Ned Cassem, SJ, MD

Ned Cassem, SJ, MD former Chairman of the Department of Psychiatry at Massachusetts General Hospital died on 4 July after  long illness.  Ned was my chief when I was on staff at MGH and was, of course, quite involved with the consultation psychiatry fellows.  He and George Murray, SJ, MD entered the Society a month apart though George was a few years older. They met shortly after vows when they did philosophy together in St. Louis.   Ned did all of his post-high school education through the Society.  Won't bother enumerating all the degrees.  Perhaps most impressive is that after receiving his MD from Harvard Medical Ned did his theological studies simultaneously with his psychiatry residency.  

The Mass was this morning at Campion.  As was true for George, I was main celebrant and preached.  I never imagined back in 1991 when the two of them interviewed me for the consultation psychiatry fellowship at Mass General that I would celebrate their funeral Masses.  Of course I was only at the beginning of discerning my vocation to the Society.  But, even after entering, it was one of those things I hoped I wouldn't have to do.  Given the age difference, however, it is no surprise.  Ned was 80.  George would be 85 now.  I am a mere stripling at 66 (in a few weeks).  

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Wisdom  3:1-6, 9

Psalm 23

Romans 12:3-9

Mark 4:35-41

There is a degree of comfort in the first reading from the ancient Book of Wisdom.  But only a degree.  "The souls of the just are in the hands of God and no torment shall touch them."

Hearing these words of assurance gives us a little comfort.  But only a little. It is too soon.  It will take time to get used to the idea that Ned has died.  It will not be easy to internalize that Edwin Cassem, of the Society of Jesus, MD is dead.  It will take a while to comprehend  that he has entered eternal life, that he now knows something none of us know, or will know, until we too have died.

Death has a different meaning for a Christian.  It is no longer simply an inevitable future to which one must be resigned.  It is no longer a condemnation to nothingness.  Dying in Christ is dying to death itself.  Dying in Christ is entering into new life.  Once again the reading from Wisdom, "They seemed in the view of the foolish, to be dead, . . . but they are in peace."   Ned was many things.  Foolish was never one of them.

Barbara McManus, Ned's former administrative assistant, faxed me several pages of his thought. The first page was titled "CREED."  The fourth tenet is:  "Death is not depressing. It's inspiring. It makes one sad but being sad is different from being depressed. If there is a lot of sadness it is a measure of how much the person was loved."  Were we to turn on a sadness meter here it would make three or four complete revolutions about the dial before it settled into place.  Ned was loved.  By many.  Ned seems to have condensed the reading from Wisdom in the following tenet: "If you confront death with somebody you love who is dying, out of that will come learning that transforms your life. It leaves you stronger, braver, and calmer."

Paul's letter to the Romans, the second reading, detailed the various gifts with which each of us may be endowed.  The reading implies that we may be granted one or perhaps two of these gifts.  But not all of them.  Obviously St. Paul had never met Ned.  Or, he never considered the possibility that he would exist.

Ned was one of those very rare men who exercised all of the gifts enumerated by Paul . . . simultaneously.  And he did so with great grace in both the secular sense of: "a controlled, polite and pleasant way of interacting, and in the theological sense of: "the gift of God which contains all other gifts, through which he who accepts God's grace finds comfort."

There are many stories about Ned as a generous giver, a superb teacher and lecturer, a man who could exhort others to do their best,  (oftentimes by example rather than word), and as a chairman of psychiatry who was diligent in his duties; sometimes, it seemed, to the point of obsession.

Basil Cardinal Hume, the late Benedictine Cardinal-Archbishop of Westminster and son of a physician wrote the following. "The doctor and the priest have much in common.  Both are concerned with people, with their well-being."  Our starting points are different, but inevitably we discover that our interests converge."  (The) experience of people tells us, priest and physician, "that many are still bewildered, indeed haunted, by the perennial problems of pain, suffering and death."

Three tenets of "CREED" flesh out Hume's writing, as if Ned were writing midrash on it:

The first was, "As clinicians our responsibility is to always protect the patient. Our obligation is to stand up for the rights of the patient."

The second, "The secret of care for the patient is caring for the patient."

And the third, "The core of the doctor's healing role is loving the patient as the doctor loves himself."

Then there was the prophetic.  As Paul wrote, "if prophecy, in proportion to the faith."  It was in the prophetic sense that Ned responded intellectually, spiritually and concretely to the perennial problems of pain, suffering and death.  Ned's pioneering work in terminal care, the care of the bereaved and, in particular, with the optimal care committee proved him a visionary, a cousin, at least, to the ancient prophets of Israel.  He saw the need well before anyone else.  But unlike most, after seeing the need he did something about it.  And he did so because of the deep love for others given him through God's gift of grace and his response to that gift in faith. 

I was puzzling over the choice of gospel reading.  None of the recommended options caused the limbic "chung" that said, yes, this is the one.  I asked Bill Foley, another Jesuit physician, if he had any thoughts.  He did.  The calming of the storm at sea. 

CHUNG!!!

Because he did the heavy lifting, because he was always prepared, because he knew his stuff, Ned calmed many a storm, if not actually at sea, then in the hearts of his patients trainees, staff and, at times, entire swatches of Massachusetts General Hospital. 

Ignatian meditation includes inserting oneself into a gospel narrative and exploring it.  In that spirit, place Ned in that boat with Jesus and the anxious whimpering apostles.  What would THAT conversation have been like?  I will refrain from putting exact words into Ned's mouth.  But, I suspect he would have indicated that they shut up, bail, and row. And hearing this Jesus would have grinned, nodded, and said, "Ned, you get it, and you git it.  Now, as for the rest of you poor sorry. . ."

After I sent the e-mail announcing Ned's death and funeral plans to the former Murray fellows and other psychiatrists, replies began to arrive within an hour.  The most common statement across the e-mails was, "it is the end of an era." 

It is the end of an era.  But , the end of the era is not the end of a legacy. The end of an era is not the end of a man's influence. It is, rather, a challenge to those who lived and worked during that era. It is a challenge to those who were graced to experience this multi-gifted man.  The end of this era is the time to reinforce the legacy and to build upon it through your own gifts of teaching, caring, comforting, and in prophetic action.

The prayer on the back of Ned's memorial card was on the back of his ordination card.  It was composed by Jesuit Father Pierre Teilhard de Chardin.  It summarizes Ned.  It summarizes his mission. 

"May the Lord

only preserve in me

a burning love for the world

and a great gentleness,

and may he help me

to persevere to the end

in the fullness of humanity." 

Ned.  God answered your prayers.  And then some. 

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,

et lux perpetua luceat eis!

"Eternal rest, grant unto him, O Lord

and let perpetual light shine upon him."

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I wrote the homily while at Regina Laudis for a few days last week.  I may go there whenever I have major writing to do.  I will be going back in early September for my annual eight-day retreat.  

I took the photos below when I hit a real snag in getting the homily moving.  

Most of the outbuildings at the abbey are mostly unpainted except for the doors and window frames.  Those are painted red.  It has been a while since the trim was repainted.  I like the effect of the sun-bleached red, the blistering and peeling of the paint and the variation of color. 

A day lily near the barn. 

 These old wooden wagon wheels were begging to be photographed. I obliged.

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

13th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Wis 1:13-15, 2:23-24

Ps 30:2,4,5,6,11-13,

2 Cor 8:7,9, 11-13

Mk 5:21-43

One of the most spectacular choruses in Handel's Messiah is a study in contrast.  In the superb recording by Boston Baroque it begins with a short minor chord on the organ after which the chorus sings a cappella: "Since by man came death, since by man came death."  Then the organ and orchestra explode in joy as the chorus proclaims: "By man came also the resurrection of the dead" three times.   Another somber chord leads into another a cappella passage:  "For as in Adam all die, for as in Adam all die."  That is followed by another explosion of rejoicing as organ, orchestra and chorus proclaim:  "Even so in Christ shall all be made alive" four times.  This contrast is apparent in today's readings. 

The first reading began with "God did not make death, nor does he rejoice in the destruction of the living." 

God is not a sadistic marionetteer who induces personal tragedy in random fashion.  Nor is God a benign magician who guides a desperation pass into the arms of a receiver in the end-zone, not even the magnificent Flutie to Phalen pass at Miami, or, to think of it, the pass on 27 December that allowed Penn State to defeat Boston College.  Both ends of this continuum represent a faith that is fit only for three year-olds.

God created the world for humankind.  God created us in His own image to be imperishable.  We promptly rejected the gifts of that creation--we continue to reject the gifts of that creation--for the hubris of being completely self-determining.  Thus death entered the world.  And so it remains: hubris, sin, and death. But then we see hope in today's long Gospel reading. It would be easy to spend most of a semester on this particular Gospel passage.  Faith, death, ritual impurity, the significance of a 12 year-old girl and a 12 year duration of blood flow.  Sociology, medicine, theology, philosophy and more, all wrapped up in one reading.

In the gospel we hear what is sometimes called a "Markan Sandwich."  A Markan sandwich begins with a narrative that is interrupted by a different self-contained narrative followed by the conclusion of the first narrative.  The themes uniting both are faith and the most dire forms of ritual impurity: menstrual blood and death.

The woman was excluded from full-participation in the land of the living by her chronic state of ritual impurity.  That state was due to what today is called dysfunctional uterine bleeding.  Uterine cancer?  Firbroids?  No clue.  She was not only continuously bleeding; she was also infertile, something that was understood as a great curse.  Merely being touched by her, intentionally or unintentionally, would transmit that ritual impurity.  That contagion of impurity was a very bad thing for all concerned. 

In the situation of the young girl Jesus risked ritual impurity by touching her dead body.  Of course today we are much too sophisticated to believe in ritual impurity.  We are too modern to believe that contact with another individual could defile or contaminate us.  Yeah, right!

Try being a smoker.  Banished to the physical margins, a portico, a store overhang, the back porch, and being treated with disdain by a certain self-righteous tribe.  Suggest that animals have their place, and it does not equal that of humans, and one may be castigated or accused--horror of horrors--of being a "speciesist," whatever that might mean.   Are you against abortion?  Would you rather not kill grand pop because he is demented?  Don't admit that at a cocktail party in Manhattan.  "I could never socialize with someone with such unenlightened views" would be the sniffed retort.  We still believe in ritual impurity.  We call it by other names but we still believe in it.  Because of ritual impurity this is probably not a good week to display a confederate flag on the porch.

"Since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead."  We heard this reiterated in the Alleluia verse:  "Our Savior Jesus Christ destroyed death and brought life to light through the Gospel."

He offers that life to all of us through faith, the faith of the woman who had heard about Jesus, a woman who was sufficiently daring to mingle with a crowd to whom she could impart her impurity. She risked being beaten for touching others.  She took the risk to touch Jesus' clothing so that she might be healed.  Jesus offers life to us through the faith of the little girl's father who was willing to endure the crowd's ridicule to seek help for his daughter.  Jesus' miracles did not cause faith. They were driven by faith.

Jesus offers us the same.  He offers us the same healing in the sacraments of the Church: in baptism that cleanses us from original sin and begins our journey into full communion with the Church.  He offers that healing in confession that removes the stain of the sins we consciously choose to commit.  He offers that healing at Mass where we are privileged to hear His word and receive His sacred body and blood.

In light of this great gift we sing with the psalmist:

"Hear O Lord, and have pity on me;

O Lord, be my helper.

You changed my mourning into dancing:

O Lord, my God, forever will I give you thanks."

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Am recovering from a miserable cold.  It hit two days after I got home from Lorraine's funeral and laid me low for an entire week.  The coughing was severe and exhausting.  Sleep was difficult for several nights.  Am now on the mend though chanting is still a bit dicey.  However, I should be back to normal voice when I go to Regina Laudis in two weeks.  

School has finally ended in Boston after all the make-up time for the snow days.  I forgot that fact on Friday morning and, as a result, arrived at the convent for Mass rather early.  NO SCHOOL BUSES!!!!!!  Best part of summer.  

The photos below are a study in color, shape, texture and light.  They are closeups of the stained glass on the entrance ramp at St. Mary's Church in Plymouth, PA, my home parish.  The last one is a quick snapshot of the area to give an idea of what the windows look like as it would be impossible to tell from the first photos. 

Finally, the windows. These were done by Baut Studios in Swoyersville, PA, not too far from Plymouth.  Baut is a longstanding family owned and run stained glass studio that has received commissions from all over the world including the Vatican.  Magnificent work.  The technique of embedding thick pieces of glass in metal, at times very thick and heavy metal, is one of their innovations.  

Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

Memorial of Saints John Fisher and Thomas More

What does it cost to take a stand for one’s faith?  What does it cost to go against the court of public opinion?  What does it cost to believe?  It costs a lot.  Today we celebrate the memorial of two great English martyrs. Both died because they held to the principles of their faith.  Bishop John Fisher and Sir Thomas More were both martyred in 1535.  Their deaths were ordered by King Henry VIII because they opposed his plan to name himself head of the church so that he could divorce Catherine of Aragon and marry Anne Boleyn.  Of course Henry went on to marry as many times as Elizabeth Taylor thereby making a mockery of the sacrament.  But, that is a different homily.

Both men had the courage of their convictions.  They stood alone in defying the king.  Fisher was the only bishop to speak out against the king’s plan.  But he did not criticize those bishops who lacked the courage to speak out.  Thomas More, who had held the highest legal post in England, would not budge from his principles.  He bore no ill will toward the judges who condemned him to death.  Neither man wavered in his beliefs.  Both died for them.  The courage of these two great saints should be a model for us when we have to speak out against the abuses of our age.  

We don’t face martyrdom in quite the same way.  We face something we may dread more.  Criticism.  We face being considered hopelessly “behind the times.”  We face ostracism or exclusion because of our beliefs. We face the public execution by the perpetually aggrieved. Trying saying in the public that Bruce Jenner is not a woman. The demands for apologies, groveling, and job loss would reach a fever pitch immediately.

Confucius described  “the rectification of names.”  One explanation of this key concept of Chinese philosophy is that the corruption of society begins with the failure to call things by their proper names… and its reconstruction begins with reattaching words to real things and precise concepts.   Is it women’s health care or abortion?  Is it death with dignity or killing a sick old man?  Is it just a little affair or is it adultery?  We cannot afford euphemisms that deny the reality of sin or rationalize it into something else.  We cannot bear the cost of words that normalize wrong or evil action. 

John Fisher and Thomas More died because they called the king’s actions what they were.  Sin. We should expect no less of ourselves.  We should expect no less of our Church.  

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The cold is letting up.  Slowly.  The timing was perfect as I'd planned on being away for a few days but then canceled the plans after Lorraine died.  Thus I had no Mass commitments.  Good thing.  I can barely speak a sentence without coughing, much to the chagrin of some of my friends.  Going to Regina Laudis for a few days later.  I assume the chanting voice will have returned by then.  

When I was at Longwood I took over 400 photos.  Besides the water lilies a must stop is the orchid room.  Orchids are very different on the stem than leering up from the left shoulder of a prom gown.  In the sixties if it wasn't an orchid is was carnations died colors that God never planned for a carnation or any other flower.  As long as it matched the dress.  Bridezillas in training.  

Herewith, the orchids. 

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

Difficult Time

My oldest sister, Lorraine, died on Tuesday 2 June.   Her death, while sudden, was not entirely unexpected in the context of some medical problems that were diagnosed about a year ago.  It was one of those settings in which being a physician is a tremendous disadvantage.  We know too much.  That makes it difficult to deny the reality of the future.  The funeral was Wednesday 10 June.  I celebrated and preached.  The readings and homily are below. 

Lorraine lived in the Wilmington, DE area for at least 50 years.  I drove to PA the Thursday after she died and, after a few days in our hometown, checked into an Inn about 15 minutes away from the church.  It was also 15 minutes away from Longwood Gardens.  Once the homily was finished I went over to Longwood for several hours with the camera, the better to wrap my head around the changes that will overtake the family.  

Lorraine was 14 years old (our other sister Ellie was 10) when my twin brother and I were born.  We didn't really get to know each other until we were adults.  When I was in medical school at Temple in Philadelphia, it was about 1/2 mile walk to the North Philly train station and a similar distance to her house from the Claymont (DE) station.  We had great times together and she, for the most part, taught me to cook long distance.  We parted cooking ways when I began baking bread.  Though she was a superb cook she turned the page immediately upon seeing the word yeast.  
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Wisdom 3:1-6,9
First Letter to the Corinthians 15L:51-57
John 14:1-6

HOMILY

" . . . in an instant

in the blink of an eye."

For Lorraine it was exactly that, an instant, a mere instant between life and eternal life.  For those of us left behind to mourn  it was, is, and will be for a long time, an instant we wish had not happened.  It was an instant that plunged us into a world of perplexity, a world of grief, a time of sorrow and confusion. It will take a long time before things seem to make some sense.  There is a degree of comfort in the reading from the ancient Book of Wisdom. But only a degree.

"The souls of the just

are in the hands of God

and no torment shall touch them."

Hearing these words of assurance  so soon after Lorraine's unexpected death gives us only a hint of comfort.  For now.   However, the readings from Wisdom, from Paul's Letter to the Corinthians, and from John's Gospel remind us that death is not the end.  It is a beginning.  It is a beginning that none of us can know or describe or fully apprehend no matter how hard we try.

     

Lorraine will be missed by many people.  She will be missed in a manner that will be unique to each of us.  She will be missed in a way that is specific to the nature of the relationship each of us had with her.  For many, if not most of us, it will be the absence of the little things in particular that will provoke  some of the most severe pangs of grief over the coming months and years.  It will be difficult at Christmas when I have to actually purchase for myself  the toothbrush and 12-pack of Penn State embossed pencils that arrived annually without fail for the past twenty or so years. 

Lorraine had a close relationship with our cousin Susan Gaylor and, in particular, with her daughter Rosie, now a 24 year-old who will start medical school in August.  Susan is in Ireland today and could not be here.  She sent a long letter of recollections of Lorraine.  I want to share some of them with you.

"I can remember the phone call from Lorraine as I lay in my hospital bed, holding Rosie who was one day old.  'Congratulations, and would you mind if Jim and I sort of adopted Rosie?'"  She went on to explain that Lorraine wanted to do special things for her on holidays and the like.

A forty-one year old first-time mother Susan wrote, "Mind?  I needed all the help I could get!!!"  She continued.  "Little did I realize what Lorraine would go on to do for us. There was all that exquisite needlepoint.  There were the carefully smocked dresses. They were works of art."  But, "over the years, Lorraine was always there.  She was not a distant supporter. First communion, confirmation, graduation .  .usually showing up with some wonderful delectable foods to share.

Lorraine was a role model for me. Raising an only child has certain challenges.  When I see the beautiful job Lorraine did raising Kate,  a strong, smart, successful and happy woman, it is inspiring.  One day Lorraine said,  'Don't worry, Susan, there IS life after 50!'  How right she was.  One only had to look at her and Jim planning their next trip or adventure."  She ended, "Yes, Lorraine, you were right, life is what you make it, and it can be great an any age.

Thank you for being such a great role model."

"Don't worry, Susan, there IS life after 50!"  For Lorraine there was life after 50, after 60, and deep, very deep, into her seventies.  But, it is the promise of our faith that there is always life, even after life as we know it on this earth, has ended. That is the gift of eternal life.

It is that sure knowledge, it is that faith in eternal life, that allowed St. Paul to ask, with a tone of defiance and perhaps even sarcasm,

"O death, where is thy victory,

O grave, where is thy sting?"

That faith is strengthened when we hear Jesus proclaim,

"I am the resurrection and the life,

whoever believes in me

will not die for ever"

Death has a different meaning for those who profess themselves to be Christian.  It is no longer simply an inevitable future to which you must resign yourself.  It is no longer a condemnation.  Dying in Christ is dying to death itself.  As we heard in the first reading moments ago,

"They seemed in the view of the foolish, to be dead, . . . but they are in peace."

In the Gospel, Jesus instructed his disciples, as he instructs us at this moment, "Do not let your hearts be troubled.  You have faith in God, have faith also in me."  We know, of course, that we will have a difficult time following this instruction.  Our hearts will be troubled for a long time. Our faith will waver, it may seem to disappear.  We hear of that tenuous faith in the Gospel when Thomas, the one who doubted Jesus' resurrection, asked,  ". . . we do not know where you are going; how can we know the way?"

"How can we know the way?"  We will ask ourselves that question multiple times over the coming months. "How can we know the way?"

Many of you may not know that for a woman who did not drive, Lorraine was a superb navigator. She was better than GPS.  And she pre-dated GPS by a few years.  You ignored her instruction to turn right at your own peril.   (You know who you are.)

At the end of the Gospel Jesus replied to Thomas,  "I am the Way and the Truth and the Life.  No one comes to the Father except through me."  We will leave this church bereaved but we are also called to leave with a small degree of comfort.

Lorraine always knew the way.  Now she knows the Way, the Truth, and the Life."

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,

et lux perpetua luceat eis!

Eternal rest, grant unto her, O Lord`

and let perpetual light shine upon her.

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The water liles at Longwood

 +Fr. Jack, SJ, MD