Be-ing

It is the early 80’s and I’m a few years out of school, unmarried, and starting out on a very lucrative career.  I live in Reston, Virginia, a new town founded in the 1960s.  We have a brand new Catholic parish and a friend suggests that we start a Knights of Columbus Council.  I’m thinking old guys in tuxedos and plumed hats, that’s not me, is it?  But Jerry convinces me and, since I’m a finance guy, I get to be the charter treasurer.  The financial secretary – who I have to work closely with as the treasurer – is one of the “old guys.”  Of course, that’s the way I saw it, but he was no more than 55 then, younger than I am today.  He didn’t have the tuxedo and plumed hat.  In fact, he seemed to me a very nice man, a good man.  His name is Paul Hickey.

I didn’t have the language then to describe why he seemed so nice, but as I got to know him better – who would have dreamed I’d become his son-in-law! – and as the Lord drew me closer to Scripture, I ultimately realized what Paul had and why I should want to be just like him.

For Paul, things weren’t important; people were.  Color television, who needs it?  Fancy car, what for?  Pay extra for peanut butter, are you crazy?  Frugal, Paul was.  But that only allowed him to be extremely generous – generous with his charity, generous with his time, generous with his talents.  He reminded me of some of the homeless I know from the shelter I volunteer at.  They have next-to-nothing, but are always eager to share what they have.  Blessed are the poor in spirit, theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Perhaps it was his Irish heritage, but Mary remembers many a wake that Paul would drag all the children to, much to their discomfort.  It’s important, he’d say, to mourn with your friends, to help celebrate the lives of those we know who have passed.  Blessed are those who mourn, they shall be comforted.

A striking feature of Paul was his gentleness.  I rarely saw him angry.  My brother, who only knew Paul from a few family gatherings, when he heard of Paul’s death, told me that he knew Paul as a gentle man.  Truly he was.  Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

When Paul lived in White Plains, he was the go-to guy whenever the city or some developer wanted to erect some outrageous tower or otherwise disrupt their quiet, residential neighborhood.  Paul would do the research, attend the hearings, and, in his persuasive way, turn the plans around.  Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness sake, they shall be satisfied.

As all of us parents know, kids can test unconditional love to the very limit.  Somehow it seems they never do things just that way we’d want or expect.  Whether it was John taking six years to get through college – he had to graduate because he ran out of courses to take – or Mary wanting to be a teacher – “geez, you’ll never have two nickels to rub together” – or Tish gypsying around trying to find herself – will she ever settle down? – they all knew that Paul’s love would never flag.  Whatever or whenever, he would be there for them.  Blessed are the merciful, for they shall find mercy.

Paul was always devoted to the church and its teachings.  Before we had a church building in Reston, Pat and Paul would host daily Masses at their home.  They’d especially do this during college vacations, in part, so they could shame the kids into attending.  Mary remembers Paul standing at the bottom of the stairs, “I don’t know how you can lie in bed when you know the Mass will be celebrated in your very own living room!”  Of course, they couldn’t resist.  Pat and Paul raised three children who, to this day, are faith-filled people with faith-filled families.  Blessed are the clean of heart, for they shall see God.

His experience in the army during the Korean War, particularly during basic training, encouraged Paul to pray for peace, and he continued do that for the rest of his life.  He was a man of prayer and peace, particularly praying, as Zechariah did, that the dawn from on high would shine on his children, guiding their feet into the way of peace.  Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.

Life didn’t always go according to Paul’s plan.  Some may have wallowed in self-pity at such disappointments.  But Paul would simply roll up his sleeves and confront whatever problems beset him.  Whether it was cooking some typical dad-can’t-really-boil-water dinner for the kids when he had to do that, or spending a summer on a ladder burning the paint off a 50-year old house to repaint it, Paul got it done with nary a complaint.  Blessed those who are persecuted, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Paul taught me with his life what his patron and namesake, Paul of Tarsus teaches me in Scripture - that the be-ing of life was so much more important than the doing of life.  To know who you are – a sinner saved by an all-loving, all-merciful, all-provident God who proves his love in that while we still sinned, Christ died for us – and to know this great love in your heart of hearts, frees you from all of your wants, frees you from all of your fears, frees you be what Jesus calls each one of us to be – poor in spirit, mournful for the world and its sufferings, meek, hungry for righteousness, merciful, clean of heart, a peacemaker who bears patiently with suffering and persecution.  And when that is your be-ing, the doing naturally flows. 

Blessed are you, Paul Patrick Hickey, the kingdom of heaven is yours.

A lesson from Barnabas

Unless you happen to be from Cyprus, where St. Barnabas was born and martyred, St. Barnabas is probably not among your top ten most influential saints or your ten favorite saints or maybe, he’s not even on your list of saints at all. 

The early church, though, thought highly of Barnabas and appreciated his role in the with great fondness.  He is called an apostle, yet he is never mentioned in the Gospels.  He is the first post-Pentecost convert whose name is given to us by Luke in the Acts of the Apostles.  This was a clue that he was to play a major role.  It was such a large role that if it wasn’t for his contribution, there is a very good chance that many, many of us would not even be Christians today.

To explain, we have to know a bit about St. Paul.  Unlike the story of Barnabas, most of us are pretty familiar with the outlines of Saul/Paul.  Starting out as a persecutor of the early Christians, Saul is struck down on the road to Damascus and experiences a great conversion.  He goes out into the desert to discern his mission, comes back to Damascus and, shocking most everyone, preaches Jesus as the messiah.  He goes to Jerusalem for a meet-and-greet with the apostles and then it’s off to convert the Gentiles, which he does with great success.  He is a prolific letter writer, and many of his writings are revered as sacred scripture – and that’s what they become! 

Many consider Paul the first Christian theologian.  As such, he argued that faith in Jesus is the only determinant of our salvation, making adherence to the Jewish law unnecessary.  This opened us Christianity to the 99% of the world that wasn’t Jewish!  Without Paul, it is easy to argue that there would be many, many fewer Christians in the world and we wouldn’t be among their number.  But none of this happens without Barnabas.

After Saul visits the disciples in Jerusalem – where he is introduced to the disciples by our friend Barnabas – he doesn’t immediately go off to fame and glory.  In fact, he disappears!  We hear nothing of him for roughly ten years.  They are like Jesus’ “hidden years,” for there is no mention of Saul or Paul or whatever he might be doing.  Presumably, he simply goes back to his home town of Tarsus, making tents – the family trade – for that that is where we next hear of him.

Meanwhile, the church is growing rapidly, particularly in Antioch.  The apostles in Jerusalem decide to send Barnabas to minister to and oversee the Christians there.  After Barnabas arrives, as we hear today in Acts, the church continues to grow rapidly, and Barnabas seeks help for his mission.  What does he do?  He goes off to Tarsus and encourages his old acquaintance Saul to join him.  After working a year or so together in Antioch, the church there is thriving and the leaders are inspired by the Spirit to send Barnabas and Saul out on mission to the Gentiles.  (Acts 11:19-26; 13:1-3)  The rest, as they say, is history.

But if Barnabas doesn’t decide to get Saul out of Tarsus, it may not have happened at all.  His small act had great consequences.

This reminds us that even our own smallest acts of charity, of mercy, and of love, or our simplest words of encouragement can have larger implications than we can possibly imagine.  Often times, I find myself reluctant to act since I think I have so little to offer.  I think I can’t possibly make a difference.  St. Barnabas encourages me, as he encourages you, to act anyways.  Let God multiply your works as only He can.

And if we are encouraged by the example and prayers of St. Barnabas, that is a particularly apt and auspicious thing!  When he first joined the disciples, his name was Joseph.  They changed his name to Barnabas, meaning “son of encouragement.”  (Acts 4:36)  They must have known something, even then.

St. Barnabas, son of encouragement, pray for us.

Restoration

A principal theme of John’s gospel is that Jesus restores the original justice that God intended for his creation.  John alerts us to this theme in his opening line – “In the beginning was the Word,” reminding us of the very start of everything – “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” (Gn 1:1)

Throughout the Gospel, Jesus restores faith to the unbelieving, sight to the blind, health to the sick, wholeness to the lame, even, in the case of Lazarus, restores life to the dead.  In today’s reading (Jn 20:19-23), near the end of the gospel, Jesus breathes on the disciples that they may receive the holy Spirit, reminding us again of Genesis and how God created man as he “breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and so man became a living being.” (cf Gn 2:7)

On this Pentecost day, we celebrate the coming of the Spirit to those first disciples, and we pray that the Spirit and his gifts help us continue Jesus’ mission of restoration.

Come, Holy Spirit; fill us with piety, that we may be drawn ever closer to the source of all love, the source of all peace, and the source of all joy.

Come Holy Spirit; fill us with wisdom that we might see the world as God sees it – an object of His love that we might also love as He loves us.

Come Holy Spirit; fill us with understanding that we might realize the particular mission you have for each one of us, the role we are to play in your divine plan.

Come Holy Spirit; fill us with knowledge of God’s commandments that we follow them in love and humility.

Come Holy Spirit; fill us with counsel that we may speak only your words and serve always with your love.

Come Holy Spirit; fill us with wonder and awe that we may see in your power and glory our shield and our protection that we might not fear anything of mere earthly origin.

Come Holy Spirit; fill us with fortitude that we might persevere in love despite those who persecute us as they persecuted our Lord and Savior.

Filled with the gifts of the Holy Spirit, we are at peace, the peace of Christ which he wishes on his disciples that first Easter night. 

Filled with the gifts of the Holy Spirit, we are freed from our wants and fears, released from ego and self-centeredness, and sent forth to love and to serve God and all others.

Filled with the gifts of the Holy Spirit, we work to restore the kingdom of God, that it be made more perfect here on earth, as it is in heaven. 

Amen, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

Our loving-parent-God

If you drew a ten-mile circle around this very church, my mom – with her sister, Mag and all their siblings – and my dad – with all his many siblings – were born and spent their entire childhoods inside that ten-mile circle.  Fr. Zywan always thinks that I once lived here, too, but I never did – it only seemed like I did.

You see, just before my mom and dad married, my dad moved away from Pittsburgh to work for IBM in New York.  In both their families, they were one of the few that moved away.  Hence, a Roos family ritual was to come to Pittsburgh every summer for a week or two, and then come back again to Pittsburgh every Thanksgiving.  And when we came back, we invariably stayed at 1534 Montgomery Road, the house Dan and Dee now live in, but then the manse of Uncle Ivan and Aunt Margie.  I’m not sure I remember the numbers of all the houses my family lived in, but I will always remember 1534 Montgomery Road, for it was a home away from home.

The Birsic kids – who ages conveniently lined up with us Roos kids – were more than cousins, they were like brothers and sisters.  And Uncle Ivan and Aunt Margie did not treat us as just any ordinary guests; we were kids like their very own.  The loved us just as they loved their own.  We especially knew we were family when we got a stern look from Uncle Ivan or were on the wrong end of Aunt Margie’s “crooked finger” – when they scolded or corrected us just as they scolded their own.  They were not just uncle and aunt, they were like another loving, caring mom and dad.  It truly was home away from home.

Many kids, for one reason or another, never have the experience of being loved by their parents.  We were blessed, in a way, to experience the intimacy of this parental love not only with mom and dad, but also with Aunt Margie and Uncle Ivan.

This intimacy is also an integral part of our faith and the reason we are gathered here today.  Let me explain.

The Jewish people were quite the odd ducks in their world.  While every Mediterranean culture believed in a vast collection of gods and goddesses, the Jews were steadfastly monotheistic – one God who was not only their God, but the only God for all people.  Every other culture saw their gods as abusing or otherwise taking advantage of mere humans.  They could only hope, at best, to encourage the gods to leave them alone by offering propitiating sacrifices.  In dramatic contrast, the Jews held that God desired to have an intimate relationship with them, to care for them, to protect them, and most of all, to give them the means to live freely and in community by entrusting them with his law.  No other people could even conceive of such a thing. 

During his life on earth, Jesus experienced an unusually intimate relationship with God – even for a Jewish man.  He almost never refers to God using the typical Hebrew words for God like Elohim (God) or El Shaddai (God Almighty) or Adonai (Lord).  His typical reference to God was the Aramaic word Abba, or Father.  But not just some distant and impersonal father, for he almost always refers to my Father, your Father, even famously, as he taught us to pray, our Father, for Jesus states that those who follow his father’s will are his true brothers and his true sisters.

Jesus understood that as God’s creation, every human being is, from the moment of conception, a child of God.  Yet, this relationship is not simply that which a creature has with its creator.  Rather, with faith in Jesus, we live this relationship as a loved child with a loving parent.  And because this parent is the infinite and eternal God, our relationship is with an all-loving, all-provident parent.

God has loved us into being.  God gains nothing by creating us – God needs nothing, including you and me – yet God created us not for anything He would gain, but simply that we might have life.  God loves us without any condition, for while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  God, as we hear in today’s passage from John, loves us eternally, for Jesus has prepared a place for us in God’s house of many dwellings.

It is in this relationship with a loving-parent-God that we find hope today.  Not just hope for our beloved Mag, but hope for each and every one of us.  It is in this relationship with a loving-parent-God that we find joy even in this time of death, that we find peace even in this time of mourning, and that we find strength to love others as God loves us.

We gather together today to pray with the sure and certain hope that God will swiftly and lovingly welcome Mag to that place prepared for her from the beginning of time as she so often and so lovingly welcomed my family to join with hers at 1534 Montgomery Road.

A Prayer for Judas

In Dante’s Divine Comedy, the lowest ring of the lowest circle of Hell is reserved for betrayers.  It’s named after Judas. 

Why are we so offended by Judas' betrayal of Jesus? Why is treason at the top of our civil list of capital offenses?  Is it because treason and betrayal so offend our finely-tuned, “eye-for-eye, tooth-for-tooth” sense of reciprocal love and reciprocal justice?

On the other hand, Jesus does not take offense. At the point of betrayal, when Judas greets Jesus in the garden, Jesus calls him "friend" – “Friend, do what you have come to do.” (Mt 26:50)  Jesus came to announce, to live, and to die for the good news that God's love is not reciprocal; it is unconditional.  While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  (Rom 5:8)

Today, on Spy Wednesday, join me as I pray for Judas, in fervent hope that that he ultimately realized the forgiveness that Christ offered even to those who nailed him to the cross.  It is same forgiveness he offers to each of us even as we continue to betray his unconditional love whenever we settle for mere human, reciprocal love and justice.

Joyful Love

In the 19^th century, a very popular practice in many American saloons was to offer lunch for free to anyone who came into the saloon.  The hope was that anyone who came in for the free lunch would also buy ample beer or other libations.  To encourage this result, the lunches served were generally high in salt.  As a result, most patrons left the bars with full bellies and much lighter pockets – hence, the idea that “there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.”

In the last century, this became a touchstone for much of our economics.  Milton Friedman wrote a book with this as its title.  We generally accept this as something to remember in everything we do.  Sure, we like to believe we occasionally get something free, but deep down, we know we’ve paid for it somehow or some way.

We even extend this truth to our relationships with other people.  Since we don’t expect to get anything for free, we don’t give anything away for free either.  We give gifts to other people expecting a return of some sort – a gracious thank you, at minimum, or a reciprocal gift in the future.  We love people whom we expect will love us back in return.  When we don’t see the reciprocity we expect, we stop giving the gift.

We cross people off our Christmas card list because they stop sending cards to us.  We cut people who don’t love us out of our lives and our love.  We hate those who hate us.  All of this makes sense in a finite world – a closed system as scientists would call it.  There is only so much resource – food, energy, love – and we cannot afford to spend it without a commensurate return.

Trapped by this seemingly unchangeable truth, our lives become narrowed as we seek to guard ourselves from being cheated of our limited resources.  Our lunches aren’t free and neither are our lives.  Whatever we “give,” we give only grudgingly, with strings firmly attached, as we are always wary that we should be getting something in return.

Jesus reveals a different world and a different truth, one which sets us free.  God’s love is truly free!  It is not conditioned by anything we say or do.  It does not require a return at all.  God so loved the world that he gave us his only Son.  Even though we continually refuse to return God’s love – we call that sinning – God continues to love us with the same infinite, eternal love.  While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. 

And this love liberates and transforms us.  As this love comes from one who is beyond time and beyond space – who created time and created space – it breaks the narrow confines of our finite existence and opens us up to the infinite.  When we give this love away, we continue to be loved by God with the same infinite, eternal love.  Since there is no loss in our giving, there is no need for return.  We give freely and joyfully.

For this reason, Pope Francis titled his first encyclical “The Joy of the Gospel.”  This good news – “gospel” – of Jesus fills us with joy as it frees us from our self-imposed bonds of reciprocity.  Pope Francis strives to project joy in all that he does – and urges us, by his actions as much as by his words – to share his joy by realizing the presence of God's love in our lives.  

Rejoice and be glad, the kingdom of God is at hand.

Lazarus

Catholic evangelist Matthew Kelly always urges us to become the best version of ourselves.  That’s a salutary goal and very Ignatian in spirit.  However, if can often be difficult to tell what the best version of yourself is.  If you get it wrong, the result can be either comic or tragic, neither of which brings you closer to God.

For example, when I was young, I would often dream that my best version was Joe Cool – the hipping-happening, stylish, popular, man-about-town.  Of course for the uber-nerd that I was and always will be, this bordered on sheer lunacy and high comedy ensured following any of my efforts to realize this dream.

On the other hand, God granted me intelligence, an ability to work hard, and a sense of obedience and respect for the law.  I began to believe that my “best version” was a righteous “great provider.”  So what if I wasn’t necessarily stylish or popular.  I was respected as a good person, solid citizen, making a good living for my family, and knowing the answers to all problems.

This sounded pretty good – and it seemed I was doing very well at this.  I made a lot of money and earned many honors and awards for my hard work.  I was well respected by all were important to me.  I even became a deacon – what could be better than that?

What I didn’t realize was the tragic nature of my vision.  For in this “best version” of myself, I was trapped, as dead and buried to this world as Lazarus was to Martha and Mary and his friends.

I made a lot of money, but it never seemed to be quite enough.  The bills got bigger and the debt got deeper.  Anxiety and worry were always present.  Maybe if I just worked a bit harder or a little longer…

I was certainly righteous, the “good boy” who rarely strayed.  But I was never as good as I hoped I’d be.  To make myself feel better, I would be dishonest with myself and others to hide my imperfections.  When that wasn’t enough, I’d simply take note of those who were much worse than I was in obeying the law, judging these people as unworthy of my love and respect, and thereby validating my own obviously better effort.

I had lots of answers – and many of them were correct, a few of them even wise.  Yet I began to dwell in my own mind, not even listening to those around me.  They would talk, but I never listened, for I was simply thinking about my response, my solution to their “problems,” even when their solution was simply for me to listen.

I was truly dead.  Yet Jesus is for me, as he was for Lazarus, as he is for you, the answer.  He calls me – as he called Lazarus and as he calls you – to come out of the tomb.

He calls me to leave behind my farcical and tragic versions of self and to lovingly accept who I truly am – his loved child created in his image and likeness.  He loves me not for my servile obedience but despite my failures and weaknesses, for while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  He loves me not for the money I’ve earned to sustain my life, for he is the resurrection and the life, source of eternal joy and peace.  And he calls me, forming me from my mother’s womb, with his Spirit dwelling in me, to live as he lived, to love as he loved, to serve as he served, such that my joy may be complete, now and in the kingdom of heaven, forever and ever, Amen.