Saturday, July 9, 2016

Memorial of Augustine Zhao-rong and Companions

Today is the memorial of St. Augustine Zhao-rong and one hundred nineteen companion martyrs of China who were slaughtered from 1648 to 1930. These first saints of China were beatified at various times over the years.  John Paul II canonized them as a group on 1 October 2000.  The canonization infuriated the government controlled Patriotic Association. Eighty-seven were native Chinese ranging in age from toddlers to the elderly.  The rest were foreign missionaries, both men and women, from several orders.  The missionaries included four Jesuits. 

Augustine Zhao-rong was martyred in 1815.  He had been one of the soldiers
escorting Msgr. Dufresse of the MEP to Beijing to his own martyrdom.  Augustine was impressed with the monsignor's witness and asked to be received into the church.  He was sent to seminary and ordained prior to his own death.  Some of the martyrs were barely teenagers who held to their faith to the point of death despite the choice to apostasize. 

We need to know their stories.  The numbers and time, one hundred twenty dying over three centuries, softens the impact.  Only the individual stories make the martyrs real.  That reality is painful.  The reality of martyrdom, the reality of death through the intention of another, is even more painful when we can identify with those who died.  Even those who were martyred in modern times. 

I did my undergrad at Penn State from '68 to '71.  The 9/11 terrorists murdered ten of our alumni, men and women who walked the same routes I did, used the same library, and came to maturity in that special place. One was a stewardess for American Airlines.  One graduated two years before I matriculated.  Only when we hear the details does the pain hit. Only when we come to know the individuals behind the numbers do the tears flow as they did when I read the story of Michael Ferugio, class of '87.

He had befriended the maintenance and cleaning staff.  His address book found by his wife after his death had a phone number with the following notation: "Ludmilla, cleaning woman, 31st floor-WT2, son is at Penn State!!" 

The abstract numbers mask the pain. They hide the human dimension.  The frequency of mass murders and deaths decreed by terrorists overwhelm our ability to appreciate or understand the human cost.  Each death ripples out, affecting many others.  We become inured. Yet the numbers of martyred Catholics continues to increase.  The number increases in the Middle East, in India, in China and elsewhere.  We pray for those whose faith was strong.  We pray that they will be examples for us.  The following describes the deaths of Jesuit Fathers Mangin and Denn in 1900.

The assailants broke through the doors to find the congregation at Mass. The two Jesuits were at the altar. The killers offered to spare those who would apostasized. A frightened few did. As guns were fired Jesuit Fr. Denn began the Confiteor and Jesuit Fr. Mangin gave absolution. The priests died first.  Some of the assailants began shooting while others slashed their victims with swords. The chapel roof was set on fire and smoked filled the building. A few worshippers escaped through the windows, uttering words of apostasy. The majority of the Catholics, however, died on the altar of holocaust.

The collect for Mass asked for what we all need, even today.
"As you gave Augustine Zhao-rong
and the martyrs of China
the courage to suffer death for Christ,
give us the courage
to live in faithful witness to you."

I was in France two years ago.  It was a wonderful time.  I went berserk with the camera, particularly on Friday afternoons and weekends.  

 Garden scene in the garth at the Jesuit community in Lyon.

Gladiola in the garth.

Lemonade shop in Vieux Lyon.

Light sculpture in the train station. 

Train station in Lyon. 

Basilique ND de Fourviere

Fireworks at the Basilique on 14 July.   If you are in France DO NOT call it Bastille Day.  You will be severely corrected.

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

Sunday, June 26, 2016

13th Sunday of Ordinary Time

1 Kgs 19:16b, 19-21
Ps 23: 16:1-2, 5,7-8, 9-10,11
Gal 5:1, 12-18
Luke 9:51-62           

Today’s readings and gospel are rich in meaning and symbolism.  They are also dense and complex.  One common thread among them that speaks to us today is the question of our vocations, receiving, living and the cost of accepting them.

The Latin root of vocation, voco, vocare, vocatus means: to summon, to call, to name, to call upon, to invite, to challenge.  The meanings overlap a bit  but each is also distinct. A standard dictionary defines vocation as: a regular occupation, especially one for which a person is particularly qualified or suited, an inclination, as if in response to a summons, to undertake a particular kind of work, especially a religious career.  Then there is the very personal definition of vocation of Mother Dolores Hart, the movie actress who became a nun at Connecticut's Abbey of Regina Laudis 53 year ago: "A vocation is a call from God but not one you necessarily want."

One's vocation may involve membership in a particular order or congregation, vows, or ordination.  Those of us who came of age in the 50’s and 60’s tend to automatically associate the word ‘vocation’ with being a priest, sister, or brother.  ‘Vocation Day’ was always eagerly anticipated in parochial school, if for no other reason than several classes were suspended in favor of vocation talks.  Something like an in-school field trip.  It was certainly better than enduring arithmetic or, God forbid, algebra.  The Church's understanding of vocation has expanded since those days.

Today we speak of:
The vocation TO religious life
The vocation TO marriage
The vocation TO medicine
The vocation TO teaching
The vocation TO parenthood

Ultimately our vocations hinge on radical witness to Gospel values.  That radical witness is summarized in Paul’s letter the Galatians,  “For the whole law is fulfilled in one statement. You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” 

Elisha’s dramatic summons is fascinating.  Imagine being him. There you are working on a day like any other when a stranger comes up, tosses his cloak over you, and expects you to follow him? It would be odd. It would be frightening.  But that is what happens when we realize:
“This is it." 
"This is the life I will live." 
"This is the path I will follow." 
"This is the one whom I will follow."  

Many of us here probably have stories of how we came to realize our vocations at the most inconvenient time possible, much as it was for Elisha.  But we accepted the summons because in the end, when we realize our vocations, there really is no choice, something Mother Dolores knows very well. 

Jesus tells us of the cost of discipleship, the cost of accepting, following, and living out our vocations with integrity in the last verses of the Gospel.  That cost is very high.  When three men ask or are asked to follow Him Jesus does not respond with a warm and affirming “Great” or  “Welcome Aboard”  or  "Thank you for joining us.”  He gives them a reality check.  The first interchange reflects the challenge of being itinerant.  The demands of a vocation may keep us from being rooted in one place.  Or may force us to leave home for a place far away.  The last two replies seem almost cruel.  The late scripture scholar, Jesuit Fr. Dan Harrington, notes that the statement about not returning to bury one’s father is probably to be understood as deliberate hyperbole meant to shock the hearer into realizing that nothing is to be preferred to following Jesus, not even the solemn obligation to bury one’s parent.  Nothing takes precedence to discipleship and its demands.  Nothing takes precedence to living out one’s vocation.   The interchange with the third man has a modern counterpart.  “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the Kingdom of God.” 

Most of us have never been behind a plow or even on the seat of a tractor.  But we’ve driven cars.   When driving our eyes must be fixed on where we’re going not where we’ve been.  Looking back while behind a plow causes a crooked row.  Looking back . . .  or, to put things in a contemporary setting, texting while driving results in disaster.   As the birthday card my older sister sent a few years ago says, "Honk if you love Jesus, text while driving if you want to meet Him."

To follow Jesus, to accept and live out one’s vocation, requires that we remain with our gaze fixed ahead, not behind from whence we came.  Our freedom to do so is radical.  We are free to accept or reject a vocation.  We are free to love our neighbor or treat our neighbor as a means to an end.  Ultimately we are free to say with the psalmist:

"You will not abandon my soul to the netherworld
Nor will you suffer your faithful one to undergo corruption
you will show me the path to life
Fullness of joy in your presence
the delights at your right hand forever."

The readings, particularly Jesus' advice in the gospel, are interesting.  Looking back on two of the marriages at which I officiated that have ended, I wish I'd had the foresight to remind the couples that once the ceremony is over you can't look back.  You can't continue to hang out with your buddies the way you did before being married, you can't put your girlfriends  first.  The relationships will change drastically.  You cannot live the life you did before committing to marriage.  You have said yes to another.  You have said yes to a particular way of life.  This way of life cannot be part-time.  It must be full-time with everything else taking second place.  The same is true when parenthood happens.  Stay behind the plow, keep going forward.  

The same is true for a man or woman entering religious life.  Your old life is gone.  A few years ago while making manifestation to the provincial he asked if I had ever thought of leaving the Society.  I responded that I had, generally once a year, and almost invariably when I was in Philadelphia.  I liked living in Philly during med school and loved it during psychiatry residency fifteen years later.  Whenever I found myself in Philly after entering I would eventually wander over toward the Parkway with the Art Museum at one end (think Rocky running up the steps) and the Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul at the other.  And my apartment  with a view of the cathedral nearby.  During the three years I lived there I ran along the Parkway four or five days a week, attended concerts at the Academy of Music regularly (hearing violinist Sarah Chang's debut with the Orchestra remains the most memorable concert), explored restaurants, bookstores, and wandered.  Unfortunately I had not yet returned to photography as a hobby so there is no record.

Each of those times I would wonder about why I'd entered the Society and why I stayed.  And then at one of the medical school reunions it hit me.  I didn't want to leave the Society.  What fueled my thoughts was a sloppily sentimental nostalgia for being forty years-old again.  And THAT wasn't going to happen.  I was looking back at the energy I had then to run five or six miles early Sunday AM and then walk two miles to Mass followed by wandering the city for a few hours on the way back home.  One can look back and enjoy the memories but to recreate and relive those memories is impossible if for no other reason than age.  Once I figured out what drove my looking back the thoughts disappeared.  No, I ain't never gonna be forty again.  Might as well get used to the idea and stay behind the plow.  

Ljubljana at night was fascinating.  Just before I went to Slovenia I acquired 50 mm equivalent f 1.4 lens that allows hand held photography at night as opposed to needing a tripod.  A few days after arriving I went out in the neighborhood.  Am pleased with the results. 

This first is not technically a night shot but it is low-light.  It is the chapel at the Jesuit church.  The church is huge.  Vast.  It would be brutally expensive to heat in the winter.  Thus, the English-language Mass was held in here on Sunday.  The chapel was redesigned by Br. Robert who is an accomplished architect.  The simplicity is breathtaking.  He used/uses light very creatively as seen in the tabernacle that is lit from behind.  The translucent door is etched with the Jesuit sunburst IHS logo.  

This is the street alongside the Jesuit community and church.  It was about 9 PM when I took these.  Ljubljana is very quiet at night.

A little further down on the road leading to the canal. 

The canal runs through a significant swath of the city.

A viaduct over the canal. 

I'd had coffee earlier in the day at this coffee house with two men.  Lovely little place adjacent to the canal.   The table in the window (indoors, unlike most Slovenians I am not keen on sitting at an outdoor café in 50 degree weather drinking coffee.  

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

Monday, June 13, 2016

11th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Sam 12:7-10.13
Psalm 31
Gal 2:16.19-21
Luke 7:36:8:3

Being deeply in debt is uncomfortable.  Being forgiven a debt is an extraordinary experience.  What would it be like to open an envelope from the credit card company to find that the bill had been wiped clean? To be told you owe nothing more?  The word tremendous comes to mind.  Wouldn’t it be great to receive a letter from the bank informing you that the mortgage had been forgiven—and you were being given $10 grand for remodeling?  What would it be like to learn that an anonymous benefactor  had freely chosen to pay your debt?  Were we to then meet that benefactor most of us would be speechless in the face of such generosity.  That is what Jesus did for us.  Jesus freely chose to pay our debt, to atone for sin and to save us—not from bankruptcy court—but from death. 

Unfortunately, even after we come to know the one who had freely chosen to pay the debt, even after we learn how that debt was repaid, most of us behave more like the Pharisee than “the woman known in town to be a sinner.” No big deal.  Gratitude is not always our response to the gift or to the giver.

In its commentary on the first reading The Jewish Study Bible notes, “David has been ungrateful to the Lord who gave him everything.”  That is quite an understatement.  The Lord had given David everything and then some.  But—as it is for many—everything wasn’t enough.  He, like us, wanted even more.  So David went as far as to arrange for Uriah the Hittite to be sent to the front lines where he was certain to be killed, so that David could marry Uriah’s wife, Bathsheba, with whom he had already committed adultery resulting in a very inconvenient pregnancy.  David has only one redeeming feature in this sordid chapter.  As the commentary notes, “David, without arguing, frankly and immediately admits his guilt.”   He did not make excuses.  He did not say,  “I was only just . . ."  David did something that is very difficult for all of us.  He said, “I have sinned.”  He admitted his guilt.  He confessed.

The Gospel is something of a contrast. 

While it is difficult, if not impossible for us to admit, “I have sinned,” we are usually enthusiastic participants in the sport of pointing out the sins of others, oftentimes to anyone who will listen.  Simon, the host of the party, and his guests were certainly happy to do so.  “She is a sinner. . . .”  We are all sinners.  We are all sinners loved by God.  But unlike David we are reluctant, if not unwilling,  to admit our guilt.

How many rationalize not taking advantage of the sacrament of confession, or criticize Catholics, by saying "I don't need a priest.  I confess directly to God."?  Perhaps. The rationalizations for not confessing sins are sometimes creative.  In the end they all boil down to one thing, unwillingness to admit to ourselves that we are sinners.  We are unwilling to say it aloud. 

In our relationships with others  we find it difficult to apologize without trying to excuse ourselves saying something such as  “I’m sorry BUT . . .”, a line that is generally followed by inventive rationalizations and self-justifications.  Indeed, we oftentimes begin a comment that is going to hurt another individual with “I’m sorry, BUT. . . ."

The woman in the Gospel recognized the gift.  She recognized the tremendous gift of forgiveness.  And she acknowledged the giver.  Just like us, if we were to meet the benefactor who had freely chosen to pay off our mortgage, the woman was speechless.  She could only weep.  Did she weep from joy?  Did she weep from relief?  Perhaps she wept from sorrow when she realized how undeserving she was.

The responsorial psalm is explanatory:

“I acknowledged my sin to you
My guilt I covered not.
I said ‘I confess my faults to the Lord,’
And you took away the guilt of my sin. 

That is not an easy thing to do.   If we are able to do so, however, there is joy.

“Happy the one whose fault is taken away,
 Whose sin is covered.
Happy the one to whom the Lord imputes not guilt In whose spirit there is no guile."

In his letter to the Galatians Paul wrote, “I will not treat God’s gracious gift as pointless.”   He tells us what we are called to do.  To treat God’s gracious gift not as pointless, not as something that we deserve, not as something to which we are entitled, not as something for which we need not give thanks, but. . . . as the tremendous gift that it is.  The mortgage has been paid off. The bankers can’t touch us anymore.

Despite the bystanders muttering, “Who is this that he even forgives sins?”  we can only stand in silent gratitude as Jesus says to us,

“Your sins are forgiven. . .
Go now in peace.” 

A free day tomorrow.  For the first time in about 35 days I don't have to go anywhere to celebrate Mass.  I love doing it but the luxury of not having to hit the road by 9 AM or later is going to be appreciated.  As there is coffee, cereal, and a few other staples in the room I won't have to get out of my long-sleeved t-shirt and ratty basketball shorts.  Nor will I leave the room, especially dressed like that.  After a certain age a man should never be seen in public in shorts.  I've passed that age.  

The photos attached were taken in Lyon, France one year and one day ago (on 14 June 2014).  It was a perfect June day.  Sunny, warm, with breeze and no humidity.  Absolutely glorious.  I'd been there for two weeks already.  Got some very fine shots.  It was one of the few times I returned home for lunch and downloaded all the photos before going out again.  

The first two are the footbridge from Rue Sala, where the community was located, over to Vieux Lyon.  The church is St. Georges where Mass is exclusively celebrated in the extraordinary rite.  Beautiful stained glass.  The bridge was about 30 yards to the left of our entrance. 

The tiny cafe was almost directly across from the entrance to the community on Rue Sala.  Very tiny. 

Two shots of an art gallery in Vieux Lyon.  There were several things I would have liked to have purchased.  If I had money.  

The farmer's market along the Saône.

Breakfast at an outdoor cafe near the cathedral.

The Cafe des Jacobins, on the other side of the Place Bellecour. 

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

Friday, June 10, 2016

10th Friday in Ordinary Time

1 Kgs 19:9a, 11-16

The first reading from chapter 19 of the First Book of Kings begins with verse 9.  It is a fascinating study of faith in the face of adversity.  However, some fill-in background is needed for it to make any sense.

At the beginning of chapter 19 Elijah was about a low as he could go. He had fled Jezebel who had sworn to have him killed.  While hiding an angel instructed him to eat.  Elijah wanted to die. He had given up hope.  He had little faith in God or his mission.  He was despondent.  He ate only when ordered to do so a second time. He then set off on a journey of 40 days on foot. 

The Jewish Study Bible notes that a man traveling alone and used to walking  could cover 15 to 25 miles a day.  Multiplied by 40 days Elijah walked between 600 and 1000 miles.  To put that into perspective, were we to assume he walked 700 miles, he would have traveled from Boston to Cleveland.

What went through his mind as he walked?   What goes through our minds during the 40-day 700 mile journeys we are forced to take?  During chemotherapy?  In the setting of chronic pain?  After the death of a loved one?  Elijah wanted to give up.  But he didn’t.  We are confronted with the same choice. 

Elijah encountered God at the end of his journey.  That he encountered God in a whisper, rather than an earth-shaking event--tornado, earthquake, or fire--is one of the memorable images in the Old Testament.  Elijah had to be open to hearing that whisper.  He had to be attuned to it.  His faith told him it would come.  Similarly, we have to be prepared to hear God's voice in a whisper, in a brief moment of quiet that interrupts the noise in our lives. 

Faith is not a shield from trauma;
Faith does not protect against pain.
Faith does not evaporate the anguish of grieving
the death of a spouse, a parent, or a child.
Faith does not prevent illness and death. 

Faith is an umbrella over all of these.  In the midst of our fear, anguish, frustration, and anger, it allows us to hear the voice of God, in the softest of whispers.  
It has been almost a month since I posted anything.  To say that I've been busy would be a understatement.  I've been on the road a lot, writing a lot of homilies for the Masses I'm celebrating at what I now call "The Carmelite Complex" in Framingham.  The Convent, Carmel Terrace, and St. Patrick Manor, all have Masses daily, except for the convent which is generally Monday through Friday.  

Today is the ninth anniversary of my first Mass.  I was ordained nine years ago yesterday along with Andy Downing and Matt Monnig.  Saw Matt a few weeks ago.  He was actually shocked when I mentioned it had been nine years.  I've been enjoying sitting with the memories of that day.  On Sunday I will be posting the homily I gave at the Mass of Thanksgiving at St. Mary's Church, my home parish, a week after ordination.  

Spent last weekend staying about 1/3 the way up Mt. Equinox in Arlington, VT.  Beautiful drive out though I didn't stop to take any photos as I had to be there by a specified time.  Once off I-91 in Greenfield, MA it was all two-lane VT country roads for a out 2 hours.  The house, a typical 1950's structure had sweeping views of the valley below.  As the house had a complete southern exposure sunrise and sunset photos were a tad difficult.  Hope to return some time in the winter or late fall. 

The view of the  Arlington, VT way below the house.

The flagstone deck after I'd had morning coffee and said the office.  I was wearing a sweatshirt while drinking the coffee.  Wonderfully cool. 

These are almost emblematic of the 1950's cocktail culture. 

There was a crucifix and two empty candle holders on a parson's table just inside the entrance.  A little bit of contortion and nothing but sky and a bit of tree in the background. 

Just after returning to the house on Saturday evening as sunset was happening. 

The end of sunset. 

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

7th Wednesday in Ordinary Time

Jas 4: 13-17
Ps 49:2-3, 6-7, 8-10, 11

The reading from James is not the only time we will be cautioned against counting on tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that.  Or making great plans.  No one can count on tomorrow.  Tomorrow can be changed in the blink of an eye.  We.  Our loved ones.  Our friends.  Our co-workers.  Our neighbors.  We are all puffs of smoke.  When we are gone the memory of us evaporates in the same way that the smoke from candles on a birthday cake dissipates. 

The psalm explains.   

". . . in no way can a man redeem himself,
or pay his own ransom to God; 
Too high is the price
he would never have enough to remain alive always
and not see destruction."

 It reminds us of our fundamental human equality.

"For . . . wise men die,
and likewise the senseless and the stupid pass away, 
leaving their wealth to others."

It is a shock to realize that one is not indispensible. It is an even greater shock to realize that tomorrow may never come. 

The first reading from the breviary yesterday morning was the lyrics of a song composed in the 1950's.  It became a major hit for the American folk-rock group The Byrds in 1965.  It is no joke to say that this particular rock song has the oldest lyrics ever for a top 40 hit.  That is our course Pete Seeger's song to which he added only one word repeated three times:  "Turn, Turn, Turn."

"To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season, (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose under heaven."

Ecclesiastes continues:

"A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant  . . . .
A time to weep, and a time to laugh,
A time to be silent, and a time to speak.
A time of war, and a time of peace"

You can find the song on You Tube.  Just type in Turn, Turn, Turn.  You can find the lyrics in Chapter 3 of Ecclesiates.  No matter which you choose, it is critical to recall that our time is now.  We are not guaranteed tomorrow.  Our time is now.  We are called to use it as best we can.  We're called to do the right thing.

This was one of the great songs of the mid-60's.  Who woulda' thought?   I will confess to having more or less sung the first reading from Ecclesiastes in my head.  For the rest of the day.  This was not an ear worm about which to complain.  

The attached photos are candles, obviously, taken in any number of locations.  I prefer black and white photography to color.  Certainly if I had to choose to shoot exclusively in one or the other it would be black and white.  My first roll of film back in 1977 was ASA 400 black and white.  One company makes a camera that shoots only in black and white.  The price would leave my credit card black and blue. 

The votive candles at the Basilique Notre Dame de Fourviere in Lyon.  These were in the crypt chapel, a space I very much preferred to the overly done and gaudy upper church.   In some of the candle stands the candles higher up were seriously bent due to the heat from the lower candles melting them. 

These are the votive candles at Old St. Joseph Church on Willings Alley in Philadelphia.  Definitely worth a visit when in Philly.  Not easy to find as it is tucked away due to anti-Catholic sentiments during the 17th centuries.  Founded and built by the Society of Jesus. 

One of the candles at the side of the altar at Campion Center 

The altar candles in the chapel at Loyola-Marymount University in Los Angeles.  Took these when I went out for Ryan's vows last August. 

Finally, two candles and a bowl on the table in the men's guest house at the Abbey of Regina Laudis.  

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD