The Heart of the Matter

50 years since the death of Pope Pius XII

Those of us who are old enough, remember Pope Pius XII who died on October 9, 1958.  He was the pope before, during and after World War II.  To learn more about him, click here.  What I share through this YouTube connection is a little Italian taste of what he was like, personally.  Even the reader who does not know Italian can be touched by the way he expressed himself.  Check out this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8IpsH3XGtk 

Because of this pope's strong reaction to Communism a plot was put into place in the Soviet Union to destroy his reputation.  The plot worked so well that there is a huge difference between who the man actually was, and how he has been presented.  Read up on him.  It would be worth your while.

Saying good-bye to my great friend Malachy

It was my privilege to preach at Father Malchy McBride's funeral this morning at Queen of Peace Parish in Aurora, where I served for 14 years some time ago.  Here's some of what I said.  At least this is what I wrote ahead of time.  A few other things came in as well.

            One of the best decisions I ever made in my life was to go to St. Louis in 1995 to persuade a recently returned Capuchin missionary to accede to his provincial’s offer for him to work with me in serving the people of Queen of Peace Parish in Aurora.  Little did I know during that trip that I had just met someone who would be one of my most treasured friends in life. 

            You know that he went to Papua New Guinea in 1963 to serve people whose meager clothing was made out of grass and who were only recently aware that there were people who had white skin, who wore clothing their whole bodies, who wore shoes, and who believed that God became a human being.  He, and other Capuchins like him, would hike into “the bush” to find clusters of people, wherever he could find them, make friends with them, learn their language, love them, and teach them about Jesus. 

Father Malachy McBride spent 30 years among the natives of PNG teaching about Christ, initiating people in the sacraments of the Church, building hospitals and churches and schools - for and with them.  He became a ham radio operator so as to be able to connect with other mission compounds since travel between communities took days and days of hiking, before there were roads.  He learned how to make electricity and set up mini power plants to flood the compounds with light and all that can happen thanks to electricity.

            When he left the U.S. back in 1963 on his journey to PNG for the first time, he was scared to death.  Would he be meeting cannibals?  How primitive were these people he was being sent to?  At one of the stops, perhaps in Guam, he celebrated Mass and was blown away by the Introit for that Mass:  “If you love me, Simon Peter, feed my lambs.”  When he read that Scripture, he knew it was a message meant for him, sent directly from the Lord to give him his purpose for living.  All fear left him and never returned.

            He embraced another Scripture that fleshed out for him his reason for fearless confidence.  It was our 2^nd reading that I built my life on, so much so, that I had a synopsis of these lines engraved on the bottom of my chalice when I was ordained:  “Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  

Malachy had many tastes of heaven not only in doing his ministry in PNG, but also here after he returned home from having been stoned almost to death by a gang of bandits who were out to violate the nuns and nurses living at his mission compound.  Malachy saved the women, but lost his eye in the process.

            His tastes of heaven were both mystical and relational.  Who here has not been profoundly touched by Malachy, almost as if touched by the love and kindness of God Himself?  How many people do you know who had as much joy in living as he did, and a joy in responding to people in need, whether for an anointing, or a confession, or a funeral, or a hand reaching out for assistance.

            How fitting that he died on the true day of Ascension Thursday!  The Ascension is all about heaven.  Let me explain Malachy’s desire for heaven.

He often told me of his favorite poet, St. John of the Cross who described heaven in sublime poetry; and Malachy and would quote him often to me: “I die because I do not die!”  In other words, he loved God so much that he yearned for the day he’d see the Lord face to face.  How could a man who so thoroughly enjoyed life say, “I die because I do not die”?  You see, Malachy was a mystic.  His habit of getting up at 4 AM and communing with the Lord made his heart fixed on heaven, fixed on Christ, so much so, that this relationship with Christ transformed his interpretation of everything else.  You see, if we keep our focus on heaven we begin to taste it here on earth.  If our heart’s first desire is the Living God, then we begin to live in joy here in this life.  In other words, the hope for heaven makes us come alive in this life in such a way that even death cannot stop that life we find in Christ.  Did we not hear just Sunday, “Where Christ has gone, we hope to follow.” 

I’d like to close by reciting part of that poem that was like Malachy’s life put into lyrical form.  It’s a description of someone yearning, even suffering for want of seeing God face to face.  It’s a poem about heaven, which is what the Ascension is all about.

1. I no longer live within myself
and I cannot live without God,
for having neither him nor myself
what will life be?
It will be a thousand deaths,
longing for my true life
and dying because I do not die.

2. This life that I live
is no life at all,
and so I die continually
until I live with you;
hear me, my God:
I do not desire this life,
I am dying because I do not die.

3. When I am away from you
what life can I have
except to endure
the bitterest death known?
I pity myself,
for I go on and on living,
dying because I do not die.

5. When I try to find relief
seeing you in the Sacrament,
I find this greater sorrow:
I cannot enjoy you wholly.
All things are affliction
since I do not see you as I desire,
and I die because I do not die.

May Malachy’s passion for life, and even greater passion for heaven stir into flame the love in our hearts for all the people God gives us, and stir into even greater flame our yearning for seeing God face to face.

Malachy McBride, OFM, Cap. - R.I.P. 5/1/2008

Very early this morning, May 1st, at 1:00 AM, "Malachy McBride, Capuchin," as he called himself, died peacefully in his friary, one hour later than he told me ahead of time.  "Saints of God, come to his aid.  Come to meet him, angels of the Lord.  Receive his soul and present him to God Most High."

On April 29th I had the privilege of giving him Holy Communion (perhaps his last).  Before giving him the Host, when I entered his room, I had said to him, "You're still here!"  He said, "Just one more day."  He was off only by one hour.  How do the dying know that? 

Another privilege I get to have is to preach at his funeral.  I'm sure I will include this magical story:  When he as just one year ordained he was assigned to do missionary work in Papua New Guinea, aka PNG.  On his journey he was scared, very much afraid.  PNG was only recently opened up to the outside world and was still very primitive.  He was afraid.  On the journey to PGN the Latin text of the Introit of the Mass on that particular day was, in English, "If you love me, Simon Peter, feed my sheep."  Suddenly while reading this, all fear dropped off of him because he knew this line of Scripture was sent from the Lord for him to know his mission clearly with the grace given to him to be fearless.

And so he fearlessly met new and strange people, making disciples of people who never had met a white man, never had heard anything about Jesus Christ.  And his love for them was so deep and so profound that they encountered Christ in him all during his 30 years of being a missionary there.  There will be great mourning in PNG today.  And also at Queen of Peace Parish in Aurora, Colorado.  But I'll save that for another time.

My friend is dying

Father Malchy McBride has been my friend for years; and I have written in this space about him before.  But now he is dying and the life is slowly going forth from him.  He still has his wit and keen insight and his genuine care for people.  He's the Capuchin pictured at the far right in this picture.  If you click the picture, the picture will become larger and you can see him better.

Every moment with Malachy is very important to me.  He's the one who has been telling me for years, quoting St. John of the Cross, "I die because I do not die."  It's a line from St. John's poem called "Stanzas of the soul that suffers with longing to see God."  Click here to read the whole poem; and you will know Malachy McBride.

When I was visiting him earlier today at his friary, the house was empty but for a parishioner of Queen of Peace parish where Malachy has served for about 12 years.  Don is his name.  Since Don was sitting there, the Capuchins could take some time to go out to do chores or other tasks.  Don's job was to be nearby and to manage the visitors who keep coming by.  So, as I was leaving after a visit with Malachy I said to Don, "How good of you to be here and do what you're doing!"  To which he said, "Oh, this is so little compared to all the good Malachy has done for me and for many, many people."  I am one of those many, many people.

"Dare to be different!"

Back in the mid 1960's my high school principal, Sister Mary, used to tell us again and again, "Dare to be different!"  Following the crowd and giving in to peer pressure is a strong force in high school, but her wisdom to fight against the thinking of the crowd is good for all of life.  Dare to be different!  I took that advice and became a priest 34 years ago next month.  Talk about being different!  Being a priest is rare indeed and it's feeling like we priests are becoming extinct like dinosaurs.  And 31 years ago I became a pastor; and I can tell you that being a pastor used to be easier.  It has become enormously difficult by the demands of our times in terms of competencies I did not have and do not really want to have.  To meet the needs of today, I feel like I should have gotten an MBA.

            Pastoring also used to be easier when the community of faith loved the faith and loved the Church, when people knew the faith at least enough to know who Moses was, who Adam and Eve were and what the 10 Commandments are.  It was easier when parishioners had believing relatives and had friendships with people of faith.  It was easier when people were supportive of the mission of the Church. 

            There’s a hint of the way it used to be if your parish has a Catholic school, but even then, many of the school families see religious practice as optional and occasional.  Their hearts are not “in it” the way “it used to be.”

            Way too many people do not know the faith, and do not seem to care too much about Church, as long as they can feel somehow spiritual.  Maybe this is only true in Boulder, Colorado but I don’t think so.  There are so many aspects of our culture that impinge upon us to harm our development as genuinely human beings, like our hyper-individualism, our imperative to be self-sufficient, our craving for privacy, and the devil’s deceit of consumerism.  But for me, there is an even more insidious poison that at the same time threatens, and ensures by God’s grace, my development as a human being. 

I’m more alarmed than I ever have been.  I am more aware of feeling like I am, and we – all of us - are walking along a precipice with only the Lord’s grace keeping us from falling into some abyss. I see that whole generations are lost from the faith, that the vast sea of younger Catholics doesn’t have a clue as to who Jesus is and what He calls us to.  Doesn't it seem like one body blow after another?  If it’s not some scandal, then it’s people choosing their political devotion over and against their hunger for the Eucharist (because of the Catholic stance of devotion to the sanctity of life in the womb), or it’s moral confusion, or another drop in Mass attendance, or a growing preference for spirituality without the "burdens" of religion, or increasing costs, aging buildings and decreasing income, and on and on.  In my parish it takes three Sunday collections just to pay the health care benefits for our faculty and staff.  But, I am told, "Don't dare talk about money!"  Talk about “pastoral despair!”  

            My challenge as a human being has been to remain hopeful, to become kinder and gentler, less judgmental, more loving, fearless, to be a cause of joy instead of a cynical wet blanket.  “Without Me, you can do nothing,” says the Lord to me.  And I know this truth now to the core of my being.  Instead of my thinking I am invincible and able to accomplish so much, I think more in line with the psalm that says, “Let those who hope in You not be put to shame through me, Lord of hosts: let not those who seek You be dismayed through me, God of Israel.” (Ps. 69:7). 

            Though this insidious cultural poison threatens me, it also ensures me of my human development by God’s grace.  How can that be?  Because I finally know my nothingness, somewhat like Mary in the Magnificat: “He has regarded His servant in her nothingness.”  Knowing our nothingness does not mean "poor self esteem" but means being totally open to God, for God is the One who can do all.  As for me, I realize that I am but a mere creature, not anything more.  This is one of the great tasks of mid-life: to know that we are but a mere creature before the Almighty.  I used to look at what I considered successes, like a few buildings and a few programs, and now I see that “my” successes are but so much straw.  If I feel successful about anything, it’s that I have passed this test, by God’s grace, and learned the lesson the Lord would have me learn.  I feel like I have finally come to the heart of the matter for my life:  to be but a vessel of God’s grace, a humble shepherd of souls, relying totally on the Lord.  Now that is truly different.  At least for me.

           So, thanks be to God for Sister Mary and her wise advice way back in high school: dare to be different! 

How a Legend Tells a Truth

How many of us have worn or seen a St. Christopher medal?  Let me tell you a little about St. Christopher.  Little is actually known about St. Christopher; the only verifiable fact we know is that he was a martyr for the Faith in the early Church.  In the Middle Ages, though, a legend developed about St. Christopher; they wanted to know how he got his name, since his original name was Offerus.  This legend was one of the most inspiring of legends in the Middle Ages and is one that has a lot to say to the people of our time.  The legend goes this way:

            The man who would one day be named St. Christopher was someone who was engaged in a lifelong search for someone or something that he could devote his life to.  He began his search by making himself as fit as he could be and then by looking for the most powerful person whose cause he could devote himself to.  He teamed up with some local feudal lord who was charismatic and seemed to win every battle he fought.  One day, though, he discovered that the feudal lord was afraid of Satan, so he went to look for this powerful Satan and served him for a while.  As he got to know the ways of Satan, he discovered that Satan’s enemies would use the name of Jesus, or the sign of the cross, to chase Satan away.  Satan was a weakling before Christ.

            Now totally disillusioned with Satan, Christopher went to find Jesus Christ who was more powerful than everyone else.  But he could not find Him.  Jesus seemed to be elusive indeed.  Is that not like our own time?  Many people today find the real Jesus hard to find. 

            Since he could not find Jesus, Christopher had to find work in order to survive.  Christopher was a tall man and such a strong man that he today would be accused of using steroids.  Again the image here is one of power.  So, since the region he lived in was in short supply of bridges over the various rivers, people relied on big strong men like Christopher to carry them across the raging rivers.  And so he labored at a river that was not so deep that he could not cross it, but was a raging, strong river that very few had the strength to cross.

            Day after day he carried people through the river to the other side: big people, little people, fat people, old people.  My, my, was he strong. 

            Then one day a little boy came and asked Christopher to carry Him across the river.  Christopher thought, “Oh, this will be a piece of cake!”

            So he picked up the little boy and began to carry Him across the river.  As they moved through the river the boy got heavier and heavier - to the point that Christopher realized that this little boy was the heaviest person he had ever carried, heavy as lead, the legend says.  How could this be?

            When they got to the other side of the river, Christopher let the boy down and said to Him, “Child, you have put me in great peril. I thought I was going to drown, for you weigh so much that it felt like I had the whole world upon me and that I could bear no greater burden.”

            The Child said to him, “Indeed did you feel the weight of the whole world, for that is the burden I carry, and you carried Me.  Since you have borne Me on your shoulders, your name shall now be Christopher, which means ‘Bearer of the Christ’.”  And with that the Child was gone.  Christopher realized that he had served the mightiest of kings and devoted the rest of his life to Christ, even eventually dying as a martyr for Christ.