What constitutes us

The concept of “American exceptionalism” has almost as many definitions as there are commentators on it.  I have long been fascinated by the term, whether its first best use was by Alexis de Tocqueville or Josef Stalin, both of whom are candidates for credit.  Some would assert that the only exceptional aspect of our country is that it is ours, which is thus the same thing that makes any country exceptional.  While I could not endorse any particular theory, it seems sufficiently commonsense to acknowledge that there is something authentically exceptional about our nation.

My first candidate for the ground of exceptionality would be our form of government, the Constitution, and that this form of government is the first and defining characteristic of the country. Ethnicity, culture, and geography all contributed to our nation’s earliest self-understanding and establishment, but did not even then, much less do they now, define what makes the United States of America, the United States of America. 

Lest anyone think that the USA was simply the first of a historical generation of nations to be born of revolution and coalesce by constitution, one need examine the suggested “other examples.”  The French staged a revolution with the express intention of emulating what they saw in our society, but “Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality” quickly descended into tyranny and bloodshed by committee.  We are all aware of how the Russian and other so-called “revolutions” played out, pursued as they were in the names of ideologies that led to domination by ideologues. Many Latin American nations claim their own “George Washingtons” who nonetheless failed to manifest not only his executive virtues, but also and especially his virtuous relinquishing of executive power.  Anybody familiar with the European Union’s huge phonebook-size assemblage of regulations knows it is a “Constitution” in name alone.

I think what lies at the root of the current mocking of American exceptionalism is a rejection of the possibility that anything can be an exception.  There is a desire to subordinate the character of USA to a rule, and by that rule to take away any privilege or responsibility that would belong to a truly exceptional nation.  

Both privilege and responsibility are eliminated by the tyranny of false equality, which refuses to admit not only any exception, but also the possibility of authentic difference.  The reality of difference is manifest in the differences between and among human beings and all the creatures of the earth. Good and evil, true and false, reality and fiction, beauty and disorder are truly and clearly different.  The only way to deny or suppress these differences is to erect a false equality through authority and power.  That authority and power is necessarily in opposition to the author of all these differences, our Creator. 

My willingness to accept that the United States is exceptional among nations is rooted in my belief that among human beings there are lives that are exceptional.  That belief is founded on my acquaintance with the perfectly exceptional man who is God, Jesus Christ.  His immaculately conceived mother, the Virgin Mary, is not only an exception to the rule of original sin, but also a model of and invitation to acceptance of the privilege and responsibility that comes with freedom from the rule, with being an exception.

The inherent difference among human lives is reflected in the differences of the societies they erect.  The true differences between good and evil, true and false, between God and everything else, undergird a world where every human soul is called to be exceptional in a way that he or she is uniquely capable of being.  This is the foundational freedom that can be suppressed but not eliminated, as it inheres in our very souls.  Better than anywhere else or in any other time, this is the freedom that has until now been both provided and protected in our exceptional nation’s exceptional Constitution.

God bless America, and God bless you.

Monsignor Smith

What You Handle

This is not my great-great-uncle's chalice and paten,
but rather belonged to my predecessor, Father Bernard Martin,
the fourth pastor of Saint Bernadette (1987-1997).  
It is much better shape than the one in North Carolina,
though it could still use re-gilding.

Do you have a treasured heirloom?  Your grandfather’s WWII service weapon, or maybe a captured pistol or flag he brought back?  Maybe a piece of jewelry that your great-great grandmother wore, or even a brush, comb, fountain pen, or something else simple she would have used daily?  Remember, even humble things were made to last in those days.  Maybe you can still use it yourself, or maybe you keep it displayed somewhere out of reach.  Either way, these things are present and have a powerful effect on us. 

Whether you knew this person yourself or only heard stories from your older family members, these objects form a sort of bridge that brings us into contact with our forebears.  An object that was handled closely by someone who is now far away from us, allows us to touch his or her hand by touching it.  The inanimate object occasions an instant of intimacy.

In late May, we priests of the Archdiocese attended a one-day convocation for which the Cardinal had chosen speakers who would inform or edify us.  The first one was a Jesuit sociologist who constructs and tallies polls, often on Catholic religious belief and practice.  But he said one thing that stuck out in my mind when he indicated that most of his priesthood he had spent in North Carolina.  So afterward, I thanked him for his talk, and asked if he knew my great-great-uncle Father John Risacher, and he lit up immediately.  Father John had been in retirement, in his dotage even, at the Jesuit novitiate in Woodstock PA when he had been a novice.  He told me his stories, and I told him some of mine.

About twelve years ago, I went to Durham, North Carolina for a wedding at Duke University chapel.  Because the wedding would not be a Mass, that morning I went to a nearby parish to offer Mass.  Holy Cross Catholic Church was founded in Durham in 1939 for the African-American Catholics of that then-small southern town.  Until very recently, North Carolina had the lowest percentage of Catholics if any state in the US, so I assume that community was a very small minority indeed.  Their first church was the office of a local dentist!

With the city, that community has grown.  The church they built in the 1940’s and the land around it were first surrounded by a state university there, and more recently purchased to become part of that campus.  The new church they built for themselves further out of town is a handsome building that is more than adequate for the thriving 350-family parish Holy Cross has become.  

On a top shelf in the sacristy, I saw an old-fashioned, tarnished chalice and, forgoing the newer vessels, pulled it down on a hunch.  Engraved on the base was an inscription indicating that the chalice had been a gift from a class at Loyola to Fr. John Risacher, S.J., who was the pastor of Holy Cross from its founding until 1966.

This was my great-great uncle.  My mother’s maternal grandfather had two older brothers who were ordained priests for the Maryland Province of the Society of Jesus in the 1920’s.  Fr. Clement Risacher S.J. went to the Philippines and remained there until his death decades later.  Fr. John’s principal work was this mission in the heart of the south.

I blew the dust and grit out of that chalice, and shortly thereafter poured into it wine and water.  Speaking the same words over it that my uncle would have, and holding it up now containing the Precious Blood of Jesus, I was immediately aware of a powerful connection with him.  The chalice and the prayers united me to him and his ministry as priest and pastor. 

The chalice I carefully put back on the top shelf, and offered a prayer of thanksgiving in the church my great-great Uncle John’s foundation has become.  The Priesthood of Jesus Christ that we share, and the Holy Mass that unites us each day, came home with me as my most precious heirloom. 

Monsignor Smith

Father's Day Card

Don't forget: June is the month of the Sacred Heart (it may save your life!)

Y’all are so good to me; so many of you wish me a “Happy Father’s Day,” and I really appreciate that.  I really do admire the dads of the parish, especially the ones I get to see doing the dad work with their little ones, up to and including chasing them the length of the church.

Sometimes I feel like the dad of a teenager.  Well, I think that’s the feeling – it seems to resonate with what I am hearing from those of you who are, actually, parents of teenagers.  I can only estimate, so you’ll have to let me know.

I feel like…every time I actually get to talk to you, I wind up nagging you about something.  Take out the trash.  Tuck in your shirt.  Make your offertory commitment.  Drive safely.  Say your prayers.

Here it is the beginning of summer and everyone (including me) is off to someplace or another.  Lots of folks even move away this time of year; I hate that, even when it’s a really good move.  But even when you’re here, I feel like… we never get to spend time together.  You’re rushing to something; I’ve got something I am trying to get done.  Somebody has a crisis, and you, or I, or both of us, have to rush to go do something about it.

I feel like… we are speaking two different languages.  I don’t think I always understand what you’re saying to me, and I think I don’t do a good job of letting you understand me, and when we talk, it’s often not about anything important.   

One of our parochial vicars once asked me over breakfast: Do they know how much we love them?  I answered: Nope.  Substitute “Mom” for him and “Dad” for me, and see if that conversation fits parents of a teenager.  You can easily figure out who are the “kids” we are talking about: Y’all.

So here I am on any given weekend, using my twelve minutes of your time for the week to nag you about something, ideally something important.  At least that’s what it can sound like.  And I hate that because it makes it hard for me to help you know why this is important; to know who you are.

More often than we expect, the Scripture presented to us in the liturgy can be pretty apocalyptic – literally: end of the world, destruction of everything good, death and disaster, annihilation.   It’s easy to decide, that’s just typical parental exaggeration, right?  Who needs that bother?

Well, Holy Mother Church is trying to tell you the same thing any sainted mother tries to tell her seventeen-year-old who has a license and the car keys: you’re fabulous, but you’re mortal.  It matters.  Pay attention and choose wisely.

It’s not a subject that you rush to bring up with someone you love.  You are mortal. You’re gonna die. No, it’s not something that is likely to happen terribly soon, except for a few of us…but we cannot be certain just who that is.  You need to know that, so you can be ready.

And just like any teenage driver, you can take steps to make yourself safe.  Many things – many very attractive, exciting, enjoyable, and popular things -- will not help you:  Jesus said, "All that you see here--
the days will come when there will not be left a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down."  

But thanks be to God, there IS something that you can do about it.  There is someone who can make you safe from death’s darkness, the eternal oblivion that yearns to devour our unwary souls.  Fasten your seatbelt: cling to Christ Jesus. By your perseverance you will secure your lives.

So, have a good time on vacation.  Enjoy your friends.  You are fabulous, but you are mortal.  Drive safely.  Go to Mass, and confession.  Say your prayers.  I love you.

Dad

Making it happen

Three years ago, when we had our parish’s first Corpus Christi procession, it was three months into the hard lockdown and our forced separation from the Mass.  Enthusiasm was high to be with one another, and to be with our Lord.  

The forced separation from the Eucharist that we endured had produced a longing, a yearning for Christ’s own presence and activity with us and for us and in us.  It was never more evident than that day.  One reason that peak remained unique was that a week later, when the local authorities again permitted us to worship, there was still fear and uncertainty of the virus, and there were so many protocols and practices that had not been part of our worship that being together with the Lord and with one another was deeply impaired.  It was strange, but it was Mass, thank God.  

That has been the story over the intervening three years, as we worked our way back into unimpeded communion.  Capacity limits were lifted, mask mandates withdrawn, and people got used to being with people again.  We sang; we reached again for holy water to bless ourselves.  Some people were still absent, but it was more and more like Mass, thank God. 

Over the same time, other activities resumed to their pre-pandemic levels, and the demands on our time multiplied.  Especially our kids had places they needed to be.  People started eating out and getting together in homes again.  In other words, Mass went back to being another thing we had to fit into our schedules.  Thank God?

Three years ago, when we had our parish’s first Corpus Christi procession, for weeks beforehand the streets had been filled with people marching, even in our own neighborhoods.  Anger, protest, and accusations were the norm.   When our procession came through the streets of Four Corners, there was visible hesitation and uncertainty as our neighbors looked to see what was this, what now?  Then, relief filled their faces to see that we weren’t angry peaceful protesters, but people of faith proceeding with the Prince of Peace.  

We sell Our Eucharistic Lord short every time we simply consider what we are doing in regard to Him.  Are we going to go to Him Sunday morning, or in the afternoon?  Are we going to visit Him on our way home today, or are we going to try maybe next week?  Are we going to linger with Him for a few moments to try to work out a few of the things that are concerning us, or will we try to communicate from our home or car?  All of these are worthy considerations, but they are not all that we should consider.

When we attend Sunday Mass, He commands us.  When we visit Him in the tabernacle, He draws us to Himself.  When we linger before Him, He holds us and loves us and elicits from us our concerns and joys and needs.  And when we are away from Him, He makes us know where He is and where He desires us to be.   He initiates.

The point is what God is doing.  Last week, the first reading for Trinity Sunday revealed what Our Eucharistic Lord is doing with us:   then was I beside him as his craftsman, and I was his delight day by day, playing before him all the while, playing on the surface of his earth; and I found delight in the human race.  (Proverbs 8:31).  By the power of the Spirit,the Eucharistic Son dwells with us and He delights in us just as the Father delights in Him.  He acts.

The point is that the Eucharist IS what God is doing:  Yet just as from the heavens the rain and snow come down and do not return there till they have watered the earth, making it fertile and fruitful, giving seed to the one who sows and bread to the one who eats, so shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but shall do what pleases me, achieving the end for which I sent it.  (Isaiah 55:10–11)  Jesus is not the passive recipient of actions of our initiation, but rather He is active in Himself and through our actions.  He accomplishes.

Three years ago, when we had our parish’s first Corpus Christi procession, things were different than they are now.  Today we are restored to frequent and free Communion, but reduced in number.   Our Lord Jesus Christ calls us, commands us, elicits in us the desire to carry Him to our neighbors and neighborhood, whose dispositions now have changed in the intervening time at least as much as have our own.  Still, we respond to the Lord Who dwells among us; we embody His own obedience.  We take up and bear His Body before our neighbors who are hungry for love, authentic love.  We may be the ones who do the sweating, but He will be the one Who achieves the end for which He has been sent.  

Monsignor Smith

Communion: Between Two and Four

On Trinity Sunday we celebrate that even before anything was created, God, though one and only, all there is, is not solitary, much less lonely.  Three distinct, co-equal divine persons of the One God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, enjoy Communion, perfect and mutual love and self-giving without end or beginning.  That perfect love is not exclusive, but rather extensive: whereby God creates the universe, this world, and you and me, not because He needs us to exist but because He loves us to exist.  Our response: Thank God!

In that spirit of gratitude, let me present to you our rectory.  The Holy House of Soubirous is now a crowded house, in the best sense of the word.  Father Novajosky absorbed most of May with me, one on one, and did some real heavy lifting.  So of course he will run away for a few days this weekend, but will be here (mostly) through June and July.  

Father Santandreu rolled in from Buffalo Monday evening, and he too will be here June and July, sharing with Father Novajosky the goal of completing the License in Canon Law.  This summer they will have in addition to their courses, a thesis to write (each), and comprehensive examinations to pass.  So if you see any clenched teeth, grim looks, or evidence of late nights, you will have a rare glimpse of evidence of what I have shared with you all along: these guys work hard on their school.  Let’s hope that we all get to see evidence of deserved success and accomplishment come late July.

Meanwhile into this crucible of Canon Law study comes Father Gabriel Okafor.  He arrived in the wee hours of last Saturday and powered through jet lag and disorientation to jump-start HIS program of Canon Law studies.   The neat thing that you may not realize about his situation is that he is still a pastor of a parish, in Morro Bay, California, back in the Diocese of Monterrey.  The summer coursework is billed as “intensive,” for him just like the other two, with two complete courses folded tightly into four weeks, then two more courses the next month.  Then in August he will return to his parish, try to “catch up” on two months’ worth of pastoring, then continue through the year while simultaneously taking more courses in Canon Law “remotely.”  We all know about remote learning now, don’t we?

So while you will want to get to know Father Gabriel, and you will want to spend time with Fathers Santandreu and Novajosky of whom you have grown so fond, do not be surprised if they have to pull back from some social possibilities.  They are equally fond of you; they just have a lot to do.

Of course, I am fond of them too.  So our little manifestation of the indwelling of the Holy Trinity is the communion of priestly fraternity in the rectory.  Dinner together is a hoot.  Listening to Frs. N & S hash out the lectures, professors, and requirements is an education in itself.  Fr. Gabriel is unintimidated by his neophyte status, and shares stories from his life and parish in California, his ten years in the Philipines, and his life and family in Nigeria.  I cook, and listen.  

Of course, this convivium provides my only chance to slip away from the parish (just when it is the most fun to be here) so I will be gone for almost two weeks in June.  But like the love of the Triune God, what goes out also comes back, and I look forward to rejoicing in their company and their learning when I return.  August will be solitary, and though that has its upside, too, I am happy to share with you that after a month’s absence, Fr. Novajosky will return for further studies in the coming year.  We make a good team, he and I, but I have not yet despaired of finding a third for our humble and holy dwelling, because everybody knows that the ideal of Communion is a Trinity.

Monsignor Smith