On Planning and Providence

A few weeks ago, I noticed two tasks fell due on the same day: my tax preparer's request for my documents, and the A.D. Times' request for an article. To provide maximum bandwidth for both tasks, I decided to address one sooner than the other. 

My taxes won out because of this verse: “Let me fall into the hand of the Lord, whose mercy is very great, rather than into the hands of men” (1 Chronicles 21:13). Those who failed to receive this article would be more forgiving than Uncle Sam’s great-grandchildren. But then the verse inspired the article.

 

The above citation was King David’s response to the prophet Gad, who presented David three options of divine punishment for the census he had ordered. The king chose “the Lord’s own sword,” a three-day sweeping plague, over three years of famine or three months of his enemies’ pursuit.

 

What was the big deal over a census? Same as ever: leaders want to figure out the money and militia they can extract from their citizens. In the appropriately named Book of Numbers, the Lord Himself ordered Moses to count the Israelites for those very purposes.

 

In place of the firstborn of all Israel, the Lord took as tribute the priestly tribe of Levi, who were exempted from military service and therefore also from that census. Through Moses, the Lord directed the firstborn to give the Levites a quantity of shekels as a sacrificial offering for their redemption, and, practically speaking, as part of the Levites’ sustenance.

 

The chain of charges continues: To obtain everything necessary for its budget (salaries, utilities, goods and services, etc.), our diocese assigns a fair standard percentage from the parishes, which in turn do what they can to provide for their own needs in addition to the above assessment.

 

The Diocese requires from parishes annual spiritual and fiscal reports to guide future plans. The recent “Disciple-Maker Index” intends to help parishes and individual disciples consider how we are doing by the important metric of what we are doing.

 

Did the Lord order these censuses? If not, will we lose a third of our faithful in punishment? As it is, surveys estimate only a third of self-identified Catholics attend Mass and/or believe in the Eucharistic Presence of Christ offered therein.

 

Here we are following a maxim of Saint Teresa of Avila: “The bread of self-knowledge should be eaten with every meal,” which has this modern parallel: “The room for improvement should be the largest room in the house.”

 

With due respect to David’s doings and resultant prophecies, I do not deem assessments to defy divine providence. It is awesome to think how much and how long God has trusted us to continue the Incarnation and Paschal Mystery in the world.

 

Our modern efforts to plan things aren’t so modern after all. We still would rather fall by the hand of the Lord, whose requirements are matched, if not surpassed, by His graces.

(3/3) This is My Body: Pattern for the Mass, the Sacraments, and the Church

This is the third of three sermons I recently preached for the annual Forty Hours Devotion of Saint Nicholas Parish in Walnutport (Northampton County, Diocese of Allentown), edited for clarity. Below is a keepsake of the event that I hoped would help people get the gist of the talks as a whole.

The Lord Jesus offered Himself for the life of the world. He uttered the words, “This is My Body,” and made them the pattern for all offering-of-self. He said those words, of course, in the Upper Room on the night before His death. In a certain sense, Jesus also said those words upon the Cross: “This is My Body, which will be given up for you."

Humanly speaking, Jesus learned those words at home—and that pattern of action. He learned from His holy mother, who at the angel’s invitation presented herself body and soul to the Lord’s service. Her body provided His Body. Joseph, too, sacrificed his ambitions, his expectations and plans, to the life of his Son as it so strangely unfolded. Joseph gave himself up for Jesus—for his own salvation, for Mary's, and ours. Consider the reading from Ephesians: "He gave gifts to men." Hence the parents of God merit our ceaseless gratitude.

Fittingly, then, today we consider how the “Sacraments of Communion and Mission” or “Sacraments of Vocation” consecrate disciples in body and soul for the formidable task of building up Christ’s Mystical Body, the Church.

We are talking about the Sacraments of Matrimony and Holy Orders. In the previous sacraments we saw how God has conferred power by the Laying on of Hands. This physical gesture shows how divine grace comes to us “incarnationally,” that is, the spiritual being embodied in the material. God the Son not only became flesh, He became food for flesh, under the appearances of bread and wine. God chose to give us Himself through bread, wine, water, oil, words, gestures—and people.

Spouses effectively say unto one another, “This is my body, which will be given up for you.” They do this in the recitation of vows, in the sexual act, in the raising of a family as God provides, and in so many other daily works and sufferings. They do it when they lead with their weaknesses, sharing honestly with each other and helping each other to grow in holiness and virtue.

One of my favorite photographs from my ordination to priesthood 19 ½ years ago, before the age of selfies, would have been impossible to take myself anyhow: my classmate and I were lying prostrate on the floor of the Cathedral while everyone sang the Litany of the Saints. Then we stood up and Bishop Cullen laid his hands on our heads. The other bishop and priests gathered for the occasion did the same. That ancient practice once again conveyed divine purpose and power.

In the first moment, Fr. Garcia-Almodóvar and I effectively said to the Lord and to His Church, “This is my body, which will be given up for you.” In that ceremony, the laying-down of our bodies was somewhat romantic, but believe me, there have been a few moments since, where the romance wore off. Married couples, you may have similar experiences.

The romance gives way to the reality in the priest’s daily care and direction for the Church—as a whole, and according to that portion entrusted to him. Paying bills, binding wounds, changing lightbulbs, praying for those in your trust. Participants in Holy Orders and Marriage do many of the same things as they participate in the growth of holiness and virtue. They are complementary Sacraments that build up the Mystical Body of Christ, especially through the Word and Sacraments commonly available to all disciples. (And most Eastern Christian priests, Catholic and Orthodox, share in both Marriage and Holy Orders.)

[Editor's Note: I cannot recall how I ended the sermon. Guess you had to be there!]

(2/3) This is My Body: Pattern for the Mass, the Sacraments, and the Church

Below is the second of three sermons delivered for the Forty Hours Devotion of Saint Nicholas Parish in Walnutport (Northampton County, Diocese of Allentown), edited for clarity. Below is a keepsake of the event that I hoped would help people get the gist of the talks as a whole.

Next, I want to reflect on the consecration of the Lord’s Precious Blood, which seals “the new and eternal covenant” by being “poured out...for the forgiveness of sins.” This atoning action especially bears fruit in the “Sacraments of Healing”: Penance and Anointing of the Sick. Once again, by imposed hands and anointed words the Holy Spirit visits the sin-sick soul, declaring Life’s victory over death, truth’s triumph over the ancient lie.

In Confession, the priest is directed to raise his right hand as if to bless the penitent until making the Sign of the Cross in absolution. In face-to-face confessions he currently has the option of laying his hand on the penitent's head. How many times in the Gospels did Jesus extend His hand toward those He wished to heal? It was His most common practice, both for healing and for blessing.

The introductory text for Anointing of the Sick is taken from St. James’ epistle: “Is anyone sick among you? Let them send for the priests of the Church, and let the priests pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer of faith will save the sick persons, and the Lord will raise them up; and if they have committed any sins, their sins will be forgiven them” (5:14-16). Once again, there is an extension of healing hands, with power not their own.

An old Protestant hymn declares:

Would you be free from the burden of sin? There's pow'r in the Blood, pow'r in the Blood;
Would you o'er evil a victory win? There's wonderful pow'r in the Blood.
There is pow'r, pow'r, wonder-working pow'r in the Blood of the Lamb;
There is pow'r, pow'r, wonder-working pow'r in the Precious Blood of the Lamb;

Separating the consecration of the Blood signifies the Blood’s physical separation from the body in death. Even if blood does not spill out of the dead person, it dries up and no longer can nourish tissues and organs. In the ritual renewal of Israel’s Covenant with God, Moses arranged for the slaughter of an animal and then sprinkled its blood first upon the altar and upon the people, connecting the altar to the people, and the sacrifice to both of them. This effected their consecration: that is, both the altar and the people belonged to God, for His use exclusively. It also marked the dedication of the human person to sacrifice. We are people hard-wired for sacrifice, but the regular renewal of that connection is important for us because our flowing blood, ever enriched by oxygen, renews us on a cellular level from one moment to the next.

Note, too, that Moses sprinkled the animal’s blood upon the people only after they heard and consented to what Moses read to them from the Book of the Covenant. What a beautiful declaration comes from their collective mouths in what must have been a liturgical response: “All that the Lord has said, we will heed and do” (Exodus 24:7 [!--Even though the division of the Scriptures by chapter and verse didn't take place until the Middle Ages, I think it's appropriate that this declaration is "24/7"]. Our renewal in Christ depends upon our continuous repentance, turning away from sin, turning toward the healing rays of the Son.

Penance and Anointing shine that light. They effect the forgiveness of sins, which Jesus related at the Last Supper was the reason for His death: “poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins” (Mk 14:24 et par.) These two sacraments concretely apply Divine Mercy to the concrete life situations that show our need for it: sin, suffering, and death. Even as we continue to participate in these life experiences—we continue to sin in ways big and small; we continue to suffer in ways big and small; we die incrementally in our bodies, our memories, minds, and wills—we also come to share in their remedy, the Divine Life. 

It is not that the outpouring of Christ’s Precious Blood on Calvary was insufficient; it’s that He invites us followers of His to incorporate that Blood into our bodies and souls, with regularity akin to the constant influx of nourishment into our veins and our stomachs. Tomorrow our solemn offering of time and presence will conclude with the Consecration of Christ’s Body, both in terms of the Sacred Species and the two Sacraments that help to make concrete our own consecration as members of the Communion of Saints, Christ’s Mystical Body, the Church.
 

(1/3) This is My Body: Pattern for the Mass, the Sacraments, and the Church

This is the first of three sermons delivered on the occasion of the annual Forty Hours Devotion of Saint Nicholas Parish in Walnutport (Northampton County, Diocese of Allentown). The collection is called, This Is My Body: Pattern for the Mass, the Sacraments, and the Church. The contents are presented 99.8% as-delivered.

For the sake of the original audience, by the third night I had developed an outline of the schema which I printed on ticket paper; the smaller portion of the ticket contains a memento of the occasion. I display it below for your own clarity.

Knowing that these sermons are hereby available to a larger audience, I welcome, and preemptively resent, any critique.

Baptism, Confirmation, and Holy Eucharist are considered the “Sacraments of Initiation,” because they make Catholics of their recipients. These Sacraments involve the invocation of the Holy Spirit by the laying on of hands. In Baptism, the priest or deacon extends his hands to sign the child with the Cross. In Confirmation, the Bishop extends his hands over the Confirmandi to beg for an outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon them, which he seals by applying Sacred Chrism on their foreheads.

When it comes to the Eucharist, the priest extends his hands over the gifts, calling down the Holy Spirit to transform them into the Lord’s Body and Blood in a moment called the epiclesis, the “calling-down-upon.” Often this has been marked by ringing of bells, previously to alert the faithful and the musicians it was taking place. What the General Instruction of the Roman Missal calls the “Consecratory Epiclesis,” “implores the power of the Holy Spirit, that the gifts offered by human hands be consecrated, that is, become Christ’s Body and Blood” (79).

There is a second moment in which the priest invokes the Holy Spirit: it takes place after the Consecration, and is called the “Communion Epiclesis.” His hands are extended throughout the Eucharistic Prayer, from after the Consecration onward. Here, the same Holy Spirit Who has incarnated the Divine Son in the womb of the Virgin Mother, the same Holy Spirit Who has transformed man-made bread and wine into that very Divine Son, now descends again so that “the unblemished sacrificial Victim to be consumed in Communion may be for the salvation of those who will partake of it” (79). 

Salvation is shown to be more than a divinely weighted blanket being thrown over us; it is, rather, our being born from above and from within, by the same Holy Spirit. He makes us a “new creation” restored to unity with the Triune God, with the Communion of Saints, within ourselves, and with all of creation.

As Our Lord makes bread and wine His Eucharistic Body by the Holy Spirit’s power, by that same Power He makes us members of His Church: “Believe what you see, see what you believe and become what you are: the Body of Christ” (St. Augustine).

Only once in a lifetime can one receive the first two Sacraments of Initiation—only once can one be baptized and confirmed. Note for anyone who became Catholic after having been “confirmed” in another Christian denomination: no other church save the Orthodox consider Confirmation a Sacrament, which is why we confirm converts. The Orthodox do chrismate converts from Catholicism, though as a sign of unification with them and not as a repudiation of the validity of our sacraments—at least depending on who you talk to. The Catholic Church does not re-confirm converts from Orthodoxy.

As for the Eucharist, of course, one should receive that Sacrament of Initiation worthily and often. Perhaps only the first reception of Holy Communion is an “initiation” as such, while every subsequent worthy Communion serves to deepen our identity. Hence our ongoing need to keep clean the Temple that would receive God Himself as its Guest—which is where we will pick up tomorrow.

Peace, Penitence, and Prayer

The second of October is the memorial of the Holy Guardian Angels. One of the first prayers Catholics (and others) learn: 

Angel of God, my Guardian dear, / to whom God’s love entrusts me here, / Ever this day be at my side, / To light, to guard, to rule, to guide.

That God creates a custom pure-spirit protector for human beings is not a mandatory Catholic belief, but it is not a mere fable either. Sacred Scripture and Sacred Tradition refer to angels who gaze upon the heavenly Father’s face (Mt 18:10), yet have enough eyes to look out for us—more eyes than a mother, a teacher, or a nun.

Writer Mary Farrow penned a fantastic piece on Guardian Angels, quoting a professor who quoted a Cardinal on Guardian Angels’ three main areas of interest concerning us: peace, penitence, and prayer. When they’re successful, the universe is better off, because, according to St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas, angels govern the processes of the entire universe, in ways known and unknown.

Since the more recent sexual abuse reports, many dioceses, including our own, have resorted to praying the Prayer to St. Michael after Mass (his feast was observed recently—29 September), hearkening back to a series of prayers once recited after every “Low” (recited) Mass. The series became known as the Leonine Prayers because Pope Leo XIII introduced them in 1884. They were discontinued in 1965, but in some places they’re making a comeback. Unofficially, they were for the conversion of Russia, but they have 1,001 uses.

Archangel Michael has the pleasant job of “casti[ng] into hell Satan and all the other evil spirits who prowl throughout the world seeking the ruin of souls.” The name Michael is Hebrew for “Who is like God,” because Satan wants to be like God and Michael reminds him he can’t be. Like Michael, however, Satan is a powerful pure spirit, except Satan devotes his towering intellect and will to diminishing people’s peace, penitence, and prayer.

When prayer and penitence go, peace follows suit. When priests stop praying, they start predating. When they stop repenting of their prideful, greedy, and lustful choices, their various victims lose peace. So we appreciate all the more St. Michael and his minions. 

Of course priests aren’t the only ones who entertain the deadly sins enough that temptations lead to actions: whosoever qualifies for a guardian angel, sure as heaven needs one.

I mentioned to a parishioner that today’s readings concerned marriage and the parishioner said, “I had a joke for you on that, but I forgot it.” It may be indiscreet to mention the parishioner’s name, but I will say it rhymes with “Snarl Tarzan.”

What’s no joke is the current situation of marriage and family life— though to be honest, it wasn’t always taken seriously in biblical times either. Why else would Moses have proposed conditions for divorce? Why else would Jesus have gone off as He did about the Creator’s intention for marriage? The evil spirits still prowl around the world seeking the ruin of souls. They prowl for bodies as well, because, as long as people are living, bodies and souls are together.

Since this diocesan Year of Real Presence began, I‘ve been considering how Jesus’ words, “This is My Body,” apply to every aspect of human life, including how we speak them sinfully. The many forms of self-worship drive people from God, from each other, and within themselves. What God has joined, let no one put asunder.

Commentators have noted the proximity of Jesus’ words on marriage to those on children. We connect angels with children often enough (cf. Mt 18:10). We also think of dead people, but they’re not angels either. None of us is. People often say, “I’m no angel,” when they want to excuse themselves from sin. 

We have to look somewhere for the root of our malady. When individuals go sour, marriages and families (and more) go sour. That’s no judgment on anyone, because God and the person know best. God’s always honest to us, but we’re not always honest to God.

Satan the home-wrecker wants to interrupt our awareness of God’s Presence with temptations, and he really wants us to interrupt our actions with sins. (Temptations aren’t sins, remember!) Satan wants peace, penitence, and prayer to end. He wants to harm children and the adults they become, and he will encourage us to find ways to do that. He wants bodies and souls to break up in one way or another.

Where Thy Glory Dwells

This was the finest church in Mount Carbon, PA

(cf. Wikimedia Commons)

This is Who made it so

(as featured in the Diocese of Allentown)

Since seventh grade (1988-89) I have played the organ for church, as often as five times a weekend. At first an occasional substitute, finally I reached out to local parishes for regular work, and soon I was picked up by the former St. Francis DeSales Parish in Mount Carbon, suburb of Pottsville.

The sacristan, Kathleen Glaser, called herself the “Assistant Pastor,” and certainly knew as much about the building and community as any assistant. We had many colorful chats before Mass. When Kathleen died, the pastor, now-retired Father Edward B. Connolly, designed her memorial card. Beneath her photo was Psalm 26:8, which reads, “O Lord, I love the habitation of thy house, and the place where thy glory dwells.”

In June 2019, I became pastor of Saints Peter and Paul in Lehighton. In my first visit to the vestibule, I spied above the entrance to the nave that same Bible verse, which connected me to those early experiences that kept me off the streets and in the sanctuary. Upon reaching my seventh assignment in 18 years of priestly ministry, I knew I was home, where God’s glory dwells.

The pandemic is the latest of many changes over these decades. Now 70% of Catholics do not regularly attend Mass in otherwise normal times, and only 25% believe that Jesus is truly, really, and substantially present under the appearances of bread and wine in the Holy Eucharist. These facts prompted Allentown Bishop Alfred A. Schlert to declare this 60th Diocesan Anniversary the “Year of the Real Presence” (yearofrealpresence.org).

Catholics know Christ abides and feeds in many ways, as the Second Vatican Council told us: in the proclaimed Scriptures, in the priest, and in the assembly, but most tangibly in the Holy Eucharist, where His Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity pitch their tent among us.

Our new parish Society of Saint Vincent de Paul ritually recalls how Jesus is present wherever two or three are gathered (Matthew 18:20). Saint Teresa of Calcutta often said the needy are among Jesus’ “most distressing disguises”: it can be as hard to see Him in our suffering brothers and sisters as in the consecrated bread and wine. But Mother Teresa’s sisters adore the Eucharistic Lord each day before serving Him in the streets, and our SVDP Conference has chosen to begin our meetings in the same way.

The Missionaries of Charity and the Saint Vincent de Paul Society embody another principle from the same Second Vatican Council: the Sacred Liturgy is the “Source and Summit of the Church’s life and activity”: Christ is everywhere because He is present unmistakably, most intimately, in the Holy Eucharist and the Holy Mass. We take His Real Presence in the Mass to the real people and situations of our lives, which in turn we offer alongside the bread and wine that becomes Him in the Mass.

It makes you wonder, though: if Jesus is here, why isn’t everyone else? Other faiths are asking the same of their own adherents. A global pandemic accounts for the current dearth of ritual involvement, but the “real absence” is nothing new to any religious body; even secular organizations have been reporting diminished returns over the years. In defense of their defection, some have cited God’s ubiquity when choosing to “worship in nature” or to follow some ersatz deity who makes no demands upon their conduct or allows them to worship on their own terms.

Sacred and secular alike, feeling the fatigue and isolation of these days, can take to their lips the author of the Letter to the Hebrews: “We should not stay away from our assembly, as is the custom of some, but encourage one another, and this all the more as you see the day drawing near” (10:25). What day? The Day of the Lord, Whose Presence is real and revealing and worthy of reverence.

Tweeting Globally, Loving Locally

“Almighty God, grant that we may always conform our will to Yours and serve Your Majesty in sincerity of heart.” Last weekend’s collect begged God to grant us two things in His loving kindness: the exterior action of conformity and the interior attitude of sincerity. As usual, another both/and proposal: interiorly intend what God wills, and exteriorly act in accord with it as best we can.

“What God wills” is, in the broadest sense, everything that happens. He either chooses it if it is good, or permits it if it is evil. We are sometimes astounded at what God permits in this world, what He lets people get away with. But again, note two things: “I” am part of “people,” and the Lord doesn’t let anything “get away from” His notice, as if He had been out on break while it happened.

How could God permit His Beloved Israel to be the poor lad’s cap that the bully neighboring nations tossed about in the schoolyard? The kindest of those nations, the Reuben to Joseph, was Cyrus of Persia. He conquered Israel, but extended freedom of movement and worship to every land he acquired. Somehow the Lord of Israel was his leader too, despite whatever pagan statues were on his mantle.

Or how could the Son affirm His Father’s “abandonment” upon the Cross? Only thereby to draw forth from that greatest suffering the greatest love by which we exist and gather.

God willed the Pharisees minds subtle enough to have idolized their complex takes on the Law of Moses, enough to have crafted a scheme to trap Jesus. Yet they were no match, despite how thick they tried to lay it on Him. “You don’t care about anyone’s opinion, Jesus…but we do, so whaddya think?” Jesus remained unflustered in His response to their ruse. “Since this coin has Caesar’s face, it must belong to him, so give it back. But you have God’s face; you are made in God’s image, so give yourself back.”

How fitting, that the readings for Cycle A of the 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time, which falls around the same time every year, fall now in a leap, major U.S. election year! Leap in faith we must to consider how the image in which we were made might speak to the image in which our coin is made. They’re connected, all right, because you and I are here, called not so much to carry change as to be it.

St. Paul points out how the Thessalonians have the virtues of faith, hope, and love, which we call the “theological virtues” because they pertain directly to God. They equip us for relationship with Him. Their infusion into the souls of the baptized allows the baptized to act as God’s children and to be hardwired for heaven. These virtues enable us to strive for holiness and virtue and to root out their contraries in every area of our lives, including politics.

Officials must strive, like their constituents and electors, to conform themselves to God’s will with sincerity of heart. They must genuinely represent and work toward the interests they profess, and their interests must be in step with the moral law. Unlike the Pharisees, they can’t have anything or anyone up their sleeve. They must not use people or positions as means to the end of occupying a seat in any branch of government.

Rightly have our Pope and Bishops reaffirmed the killing of innocent unborn as a primal scourge and sin. You can’t do much else in life if you aren’t allowed to be born. But “what you can do” isn’t all it’s about, either: that’s used to justify genetic and embryonic selection, embryonic stem-cell research at one end, and assisted suicide/euthanasia at the other end. It also leads to the attitude behind racism and other forms of oppression. Matter matters, because God informs it.

As my stalwart parish bulletin readers know, I go to the social media to inspire, to inform, and to entertain, and to seek the same from others. My favorite podcast is “Clerically Speaking,”* two younger priests talking about whatever you might imagine. In one of their features, they report quality Twitter content. 

One such presence, Fr. Joseph Krupp (@joeinblack), recently said this: “I’m getting calls and visits from people who want to convince me to preach in support of Biden or Trump. I’m using the opportunity to ask for help feeding the poor. No one has said yes yet. If we were as passionate about Jesus as we are about our candidate, it would change the world.”

Helping the poor is an aspect of parish life we cannot ignore. Now, it doesn’t have to happen on our campus for “the parish” to be doing it. When you help at home or somewhere else, keep in mind, that’s “the parish” helping the poor. Spiritual poverty matters alongside material poverty: all those works of mercy glorify God and help their intended recipients.

I haven’t preached much on abortion, at least directly, but over the years I have counseled women and men who were involved in abortions and have repented. Those conversations have changed me as a human being and as a priest. They show me how central Mercy is: God’s love bringing great good from great evil. The number of innocent lives affected, inside and outside the womb, cries out for greater awareness, acceptance, and action upon this truth.

I cannot understand how a politician can support unmitigated access to abortion or constrain citizens to pay for it. I further cannot understand how a politician might neglect the various fearsome conditions that encourage abortion. That leaves this voter in the lurch.

Our “consumer culture” has long formed us to use people and love things, when the Gospel would form us to love people and use things. We can speak of Jesus as “healer of nations” because He first healed people. People fed with the Eucharist must feed others spiritually and materially so those people can be strengthened to make good choices. Starving each other with empty or corrupt talk is no political path, nor should it fly within families.

Political involvement is good, but we must be cautious, especially in these days, to avoid a certain cult of political figures. Don’t be deceived into thinking “the right person” will prevent everything from falling apart. Because of the Fall of the human person, everything in this world is going to fall apart, as if by design. Don’t invest all of you, especially the worst of you, in candidates and parties engineered to disappoint. 

The political change we seek, like personal conversion, begins at home, with concrete service. Legislation and jurisprudence matter, yes, but concrete service is closer to you than the White House, Capitol Hill or Supreme Court. When Pope St. John Paul II spoke of a Culture of Life, he intended Catholics to be Catholics, people of good will to be such, by equipping mothers and fathers and children concretely as we alone can.

One more Tweet: Brother Simon, OSB (@monksimonosb), quoting a fellow Benedictine: “Until you are convinced that prayer is the best use of your time, you will not find time for prayer.” I must consider my personal relationship with God in prayer the most reliable place where God works.

Recall this weekend is World Mission Sunday. On 1 October we celebrated St. Therese of Lisieux, co-patroness of the missions, who from the age of 14 to her death 10 years later never left her convent. You get that? The missions, sustained by the prayers of an immobile mover of hearts.

Despite whatever happens in this election, whatever part you or I might choose to take in it, remember: God is in control. And you and I, do best to be available to Him as locally as possible in prayer and service, surrendering the control we’d like to have over the particulars.

*Much of the structure and some of the content of this proposed homily came from my listening to Episode 114 of “Clerically Speaking,” which I humbly yet forcefully recommend to your open ears. It's a "proposed homily" because Deacon Joe was scheduled to preach this weekend, yet I inadvertently prepared the above homily anyhow.

"Lest We Forget"; Of Michael Christopher and Christopher Michael

My latest Coronatide Consideration comes at the cusp of transition time, when the five counties in our diocese act in consort with civil authorities in permitting public Masses, albeit with still-appropriate safety precautions. The Gospel (Jn 16:29-33) packs the punch, which our deacon delivered deftly. As for my follow-up, I cannot say much, except everyone was left standing.

Jesus' disciples claimed to appreciate His long-awaited clarity, though He never meant to be murky to them. In fact, the Lord observed, they still won't get it, "for had they known it, they would never have crucified the Lord of glory" (1 Cor 2:8); they would never have done their part by abandoning Him at the moment of truth.

"Speaking plainly, with no more figures of speech"! I wonder where that would leave me, or any other poetically-plumed penman. Penmen of note like John McCrae of In Flanders' Fields fame, Recessional's Rudyard Kipling, or my man Hopkins' not-quite-titled "The Soldier," which starts with "YES."--fittingly expressing the consent of every redcoat and tar to their service.

In our day, to that last point, I would add "whitecoat" and "whitecap" to include nurses, doctors, and everyone in the way of this hidden harm, COVID-19. Many fallen heroes among them, too.

YES. Where would our world be without its poets? Some soldiers and patriots might opine poets' oft-controversial positions are posturings, virtue-signals, plain nonsense at best or subversive at worst. Casting things in a different light was never out of season, except in countries that weren't free.

The freedom in which we celebrated the Mass this morning was in some sense never withheld from us, although most bishops and priests considered it best to contain folks as much to their homes as possible, given how close quarters like churches can be flash-points for the sickness.

Today's open-air method is among the options when things officially open on 1 June. By then we will have an FM transmitter to spread the Word. (This morning I learned the transmitter is supposed to be coming tomorrow! Oh, to have been a little quicker to the draw when in other purchases a slower draw might have helped.)

Mass is at once a sacrifice, a banquet, and a memorial. The "Mystery of Faith" acclamation is ingredient to that part of the canon called Anamnesis (Gk, not-forgetting), according to Jesus' command to "do this"--take, break, bless, give, eat, and drink--"in remembrance of Me." Be with us yet, lest we forget, and do we!

Just as Memorial Day exhorts us not to forget the men and women "who more than self their country loved, / and mercy more than life," so every day's Memorial Offering mystically transports us to that moment of supreme truth, goodness, and beauty, the mountain of mercy that lends meaning to every sacrificial offering, large and small.

Please God, these days will remind us of the constant need for remembrance, in the Biblical sense that God remembers: acting concretely on behalf of the one in question.

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Sarah Coleman, top row, second from left; Helenann Welker, bottom row, last at right

My late mother was the best friend of Sally Coleman since high school and nursing school days. They both went on to be faithful and caring wives, mothers, and Licensed Practical Nurses.

They were so close, and so closely pregnant, that they made a kind of pact to name their children together. The first one to emerge was Michael Christopher Wargo (sharing her husband's first name); the second, a few months later, was Christopher Michael Zelonis (a name Mom had in mind and heart for years).

These two boys were in each other's company only a handful of times over the years, as their families' lives went on, fortunately enjoying periodic episodes of quality and quantity. This was much the case in the last fifteen years, after my Dad died in 2004. Mom had become an occasional beach bum in the Wargo pool. Many laughs and reminiscences shared, including a June 1977 birthday party of Michael when the two of us were in the same playpen--photo to follow. I met him as if for the first time at another party, years later.

Mom accompanied the Wargo family in moments delightful and difficult, especially when Michael, who had served his country nobly, took his own life on 20 May 2013, after an arduous struggle with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which had taken a few family tolls prior to that day. As they do, every survivor was left holding the proverbial bag, mourning and speculating.

Many and varied are the battles of the "War at Home," as it has been termed, where servicemen and women still fall, often despite the best efforts of those around them--often amid a certain unawareness of those around them, or within themselves.

Mr. and Mrs. Wargo have since given their lives to foster mental health awareness and care for our veterans. They further honor their son's memory by volunteering for the "Valor Clinic" and "Mission 22," which has honored veteran victims of PTSD with steel silhouettes, including Michael's near the trailhead in his native Lehighton. I pass and pray often, while on the run. The templates of these soldiers are scheduled ("virus-permitting," Sally says) to repose permanently--appropriately, by name--in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, come October, having made a tour of duty in several spots.

Learning that my latest assignment would be in Lehighton was a joy, especially knowing the Wargos all my life, and even Sally's parents George and Margaret Coleman, who tolerated the precocious five-year-old who hung around George's typewriter stand at "the Auction" (the Hometown Farmer's Market). Margaret thought enough of me to buy me a religious item of my choosing at the one Catholic goods stand. I chose a crucifix, which I still have. God bless her, she still thinks of me so, with sharpest mind, in her 90s.

It was never far away: at my desk. St. Anthony has come through for me on lesser things with greater effort.

The pastoral delicacy surrounding self-wrought deaths is something that alas, not all priests, have exercised. I wonder sometimes, when it comes to any commendation in circumstances perhaps awkward, shameful, or volatile, how we do it. A Power Greater, no doubt, even when (only God knows why) that Power seemed utterly inaccessible to them, or they felt utterly unworthy of His regard--which in fact could never have been stronger, at any point.

Lord God of Hosts (armies), be with us yet, even when, for that final moment, we forget.

Containment Considerations

On Monday I was participating in the funeral of a priest’s mother for the first time since my own Mom’s funeral last July. When I got into the car to drive down to the cemetery, I checked my email. The Diocese comes up as a VIP sender, and this message was VI.

The public celebration of Mass is canceled until further notice on account of COVID-19. Priests are allowed to keep the church open for periods of private prayer and to hear confessions (though even this the government would not recommend in the normal close quarters).

The range of feelings that accompany the reception of such news is understandable. At first I suspect very few would have been relieved, but even the earlier notice that had dispensed all Catholics in our diocese from the obligation could have relieved those who were genuinely afraid to go but were also afraid not to.

I suspect the majority feel disappointed, and a substantial minority angered by the decision. They think it betrays a lack of trust on the part of our bishops. “Wouldn’t God preserve from harm those who dared to assemble on the Lord’s Day, as is

our custom (cf. Heb 10:25)? And wouldn’t someone who got sick and died as a result of going be an instant martyr?

“The Eucharist is our food and drink, per the Lord’s own directive. Certain saints like Catharine of Siena lived on Him alone for periods of time.  Now we are being starved to death, as if some corrupt government were inducing famine.”

As a priest, I feel saddened for those who have contracted COVID-19, for the increasing number of fatalities. In the daily Mass I now live-stream from my chapel, I pray for those who suffer and those who care for them. Tomorrow, on the solemnity of the Guardian of the Redeemer, I will pray for his protection on us all. I can’t imagine that the God-Man did not get colds, and that His mother or foster father didn’t dote on Him in those sad days.

God knows, whenever we are sick, we feel some measure of isolation, of not wanting to be touched or cared for. In such moments we are particularly united with our Lord upon the Cross. His sense of abandonment was infinitely greater than our own (it was more than a “sense”), even though our own is a small but meaningful share of it.

My honest feelings also include dereliction and guilt. Somebody online quoted Mary Magdalene: “They have taken away my Lord, and I don’t know where they laid Him“ (Jn 20:13). Someone else recalled a line from the Song of Songs: “At night I sought him on my heart loves; I sought him but I did not find him” (3:1).

But here’s the thing: I know where He is – He’s in our Tabernacles, and we are not openly encouraged to open them up for public consumption. More often than not, that “public” includes groups of 10 or more! Just now I’m reminded that our Lord had the apostles seat people in groups of fifty upon the miraculous mountain (cf. Lk 9:14).

This city will be consigned to flames because fewer than ten won’t be found (cf. Gen 18:16-33).

Yes, I know where Jesus is. It feels like I’m playing a game of keepaway. Of course I would not refuse giving Holy Communion to someone in dire need, or even someone who asked. But right now we are heading for the times of tumbleweeds gracing our streets.

People have appreciated the service of live-streaming or otherwise recording Masses we say privately, "we" meaning my own bishop and many priests and bishops around the globe. Brother priests: does it feel like exhibitionism to you? Of course we have been doing this for years, because of the many shut-ins in our parishes, but now everybody is a shut-in with respect to the Sacred Synaxis! "You can look but you can’t touch."

Someone said very quickly into our quarantine that this Lent is unique.  We are not just in Lent: we are in Good Friday and Holy Saturday. Tomb time.

The reports suggest this could go on for a long while, and get worse before it gets better, as things usually do. With reports of mobile confessionals, speculation about the validity of telephone confession, and who knows what about the Eucharist Himself, it may be the time for creativity. Our parishes shouldn’t become catacombs just yet. Or should they?

My reading today revealed that the appropriate measure for “social distancing” is 6 feet. Incidentally, that’s how far we’ll be from the nearest human being when we’re buried: 6 feet from their feet. Social distancing is acceptable as a health precaution, but not as a way of life.

I just saw a tweeted opinion that these weeks without widespread access to, and indiscriminate reception of, the Eucharist might increase appreciation for it. We all need to start discerning the Body better (cf. 1 Cor 11:29).

Steven Wright and the Eucharist (A misleading title for the first of seven articles on the Sacraments)

One of the pastoral prerogatives is the direction of, and contribution to, the content of parish communication organs, whether it's the message board out front (which we don't have...yet), the various social media (for us, definitely a work in progress), or the reliable weekly bulletin. Since my first weekend at St. Michael the Archangel nearly two years ago, I have written a bulletin column called "To Inspire, To Inform,  To Entertain" (IIE) That's not the actual headline because I write too much to be able to fit the title, but those words do appear above a nearby quotation, which I take from sources as diverse as Steven Wright and Flannery O'Connor.


Fondly I tell of how I met Steven Wright. I flew to Boston to compete in the Marathon in 2017. While hanging out at Logan International Airport before my return flight, I saw a bearded man with a Red Sox cap wheeling his luggage in my direction while I was approaching (where else?) Dunkin' Donuts. From several dozen yards the man's identity seemed clear, although he was either trying to conceal it or just be a regular citizen. He seemed somewhat surprised I could spot him. I identified myself as a Catholic priest and a big fan. Wright, himself raised Catholic, seemed genuinely humbled by a priest's respect. I told him I feature diverse quotations in my weekly bulletin. "You mean that paper you get in church? Wow! That's neat." We gave a fist bump (WHY DIDN'T I REQUEST A SELFIE, COUTH BE DAMNED?) and he went on his way. I got in line for coffee, feeling a bit better for having competed earlier that week, even though my time was far slower than I'd desired.


IIE has featured series on the Spirituality of the Twelve Steps, Indulgenced Prayers (in honor of the 500th anniversary of the Reformation--"just to show 'em," God forgive me), and, more recently, the Seven Sacraments. For your penance, here is the first of the seven columns, largely unedited. You are always free to read past bulletins--nothing like "yesterday's news!"--archived under the relevant tab on our parish website.

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I was thinking about doing some sort of series on the Sacraments for the next seven weeks, because 1) there are seven of them; and b) for the next five weeks, the Gospel reading will be taken from the sixth chapter of Saint John’s Gospel. Permit me to do something unconventional by starting with the Eucharist. Think of Baptism as the egg and Eucharist as the chicken. In this series I declare that the chicken comes before the egg, in terms of both time and significance.

John 6 presents the famous “Bread of Life Discourse” in which Jesus declares the necessity of eating His flesh and drinking His blood in order to share in the Son’s eternal-life relationship with the Father. This chapter takes the place of “institution narratives” found in the other (“Synoptic”) Gospels, where Jesus offers His Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity for our salvation in the forms of bread and wine, first in the Upper Room with His Apostles on Holy Thursday, then on the Cross on Good Friday.

The Church’s Code of Canon Law presents a theologically rich description to lead off its treatment of each of the seven Sacraments. For Holy Eucharist, the Code references the Second Vatican Council’s liturgical document when it says, “The Eucharistic sacrifice, the memorial of the death and resurrection of the Lord, in which the sacrifice of the cross is perpetuated through the ages is the summit and source of all worship and Christian life, which signifies and effects the unity of the people of God and brings about the building up of the Body of Christ. Indeed, the other sacraments and all the ecclesiastical works of the apostolate are closely connected with the Most Holy Eucharist and ordered to it.”

That’s right, Catholics: Mass makes Calvary as real for us today as it was for Jesus Himself, those who dared to stand with Him, those who fled in fear, and for those who neither knew nor cared about the event. Through the Eucharist we share in the Paschal Mystery in more than a merely spectatorial manner. When we are all together at Mass, even if we don’t spiritually “have it all together,” insofar as we are “all together,” at least we have a chance. Moreover, every good work of ours finds its force from the Best Work of the God-Man. We are well reminded that we don’t, can’t, save ourselves.

“We must consider how to rouse one another to love and good works. We should not stay away from our assembly, as is the custom of some, but encourage one another, and this all the more as you see the day drawing near” (Heb 10:24-25).

An Annual Labor of Love

It is hard for me to imagine that the former Saint Kieran Parish in Heckscherville actually had two auxiliary chapels in nearby patches: one in Buck Run and the other in Greenbury. The latter, dedicated to Saint John (the Baptist? the Evangelist/Teacher/Divine?), collapsed some years ago, leaving miraculously untouched a lovely grotto of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The territories of New Castle Township and the patch of Greenbury came together in the name "Castle Green Grotto." At this lovely edifice, locals still convene to pray the Rosary and otherwise enjoy a lovely slice of Paradise.

For about a decade, several dedicated folks have organized an annual Mass on Labor Day. About 100 citizens attend, many of them former St. Kieran parishioners. The local Ancient Order of Hibernians and Ladies' AOH form an honor guard. Several area clergy have been the celebrants of the Mass over the years. As the local pastor, it has been my honor to join them. This year I was privileged to preach the occasion. Storied reporter John E. Usalis of the Pottsville Republican-Herald aptly summarized my words, which, lacking a written text, I certainly could not have done:

"We’re grateful to God and so the greatest act of gratitude to almighty God that we can offer is this sacrifice of the Mass. We do it specifically on Labor Day mindful of how God has labored on our behalf and how we labor for God. [...]

"So this day is dedicated to the honor of working. And not just the burden of it, but the honor and privilege of expending ourselves for the glory of God and for the betterment of man,” Zelonis said. “What a day to be able to do that with the liturgy, which is Greek and means ‘our work for God’ or ‘God’s work for us.’ It actually can be translated either way. The sacred liturgy is God’s work on our behalf, which I would say primarily because God is always the first agent, but then it is our work for God, our return to him as we hear in the Psalms. "What can I do for the Lord for all that he has done for me. I will take up the cup of salvation" (Ps 116:12-13). The bread of life and the cup of salvation will be offered, the bread and wine will become the body and blood of Christ, and we join to the bread and wine our prayers, our works, our joys and our sufferings.

Read more.

Our Stewardship of Suffering and Love

It sometimes occurs as a point of meditation that the saints are human just like us, but at the same time we are called to the same holiness as they. We do a great job, don’t we, of putting different folks on a pedestal, whether it be the saints, or various political or religious leaders or inspirational people in our lives. We know we’ve put them on a pedestal when they inevitably give us reason not to keep them there, and as a result we become outraged; perhaps, in a quieter moment, we might become embarrassed at the thought that we invested the person with such esteem and paid so much attention to what they said—never mind that their words may have been true and valuable, but suddenly their own imperfection or hypocrisy prompts us to call everything into question. Please God, with a little perspective we learn to sift through everything to retain what is of value.

Anyhow, Saint Paul reminds us today of the exalted dignity that all the baptized share. He calls it a “stewardship” (οîκονομία), which refers to a plan for attending to the concerns of an individual or a household. It's where we get the word "economy": the aggregate of transactions (usually financial, but not exclusively so) by which a community of persons keeps going. Paul’s “stewardship” was the mission entrusted to him by God for the communities he’d founded (we’d call them parishes or dioceses). We might find the term more relevant if we considered our family, workplace, and even our own bodies and souls as a stewardship. Paul’s mission was to proclaim the Word of God in Jesus Christ through doctrinal and moral instruction, in order to form active, growing believers. Our responsibility as disciples isn’t really that different: by example and by words we want to show people who Jesus is and what He means for the world. We do this not as “lone rangers,” but as persons baptized into the visible Body of Christ on earth, found most fully in the Catholic Church that the Lord Jesus founded and has sustained for nearly 2,000 years with believers and leaders such as us.

As a result, we want to cultivate our relationship with the Lord in and through the Church, so that people are drawn not merely to us with our personal gifts and drawbacks, but to the Lord living and acting in the Church. We may need to brush up on our appreciation of our great Catholic heritage so as to become the best possible witness.

Now most of us don't have a pulpit from which to proclaim any sort of message, nor do we have any kind of script. In the absence of laborious research and skillful oratory, there is one element in most lives that can provide a compelling witness, and that is our suffering. Strange to hear, perhaps, but God’s honest truth. St. Paul said to the Colossians, “Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ on behalf of His Body, which is the Church.” We’d be foolish to suppose that, because Jesus suffered for us, we shouldn’t have to suffer, we shouldn’t have to experience pain, inconvenience, humiliation, and all the rest. Jesus experienced upon the cross the suffering experienced by every person in every place and time, so that as we come to experience that suffering in our own time, it doesn't have to be purposeless: we are able to make it something of infinite value by offering it in union with the Lord for those in need of repentance and healing. Thus we can create a space in our lives for the "inconveniences" that visit us, like those three men who visited Abraham and Sarah, and they can become a channel of unexpected blessing.

And when we don’t necessarily have any suffering on our plate, the other legacy in which we always share is the Eucharist that unites us to the saints of every time and place. The very Body of Christ that suffered upon the Cross is sacramentally made present here and now and everywhere the ministerial priesthood is found. In our worthy reception of Holy Communion we share in the sufferings and joys of the whole Church across time and space. Why, therefore, waste an opportunity to suffer well? Why waste an opportunity to love well? Why waste a chance to learn from the Master where He is most concretely found—in the Host and in our neighbor?

Divine Mercy: The Treatment For Spiritual Sclerosis

In the 1930s, a Polish nun by the name of Maria Faustina Kowalska experienced numerous revelations from Jesus, the most important of which stressed God’s mercy by two means: a special prayer called the “Chaplet of the Divine Mercy,” and the institution of the Sunday in the Easter Octave as “Divine Mercy Sunday.” 

The chaplet’s use began to take off stateside in the 80s, no doubt catalyzed by the efforts of the late Mother Angelica. In 2000, fellow Pole Saint John Paul II acknowledged Sister Faustina’s revelations by canonizing her—the first saint of the new millennium—and by instituting “Divine Mercy Sunday.”

Whatever one might believe concerning the particulars of the revelations, and whether or not one might pray the chaplet, one simply cannot dispute the centrality of divine mercy in the Christian faith. This is true even in the Hebrew Scriptures, which people traditionally, though wrongly, accuse of presenting a grim and ruthless God, as prone to pettiness as we humans are. Consider, among other places, this day’s responsorial psalm, where the sacred speaker praises the Lord’s saving action on his behalf: “I was hard pressed and was falling but the Lord helped me” (118:13). In another psalm, “His mercy endures forever” is the refrain that runs throughout. 

You may retort, “I thought the line was, ‘His love is everlasting’?” Well, what do the Dutch say: “Macht nichts" (Makes no difference)? Indeed, mercy and every other divine quality—even justice—is a reflection of the single, simple ray of Love, such that the only difference we make of it is but a reflection of our human complexity.

Mercy is the decision not to define us entirely according to our instances of unloving. As the second half of the Latin word misericordia suggests, mercy is a matter of the heart, which, according to Scripture, is not the place of feeling, but of identification and decision. It’s where we are. In our wretchedness and lack, God will be all. 

Contrary to classic Lutheran doctrine, we are not totally corrupt. Insofar as God created us, we are good; we can never lose that identification with God and goodness, even though grave sin may harden our arteries to the point where love has no apparent way to flow. In such a sad soul, hell has begun well before physical death. If we identify our need and our desire for love and present ourselves to the Divine Physician, God can put in a stent or even bypass our spiritual sclerosis.

What is both mysterious and consoling is the supreme trust God has placed in His holy Catholic Church to dispense Divine Mercy primarily through the sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation, as well as Eucharist and Anointing of the Sick. From the time of Peter and the other Apostles, the Lord entrusted us fallible, human priests with the authority and command to forgive sins. The first reading from the Acts of the Apostles depicts the many physical healings that took place at the Apostles’ hands. Peter’s shadow continues to fall upon the penitent who approaches with faith and reverence to be renewed in Christ’s abundant life.

Mercy further flows through the actions and words of the disciple who knows that forgiveness personally. “As the Father has sent me,” Jesus says, “so I send you. And when he had said this,” Saint John tells us, “He breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit’” to forgive and retain sins. And by the way, the only sins that are “retained” are those for which no forgiveness has been sought. In such a case, genuine forgetfulness to confess is not the issue; shameful pride is the real “silent killer.” 

Do not, then, define yourself or anyone else in terms of sin, as “drunkenness incarnate” or “spitefulness incarnate” or “unbelief incarnate” or “pornography incarnate” or “theft incarnate” or “abortion incarnate,” for that is not who you are. Always, always, trust that you remain “God’s beloved,” one whom God desires to forgive, heal, and restore to His love and life.