Fides in Fido

The new dog for the Church's Nativity scene, newly arrived from Italy;
happily sitting where it belongs for now -- on my desk. 

Well, I got a dog.

No, not a real dog; not a rectory hound, nor another puppy with whom to share the rectory.  I got a dog for the new Nativity set in the church!

In December, after the six new figures arrived and were arranged on the manger-platform constructed for them by Andy Greenleaf, I was convinced of their positive impact on our celebration of the Nativity of Our Lord.  It was not only the children of the parish who were captivated by their engaging beauty.

So, I said outright in my post-Christmas column that I wanted a dog, meaning a dog figure for the creche scene.  My plea got quite the response!  The rectory staff lived in trepidation that someone would appear at the door with a retriever puppy, but blessedly that has not occurred.  No, at least three people offered to donate the dog for the scene within the week.  Quickest on the draw was Nancy McNally, in memory of her late husband John McNally and his dog Dexter.  Quite often, I used to encounter the three of them out walking in the evening – a happy memory. 

Timing was everything.  I enjoyed a quick post-Christmas sojourn to Rome to visit a friend of mine who had just retired from his decades-long work for the Holy See.  While there, I went to the shop where I had found the original Holy Family group, and ordered the dog.  Since the exchange rate is so good right now (the best I recall in 18 years), and since I would have to pay shipping anyway, I added two more figures to the purchase: a herald Angel, and Caspar, one (1) of the Three Kings or Magi. 

Not Harold, but HERALD Angel.

Caspar, the friendly king, bearing his gift.

The price was very good, and the shipping was very fast.  A large box arrived at the rectory from Rome two days after I returned, precisely one week after I ordered the figures.  Like the figures we already have, the new ones are beautiful; even more attractive than I expected.  The dog is great.  So good, in fact, that various staffers have connived to have him sit on their desks instead of mine, where he belongs.  

The Angel and Caspar are both worthy additions.  I went ahead and got them “on spec” in hopes that seeing how terrific they are, someone would contribute their cost ($960 each), AND that they will show how great it would be if someone were to donate for Melchior and Balthasar, so we would have ALL THREE Kings.

There also exists the possibility of a camel (for the truly ambitious) and other farm animals, as well as people who participate in the scene.  But I think these “major players” are our priority now.  I also found out how much it would cost to get a new Nativity group, 30% larger than the carved-wood indoor set and made of weatherproof fiberglass, to replace the 75-year-old crumbling plaster figures in our outdoor creche scene.  It’s less than you’d think -- but I digress.

Not only do I have good company in the rectory, but also I got precisely the dog the parish needed.  What a gift to me and the parish!

Monsignor Smith

Dimensions of Grace

Our church is really big.  We get used to it, of course, and periodically we take advantage of it, like at Christmas, when we fill it.  But it was designed to seat over 800 people, and that makes for a very big church.

Moreover, the sanctuary is big.  The large altar on its raised predella, topped by the towering baldachin, requires and enjoys a large space around it for a proper and proportionate setting.  This vast space can be a problem, such as when you realize how much time is required for the priest and assisting ministers to travel from point A to point B, say from the chair to the credence table, then further yet, up to the altar.  That takes time!  But the space can also be a blessing, such as when you have room to celebrate the Sacred Liturgy in all its glory, and nine or ten altar servers.  It is a great place to have a wedding; we have even had an Ordination in that sanctuary.  And the complex, beautiful liturgies of Holy Week and the Triduum play out in all their splendor, because there is room.

But that big church and big sanctuary are surprisingly intimate.  The eternal God of heaven and earth comes down to be with us on that suddenly-not-so-big altar.  The people who tread that space, whether a couple exchanging their nuptial consent, or servers washing priests’ hands, are engaged in many intimate and beautiful actions.  Christian worship is necessarily intimate because in it, Man finds intimacy in the very Holiness of God.

Our worship is much enhanced by music, music that is itself one of the treasures of our Church and our Faith.  The vastness of our church poses problems and benefits to our music, as the complex acoustics make it difficult to unite voices and instruments, but also provide glorious resonance to our efforts.   

Music draws us into that divine intimacy, with God and with one another, as our voices and our hearts unite.  The music of our worship overcomes the vastness of our church, and the vast divide between us and our neighbor, and between us and our God.  

It is in this context that I am pleased to let you know that starting this week, the Director of our Music here at Saint Bernadette will be someone with whom we are already quite close, though he had been quite the distance away.  Mr. John Henderson, who was with us in this same capacity until August 2017, is returning.  Join me in rejoicing!

Yes, he went to Texas (Austin); yes, he studied music of kinds other than church music; yes, he enjoyed it very much.  But he had come to the conclusion that he wanted to return to the Washington area, and he wanted to commit to parish music leadership, when I sent him a note to say I was looking for a new music director.  The rest, as they say, is history.

This is the first formal announcement of John’s taking the musical helm, but over the past months I have told any number of people.  All of them were delighted.  Our own choir section leaders – Joey and Siena, Veronica and Andrew – did a great job of leading our music for the two-month interregnum.  We should thank them, along with Paul Griffin, our interim organist.  But know that they are among the most excited at John’s arrival.  Because the sacred music that we enjoy here, and the sacred intimacy it brings about for us, will be much enhanced by the presence, participation, and leadership of our good friend.  

They say it’s a small world, and we know we have a big church.  But I hope you are as pleased as I am to welcome John Henderson home to the musical heart of our worship, both large and intimate.

Monsignor Smith

Putting up a fight

Corine helps Father Russo identify
all the families on the Parishioner Tree.

Both easier and harder is taking down the Christmas decorations.  Easier, because it goes more quickly as everything simply goes back into its box, whereas in putting them up first one had to find and open all the boxes for a given project, then arrange and array every element just so.  Harder, in that all that was so festive and attractive and enjoyable to display, and promised so many beautiful times to come, yields to a remarkable barrenness with only bleak and wintry prospects.

It’s that time around the rectory.  The magnificent balsam fir that was in our dining room came down today, having been stripped of its glory yesterday.  The weeny little tabletop tree in my sitting room came down the day before that, along with my creche scene and other festive touches.  The Santa hat on the bust of Pope John Paul II in my office gave way to his customary Nats cap.   But the progress stopped in the reception office, as the villagers there put up a bit of a defense around the Parishioner Tree.

You see, the last days of the Parishioner Tree are the best, as only now is its full glory revealed.  All the photo cards that came in since Thanksgiving of current parishioners and former parishioners find a place on its boughs, so it looks rather naked when it goes up right after Immaculate Conception, but heavy laden by Epiphany. 

It is a great way to get to know the current members of our parish family, so someone who has been here a few years – say, Corine – can hone her knowledge of family names and relationships; while somebody new to the place – say, Fr. Russo – gets a bonanza of information and imagery to help him learn who is who.  

But it’s also true that former parishioners still send cards from their new places, whether that be Buffalo, Charlotte, or Pittsburgh, or just Bowie, Clarksburg, or Olney.  Those cards can spark stories and explanations laced with affection.  

Fr. Berhorst would benefit from the parishioner tree, but he left for Missouri in mid-Advent, after it had been up for only a few days and had only five or six cards on it.  He will be back this weekend, but I am afraid that will be too late.

Like all the others, the Parishioner Tree is coming down.  Something about that reception area makes it dry out faster, almost as if all the people who enjoy looking at it somehow take some of the life with them.  In that regard the tree is like the Cross of Christ, the real Tree of Life that yields its life to fill up our life.   

We can save all the cards for Father Berhorst to appreciate when he comes back.  But to take down the Parishioner Tree, we are going to have to get past Carol, who doesn’t want to let it go yet.  It is going to be a lot more hard than easy to take down this particular Christmas decoration.

Monsignor Smith

Manifestation

You probably do not recall how wretched it was the Saturday before Gaudete Sunday.  But I do, because when I reluctantly went out into it, I found about ten of our Holy Name men erecting the manger scene outside the front of our church.  This was the day before they hosted Breakfast with Santa, which seemed to me to be very popular with all comers, young and old. 

Santa and his elves worked hard
to get everyone ready for Christmas at Saint Bernadette

With particular thanks to the abundant gifts and gracious givers of poinsettias for our altar, and wreaths and greenery from our CYO, the flower-moving and church-decorating team did a marvelous job. Anthony Dao and his kids did remarkable work, and we could hardly manage without Margaret McDermott.  This was the swan-song of Elaine Vining, who has been masterminding the arrangement for over a decade; she plans to move to South Carolina this year.   If you want to have some real fun with beauty, consider volunteering to help in future.  

The beauty of the music took me aback.  Since we are “between music directors,” our section leaders (Joey & Veronica & Siena & Andrew) have stepped up to plan and prepare, and print programs, and with the help of interim organist and conductor Paul Griffin.  I called our approach “family style,” which may be why it made for such a musically perfect Christmas.  

The altar servers, especially those who came to Masses different from the ones their families usually might have preferred, were superb.  Father Russo has taken the lead as Server Wrangler for us, and they are responding to his attentions.  Similarly, our Lectors and Ministers of Holy Communion arranged their holidays around our parish needs and liturgies, to our great benefit.

Andy Greenleaf's beautifully crafted stable
provided the perfect setting for everybody gathered around the manger.

Of course, I am grateful to the family of George and Doris O’Brien, whose gift in their memory made possible the arrival of ox and ass, sheep and shepherds for our indoor Nativity Scene.  They came from Italy, but the stable scene itself was designed and constructed by our own Andy Greenleaf, most famous for his role of Lector at nine o’clock Sunday Masses, and moved here with the help of some of those same intrepid Holy Name men.  Honestly it could not be more marvelous.  There are more figures to be had for it (wise men, angel, etc.), if more donors step forward.  I want a dog.

There were also the workers who were invisible, such as our counters, who came in on Boxing Day in addition to their usual Monday work.  You probably just assume our crowds are preternaturally tidy, because you don’t see the people who clean up the church before and after all these liturgies; and that the priests are similarly diligent, because you don’t see the work of the sacristans.  What would make you suspicious is how neatly cleaned and hung by size all the altar server vestments are; you know there must be a mysterious person who swoops in regularly to put them in order – and there is.

Do not be fooled by those announcements about the rectory offices being closed.  The staff does not “take it easy” around Christmas and the New Year; nothing could be further from the truth  They busted their humps for us but with grace and care like nobody you’ve seen.  

Also, I should mention that Father Russo, in his assignment as student with residence here, was not obliged to stay here for the holiday.  But he did.  He was a great help, good company, and even gave every sign that there was no other place he would rather be for Christmas.  I think the lad may have a future!

Because as I have long told you, there is no place but here I would rather be for Christmas or any other holiday.  Now that my mom and dad live close enough to come join me, they understand better why that is.  This a beautiful place to be in communion with The Newborn King and all who adore Him.  It’s a great place to be a priest.  And I don’t just say that because of all the cookies and treats and … beverages that found their way to the rectory in recent weeks, though I am grateful for that too.  It’s because of the faith and life and service and love and joy manifested in the people here.  

Please join me in thanking everybody whose work I noted above, and anybody whose work I inadvertently left out.  Altogether, it’s enough to make you fail to remember any wretchedness in the day.  Merry Christmas and blessed Epiphany to you!

Monsignor Smith

Go to school with a Pope!

The Flight into Egypt, Martin Schongauer, c. 1470-75
National Gallery of Art, Washington

Nazareth is a kind of school where we may begin to discover what Christ’s life was like and even to understand his Gospel. Here we can observe and ponder the simple appeal of the way God’s Son came to be known, profound yet full of hidden meaning. And gradually we may even learn to imitate him.

Here we can learn to realize who Christ really is. And here we can sense and take account of the conditions and circumstances that surrounded and affected his life on earth: the places, the tenor of the times, the culture, the language, religious customs, in brief, everything which Jesus used to make himself known to the world. Here everything speaks to us, everything has meaning. Here we can learn the importance of spiritual discipline for all who wish to follow Christ and to live by the teachings of his Gospel.

How I would like to return to my childhood and attend the simple yet profound school that is Nazareth! How wonderful to be close to Mary, learning again the lesson of the true meaning of life, learning again God’s truths. But here we are only on pilgrimage. Time presses and I must set aside my desire to stay and carry on my education in the Gospel, for that education is never finished. But I cannot leave without recalling, briefly and in passing; some thoughts I take with me from Nazareth.

First, we learn from its silence. If only we could once again appreciate its great value. We need this wonderful state of mind, beset as we are by the cacophony of strident protests and conflicting claims so characteristic of these turbulent times. The silence of Nazareth should teach us how to meditate in peace and quiet, to reflect on the deeply spiritual, and to be open to the voice of God’s inner wisdom and the counsel of his true teachers. Nazareth can teach us the value of study and preparation, of meditation, of a well-ordered personal spiritual life, and of silent prayer that is known only to God.

Second, we learn about family life. May Nazareth serve as a model of what the family should be. May it show us the family’s holy and enduring character and exemplify its basic function in society: a community of love and sharing, beautiful for the problems it poses and the rewards it brings, in sum, the perfect setting for rearing children—and for this there is no substitute.

Finally, in Nazareth, the home of a craftsman’s son, we learn about work and the discipline it entails. I would especially like to recognize its value—demanding yet redeeming—and to give it proper respect. I would remind everyone that work has its own dignity. On the other hand, it is not an end in itself. Its value and free character, however, derive not only from its place in the economic system, as they say, but rather from the purpose it serves.

In closing, may I express my deep regard for people everywhere who work for a living. To them I would point out their great model, Christ their brother, our Lord and God, who is their prophet in every cause that promotes their well-being.

From an address by Saint Paul VI, pope (Nazareth, January 5, 1964)

The Gentlest Conqueror

The Adoration of the Shepherds
Francesco di Simone Ferrucci, 1475/85
National Gallery of Art, Washington

And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.  (Luke 2:12, RSV)

That’s the sign: a newborn baby.  And not only a newborn baby, but one bundled up tightly and placed in a feed trough.  That’s pretty much helpless, made more helpless, and then consigned to perfect helplessness.  And that’s the sign?  That will be the cause of rejoicing?

Like all the touchstones of our faith, this one can become so familiar and shopworn after the parade of images on cards and in songs that we rarely stop to appreciate how truly strange it is; strange, and common.  Babies are present everywhere and at all times throughout human existence; babies are everywhere and at all times completely helpless.  This one, though, is different, because this one is the Savior from God; this one is, in fact, God.  Indistinguishable from every other baby in his helplessness.  

But the very helplessness of the baby sheds light on the power of God.  For babies routinely change the behavior of people who are strong and capable; infants make people change their plans, drop what they are doing, end even risk their lives.  They reveal the strange power of helplessness.

A quick search of headlines reveals this is true in our time and place:  Total stranger saves the life of choking Toledo toddler; Stranger Caught On Camera Saving Dying Child At Supermarket; Family stuck in flooded truck meets hero who saved baby's life; Stranger Saves Baby’s Life from Fire As Desperate Mom Drops Her from the Third Floor; Baby rescued on Miami roadside by stranger who gave CPR; Strangers Rescue Babies From Watery Grave in Texas;  Stranger Saves Baby From Choking at North Carolina Restaurant;  Guy Almost Dies Trying To Save Baby In A Pram That Rolled Onto Train Tracks.  Those are all real headlines, and recent.

We may believe and even expect sacrifices or heroic actions by mothers of babies, or fathers, or even siblings, other relatives, or family friends.  But strangers?  They all dropped what they were doing, put aside what they had planned, and responded to the helpless baby.   And what about “Guy almost dies trying to save baby?”  He was probably simply on his way to work, but seeing the baby’s danger, risked himself, and almost died!  What could motivate a stranger to put aside fear for his own life and safety, but helplessness?

So God, Who comes to save us, reaches out by being … helpless?  What happened to power and might, and all that?  But there he is, daring us to refuse to respond, daring strangers to leave him to His own helplessness.  Who can pass a helpless baby?   And so He begins to change lives.

This is exactly what He promised, if we recall the words of the prophet Isaiah:  Drop down dew, ye heavens, from above, and let the clouds rain the just: let the earth be opened, and bud forth a savior: and let justice spring up together: I the Lord have created him.  (Is 45:8 Douay-Rheims) What could be gentler than dew?  What could be more fragile than a flower’s bud?  And so shall our Savior be.

It is possible to resist; it is possible to refuse.  So was it foretold by Simeon to Mary and Joseph in the Temple, when them presented their child there: Behold, this child is destined to bring about the fall of many and the rise of many in Israel; to be a sign which men will refuse to acknowledge.  (Luke 2:34, Knox version)

So do many resist the helplessness of a child, even in our time, and respond with selfishness and disregard.  So do many respond to the helpless Savior, insisting like the thief crucified on His left side that He prove Himself by saving Himself, and them.  (cf. Luke 23:39) And in refusing to acknowledge, they embrace their own destruction.

But this Lord Who Comes is not only helpless and gentle; no, He is also relentless, like the rain that falls:  And as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and return no more thither, but soak the earth, and water it, and make it to spring, and give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater:  So shall my word be, which shall go forth from my mouth: it shall not return to me void, but it shall do whatsoever I please, and shall prosper in the things for which I sent it.  (Is 55:10-11, Douay-Rheims)

And so He comes.  He Whom we thought we knew, He whom we were convinced we understood, presents himself to us afresh in His helplessness.  And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.  This holy night, we behold him with fresh eyes, especially if we are around children.  In our day and time children see and recognize their fellow helpless-one as they look at the Christmas crib.  They recognize love -- fragile, vulnerable love -- that has so much in common with them, and in their eyes, we can see Him too. 

Looking at Him, we can hear the call that love speaks: love calls us to drop what we are doing, put aside what we had planned, and move closer.  Love even calls us to put aside fear for our own lives and safety, and do His bidding! 

He is vulnerable, and persistent.  He is helpless, and relentless.  

Madonna and Child, Andrea Verrocchio, c. 1475;
usually in the Bargello museum in Florence, Italy,
 but in Washington at the National Gallery of Art
until 12 January 2020.

Pray to Me with confidence then, for I am the King of Love, and I want to be recognized as such.  I rule in souls, not by coercion, but by My most sweet love.  I rule as a Child King, with gentleness and an affection that is wholly divine.  I am not a tyrant, nor will I force my rule upon anyone.  I am the Child King Who comes in the guise of a beggar, seeking the hospitality of one heart after another.  To those who welcome My rule, I impart warmth and light, food and drink, and a share in My kingdom forever.  (A Benedictine Monk, In Sinu Iesu:  When Heart Speaks to Heart – the Journal of a Priest at Prayer, 2016)

May the newborn Infant King, Who comes to conquer with love, give to you and your families and friends and all who are dear to you warmth and light, food and drink, and a share in His kingdom forever.  With the promise of my prayers for you throughout the year, please let me wish you all a blessed and truly merry Christmas. 

Monsignor Smith

Now + forever

“Like sands through an hourglass, so are the Days of our Lives!”  With these weightily-pronounced words began a popular soap opera when I was younger.  Nobody in my house ever watched it; perhaps it was in a break room during my summer job that I saw it.  “Life is just one (darn) thing after another” isn’t a bad summary of the outlook behind this platitude, nor of the daily melodramas it introduced.

But real lives, our lives, are not “one darn thing after another.”  The Creator God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, loved us into being, and our every moment is an unfolding of the real drama of our coming to know and love Him, even as we are known and loved.  We resemble our Creator in that we are free and able to choose and act, and therefore to love.  The question each moment brings is, Will I love?

It is easy not to see how these moments add up to lives that tread into eternity.  To open our eyes to this reality of our days and our lives, we depend on the sacred liturgy, which presents to us mortals both the divine engagement in time and our participation in the holiness of God, Who is without beginning or end.  Liturgical time keeps us from losing sight of how God works in our time and how our time opens to eternity.

Whether simple or silly, or both, one of the joys I find in Advent is seeing the burning candles of the Advent wreath mark of time of this short, blessed season.  The first-lit violet candle is precisely one week shorter than the second, which is one week shorter than the pink.  This visible, material measure of time is a help to all of us to understand the wait, and the preparation, for the coming of the Savior.  Like the Advent calendar, with its daily windows counting down to the Big Day, the Advent wreath is a domestic devotion, a way to bring liturgical timing onto the family home.  It summarizes in wax and fire the temporal advance of the Lord Who comes that is spelled out in prophecies, promises, and prayers presented in the Mass and Divine Office.        

Days, weeks, seasons, and the year itself are all measures of time, and all are made holy by liturgical worship.  Sometimes the chronology is literal, as in the nine months between the Incarnation (Annunciation) and Nativity (Christmas), between the Immaculate Conception and the Nativity of the Virgin; in the intense three days of the Paschal Triduum; in the forty days between Resurrection and Ascension; and the novena from thence to Pentecost.  The forty days of Lent are both literal (Christ in the desert) and figurative (Israel’s forty years wandering).  And both the arc of the history of salvation and the events of the life of the Savior are spread and represented in the course of one year’s travel round the sun. 

Advent’s four-week season is a microcosm of the work of the Sacred Liturgy throughout that year.  How can so short a time convey such waiting, and elicit such preparation?  Is there any marvel more hidden, yet more closely watched, than the gestation of a child?  How this is true of all God’s work for us; and how hard, how inevitable, and how rewarding are the patient anticipation and preparation it teaches us who look for the Lord!

Periods of silence, light and darkness; listening and speaking, bowing and rising, sorrowing and singing; repetition and representation: all form our flesh and manifest the mystery of the eternal God entered into history, and entering our story.  Like athletic training, it works our “muscles” for recognizing and responding to the Lord Who comes in the fullness of time.  

The wax of a candle is consumed in giving us light, and the child Who will save us from our sins grows in His Immaculate Mother’s womb.  Both unfold over time, and both mark that time for eyes to see the victory of light over darkness, and life over death.  The gestures and movement of the Sacred Liturgy reveal the divine action, not only in history but also in our life. 

Not simply “one darn thing after another,” the drama of our lives is time sanctified by the touch of the immortal, invisible God who comes in our days and in our years to draw us to Himself for all eternity.   Though He formed our flesh in an instant from the dust of the earth, He will make it glorious forever through the grace of divine worship, writing immortality on the days of our lives.   

Monsignor Smith