Life is a Process of ‘Letting go’

 

(Second Sunday of Lent (B): This homily was given on February 25, 2024 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Genesis 22:1-18; Psalm 116:10-19; Romans 8:31-34; Mark 9:2-10.)

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Second Sunday of Lent 2024]

An elderly woman from the parish went to see her orthopedic surgeon on a Friday morning.  She had been under his care—and homebound—for a few months after falling in her home and hurting her shoulder.  Well, happily, the doctor gave her a clean bill of health during that office visit, and she was looking forward to getting back to Sunday Mass and her normal routine.

But, unfortunately, shortly after she returned home that Friday, she tripped on a rug and fell again, this time breaking her pelvis and elbow!  The surgeon’s assistant later told me that when he received the call that this woman was in the emergency room at Westerly Hospital, he didn’t believe it.  He said to the nurse, “Oh no, that must be a mistake.  We just discharged her from our care a few hours ago.”

But, of course, it was not a mistake.  IT WAS LIFE!

For that elderly woman—and for each and every one of us—life is a process: a process of ‘letting go.’  Sooner or later, for example, we all have to ‘let go’ of many things.  We have to ‘let go’ of our physical health because of a fall—or because of Parkinson’s Disease or cancer or heart problems or something else. 

And it’s not easy.  Just ask that elderly woman!

We all have to ‘let go’ of loved ones when they die—which can be extremely hard if we’ve loved them deeply or had them in our lives for a really long time.  We have many funerals at St. Pius of parishioners who die in their late 80s or 90s.  The children of those parishioners are blessed to have had their parents in their lives for 60 or 70 years.  But that makes it all the more difficult for them to let go.

When people retire, they have to ‘let go’ of their work.  As we move on in life, we have to ‘let go’ of some of the recreational activities that brought us enjoyment in our earlier years.  We have to ‘let go’ of the control we’ve had over our daily activities.

Ultimately, we have to let go of what’s most precious to us on this earth.  Just like Abraham did.

In today’s first reading, we heard the famous story of how God tested Abraham by asking him to sacrifice his son, Isaac.  But we need to be clear about it: the test here was not, “Are you willing, Abraham, to kill your son for me?”—after all, we know that God never intended for Abraham to take his son’s life.

The test was about Abraham’s willingness to ‘let go’.  The Lord said to him, in effect, “Abraham, are you willing to let go of your son, Isaac?  He’s the child of the promise.  You waited 100 years to have him.  You love him deeply; you treasure him and the special bond you have with him more than anything else that you have in this life.  So, are you willing to let it all go?  Are you willing to let go of what’s most precious to you in this life and trust totally in me?”

We call Abraham “our father in faith” because he said yes—even though it had to have been the most difficult ‘yes’ he had ever said in his life.

In one way or another, we all face this very same test, don’t we?  Usually it involves someone we love.  But, unfortunately, not everyone responds like Abraham did.

As I was preparing for this homily, I thought of a scene from C.S. Lewis’ book, The Great Divorce—which, by the way, is not about marriage!

It’s a fictional book about an imaginary bus ride from hell to heaven.  All the people on the bus have the opportunity to go to heaven, but only if they ‘let go’ at some point on the journey.  First and foremost, of course, they have to be willing to let go of their sins thru repentance.  But they also have to be willing to let go of their attachments—their unhealthy, selfish attachments—to people and things; and at the same time they have to be willing to grow in their desire for God.

One person who has trouble doing this is a woman named Pam—whose son Michael died when she was still living on earth.  Her brother, Reginald, who’s already arrived in the kingdom, speaks to her at one point, and challenges her to love God first, and to let go of 0the selfish, possessive, manipulative love she had for her son when he was alive.  Reginald says to her, “[God] wanted you to love Michael as he understands love.  [And] you cannot love a fellow-creature fully till you love God.”  But Pam will hear none of it.  She blames God for her son’s death, and refuses to let go of that anger and the disordered love she had for her child.

A sad ending.  Thankfully other stories in The Great Divorce end much more happily!

There’s an old saying that most of us have heard before—and there’s a great deal of truth in it: Let go, and let God!

Pam did neither of those things.  Abraham did both—and because he did both he was rewarded beyond what he could possibly have imagined!

The Lord said to Abraham, “I swear by myself, that because you acted as you did in not withholding from me your beloved son, I will bless you abundantly and make your descendants as countless as the stars of the sky and the sands of the seashore.”

That prophecy was fulfilled, as we all know, on the natural level, in that Abraham became the father of the nation of Israel.

I suppose he could have imagined that natural dimension of the blessing.

But, as we also know, by making this promise God was telling Abraham that he would become the spiritual father of all the redeemed!  That’s yet another reason why we call Abraham “our father in faith”!  Spiritually speaking, we all trace our “lineage” back to him.

Now there’s no way that Abraham could possibly have understood that spiritual dimension of the promise when he first heard it.

But it was there!

If we follow Abraham’s example, by letting go AND by letting God take control and do his work in our lives, then we will, like Abraham, experience many blessings—sometimes even greater than what we can possibly imagine!

When I think of my great role model for dealing with Parkinson’s Disease, Pope St. John Paul II, I think of what that illness forced him to let go of: his health, his skiing, his mobility, etc.  And yet, because he also “let God”: because he let God work in him and through him when he was battling that despicable disease, he did some of his most effective work in those later years of his life.

That fact certainly gives me a great deal of encouragement.

Some of you, like that fictional woman Pam, have lost children.  But, in the process of dealing with their deaths, you’ve actually grown closer to God and stronger in your faith.  You were forced to let go of someone who was very precious to you (you had no choice in the matter), but you did have the ability to choose how you’d respond to the tragedy.  And, thankfully, you made the choice to ‘let God’!  You made the choice to let God help you and console you and strengthen you and heal you and give you hope.  For that you have been greatly blessed; and, if you persevere in that trusting faith, you will be blessed beyond your wildest imaginings in eternity, where God will reunite you with many of your deceased relatives and friends.

Life is a process of letting go—and as such it provides us with many opportunities to ‘let God.’  May the Lord help us to take advantage of those opportunities in imitation of Abraham, and John Paul II—and all the other great saints of the past.

Lent: It’s About Love

(Ash Wednesday 2024: This homily was given on February 14, 2024 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Joel 2: 12-18; Psalm 51; 2 Corinthians 5: 20-6: 2; Matthew 6: 1-18.)

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Ash Wednesday 2024]

It’s both meaningful and providential that Ash Wednesday falls on St. Valentine’s Day this year—because if there’s one thing that most of the world is totally mixed-up about it’s the meaning of love.  Love, contrary to popular belief, is not a synonym for sex.  It’s not a reward for being good (or, at least, it shouldn’t be).  It’s not an emotion (although when we love we sometimes might experience good feelings).

Real love is an act of the will.  Real love is a decision.  It’s a decision to desire and to seek the good for another person.  Parents, for example, are said to love their children when they seek what’s truly good for them.  They love their children when they selflessly make the sacrifices that help their children to grow spiritually, emotionally and physically.

Real love, therefore, is not selfish; it’s selfless.  If you truly love someone you put that person before yourself (as good parents put their children before themselves, and their children’s needs before their own).

Real love is also patient.  If you truly love another person you’ll make every effort to be patient with them when they don’t fully meet your expectations (which will probably be quite often!).

Real love is forgiving.  If you truly love another person, you’ll be willing to forgive them when they disappoint you or offend you in some way (which they will certainly do—at least from time to time—because they’re not perfect).

And finally, real love is self-sacrificial.  Real love is about giving yourself, in care and service, to others.  As Jesus told us, “Greater love than this nobody has, than to lay down his life for his friends.”

St. Valentine was a man who demonstrated this kind of love in his life.  He lived in Rome in the third century, and it was there that he gave the ultimate witness to his love for Jesus Christ and the Church through his martyrdom.

So what does this have to do with Ash Wednesday and Lent?

Well, this is precisely what Lent is about (or, at least, this is what Lent is supposed to be about!).  Love.  Our disciplines and sacrifices during this holy season are supposed to help us to grow in our love for God and one another.  That’s their purpose. 

Their purpose is not to make us miserable and ornery because we’re giving up things that we enjoy! 

This, by the way, is why getting to confession during Lent is so important!  Confession either strengthens—or re-establishes—our bond of love with the Lord.  Real love, as I said earlier, is forgiving.  God, in his great love for us, wants to forgive us!  He wants to forgive us more than we want to be forgiven!  He wants to forgive us for every sin we’ve ever committed.

But we have to ask for that forgiveness!  He will not force it on us.  He respects our freedom too much to do that.

So today, on this Ash Wednesday morning, we ask St. Valentine to pray for us—that we will have a good Lent, a fruitful Lent, a love-filled Lent: 40 days of growing in our love for God and others that will make us better men, better women, better disciples of Jesus Christ when Lent is over—and for the rest of our lives.

The Leper’s Request: A Model Prayer for us

(Sixth Sunday of the Year (B): This homily was given on February 11, 2024 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Leviticus 13:1-2, 44-46; Psalm 32:1-11; 1 Corinthians 10:31-11:1; Mark 1:40-45.)

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Sixth Sunday 2024]

"If you will to do so, you can cure me." 

That’s the translation of the first line of today’s gospel reading in the old New American Bible: "If you will to do so, you can cure me."  10 words.  1 short sentence. . .. Spoken almost two thousand years ago by a suffering leper in Palestine.  And yet I would say that these words have an incredible relevance for us today in 2024—because what we have here, my brothers and sisters, is really a model prayer.  In my humble estimation, these 10 little words convey to us the attitude that should be in our hearts whenever we go to the Lord with special needs—which is something that most of us probably do every day. 

Consider, first of all, the last four words of the sentence: "You can cure me".  Those words are packed with faith, are they not?  Those words convey a deep and unwavering confidence.  This leper had no doubt whatsoever that Jesus Christ had the power to set him free from the horrible disease that was killing him.  He believed in the Lord's ability to do what was otherwise impossible.   Is that the mindset we have when we pray?  When we go before the Lord do we have confidence that Jesus can do the extraordinary?  Or do we put limits on the Lord?  Do we believe he can help some people but not others?  Do we believe he can forgive everyone except us?  Do we believe he can forgive everyone except, perhaps, our enemies?   Do we believe he can heal only a certain segment of the population?

I remember giving a homily many years ago in which I spoke about two women who had recently experienced physical healings after I gave them the sacrament of the sick.  The power of Jesus Christ present in the anointing restored them to health.  After Mass the following Sunday a nurse from the parish came up to me and said, "Father, I’m glad you told those stories last week.  Over the years I’ve found that a lot of Catholics don't take this sacrament very seriously.  Sometimes I’ll say to a patient, ‘Would you like me to call in a priest so he can anoint you?'  and the patient will say, 'Oh no, don't bother.  It's not that important.'"  

The leper in this story would never have reacted in that way.  He would have wanted to be anointed, because he would have been convinced that the strength, and the forgiveness and the healing power of Jesus were available to him in and through the sacrament.

Now look at the first half of the leper's 10-word prayer: "If you will to do so".  Here we have a man who was willing to place his problem totally and completely in the Lord's hands.  He knew what Jesus could do—he knew what our Lord was capable of—but he didn't presume to know the perfect will of God in this situation.  He realized that it might have been his time to leave this life and go home to the Lord.  If it was, then he was willing to accept that fact, even though he wanted to be healed.  His attitude was, "Lord Jesus, whatever YOU decide, I will accept.    I won't write the script for you as to how to answer my prayer.  I simply lift up my need to you; your will be done."  This man obviously had a deep trust in his heart that Jesus would do what was best for him in the long run.  Now that makes him quite different from all those people who like to give God orders when they pray.  These people think they know exactly what God needs to do in a given situation, and when he doesn't follow every detail of the blueprint they've drawn up, they get angry with the Lord and accuse him of abandoning them.   Perhaps we've all embraced that attitude at one time or another.  Or at least we've been tempted to embrace it.

I think this leper knew that we human beings don't always know what's best for us in the long run.  We think we do, but we don't.  I was reminded of that once when a woman told me about a prayer she used to say for her daughter.  She said the prayer over and over again for many, many years without ever getting the answer she wanted.  But she told me that eventually she became glad and grateful that the prayer wasn't answered according to her blueprint, because she realized that everything had worked out for the best.  Then she quoted the refrain of an old song by country music singer Garth Brooks.  I’m sure many of you have heard the words of this song before.  They make it clear that God sees things differently than we do, and that he knows what’s best for us in the long run.  I’ll conclude my homily today with his words.  (Don’t worry, I won’t torture you by trying to sing them!) …                                                                                                              

Just the other night at a hometown football game, my wife and I ran into my old high school flame.  And as I introduced them the past came back to me, and I couldn't help but think of the way things used to be. 

She was the one that I’d wanted for all times, and each night I’d spend praying that God would make her mine.  And if he'd only grant me this wish I wished back then, I’d never ask for anything again.

Well she wasn't quite the angel that I remembered in my dreams, and I could tell that time had changed me in her eyes too, it seemed.  We tried to talk about the old days—there wasn't much we could recall—I guess the Lord knows what he's doing after all.  And as I walked away, I looked at my wife, and then and there I thanked the good Lord for the gifts in my life.

Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers.  Remember when you're talking to the man upstairs, that just because he may not answer doesn't mean he don't care, some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered . . . Some of God's greatest gifts are all too often unanswered . . . Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.

"If you will to do so, you can cure me."  May those words of confidence and trust serve as a model for every intention that we bring to Jesus in prayer from this day forward.

 

The Big Difference Between Job and Monsignor Aloysius Schwartz

 

(Fifth Sunday of the Year (B): This homily was given on February 4, 2024, at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Job 7:1-4, 6-7; Psalm 147:1-6; 1 Corinthians 9:16-23; Mark 1: 29-39.)

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Fifth Sunday 2024]

 

The title of this homily is: “The Big Difference Between Job and Monsignor Aloysius Schwartz.”

I know—it’s not the most catchy title in the world, but it’s accurate nonetheless.

Most of us, I’m sure, know the story of Job.  The Bible tells us that he was a deeply religious man, “who feared God and avoided evil”.  He was also quite wealthy.  And for many years he led a very happy life; that is, until the day when he literally lost everything!  First, his herds and flocks were either destroyed or stolen; then his ten children died when a house collapsed on them during a severe windstorm; and, finally, he was afflicted with a terrible disease that left his entire body covered with painful boils.

At that point, along came Mrs. Job, who took one look at her husband and said to him, “Are you still holding to your innocence?  Curse God and die.”  (Obviously, Mrs. Job never received the “Wife of the Year Award”!) 

Then three of his closest friends came on the scene “to give him sympathy and comfort.”  However, all they ended up giving him was a lot of bad advice, more aggravation—and probably a really big headache (which was the last thing the poor guy needed at the time!).

In the midst of all this intense suffering, Job uttered the famous words we heard in today’s first reading: “Is not man’s life on earth a drudgery?  Are not his days those of a hireling?  He is a slave who longs for the shade, a hireling who waits for his wages.  So I have been assigned months of misery, and troubled nights have been allotted to me. . . . My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle; they come to an end without hope.  Remember that my life is like the wind; I shall not see happiness again.”

What’s important to note in this context is that Job had faith in God—always!  Even at his worst moments—even in the midst of all the pain and suffering he experienced—he still believed in the Lord.  And yet, as this passage I just read vividly illustrates, that was not enough to give him any real peace or hope!  If it had been enough, he certainly wouldn’t have called life “a drudgery,” and been so close to despair. 

Most of us, as I said earlier, know at least the basic outline of the story of Job.  But, if I had to venture a guess, I would say that very few of us know the story of the other man I mentioned at the beginning of my homily, Monsignor Aloysius Schwartz (although some of our recently confirmed young people probably do.  More about that in a few seconds.).

Monsignor Schwartz was born in Washington, D.C., in 1930, and was ordained a priest in 1957.  Until 1992 (the year he died), he served as a missionary—mostly in South Korea and the Philippines.  Among his many accomplishments in the missions were the following: he founded two religious orders—one of women and the other of men—to work with the poorest of the poor; he established “Children’s Villages” to provide care and educational opportunities for orphans and those abandoned by their families (which is why some of our young people know who he was.  Our confirmation classes have had fundraisers for the last few years to raise money for the Children’s Village in Mexico—and they’re planning to do the same thing this year).  Monsignor Schwartz also started hospices for the homeless and the handicapped, and was involved in pro-life work.  And, in the process, he was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize twice (in 1984 and 1992).

Monsignor Schwartz was a powerful witness for Jesus during the years he served God in good health as a priest.  (That should be obvious from the brief resume I just shared with you.)  But he was just as powerful a witness at the very end of his life, after he was diagnosed with ALS.  ALS, of course, is the sickness commonly referred to as “Lou Gehrig’s Disease.”  It’s a fatal, neuromuscular disorder, in which a person’s voluntary muscles become weaker and weaker over time, until they finally become immobile.  But the person’s intellect and senses are often unaffected by the illness—which means that the person enters into his suffering with a complete awareness of what is happening!  From a purely human perspective, that’s a scary thought!

Many years ago, I came across a brief but very powerful meditation that Monsignor Schwartz either wrote or dictated at some point during his final months on earth.  As I share it with you now, please keep in mind that this was composed by a man who was in the process of experiencing a long, drawn-out, horrific death.  I think you’ll agree that the good monsignor definitely had faith in God—as Job did.  But there was something else that he possessed, that Job did not have.  He wrote:

I believe that for those whom God loves he makes all things work for their good.  I believe that God loves me with an everlasting love.  He loves me more than I love myself.  He loves me to such an extent that he sends his only Son, Jesus Christ, as a living sacrifice to redeem me.  He loves me so much that he sends anew each day his Son, Jesus Christ, as my food and drink in the Eucharist.

So, I believe that ALS is sent to me as a sign of God’s love and it is given to me for my own good and happiness.  The object of faith is not what is seen but what is not seen.  Who can grasp the designs of God?  Who can understand his wisdom?  “My ways are above your ways, as the heavens are above the earth and my thoughts are different from your thoughts,” says the Lord.  No, I do not understand with my reason and intellect why this should be so, but I believe he has sent me ALS as a sign of his love and special favor.  I believe this and I try to renew this belief at each instant.  So it is, I do not look at ALS as an enemy which I fight.  I accept it, embrace it, and welcome it as a friend.

I believe in the words of St. Paul that God is faithful and he does not permit us to be tried beyond our strength.  With every trial he gives us the strength to endure it and he shows us the way to overcome it.  I believe God gives me this pain and suffering.  I believe at the same time he gives me the strength and grace to accept it, endure it, and cope with it . . . I believe the grace of Jesus will always be adequate.  The problem is, I would like it to be more than adequate.  But it is enough, just enough, for that moment, and that instant.  As Jesus on the cross, I do not look back.  I do not consider the future but I trust God.  I believe in his grace from instant to instant.

Job had faith in God, and so did Monsignor Schwartz.  But the good monsignor understood God on a much deeper level than Job did, because he knew Jesus—the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity who had redeemed him and had given him the hope of eternal life.  No, he didn’t understand everything, as he himself admits there—but he definitely understood an awful lot!  He understood, for example, the power and the meaning of the cross of Jesus Christ, and how all of that applied to him in his terminal illness.  He understood the writings of St. Paul, and the truths contained in those writings.  Consequently, he had a strength and a hope in his heart that Job did not have in his.

Today you often hear people say, “It doesn’t really matter what religion you profess, because all of them are pretty much the same.  They teach the same basic ideas; they have the same basic moral principles.”  Have you heard that before?  I have—many times!

Can you imagine how Monsignor Schwartz would have responded to a statement like that?  Based on what he wrote in this little meditation, I’m convinced he would have said something like this: “My friend, you are sadly mistaken.  All religions are not created equal.  Other religions may teach certain aspects of the truth, but only Catholic Christianity teaches God’s revealed truth in its fullness.  And because I believe it—because I believe all that the Church teaches and meditate on that truth daily—I have a power and a peace and a hope in my life right now that other people in my situation do not have.”

Job had faith, and that was good; Monsignor Aloysius Schwartz had faith and understanding, and that was even better.

As Catholics, we all have the potential to be like Monsignor Schwartz—which is very good news!  We’re not like Job, who lived many centuries before Christ.  We have Jesus; we have the New Testament; we have the teachings of the Church; we have the sacraments; and we have the example and writings of holy people like this faithful monsignor.  Thus we have the potential to understand God as deeply as he understood him, and to experience the same power and peace that he experienced, in the midst of our own personal trials and sufferings.

Let’s pray at this Mass that, by the grace of God, we will all come to realize our potential.