearn with every fibre of our being.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
A Convocation Address
This address I gave at the November 19 2011 Convocation of Regis College may of interest for two reasons: it reflects on the new shape of Jesuit ministries in Canada -- this applies to JCS -- and it offers spiritual reflections on my own ministry pertinent to those beginning ministry -- some 40 degrees were awarded in this convocation.
Jean-Marc Laporte, S.J.
I am delighted to be back for today’s convocation after three years away from such ceremonies. Over the years, I have been part of more than 75 convocations within the TST family, as President or Chancellor of Regis College, and as TST Director. This includes the very first convocation held by Regis College in 1978. But for me this chapel is a new place and receiving an honorary degree is a new role. I am most grateful for the kind words of my presenter and for the recognition I have received. I am sure that my fellow honorary graduand, Father Bob Doran, joins me in this gratitude.
This year we celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of the arrival of the Jesuits in Canada. They touched soil in Nova Scotia, where I now reside, but fourteen years later came to Quebec and soon after, in 1635, founded the Collège des Jésuites, inaugurating in North America the intellectual apostolate which has always been central to the Society of Jesus, confirmed by Pope Benedict three years ago in an address to Jesuits from around the world. Regis College is a major contribution of the Jesuits in English Canada to this apostolate.
The choice of today’s two honorary graduands brings to mind key strands in the history of Regis College. As a Canadian Jesuit I represent the contribution of the Jesuit province of English Canada which founded Regis College in 1930, and, in spite of its scarce resources, has supported it with men and money over the years. We did not have enough men to staff Regis College, which started in 1930 as a faculty of philosophy, nor did we have enough men when we started a faculty of theology in 1943. But we believed in God’s providence and in Jesuit solidarity. Over and over again we have looked for staff beyond the borders of our own Jesuit province and received a generous response.
Father Bob Doran represents the indispensable contribution of the many other provinces of our Society to Regis College over the years. He is a Jesuit from Wisconsin, spent many stellar years on the Regis faculty, and has only recently returned to his home province. Over many years men from outside our province have enriched our life and ministry in ways that cannot be adequately expressed.
Jesuit solidarity is always a given, but numbers of Jesuits, including those prepared in the field of theology, from Canada and beyond, has gone down drastically. This, however, is not the end of the story. During the last decade or so Jesuits throughout the world have come to the realization that they are called to share in Christ’s work not in isolation but in collaboration with others. This collaboration is a two way street. Jesuits are to be just as ready to collaborate in institutions not their own as to invite collaborators in their own institutions. The new life and hope brought by our non-Jesuit friends and partners was abundantly evident this summer when over 190 men and women came together in a congress at Midland Ontario to celebrate the 400 years of Jesuit presence in Canada. This group included most of the Jesuits of our province, many Jesuits from French Canada, and a significant group of lay collaborators from across Canada. Back in the mid 70's there were no non-Jesuits on the Regis faculty. But now they constitute the majority. As we move beyond 400 years the future of our Jesuit province and of Regis College will be different, but it remains vibrant and full of hope.
This is all abstract and institutional, you might well think. Those of you who have received your well-deserved parchments, hoods, bonnets, and mortarboards may ask “Does he have something more personal, more practical for us?”
My presenter offered some facts about me, with places, times and events, and an interpretation, too generous I would add, of their significance. How have I lived through these events and how have they marked me? Recounting some of the inner dimension of my story may be helpful for you who are graduating today.
Let me start off with a remark many have heard me make when reflecting on the meanderings of my own life: “Had I had false teeth, I would have swallowed them on the spot.”
When I graduated with my degrees in theology, my life plan was simple. I was going to teach theology for the rest of my life and do some writing, like my favourite teachers such as Fr. Fred Crowe. But my life did not go according to this plan.
The first big surprise was being summoned in 1975 by the then provincial superior who asked me to become president of Regis College at a contentious time just before its move downtown from our campus on Bayview North. I had neither skill set nor desire nor the temperament for this kind of work, but I was young and foolish, and a Jesuit vowed to obedience. I slowly learned some of the technical, relational, and leadership skills I needed.
That whole period of my life came to an end when I retired from the Toronto School of Theology directorship in 1999. I had visions of being able to resume full-time academic life according to my original plan, with research and teaching, but then I had a second false teeth experience. The provincial of the day asked me to become his assistant, which meant yet another shift, this time away from Regis College, with new skills and a new mind-set to learn. The learning curve was not so steep, and I soon took my turn being provincial superior.
When my mandate as provincial came to an end, a third false teeth experience. Finally, I then thought, I can get back to my original plan, to the leisurely academic activity of a semi-retired professor, and pick up the threads of my tattered scholarly existence. But I was asked to move to Halifax to take over a spirituality centre and work in pastoral and spiritual ministry. This is my current occupation.
We live in a world of dizzying change. The Church, albeit with great caution, is seeking new strategies to deal with this change. The human resources available fifty and sixty years ago for its ministry are no longer there. Fortunately this eclipse in quantity is not matched by an eclipse in quality. Our schools of theology, including Regis, are doing their utmost to meet unprecedented challenges, and you, the graduating class, give abundant witness to the positive results of that effort. But then the effort of the theology schools needs to be matched by the efforts of the Church to find new configurations and approaches that will make full use of your qualifications. And you need to be flexible in coordinating your skills, the needs you perceive, and the invitations you receive. Not an easy task.
One hundred years ago, there would have been no need to disturb the original life-plan which I and my superiors had approved. People with other skills and temperaments and desires would have been at hand to do what I ended up being asked to do. But given declining human resources my superiors had to make hard choices. As a wise man once told me, you must break eggs to make omelets.
At the same time, I can truly say upon looking back that the Gospel has it right: my yoke has been easy, my burden light. Sudden changes of the direction of one’s life are disruptive, but in the Jesuit way of obedience I was invited to enter into the dance of ceaseless change which marks our time. I had to let go of my expectations, pull up roots, and learn new skills, above all flexibility, open myself to new graces, above all availability, to be thrust into the midst of a world which is messy, ambiguous, full of surprises. Such letting go releases new energy and new life.
The Lord’s plan for me has been broader and richer than anything I could have dreamt of in my younger years. There has been struggle and plenty of anxiety, but in the end a sense of comfort, of deep continuity with what I have always wanted to be. Fortunately I managed to maintain teaching as a key part of my life for some thirty years. My formation in theology, including my doctoral studies, remains a vital part of who I am and has offered a welcome theological perspective for myself, and hopefully for those I serve today, in the trenches as it were. Often enough, we form too clear an idea of our own gifts and preferences, our vision is too rigid, and this leads to a self-enclosed development in which we unwittingly protect ourselves from the very realities of the world we are to serve constructively and compassionately. We have some knowledge of our own potential, but the One who fully knows us is the One who knit us from our mother’s womb and who knows our inmost thoughts. It is always better to graciously yield to the promptings of a Provident God who knows how best to bring authentic fulfillment to our lives and our ministries, how best to attune us to the work of the risen Christ who seeks to transform the world, patiently, gently, respectfully, but with the invincible power of the Spirit.
So here you are, members of the 2011 graduating class, with your convocation paraphernalia, but, more importantly, with the new skills and sensitivities you have acquired, and the plans you have devised to best find your place in a world which needs your ministry.
Willy nilly, you are part of the rapid and unfathomable change which marks our world. With some trepidation and anxiety, you will have to let go and join the dance. You will set aside parts of your life plan, but you will find undreamt of opportunities. In the end the tapestry of your lives will be richer and more varied than anything you might have imagined. You will discover inner resources and strengths you had not suspected were yours. New relationships and networks will fill out your lives. And looking back you will be convinced that this is who you were meant to be, what you were meant to do. Your achievements will not be self-enclosed and self-defined, but will be part of the only achievement that counts, that of Christ labouring to reconcile the world to himself and to bring it to its final stature.
Let us all rejoice in the great task which beckons all of us here today. Thank you.
Jean-Marc Laporte, S.J.
I am delighted to be back for today’s convocation after three years away from such ceremonies. Over the years, I have been part of more than 75 convocations within the TST family, as President or Chancellor of Regis College, and as TST Director. This includes the very first convocation held by Regis College in 1978. But for me this chapel is a new place and receiving an honorary degree is a new role. I am most grateful for the kind words of my presenter and for the recognition I have received. I am sure that my fellow honorary graduand, Father Bob Doran, joins me in this gratitude.
This year we celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of the arrival of the Jesuits in Canada. They touched soil in Nova Scotia, where I now reside, but fourteen years later came to Quebec and soon after, in 1635, founded the Collège des Jésuites, inaugurating in North America the intellectual apostolate which has always been central to the Society of Jesus, confirmed by Pope Benedict three years ago in an address to Jesuits from around the world. Regis College is a major contribution of the Jesuits in English Canada to this apostolate.
The choice of today’s two honorary graduands brings to mind key strands in the history of Regis College. As a Canadian Jesuit I represent the contribution of the Jesuit province of English Canada which founded Regis College in 1930, and, in spite of its scarce resources, has supported it with men and money over the years. We did not have enough men to staff Regis College, which started in 1930 as a faculty of philosophy, nor did we have enough men when we started a faculty of theology in 1943. But we believed in God’s providence and in Jesuit solidarity. Over and over again we have looked for staff beyond the borders of our own Jesuit province and received a generous response.
Father Bob Doran represents the indispensable contribution of the many other provinces of our Society to Regis College over the years. He is a Jesuit from Wisconsin, spent many stellar years on the Regis faculty, and has only recently returned to his home province. Over many years men from outside our province have enriched our life and ministry in ways that cannot be adequately expressed.
Jesuit solidarity is always a given, but numbers of Jesuits, including those prepared in the field of theology, from Canada and beyond, has gone down drastically. This, however, is not the end of the story. During the last decade or so Jesuits throughout the world have come to the realization that they are called to share in Christ’s work not in isolation but in collaboration with others. This collaboration is a two way street. Jesuits are to be just as ready to collaborate in institutions not their own as to invite collaborators in their own institutions. The new life and hope brought by our non-Jesuit friends and partners was abundantly evident this summer when over 190 men and women came together in a congress at Midland Ontario to celebrate the 400 years of Jesuit presence in Canada. This group included most of the Jesuits of our province, many Jesuits from French Canada, and a significant group of lay collaborators from across Canada. Back in the mid 70's there were no non-Jesuits on the Regis faculty. But now they constitute the majority. As we move beyond 400 years the future of our Jesuit province and of Regis College will be different, but it remains vibrant and full of hope.
This is all abstract and institutional, you might well think. Those of you who have received your well-deserved parchments, hoods, bonnets, and mortarboards may ask “Does he have something more personal, more practical for us?”
My presenter offered some facts about me, with places, times and events, and an interpretation, too generous I would add, of their significance. How have I lived through these events and how have they marked me? Recounting some of the inner dimension of my story may be helpful for you who are graduating today.
Let me start off with a remark many have heard me make when reflecting on the meanderings of my own life: “Had I had false teeth, I would have swallowed them on the spot.”
When I graduated with my degrees in theology, my life plan was simple. I was going to teach theology for the rest of my life and do some writing, like my favourite teachers such as Fr. Fred Crowe. But my life did not go according to this plan.
The first big surprise was being summoned in 1975 by the then provincial superior who asked me to become president of Regis College at a contentious time just before its move downtown from our campus on Bayview North. I had neither skill set nor desire nor the temperament for this kind of work, but I was young and foolish, and a Jesuit vowed to obedience. I slowly learned some of the technical, relational, and leadership skills I needed.
That whole period of my life came to an end when I retired from the Toronto School of Theology directorship in 1999. I had visions of being able to resume full-time academic life according to my original plan, with research and teaching, but then I had a second false teeth experience. The provincial of the day asked me to become his assistant, which meant yet another shift, this time away from Regis College, with new skills and a new mind-set to learn. The learning curve was not so steep, and I soon took my turn being provincial superior.
When my mandate as provincial came to an end, a third false teeth experience. Finally, I then thought, I can get back to my original plan, to the leisurely academic activity of a semi-retired professor, and pick up the threads of my tattered scholarly existence. But I was asked to move to Halifax to take over a spirituality centre and work in pastoral and spiritual ministry. This is my current occupation.
We live in a world of dizzying change. The Church, albeit with great caution, is seeking new strategies to deal with this change. The human resources available fifty and sixty years ago for its ministry are no longer there. Fortunately this eclipse in quantity is not matched by an eclipse in quality. Our schools of theology, including Regis, are doing their utmost to meet unprecedented challenges, and you, the graduating class, give abundant witness to the positive results of that effort. But then the effort of the theology schools needs to be matched by the efforts of the Church to find new configurations and approaches that will make full use of your qualifications. And you need to be flexible in coordinating your skills, the needs you perceive, and the invitations you receive. Not an easy task.
One hundred years ago, there would have been no need to disturb the original life-plan which I and my superiors had approved. People with other skills and temperaments and desires would have been at hand to do what I ended up being asked to do. But given declining human resources my superiors had to make hard choices. As a wise man once told me, you must break eggs to make omelets.
At the same time, I can truly say upon looking back that the Gospel has it right: my yoke has been easy, my burden light. Sudden changes of the direction of one’s life are disruptive, but in the Jesuit way of obedience I was invited to enter into the dance of ceaseless change which marks our time. I had to let go of my expectations, pull up roots, and learn new skills, above all flexibility, open myself to new graces, above all availability, to be thrust into the midst of a world which is messy, ambiguous, full of surprises. Such letting go releases new energy and new life.
The Lord’s plan for me has been broader and richer than anything I could have dreamt of in my younger years. There has been struggle and plenty of anxiety, but in the end a sense of comfort, of deep continuity with what I have always wanted to be. Fortunately I managed to maintain teaching as a key part of my life for some thirty years. My formation in theology, including my doctoral studies, remains a vital part of who I am and has offered a welcome theological perspective for myself, and hopefully for those I serve today, in the trenches as it were. Often enough, we form too clear an idea of our own gifts and preferences, our vision is too rigid, and this leads to a self-enclosed development in which we unwittingly protect ourselves from the very realities of the world we are to serve constructively and compassionately. We have some knowledge of our own potential, but the One who fully knows us is the One who knit us from our mother’s womb and who knows our inmost thoughts. It is always better to graciously yield to the promptings of a Provident God who knows how best to bring authentic fulfillment to our lives and our ministries, how best to attune us to the work of the risen Christ who seeks to transform the world, patiently, gently, respectfully, but with the invincible power of the Spirit.
So here you are, members of the 2011 graduating class, with your convocation paraphernalia, but, more importantly, with the new skills and sensitivities you have acquired, and the plans you have devised to best find your place in a world which needs your ministry.
Willy nilly, you are part of the rapid and unfathomable change which marks our world. With some trepidation and anxiety, you will have to let go and join the dance. You will set aside parts of your life plan, but you will find undreamt of opportunities. In the end the tapestry of your lives will be richer and more varied than anything you might have imagined. You will discover inner resources and strengths you had not suspected were yours. New relationships and networks will fill out your lives. And looking back you will be convinced that this is who you were meant to be, what you were meant to do. Your achievements will not be self-enclosed and self-defined, but will be part of the only achievement that counts, that of Christ labouring to reconcile the world to himself and to bring it to its final stature.
Let us all rejoice in the great task which beckons all of us here today. Thank you.
Monday, November 14, 2011
2011 Magis Award Event: Reflections
Nov 12, 2011
We have just finished the third of our annual Magis Award events. We began with the celebration of the Eucharist at St. Patrick’s Church. Even though I have been celebrating mass for 44 years, I am still a neophyte as regards Eucharists with deacons and diocesan protocols. A whole level of complexity is added. Reminds me of the old saying that a successful Jesuit liturgy is one in which no one gets hurt... My biggest mistake was connected with my usual hesitation at the time of the greeting of peace. I tend to barge in and invite the congregation to share the sign of peace when there is a deacon present, so I prepare myself ahead of time, telling myself to be silent and let the deacon do his thing. I had a moment of confusion at that point in the mass, and turned to the deacon inviting him to say “The Peace of Christ be with you always.”. With a chuckle shared by the congregation, he put the ball back in my court. You do your part and then I will do mine. I am sure the Lord enjoys these moments which add human fallibility and humour to the solemnity and seriousness of our worship. We must keep reminding ourselves that we are only humans, unprofitable servants at best.
I normally obsess about timing, and had planned an event that would begin at 11 and end at 2.15, with 15 minutes left to meet the agreed upon deadline of 2.30 pm. And I hectored people about respecting the schedule. Lo and behold, we finished at 2 pm. Once the event began I had to turn the event over to the Lord, who does much better than I anticipate. This was demonstrated in the prayerful eucharist, a beautiful sunny walk from the Church to the Hotel, an enjoyable lunch, and the warm companionship of the twelve tables, which seated 115 guests.
I was grateful not only for guests who are faithful to us year by year, but also for the new people who came for the first time because of their friendship and/or gratitude for Donna Legere our honoree. We knew from the nominations that she was an fine choice for the award, but in the weeks before the lunch and during the lunch itself I became more aware of her significance as a pioneer in lay ministry within the Archdiocese of Halifax. She and others like her have had to deal not only with glass ceilings but with unexpected and seemingly arbitrary transitions in their life of serving within the Church. Donna was among the many who regrouped time and time again, their basic loyalty undiminished.
This luncheon is not a fund-raiser per se. Its main impact is spreading the news of who we are and what we do. Given the claim on the time and energy of priests, pastoral workers, and parishioners, our centre and our readiness to be of service can easily be overlooked. But little by little a solid foundation for our ministry is being laid. By being flexible, we find new avenues and new forms of service. We will try to be led not by ourselves and our limited horizons but by the Lord of surprises. And knowing that we have a cadre of generous staff associates well-prepared in the ways of Ignatian spirituality makes our journey even more enjoyable.
Now to get ready for Magis 2012.
We have just finished the third of our annual Magis Award events. We began with the celebration of the Eucharist at St. Patrick’s Church. Even though I have been celebrating mass for 44 years, I am still a neophyte as regards Eucharists with deacons and diocesan protocols. A whole level of complexity is added. Reminds me of the old saying that a successful Jesuit liturgy is one in which no one gets hurt... My biggest mistake was connected with my usual hesitation at the time of the greeting of peace. I tend to barge in and invite the congregation to share the sign of peace when there is a deacon present, so I prepare myself ahead of time, telling myself to be silent and let the deacon do his thing. I had a moment of confusion at that point in the mass, and turned to the deacon inviting him to say “The Peace of Christ be with you always.”. With a chuckle shared by the congregation, he put the ball back in my court. You do your part and then I will do mine. I am sure the Lord enjoys these moments which add human fallibility and humour to the solemnity and seriousness of our worship. We must keep reminding ourselves that we are only humans, unprofitable servants at best.
I normally obsess about timing, and had planned an event that would begin at 11 and end at 2.15, with 15 minutes left to meet the agreed upon deadline of 2.30 pm. And I hectored people about respecting the schedule. Lo and behold, we finished at 2 pm. Once the event began I had to turn the event over to the Lord, who does much better than I anticipate. This was demonstrated in the prayerful eucharist, a beautiful sunny walk from the Church to the Hotel, an enjoyable lunch, and the warm companionship of the twelve tables, which seated 115 guests.
I was grateful not only for guests who are faithful to us year by year, but also for the new people who came for the first time because of their friendship and/or gratitude for Donna Legere our honoree. We knew from the nominations that she was an fine choice for the award, but in the weeks before the lunch and during the lunch itself I became more aware of her significance as a pioneer in lay ministry within the Archdiocese of Halifax. She and others like her have had to deal not only with glass ceilings but with unexpected and seemingly arbitrary transitions in their life of serving within the Church. Donna was among the many who regrouped time and time again, their basic loyalty undiminished.
This luncheon is not a fund-raiser per se. Its main impact is spreading the news of who we are and what we do. Given the claim on the time and energy of priests, pastoral workers, and parishioners, our centre and our readiness to be of service can easily be overlooked. But little by little a solid foundation for our ministry is being laid. By being flexible, we find new avenues and new forms of service. We will try to be led not by ourselves and our limited horizons but by the Lord of surprises. And knowing that we have a cadre of generous staff associates well-prepared in the ways of Ignatian spirituality makes our journey even more enjoyable.
Now to get ready for Magis 2012.
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