It is so easy to think everything will always be just
the same as it is now, as it seems always to have been. In order
to function normally, we must assume
this, lest we be paralyzed by infinite variables and fear. So when something does change, we can be
shocked and even shaken.
You will notice a big change here this week: the large old maple tree outside the school
entrance had to be cut down. I called
the tree man because of a dead limb hanging over the walkway, the same fellow who
had done some “safety pruning” on it two years ago. Even then, I told him, I knew it was nearing
the end; but he said a little trim was all that was necessary at that
time. This time, alas, it wasn’t only
dead branches, but fungus on the roots, rot and splitting in the trunk. It had to come down, and because of its
location by the school, the sooner the better.
It was likely here from the beginning of the parish. We
have an old aerial photo taken just before the church was built in 1958, and
there stands that maple, full-grown and proud.
It was tough to see it go.
After the busy weekend of November 1 – 2 – 3, I joked
that it was like the film Groundhog Day; every morning, I woke up, and it was
Sunday again! But the three holy days
were in fact quite different one from another; each beautiful, but each filled
by my favorite and most demanding activity, parish Masses.
On Saturday, we celebrated our annual Mass for the
repose of the souls who were buried from our parish over the past year. The choir, under our new music director Rob
Barbarino, did a marvelous job with Gabriel Fauré’s rich, evocative setting of
the Requiem Mass. At our invitation, a
number of the families of the deceased came, some not having been here since
the funeral. It was a beautiful,
powerful experience of the life-giving prayer of the Church, and our Christian
hope in the face of death.
During the Mass at the intercessions, as I read aloud
the names of all those deceased, I was deeply moved. So many of them I knew well, maybe even for
years and years. Some I hardly knew, but
grew acquainted with them through their grieving families. Each name called to mind a life, its love,
and the gap left behind at its passing.
As you pass today, look to where that large maple
stood even as recently as last week, where now there is only a gap. Realize that every one of us, whether monumental
or miniscule, and every one whom we love, will similarly be felled by the
scythe of time and mortality. But know
also that the love Who touches us here, under the forms of bread and wine,
water and oil, with words of admonition and of mercy, nurtures us into life
that will never pass away.
Even at Saint Bernadette, things change. No two days are the same; no Mass or Baptism
ever a re-run. It is a true and
joy-giving privilege for me to be Pastor here, to preside over the sanctifying
events of lives and lifetimes. It is
precisely because things change that the steady persistence of God’s good grace
is such a gift to have and to share.
Praised be Jesus Christ, now and forever.
Monsignor Smith
