Today at lunch, Father Brillis was moved to reflect on the importance of the voice as revealed in Sacred Scripture: Didn’t John the Baptist say, I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness?" Father Novajosky confirmed his suspicion.
In fact, the camel-hair-clad precursor did announce just that in his own, honey-hinted, locust-breath voice, and there is fruitful reflection to be had from the Church Fathers on the distinction between the voice (John) and the Word (Jesus) and the powerful relationship between the two.
What moved Fr. Brillis to these rhapsodies will come as no surprise to you who were at the nine o’clock Mass last weekend, as you saw – or heard, more accurately – the beginnings of what has made for a most unusual week: I have lost my voice.
Probably precipitated by pollen-enraged sinuses, the damage that I did to my pipes by powering through a busy weekend filled with what I call ‘strong talking’ left me with very little vocal power when Monday morning dawned. I think the school Auction Gala Saturday night was the final straw; it was fun, certainly, but three hours of talking over the din of music and chatter and clatter of people having fun together was absolutely devastating. Of course I said Mass anyway on Sunday but did not sing (thank you for holding your applause), and that afternoon I instructed our First Holy Communion class on the how and why of receiving the Medicine of Immortality, the Most Holy Eucharist. Add the other demands of a pastor’s busy weekend, and there was very little left to work with come Monday.
I have received advice from a parishioner formerly thus afflicted, a friend whose mother is a speech pathologist, my doctor, and almost everybody else who has learned of my affliction. Most of it was pretty good advice, too, and in addition to mitigating the sinus cascade as best as possible, the key seems to be what the speech pathologist mom called “vocal rest.”
So Father Novajosky has heroically taken my daily Masses, and I cancelled some appointments and declined some phone conversations. So much of my ‘job” involves talking. I know, I know, you thought it was just a thing about ME that I seemed always to be talking – well, you may not be entirely wrong, but you’re not entirely right either. Priesting is very verbal work, even when not preaching. Pastoring, too, requires no few verbal interventions.
Speaking of misperceptions, in past days some wits have volunteered that nothing would be more difficult for me than a silent retreat. WRONG. I love them, I seek out times of silence and savor them when I get them. My penance of the moment is not really silence, though, just reduced talking, but I admit I delight in it as well.
This is day three of my self-limitation, but folks here in the rectory will still holler greetings and questions to me from the next room. I can’t ANSWER you! – I want to say but cannot. Last evening I learned how hard it is to watch a baseball game under these limitations. Some things just make me want to shout.
But I restrain myself. I have another big weekend coming up and hope to be back on my game in time for Grandparents’ Day Mass on Friday. At First Holy Communion Mass on Saturday, I will have to stand up and welcome Cardinal Gregory on behalf of our parish. But no, I did not get him to come just so I would not have to preach, though that will be a welcome benefit. The customary progression through sundry First Holy Communion luncheons and receptions and picnics may have to be modified according to my condition.
You will know as soon as anyone how goes my recovery. Mindful of the old joke of the patient who asks the doctor treating his wounded hand, will I be able to play the piano?, I have refrained from asking, will I be able to sing at Mass? But for the time being, Fathers Brillis and Novajosky are carrying the conversations at lunch.
Monsignor Smith
