Many years ago, I heard somebody speaking in general about the Gospels and the impact they are meant to have on our lives and he said the following clever line: “The Gospels were given by Jesus to comfort the afflicted, while at the same time afflicting the comforted.”  In other words, the message of the Gospel is both a source of peace and an invitation to ongoing conversion.  Most of us are all for being comforted by the Gospel, but we are not so excited about being challenged by the Gospel, preferring to skip over those words or somehow concluding that they apply to somebody else.

I find Matthew 25 to be one of those sections of the Gospels that proves this anecdote to be true, especially verses 31-46 titled “The Judgement of the Nations.”  Jesus begins by commending those who practice the works of mercy toward those in need, pointing to the following comforting conclusion: “whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.” (Mt 25:40) We can see Jesus in every person to whom we reach out in charity to serve, and the Lord makes it clear that this will be to our benefit, especially at the judgment we all must face at the end of our lives.  Jesus then goes on to offer a very challenging teaching, as He concludes the following when we fail to serve those around us: “what you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me.” (Mt 25:45)  

I cannot read these words without feeling extremely uncomfortable, for I know there have been times when I have been guilty of not serving Jesus by turning away from those in need.  And there are so many needs in the world around us.  Here at the Cathedral, we see people regularly who are at a difficult point in their lives.  It can be easy to just keep our head down and pass by.  At the end of our lives, we will have to account for those intentional acts of dismissal, as we see in the case of the rich man who ignored Lazarus at his doorstep each day.  So how should we respond?

I do not have the time or space to really address the material needs of those we encounter.  We have an obligation, to be sure, but that does not necessarily mean directly giving money to everybody who asks, especially since there are several organizations in Springfield that exist to assist with meeting their various needs.  One of the things that we can keep in mind is a fundamental principle that underlies all of the commandments that have to do with loving our neighbor – every human being has worth and is to be treated with dignity.  One of the simplest ways to respect a person’s dignity is to acknowledge their existence.  Looking somebody in the eye and smiling at them, perhaps even giving them a greeting, sends the simple but profound message: “I see you, and you are good.”  We should not underestimate how this seemingly minor gesture can make a difference in somebody’s day, especially when their existence is virtually ignored by those who pass uncomfortably by.  This is a practice that does not just have to be for those who are poor.  We can do it with those we encounter at the grocery store, while going for a walk, or as we come in and out of church – anywhere!  To be sure, the commandments invite us to many other forms of charity and service, but this simple practice can be a good way to cultivate an awareness of the goodness of those around us, seeing them through the eyes of Christ as a brother or sister in the Lord, and seeing the Lord Himself who is hiding, waiting to be served by us.

Father Alford     

Recently in one of my homilies, I explained the need to be present in one’s parish church in some concrete ways and encouraged people to find more ways to be a strong presence in their Church. I found it necessary to deliver this sermon for a couple of reasons. First, I have had several encounters with people who explain that they do not feel any strong connection to their parish church. Many of these people attend Masses regularly and receive the sacraments. Some of them are even so generous to the Church with their resources.

Another reason to reflect on this topic is that many of us have forgotten how a parish church should be a community. As a community of Christ’s faithful, members need to know each other and grow in friendship. This friendship with each other encourages and strengthens a relationship with Christ. A one-hour church service every week can hardly achieve this friendship goal with each other, a goal that is a critical element in our lives as members of the Body of Christ.

Making financial contributions to the parish, attending Masses, and receiving the other sacraments in the Church is very important in our membership in the Body of Christ. But these are not enough, except when they are the only things we can offer.

What else can WE DO?

A few days after that homily, a parishioner reached out to me and asked what he could do in addition to contributing financially to the Church, attending Masses, and receiving other sacraments as needed. I explained to him that there are too many ways to be a strong presence in one’s Church. This visible presence creates opportunities for friendships with one’s fellow brothers and sisters in the faith, thereby enabling a stronger relationship with Christ.

Altar Service – in our parish Church, every baptized Catholic is welcome to serve at the altar. In the last couple of months, we have trained more altar servers. Some of these people heard that sermon and indicated an interest in serving. We need more people in our altar service, especially middle school, and high school-aged children.

Lectors, Eucharistic Ministers, and especially USHERS! We also need people to manage our camera during 10:00 AM Mass on Sundays. These are opportunities to be a more visible presence in one’s parish community.

Here in our Cathedral parish, we also have the bible study groups and the choir – although the choir has not resumed fully since the covid. Beyond these ministries, with the pastor’s approval, individuals can also form new ministries and groups in their parish community. These are allowed so long as they help people understand their Catholic faith better and increase opportunities for a deeper relationship with Jesus Christ.

If you have any questions about how you can be a more visible presence in our parish Church, contact any of our priests or Vicki Compton at the parish office.

Feast Day: February 21^st

Alas, it is shameful to speak of it! It is shameful to relate such a disgusting scandal to sacred ears! But if the doctor fears the virus of the plague, who will apply the cauterization? If he is nauseated by those whom he is to cure, who will lead sick souls back to the state of health?

– St. Peter Damian, Liber Gomorrhianus, ~1051 AD, to Pope St. Leo IX

Sometimes it is helpful to look back and realize that a prior age was worse than our own.  It pulls us out of the worries and concerns that grab at our own attention, and reminds us that “it’s been worse”, and we can probably make it through things this time around as well.  Such was the case of the Church in the 11^th century.  One tale tells enough: in 1032, Theophylactus of Tusculum – the nephew of Pope Benedict VIII and Pope John XIX, and a grandnephew of Pope John XII – ascended to the throne of St. Peter after his dad gave a sufficient bribe to the Roman populace.  He was 20 years old.  Don’t get me wrong, I hold nothing against 20-somethings, I am currently one myself, but they’re usually not ready to govern the universal Church, and the newly minted, Pope Benedict IX would prove that point.

Later popes would decry his “unspeakable acts of violence and sodomy.” Historians from then till now would call his papacy a disgrace, and one vividly compares him to a demon sitting on St. Peter’s chair.  He was driven out of Rome in 1036, but fought his way back into the city, only to be thrown out again in 1044, with Pope Sylvester III chosen to replace him.  Benedict brings armies to bear against Sylvester, expelling him from the city, seizing the papal tiara again for himself.  But the story just gets worse: he then chooses to marry his cousin – which apparently was more inimical to being pope than his many prior sins – so he sells the papacy to Fr. John Gratian (his poor godfather), who becomes Pope Gregory VI.  

It is at this point in this whole sordid tale that our saint this week enters the scene.  The Benedictine monk, Peter Damian, had grown up poor in Ravenna, through many twists and turns became a remarkable professor of theology only to give it up for the life of a hermit, at which point he began to take upon himself legendary penances and began to write the passionate letters calling for reform that he would be known for.  The Lord was at work in this feisty monk’s heart, and he became widely known for his holiness, and was eventually pressed by his fellow monks to lead, and reform, their monastery.  He writes to the new Pope Gregory VI, exhorting him to work on reforming the Church, in particular the rampant immorality within the priesthood, which had been so especially evident in his papal predecessor. 

Gregory, as it would happen, did not have the chance.  Benedict IX changed his mind, wanted the papacy back, and fights his way onto the throne again, leaving Gregory VI ousted along with Sylvester III.  Notice we now have three men claiming to be pope.  Archdeacon Peter calls for a council, and beseeches the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry III, to intervene.  The German emperor crosses the alps, takes control of the city (which, to summarize, now had 3 men claiming to be pope, holding positions at St. Peter’s, St. John Lateran, and St. Mary Major, and sending whatever gang of nobles/armies had sided with them, to fight each other in the streets of Rome…), and convenes a council at Sutri.  Gregory humbly admits he only got the papacy because he told Benedict that he would pay him (though he didn’t), and agrees to resign.  Sylvester also came to the council, and is strong-armed into forgoing his claim to be pope.  Benedict, as we might expect, didn’t come, and didn’t resign, but was dismissed from the papacy as well and Emperor Henry asked the Archbishop of Bamberg to become pope, taking the title Clement II.  

Clement, though, died a few months later – poisoned, whether purposefully or unintentionally – and, don’t you know, Benedict IX shows up, and claims to be pope again.  Henry decides a certain Bp. Poppo should become pope, forcibly places him on the papal throne as Pope Damasus II, but this latest Pope dies even more quickly, just 23 days later.  Thankfully, nobody was about to back Benedict again, so Damasus was followed by a legitimate, capable, and holy man, Bruno of Egisheim-Dagsburg, the Pope Saint Leo IX who received Peter Damian’s letter where we began this article.  Leo would agree with the fiery monk, and work to reinforce clerical celibacy, outlaw simony as means to Church offices, dispel heresies, and reform monastic life.  Leo wasn’t perfect, but he was a saint in the middle of a sinful time.

St. Peter Damian was the same: a saint living in a world of sin.  As much as we wish such sins would never happen, he wouldn’t have been the saint he was without fighting to stay true to the Lord through it all, and miraculously, Jesus could bring great saints out of such horrible times.

– Fr. Dominic Rankin prays that he would have only a bit of the courage and fidelity of St. Peter Damian (though he also prays that he would never have to face such despicable days.) 

Last Sunday, I shared that my favorite passage in the Bible was found in our Second Reading from St. Paul, where he explains his unworthiness to be called an apostle, especially in comparison to all of those to whom Jesus had appeared after the Resurrection.  Despite that unworthiness, though, St. Paul comes to the following conclusion: “But by the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace to me has not been ineffective.” (1 Cor 15:10) These words were an encouragement to me as I was beginning seminary formation, and they continue to be so now for me as a priest.

At the heart of this passage is the phrase: “the grace of God.”  God’s grace, which is a sharing in His very life, makes all the difference in our lives.  His grace enables us to do what we would otherwise not be able to do on our own.  With that understanding, St. Paul is also able to say the following: “I can do all things in Him who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)  This passage is a very popular one, and often quoted by Christians as a sign of our faith in the power of God’s grace, despite our weakness and unworthiness.  In a blog article that I recently read, I came across an explanation of this passage that really resonated with me:

This verse is so misused because many Christians interpret “all things” as “anything,” not “all the things Paul has talked about.” It’s not a blanket endorsement that God will support anything we set out to do and empower us to do whatever impossible things we can imagine. It’s an assurance that we can do whatever God calls us to do, not whatever we decide to do.  (https://zondervanacademic.com/blog/philippians-4-13)

This is an important clarification.  God’s grace is always sufficient to help us in accomplishing His will.  A central part of that will is to follow His commandments.  What He commands is never impossible, for with God’s grace, all things according to His will for us are possible.

I bring this up in particular with regards to the Church’s teaching on the 6^th and 9^th Commandments that deal with our human sexuality.  Many in society protest that what the Church asks of her children in this area is unreasonable and, in fact, impossible.  Because living a life of chastity can be so challenging in a hypersexualized world, the conclusion that our culture draws is: “You are not capable of living what the Church teaches, so we should just lower our expectations, make permissible that which the Church teaches against in the area of sexual morality.”  I will admit, there is something true about this conclusion.  You and I and not capable of this by our own strength.  This is where St. Paul’s words come in: “I can do all things in Him who strengthens me.”  It is God’s will for us to live the virtue of chastity well according to our state in life, and His grace makes it possible.  The Church seems to be the only voice in our culture that tells us this is indeed possible – with the caveat that we understand that His grace will be sufficient and thus effective in our living this virtue and every other virtue His will invites us to live.

And so the question with which I leave you is this: “Do you believe this?”  Perhaps we would do well to consider the scene in the Gospel of the man who brought his son to Jesus to heal him.  Jesus tells the father (and us) the following: “All things are possible to him who believes.” (Mark 9:23) Let our response to the question about believing that God’s grace can make possible what seems impossible in living chastity that same response the father had to Jesus: “I do believe, help my unbelief.” (Mark 9:24)

Father Alford     

This Monday, February 14, we shall celebrate what has become one of the most widely celebrated feasts in the secular world and Christendom – St. Valentine’s Day. Some of us will be celebrating St. Valentine’s Day as a Christian fiesta, keeping in mind the stories of sacrificial love surrounding the figure of St. Valentine. Many others worldwide will be celebrating this feast as a day of appreciation and expression of romantic love.

Whichever way, the question about the origin of this feast, its historicity, and Christian authenticity has remained a matter of debate among authors, historians, and Christian theologians, especially outside of the Catholic faith. Whoever plans to celebrate this feast may want to know if the feast of St. Valentine is genuinely Christian and if the figure of St. Valentine is a myth or a historical person. Who was he if he existed in time and space like the rest of the saints? Did he die a martyr’s death out of love? What kind of love?

There are many stories and understandings of the figure of St. Valentine and his feast. After some research, I have found out that many people argue that this feast is one of those regular feasts of saints in the Catholic church – saints who truly existed in time and space. Some people who hold this opinion believe that the feast spread so widely beyond the Christian world in the late medieval times with lots of superstitious practices attached to it. One of these superstitions is the romantic love that this feast represents for many people all over the world.

Other people believe that St. Valentine’s Day is a Christian myth manufactured in medieval Europe to encourage fraternal charity and generosity to the poor among Christians. Several people who hold this opinion are indifferent about whether the figure of St. Valentine is a myth or a historical person. Some observe the feast as a Christian fiesta of sacrificial love. In contrast, others treat it as a secular feast of romantic love.

Still, people like Lisa Bitel, a history professor at the University of Southern California, have an interesting view of this feast. They believe that the feast of St. Valentine commemorates one of the three Valentines that lived in Rome, Umbria, and Africa in the third century. While this opinion argues that St. Valentine’s Day remembers one of these three early Christians, it denies that any of them is associated with the romantic love that the feast has come to represent for many people.

However, there is a common belief that the saint or saints associated with St. Valentine’s Day died as martyrs. Their association with romantic love may be a superstition or a misunderstanding of the love associated with their martyrdom. But the popular understanding of St. Valentine’s Day among Christians in many parts of the world as a commemoration of sacrificial love should be highly encouraged. This is because martyrdom is one of the highest expressions of love – that love, which is the primary vocation of every Christian. The expression of this sacrificial love should be seen in our lives and actions as Christians.

Feast Day: February 8^th

In my research for our saint this week, I realized that Pope Benedict XVI had already written her story, weaving it into his encyclical on Christian hope.  Seeing that I could do no better myself, and realizing how providential this discovery was in light of our current thirst for hope, I’ll let our Pope Emeritus do the teaching this week: 

Paragraph 2: Christianity was not only “good news”—the communication of a hitherto unknown content. In our language we would say: the Christian message was not only “informative” but “performative”. That means: the Gospel is not merely a communication of things that can be known—it is one that makes things happen and is life-changing. The dark door of time, of the future, has been thrown open. The one who has hope lives differently; the one who hopes has been granted the gift of a new life.  Yet at this point a question arises: in what does this hope consist which, as hope, is “redemption”? The essence of the answer is given in the phrase from the Letter to the Ephesians quoted above: the Ephesians, before their encounter with Christ, were without hope because they were “without God in the world”. To come to know God—the true God—means to receive hope. We who have always lived with the Christian concept of God, and have grown accustomed to it, have almost ceased to notice that we possess the hope that ensues from a real encounter with this God. 

Paragraph 3: The example of a saint of our time can to some degree help us understand what it means to have a real encounter with this God for the first time. I am thinking of the African Josephine Bakhita, canonized by Pope John Paul II. She was born around 1869—she herself did not know the precise date—in Darfur in Sudan. At the age of nine, she was kidnapped by slave-traders, beaten till she bled, and sold five times in the slave-markets of Sudan. Eventually she found herself working as a slave for the mother and the wife of a general, and there she was flogged every day till she bled; as a result of this she bore 144 scars throughout her life. Finally, in 1882, she was bought by an Italian merchant for the Italian consul Callisto Legnani, who returned to Italy as the Mahdists advanced. 

Here, after the terrifying “masters” who had owned her up to that point, Bakhita came to know a totally different kind of “master”—in Venetian dialect, which she was now learning, she used the name “paron” for the living God, the God of Jesus Christ. Up to that time she had known only masters who despised and maltreated her, or at best considered her a useful slave. Now, however, she heard that there is a “paron” above all masters, the Lord of all lords, and that this Lord is good, goodness in person. She came to know that this Lord even knew her, that he had created her—that he actually loved her. She too was loved, and by none other than the supreme “Paron”, before whom all other masters are themselves no more than lowly servants. She was known and loved and she was awaited. What is more, this master had himself accepted the destiny of being flogged and now he was waiting for her “at the Father’s right hand”. 

Now she had “hope”—no longer simply the modest hope of finding masters who would be less cruel, but the great hope: “I am definitively loved and whatever happens to me—I am awaited by this Love. And so my life is good.” Through the knowledge of this hope she was “redeemed”, no longer a slave, but a free child of God. She understood what Paul meant when he reminded the Ephesians that previously they were without hope and without God in the world—without hope because without God. Hence, when she was about to be taken back to Sudan, Bakhita refused; she did not wish to be separated again from her “Paron”. On 9 January 1890, she was baptized and confirmed and received her first Holy Communion from the hands of the Patriarch of Venice. 

On 8 December 1896, in Verona, she took her vows in the Congregation of the Canossian Sisters and from that time onwards, besides her work in the sacristy and in the porter’s lodge at the convent, she made several journeys round Italy in order to promote the missions: the liberation that she had received through her encounter with the God of Jesus Christ, she felt she had to extend, it had to be handed on to others, to the greatest possible number of people. The hope born in her which had “redeemed” her she could not keep to herself; this hope had to reach many, to reach everybody.

– Fr. Dominic Rankin first heard the story of St. Josephine Bakhita in a set of readers in the 2^nd or 3^rd grade filled with saint-stories and meant to teach reading-comprehension.  This week, inspired by her example, he will practice hope by carrying sufferings with Jesus.