Homily - The Wedding of Brittany Twidwell and Kolby Vandenbergh - 16 November 2024

The Wedding of Kolby Vandenbergh and Brittany Twidwell

Dear brothers and sisters,

We have come together this afternoon, in this church dedicated to the honor of God and of Saint Augustine of Hippo, to witness the exchange of consent of Kolby and Brittany, and to celebrate with them as they “establish between themselves a partnership of their whole life.” By its very nature, this union “is ordered to the well-being of the spouses and to the procreation and upbringing of children” (canon 1055).

On behalf of the couple, I greet you, their family and friends, with affection and I welcome you in the name of Christ. I thank you for the love, support, and encouragement you show them by your presence with us today; I trust they will be able to count on your continued encouragement, support, and love in the days, weeks, and years ahead. Now, my friends, before we witness the exchange of their promises to live in committed love until death, I ask you to allow me to speak directly to the couple; you, of course, may listen in.

Kolby and Brittany, we, your family and friends, and I, the Church’s minister, are truly happy to share in your joy and in your love for each other. It is fitting that we gather here in this sacred place where the most important moments in life are held to remind us again and again that “the love of the Lord is everlasting” (Psalm 103:17).

You have chosen for us to hear the scriptural account of – to use the literal word - the building of Eve from Adam, of woman from man. It is, of course, fitting to consider this mystery in relation to the mystery of marriage; we will soon see that the use of the word building hints at another mystery to come many centuries later.

In his commentary on this passage, Saint Augustine asked an intriguing question: he wanted to know why God took one of Adam’s ribs to make Eve when he could have used Adam’s flesh, and why God did not replace Adam’s rib with another rib but with flesh instead.

His answer to this question is equally intriguing, even if perhaps not very palatable in today’s society. Augustine says Eve was made strong by Adam’s bone and that Adam “was weakened on her account.”[1] It was this mutual strengthening and weakening, he suggests, that brought about the wedding – the union - of our first parents.

What does it mean for the woman to be strengthened by the man if not that she is upheld by him, comforted by him, calmed by his reassuring presence? It is no bad thing for a woman to be strengthened by a man.

What does it mean for the man to be weakened by the woman if not that she makes him gentler, less rash and foolhardy, more caring? She makes him less brutish and makes him no noble. We often see this when a young man grows weak in the knees when he first meets the woman with whom he wants to build his future. It is no bad thing for a man to be weakened by a woman.

Augustine, however, not does end his reflections here; he also explains why Eve was built up from Adam’s rib and not from the dust of the earth as Adam was: Some have said “God used a rib because it was close to Adam’s heart. The rib from the chest near the heart of man helps explain the intimacy – a rib from his side is appropriate for one who will walk by his side and be his partner and companion.”[2]

If we consider that rib of Adam again for just another moment, we find an early indication of God’s plan for the salvation of all humanity.

Even in the beginning, when woman was made from a rib in the side of the sleeping man, that had no less a purpose than to symbolize prophetically the union of Christ and his Church. Adam’s sleep was a mystical foreshadowing of Christ’s death, and when his dead body hanging from the cross was pierced by the lance, it was from his side that there issued forth that blood and water that, as we know, signifies the sacraments by which the Church is built up. “Built” is the very word the Scripture uses in connection with Eve: “He built the rib into a woman.” … So too Saint Paul speaks of “building up the body of Christ,” which is the Church (cf. Ephesians 4:12). Therefore woman is as much the creation of God as man is. If she was made from the man, this was to show her oneness with him; and if she was made in the way she was, this was prefigure the oneness of Christ and the Church.[3]

Just as Eve was built from the rib of Adam, so the Church is built from the side of Christ Jesus.

This brings us to a key consideration: Whether it is recognized as such or not, the love that unites a man and woman together is the same love that drove the only Son of God to abandon the glory of heaven and take our frail humanity upon himself; the same love that led the Son of God to take the sins of the world upon himself and lovingly accept crucifixion for our salvation; the same love that raised the only Son of God from the dead; the same love that sent the Holy Spirit to be with us always. God’s love for us is very much a nuptial love and it is what unites a man and woman together in marriage. It is the core, the center, the very foundation, of the married life that you, Kolby and Brittany, seek to enter today.

There is a temptation to over-romanticize marriage, to think it will somehow automatically bring about a life of bliss without any difficulties whatever. The reality, however, as any honest couple will tell you, is not quite so picture perfect. Marriage is difficult and requires compromise, patience, and gentleness; and when these are embraced, marriage is also beautiful, perhaps because of its difficulties. Marriage is quite simple, but it is not easy. It is simple because, at its core, marriage involves only one thing, namely, that every day each spouse must desire the good of the other above his or her own and labor to obtain that good for the beloved. In this, marriage daily requires self-denial, and, for this very reason, it is far from easy.

The great J.R.R. Tolkien, author of The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings, reflected on the reality of marriage in a letter he wrote to his son Michael in 1941. Then, after twenty-five of his fifty-five years of marriage to his beloved wife Edith, the elder Tolkien wrote these words:

No man, however truly he loved his betrothed and bride as a young man, has lived faithful to her as a wife in mind and body without deliberate conscious exercise of the will, without self-denial. Too few are told that – even those brought up ‘in the Church.’[4]

Tolkien here speaks of a danger for the groom in marriage, but lest some think marriage brings no danger for the bride, we might note the temptation of the wife to always imagine herself to be right. Marriage, for her, too, requires deliberate conscious exercise of the will, that is, self-denial. I do not want the two of you to be unaware of this.

In just a few moments you will be joined until death as husband and wife. For your part, Brittany, allow Kolby to strengthen you and help you grow in holiness. For your part, Kolby, allow Brittany to weaken you and help you grow in holiness. Strive always to imitate for each other the selfless love of Jesus Christ. Live always in his love and build your life together upon that solid foundation. Be united, bound, joined in your love for each other, yes, but above all in that love that pours forth from the heart of Crucified Love. Amen.

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[1] Saint Augustine of Hippo, On Genesis, IX.18.34.

[2] Steve Ray, Genesis: A Bible Study Guide and Commentary (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2023), 58.

[3] Saint Augustine of Hippo, The City of God, 22.17.

[4] J.R.R. Tolkien, Letter to Michael Tolkien, 6-8 March 1941. In The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. Humphrey Carpenter, ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2000), 51.

Homily - The Solemnity of All Saints - 1 November 2024

The Solemnity of All Saints

Dear brothers and sisters,

What keeps each of us from becoming a saint, from hastening after them, from imitating their example of loving God and neighbor? The answer, I suspect, is a false understanding of who the saints are.

Those unfamiliar with them tend to think the Saints are those who lived perfect lives, who never grew angry or impatient, who always acted with wisdom and dignity, and who rarely sinned. Those who think of the Saints in this way see them either as impossible guides to follow or as personifications of boredom or obnoxiousness. If this is how we view the Saints, it is no wonder we do not strive to join their ranks.

But those who read the accounts of their lives know this assumption about them to be quite false. Rather, the saints are, as J.R.R. Tolkien – the author of The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings - once described them, "those who have for all their imperfections never finally bowed heart and will to the world or the evil spirit."[1]

The choice of words the Professor employs is simply another way of saying what we hear every year at this time, but seldom believe: the Saints are like you and like me. They were tempted and struggled and sinned - and repented. What, then, is the difference between us and them?

The Saints, we might say, kept the end goal, the final victory, always before them. They knew they would struggle and sin, yet they never lost sight of the merciful love of God because they knew his hand would always catch their repentant hearts and gently place them back on the narrow way that leads to the Father's house. This is what Tolkien means when he says they never finally bowed heart and will to the world or the evil spirit; they did not, in the end, keep their focus on themselves, but kept it instead on God.

Having died in the service of God and in his friendship, the Saints received "the crown of life," as Saint John described in an earlier part of the Book of Revelation (Revelation 2:10). We see the bestowing of these crowns depicted in one of my favorite medieval manuscript images. The illumination shows Jesus enthroned in the center of the image, handing out small crowns to men and women on either side of him.

The circle of Johannes von Valenburg, ca. 1299

What I especially like about this image is the littleness of those receiving their crowns from the hands of the Lord as the Blessed Virgin Mary and (presumably) Saint John the Evangelist look on; the ones being crowned are, at most, half the size of Jesus, almost Hobbitlike, if you will. Through his eyes, Jesus even seems to confer with Saint John as to which of the little ones is worthy of a crown.

The size of the figures awaiting their crowns, some already halo-ed, reminds me of some of my favorite words Tolkien wrote in his essay "On Fairy Stories," namely, that "in God's kingdom the presence of the greatest does not depress the small. Redeemed man is still man."

Here on earth, we tend to be intimidated by the presence of the greatest – Saints, though they be. We see how fully the Saints entrusted themselves to God and it that trust cost them. We see their complete trust in God, at least at the end of their lives, and we see our failures to trust and love God. But, my brothers and sisters, we need not be afraid to fully entrust ourselves into the hand of God. If the saints, with their multi-faceted personalities and, yes, with their imperfections, could do so, so can we!

The only thing standing in the way of my growth in holiness is me; the only thing standing in the way of your growth in holiness is you. Let us, then, like trusting children, stretch out our little hands to the strong hand of the Lord Jesus so he might lead us along the way of his Saints. Let us allow him to do so either gently or with some prodding, so that we, small as we are by comparison to him, might stand among the company of the Saints and wear the same crown them. Amen.

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[1] J.R.R. Tolkien, Letter 93 To Christopher Tolkien, 30 January 1945. In The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, Revised and Expanded Edition. Humphrey Carpenter, ed. (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2023), 159.

Homily - 13 October 2024 - The Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Dear brothers and sisters,

After Jesus looked at him in love, the rich young man in today’s Gospel “went away sad” (Mark 10:22). When Jesus looked at Peter, he “went out and began to weep bitterly” (Luke 22:62; cf. Luke 22:61). Those who look upon his Holy Face in the Veil of Manoppello also feel a certain sadness when they look into his eyes. Perhaps you, too, have felt sad in the presence of the Lord Jesus. Why is this?

Jesus looked upon the rich young man with love (cf. Mark 10:21), as he also surely looked upon Peter. He looks upon you and me with love, as well, but if this is so, what is it about the look of Jesus that elicits sadness within those upon whom he turns his eyes?

When Jesus looked at Peter, they were within the courtyard of the high priest; Peter had just three times denied knowing Jesus (cf. Luke 22:60). Jesus’ look of love revealed Peter’s sinfulness to him and so Peter wept bitterly on account of his failure to love God and neighbor perfectly; he was not yet ready to abandon his own plans and devices.

Christ and the rich young man by the Master of Delpf

The rich young man knew what is needed for growth in holiness; he kept the commandments, but he was not yet willing to surrender himself to what the commandments point: he needed to take “a leap in quality” and give his life “completely, without calculation or personal interest, with unreserved trust in God” (cf. Mark 10:20).[1] In short, he was not yet willing to follow the commandments without compromise. Jesus’ look of love revealed his sinfulness to him; he went away sad on account of his failure to love God and neighbor perfectly. He went away sad on account of what he was not yet willing to leave behind.

He must have been a person of some importance, that rich young man. Why, then, does he remain anonymous? Why do we not know his name? It seems probable that “if he had responded positively to the invitation of Jesus, he would have become his disciple and probably the Evangelist would have recorded his name.”[2] It is also possible he is not named because – in some mystical fashion – he represents you and me. Do we not also become sad on account of our sins, because of our failure to love both God and neighbor? Do we not also become sad because of what we are not yet willing to leave behind?

Here we learn a great secret of the human person and of our fallen nature:

We are used to thinking that our sadness depends on something we lack: we deceive ourselves by thinking that if we have enough of what we desire, we will be happy.

This is precisely the serpent’s deceit described in the story of original sin (cf. Genesis 3).

The serpent deceived Eve and Adam by making them believe that for them to be happy and truly be alive, they must possess everything without any limits; there can be nothing that is forbidden to them, and they must not lack.

The serpent's cunning lies precisely in making what we lack seem essential and irreplaceable for our happiness and fulfillment in life.[3]

Thus, we think gaining perishable things is happiness and sadness is losing things that fade and decay. How do we overcome this sadness?

Blessed Carlo Acutis once sad, “Sadness is looking at oneself, happiness is looking at God. Conversion is nothing but a movement of the eyes.” Happiness comes when I allow Jesus’ eyes to meet mine; happiness is found when I do not turn my eyes away from Jesus’ look of love. If I am to allow my eyes to be held by his, I must cast aside everything that hinders me from loving fully; I must cast aside those things which distract me from him. You must do the same. We must accept what Jesus offers: “a relationship in which he feels looked upon and loved not because of what one does, nor possesses, but because of an original gift that is given to us before any possible response.”[4] We must accept that he sees us and loves us not because of what we have or because of what we have done, but because we are.

If we are to allow our eyes to be held by his, we must surrender ourselves to him; we must yield to the power of his love. We must take a leap in quality and strive after “heroism in holiness.”[5] Doing so is not easy and requires great courage, for

Before his gaze all falsehood melts away. This encounter with him, as it burns us, transforms and frees us, allowing us to become truly ourselves. All that we build during our lives can prove to be mere straw, pure bluster, and it collapses. Yet in the pain of this encounter, when the impurity and sickness of our lives become evident to us, there lies salvation. His gaze, the touch of his heart heals us through an undeniably painful transformation “as through fire”. But it is a blessed pain, in which the holy power of his love sears through us like a flame, enabling us to become totally ourselves and thus totally of God.[6]

His look of love reminds us that “no creature is concealed from him, but everything is naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must render an account” (Hebrews 4:13). What is more, his look of love allows us to fulfill the goal of the commandments: to attain a true and mystical union with God.

Dear brothers and sisters, in only a few moments the Lord Jesus will look upon you and me with love. What do I mean? Saint John Vianney noticed that one of his parishioners daily entered the church and appeared to simply sit in the pew day after day. When asked what he did in the church everything, the man answered simply, intriguingly, and beautifully: “I look at [Jesus] and he looks at me.”[7]

That man understood the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist and did with Jesus what a husband and wife do to each other after decades of marriage. This is what you and I must also do with Jesus; we must allow him to look upon us with love and we must look upon him with love. The continual look of his love will purify us and, by slowly severing our attachments to the things of this world, his look of love will remove our sadness – provided we do not turn away. Then, in the end, “the gracious care of the Lord our God [will] be ours” and we will “shout for joy and gladness all our days” (Psalm 90:16, 14). Amen.

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[1] Pope Benedict XVI, Homily, 11 October 2009.

[2] Ibid., 15 October 2006.

[3] Pierbattista Cardinal Pizzaballa, O.F.M., Homily, 13 October 2024.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Pope Benedict XVI, Homily, 11 October 2009.

[6] Pope Benedict XVI, Spe salvi, 47.

[7] In Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2715.

Homily - The Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time and the Christian Initiation of Luke Johnson - 8 September 2024

The Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

The Christian Initiation of Luke Johnson

Dear brothers and sisters,

If we consider them together, the readings from the Sacred Scriptures we have just heard each “speak of God as the center of all reality and the center of our personal life.”[1] In a certain sense, the deaf man whom Jesus healed symbolizes what happens when we do not recognize God as the center, the hub around which the wheel of our life turns: we become deaf to both God and neighbor.

If we consider what has happened over these past few decades in our culture and society, we begin to realize something a great importance:

There is not only a physical deafness which largely cuts people off from social life; there is also a “hardness of hearing” where God is concerned… Put simply, we are no longer able to hear God – there are too many different frequencies filling our ears… Along with this hardness of hearing or outright deafness where God is concerned, we naturally lose the ability to speak with him and to him. And so we end up losing a decisive capacity for perception. We risk losing our inner senses… The horizon of our life is disturbingly foreshortened.[2]

But now and again something happens to lengthen our vision and shake us back into reality.

This is precisely what happened with the great Doctor of the Church, Saint Augustine of Hippo, who famously said to God,

You called me; you cried aloud to me; you broke my barrier of deafness. You shone upon me; your radiance enveloped me; you put my blindness to flight. You shed your fragrance about me; I drew breath and now I gasp for your sweet odour. I tasted you, and now I hunger and thirst for you. You touched me, and I am inflamed with love of your peace.[3]

The Lord God shouted through Augustine’s deafness, his inability to perceive the one who is merciful love itself; his healing touch was proved irresistible. The same can happen to us; God can reach out, touch us, and heal our deafness and inner senses when we begin to inquire into the meaning of our existence.

The daughter of J.R.R. Tolkien’s publisher wrote to the Professor with the question, “What is the purpose of life?” Before answering her question, Tolkien rightly noted that “if you do not believe in a personal God the question: ‘What is the purpose of life?’ is unaskable and unattainable. To whom or what would you address the question?”[4] In the end, Tolkien answered the question with typical insight: “So it may be said that the chief purpose of life, for any one of us, is to increase according to our capacity our knowledge of God by all the means we have, and to be moved by it to praise and thanks.”[5]

We learn best, of course, through our senses and so we must continually ask the Lord Jesus to touch them and heal them, to make them ever more open to perceiving him. Accordingly, our knowledge of God must be both of the mind and of the heart; it is not enough to know about God; it must, rather, be a personal knowledge, a personal encounter, or else we cannot give him fitting thanks.

Detail, Jesus heals the deaf and mute man, Codex Palatinus Vindobonensis 485, f. 86

We have among us today one whose deafness the Lord Jesus shouted through and has recognized God to be the center of his personal life. Over these past many months, Luke, you have heard the Savior and Redeemer continually call to you in various ways, inviting you into a relationship with him. You have responded with curiosity and integrity and the horizon of your life has widened to perceive God more clearly. For this, we give thanks to God and ask him to reawaken this perception of his grace in each of our lives.

Now you have come to the Church requesting the grace of Baptism. We know that

Baptism opens up a path before us. It makes us part of the community of those who are able to hear and speak; it brings us into fellowship with Jesus himself, who alone has seen God and is thus able to speak of him (cf. John 1:18): through faith, Jesus wants to share with us his seeing God, his hearing the Father and his converse with him. The path upon which we set out at Baptism is meant to be a process of increasing development, by which we grow in the life of communion with God, and acquire a different way of looking at man and creation.[6]

In short, the path of Baptism obliges us to do what Tolkien said, namely to increase our knowledge of God in every way we can and so fall more deeply in love with him. It obliges us to continually open our hearts to him who allowed his heart to be opened to us.

In various ways, Luke, the Lord Jesus has touched you – as he soon will in the waters of Baptism - and said to you, “Ephphatha,” “Be opened!” He says this not only of your ears, but also of your eyes, mouth, hands, and heart. You must allow your ears to be opened to hear the voice of God; your eyes to see his handiwork; your mouth to proclaim what he has done for you; your hands to receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit through the Sacrament of Confirmation; and your heart to receive his love in the gift of his very self in the Eucharist.

Through the witness of the example of your faith, we who have already been incorporated into Christ must strengthen our resolve to also be entirely open to God and so be inflamed with the love of his peace. May he bring us, with you, to eternal life, the great promise of Baptism into his Death and Resurrection. Amen.

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[1] Pope Benedict XVI, Homily, 10 September 2006.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Confessions, X.27. R.S. Pine-Coffin, trans. (London: Penguin Books, 1961), 232.

[4] J.R.R. Tolkien, Letter 310 To Camilla Unwin, 29 May 1868. In The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien: Revised and Expanded Edition. Humphrey Carpenter, ed. (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2023), 561.

[5] Ibid., 562.

[6] Pope Benedict XVI, Ibid.

Address at the Blessing of Athletes at Quincy University

Dear brothers and sisters,

Over the years I have been called many things, but never have I been called an athlete (and rightly so, for I much prefer reading books and playing (old) video games and board games to competing athletically. With this in mind, it may seem odd I have been given a few moments to speak to you this evening, but I hope I can say something of interest to you.

PHOTO: Denny Sinnock

When I was a young priest and assigned to a parish with a high school, I found myself – at the insistence of the students – as first the assistant coach to the boys’ soccer team, then to the track team, and then to the boys’ wrestling team. More than a coach, it always seemed to me the students saw me more as a mascot and even perhaps as something of a life coach. My time spent on the busses and on the benches remain one of the primary blessings of my life, for lasting friendships were forged amid the context of athletic competitions; I have had the great joy of officiating at several of their weddings and baptizing a few of their children.

This camaraderie, this fraternity, this friendship established around a healthy competitiveness and a desire to push others to excel is the greatest blessing sports has to offer to men and women, to boys and girls. Do not lose sight of this. Do not put yourself ahead of your teammates but put yourself at their service, encouraging them always. Catch one another when one of you stumbles. Pick one another up when one of you falls. If you help each other in this way, you will help each other to renew your strength through the goodness of your shared humanity.

There is, however, a sort of athletic competition I do take part in, that of a certain mental gymnastics. When Father John Doctor, O.F.M. first showed me the reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah proclaimed for us this evening (Isaiah 40:29-31), my first thought turned to the writings of the great J.R.R. Tolkien, the author of The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings, because eagles play a prominent role in his tales. The eagles arrive always in the nick of time to rescue the main characters from what appears certain doom.

Some people have asked why the eagles didn’t simply fly Frodo and Sam directly to Mount Doom to destroy the One Ring. To these people, Tolkien had a simple answer, which you can watch him give on a video on YouTube: “Shut up.”

More seriously, and more importantly, Tolkien called the coming of the eagles a eucatastrophe, which is to say

a sudden and miraculous grace: never to be counted on to recur. It does not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure: the possibility of these is necessary to the joy of deliverance; it denies (in the face of much evidence, if you will) universal final defeat and in so far is evangelium, giving a fleeting glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief.[1]

Your victory in athletic pursuits can give a fleeting glimpse of joy, a foretaste of that fullness of Joy which will be known by those who have competed well in this life and find themselves at last before the Face of God (cf. II Timothy 4:7).

That said, my thoughts turned next to those most curious of texts, the medieval bestiaries, books something like a combination of a zoology textbook and a book of mythology. The medievals knew that, because everything that exists is created by God, there must be some mark of the Creator in each created thing. The bestiaries not only give an indication to the nature and habitat of various animals, but also what we can learn about God from them.

Turning, then, to the bestiaries, they say something intriguing about the eagle that we know, in point of fact, to be untrue. Nonethess, that did not stop them from allegorizing the eagle. Taking their cue from the verse we heard from Isaiah that those who hope in the Lord shall renew their strength like the eagle (cf. Isaiah 40:31), the bestiaries say something like this:

And it is a true fact that when the eagle grows old and his wings become heavy and his eyes become darkened with a mist, then he goes in search of a fountain, and, over against it, he flies up to the height of heaven, even unto the circle of the sun; and there he singes his wings and at the same time evaporates the fog of his eyes, in a ray of the sun. Then at length, taking a header down into the fountain, he dips himself three times in it, and instantly he is renewed with a great vigour of plumage and splendour of vision.[2]

What are we to make of this strange account? The bestiaries tell us:

Do the same thing, O Man, you who are clothed in the old garment and have the eyes of your heart growing foggy. Seek for the spiritual fountain of the Lord and lift up your mind’s eyes to God – who is the fount of justice – and then your youth will be renewed like the eagle’s.[3]

Be, then, hawks, like the eagle. Soar high, and bathe in the fountain of God. If you do, we will be renewed and refreshed for you will have realized the wisdom of Saint Augustine who famously said to God, “you made us for yourself and our hearts find no peace until they rest in you.”[4] Amen.

Go hawks!

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[1] J.R.R. Tolkien, On Fairy Stories.

[2] T.H. White, ed. and trans., The Book of Beasts: Being a Translation from a Latin Bestiary of the Twelfth Century (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 2013), 106-107.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Confessions, I.1.

Farewell Homily to St. Augustine's Parish - 11 August 2024 - The Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinarty Time

The Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Dear brothers and sisters,

Mother Church presents us today with two seemingly contradictory messages. First, we heard the Prophet Elijah, who has suffered greatly because of his service of God, say, “This is enough, I Lord! Take my life, for I am no better than my fathers” (I Kings 19:4). Hearing Elijah’s overdramatic complaint and after he took a nap, God gives him simple advice: “Get up and eat, else the journey will be too long for you” (I Kings 19:7)! This is one of my favorite passages because it proves that one cure for sadness has not changed over the centuries: sleep and food. (Saint Thomas Aquinas will later also advise a glass of wine and a warm bath.)

The second seemingly contradictory message we heard in the Psalm: “I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall be ever in my mouth” (Psalm 34:2). Maybe Elijah missed that memo. Saint Augustine, though, did not.

Pondering this verse, the Doctor of Grace asked a straightforward question: “When are you to bless the Lord?” He considered various circumstances in life in response to his question:

When he showers blessings on you? When earthly goods are plentiful? When you have a plethora of grain, oil, wine, gold, silver, slaves, livestock; while your mortal body remains healthy, uninjured and free from disease; while everything that is born on your estate is growing well, and nothing is snatched away by untimely death; while every kind of happiness floods your home and you have all you want in profusion? Is it only then that you are to bless the Lord? No, but “at all times” (Psalm 34:2). So you are to bless him equally when from time to time, or because the Lord God wishes to discipline you, these good things let you down or are taken away from you, when there are fewer births or the already-born slip away. These things happen and their consequence is poverty, need, hardship, disappointment and temptation. But you sang: “I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall be ever in my mouth,” so when the Lord gives you good things, bless him, and when he takes them away, bless him.

The memory of this part is essential: God never takes himself away from me; he never takes himself away from you. Do not forget this!

We know how easy it is to bless God, to praise him and thank him, when everything is, as it were, going our way. But when the storms of life come – as they surely will – and everything seems to be falling apart, blessing, praising, and thanking God becomes more difficult and requires a conscious and intentional effort. Perhaps this is the point; blessing, praising, and thanking God should not be an unthinking or automatic response to the situations of life, but a deliberate response to whatever circumstances we find ourselves in. At all times we must draw near to Christ Jesus, to him who never withdraws from us, and say with Job, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21)!

Today the sadness of Elijah and the gratitude of the Psalmist are both present in my heart as I prepare to take up the roles of Chaplain and Director of Campus Ministry, as well as that of Adjunct Assistant Professor, at Quincy University and will therefore soon cease to be your Pastor. As I have told you before, I am very eager to take up this ministry and pray the Lord will bless my efforts to help the university students come to know, to love, and to serve him. Still, my heart is heavy.

These past seven years with you have been one of the great blessings of my life; departing from you will not be easy. I cannot thank you enough for the support and encouragement you have given me, or especially for the many prayers you offered for me.

Looking back over these years since my arrival here, there have been:

• 29 baptisms;
• 2 receptions into the Catholic Church of those previously baptized;
• 4 weddings (one with Father Chuck Edwards, one with Deacon Greg Maynerich, one convalidation with me, and one wedding with me yesterday);
• 11 Confirmations (mostly during COVID-time); and,
• 33 funerals.

We have also accomplished a great deal together to improve the physical complex of this parish in a number of ways:

•          we trimmed back a few trees (though that, or more, needs to be done again);
• we replaced the roof of the hall and of the church, and have money set aside to replace the roof of the rectory;
• we replaced air conditioners and furnaces at both the hall and the rectory and replaced the church boiler with furnaces;
• we replaced the refrigerators in the hall;
  
• we replaced the flooring, windows, and exterior doors of the rectory, as well as the stove, washer, and dryer;
•  we installed a new organ; and,
•  we repainted the Nativity set statues.

Hopefully the next major project here will involve a renovation of the bathrooms and kitchen in the hall.

The financial resources of the parish have also improved in a mind-boggling way:

·    you contributed $94,000 to our capital campaign that had a goal of $70,000, which allowed us to improve the physical plant;

·       looking at the calendar year, the average weekly collection has increased over these seven years by more than $500 each week, despite the increased costs to just about everything; and,

·       our capital campaign fund still has around $20,000 in it and our checking account has around $45,000 in it and our savings account around $70,000, funds which will go a long way to making continued improvements.

The financial situation of the parish caused me stress in my first few months, but your impressive generosity quickly took that worry away.

Each of these accomplishments demonstrates some of the strengths of this parish and the commitment of you, its parishioners. It is remarkable for a parish of 58 households! Still, if these accomplishments are all we have accomplished during my pastorate, I will have failed as your Pastor and should with Elijah, “This is enough, O Lord. Take my life…”

When I was installed as your Pastor, I told you I came with no particular agenda, save one. You may recall these words I said to you:

When a new pastor arrives in a parish, many of the parishioners wonder what program he will enact. The only program, if you will, which I hope to enact is to help you prepare to see the face of Christ more clearly, to help you draw near to him and bask in the light of his face, a light which can transform us and make us like himself. I hope to help you seek the Lord not in curiosity, but in love, to not only hear his voice speaking in the quiet of your hearts, but to see his face and become witnesses of his majesty and to take your places within the Father’s house.[1]

Looking back, I fear the necessary physical improvements may have sometimes distracted me from focusing on my intended goal. Yet I must hear the Lord say, “Get up and eat, else the journey will be too long for you.”

By God’s grace, I pray we have been able to draw nearer together to the Face of God, to see him more clearly, to be conformed more closely to him, and more prepared to dwell with him in love. If this has been achieved, then my time as your Pastor will have been a success.

No matter where we are in the world, no matter how many miles lie between us, whenever we look to Lord and draw near to him, we will not be far apart; gathered at his altar we are ever close to one another through Christ Jesus. This is the great mystery of his love that forms us each into his Body.

With this in mind, let us not dwell too much on sadness today, but give thanks to God for the time he has allowed us to have together. As Saint Augustine’s heart was pierced with the love of God, so has my heart been pierced with your love. You will always have a place in my heart and a remembrance in my daily prayers; please, remember me in yours.

As we continue to seek the Face of God, let us pray with Saint Augustine:

You have radiated forth, you have shined out brightly, and you have dispelled my blindness. You have sent forth your fragrance, and I have breathed it in, and I long for you. I have tasted you, and I hunger and thirst for you. You have touched me, and I ardently desire your peace.[2]

May the Lord fulfill our longing, thirst, and desire, and gather us together again before his Face. Amen.

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[1] Daren J. Zehnle, Homily at the Mass of Installation as Pastor of St. Augustine Parish in Ashland, Illinois, 6 August 2017.

[2] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Confessions, X.27.38.