You shall love. You shall love. You shall love. To love is worth more than burnt offerings. Love, and you are not far from God’s kingdom. Love God. Love neighbor. Love. Love.
According to the readings, Sunday is the Sunday of Love. The first reading commands love. The gospel reading commands love. And the second reading has to do with love, too. In Vatican II’s Constitution on the Church, we read, about ourselves:
Is there life after death? Can we hope for happiness greater than this world affords? Will everything that is wrong be set to rights? Will a merciful judge take pity on us for all our failures? Will a loving, heavenly Father smile at us when everything is said and done?
Yes. The answer is yes.
In the midst of the daily compromises of life on earth, our souls yearn for greatness, holiness, completeness, redemption, and freedom. Where would we be if we could not hope for these things?
Wretched. We would be indescribably wretched. Better a turkey in somebody’s oven than a human being without God.
But we can hope. We can believe. We worship the Father in the spirit and truth of His only begotten Son.
Now, in order to worship the Father in spirit and in truth, it is not absolutely necessary to have a well-heated and air-conditioned church with a splendid view of a southwest-Virginia hillside. In a pinch, priests have been known to say Mass on the hulls of over-turned canoes, or on the open tailgates of pick-up trucks, or on wooden crates in the corner of concentration camps.
But having a church building certainly helps.
When the trials of life weigh upon us; when we get confused, discouraged, or distressed; when we find that even our home and hearth bears the marks of Adam’s fall—well, we have our church, the dwelling place of Emmanuel, to be the home-base for our souls.
We Americans rejoice in the blessings of a warm and comfortable home and an amply-laid table. When the Lord blesses us with these things, He has blessed us indeed, and we give thanks.
But there is no Thanksgiving dinner on earth that is as great a blessing as having a good, well-built parish church in your town, where you can pray.
1,687 years ago today: The Pope dedicated his cathedral church building in Roma.
Click HERE for a thorough digest of this event (from the archives), including wolverines.
…Re: the sacred Catholic structures of Franklin and Henry counties, Virginny:
1. His Excellency Bishop Sullivan originally dedicated Francis of Assisi parish church in 1987. The 25th anniversary of this august occasion will fall on Ash Wednesday, which makes for a bit of a buzzkill. In May of 2013, we will festively celebrate the 15th anniversary of the dedication of the expanded church building. Mark your calendars now.
2. The same Bishop Sullivan consecrated the new church of St. Joseph in Martinsville on November 25, 2001! We will celebrate the tenth anniversary of this blessed day on Thanksgiving morning, with a Mass at 9:00 a.m. Then we will dine together to celebrate the anniversary (and the holidays) on Friday, December 9!
All readers are most cordially invited.
On June 29, 1951, Joseph Ratzinger was ordained a priest.
I was visiting Rome with a friend from Raleigh, N.C. In our brief conversation with him, Card. Ratzinger expressed interest in the region between North Carolina and Washington, D.C. He admitted to knowing little about the “upper South,” and wanted to learn.
Anyway…On June 29, we solemnize the memory of the twin patrons of the church of Rome, Saints Peter and Paul. This year, the Holy Father will celebrate the 60th anniversary of his ordination. He has asked the entire Catholic world to pray for vocations to the priesthood as a way of wishing him a happy anniversary.
It also happens that June 29 will be the day when your unworthy servant will begin my ministry as the pastor of both Franklin and Henry counties, Virginia.
My predecessor in Martinsville will be on the way to sunny Florida. My adventures up and down US 220 will begin.
Perhaps, then, dear ones, while you are praying for our Holy Father’s health, and for vocations to the priesthood throughout the world, you could also say a little prayer for this gangly numbskull.
…By the by, we have come around the three-year cycle to another “summer of Romans” (St. Paul’s letter, that is). This summer I intend to preach on Matthew 13 instead, but if you have any interest in the prattlings I made three summers ago, you can click HERE.
[This sermon will mainly interest the Catholic residents of Henry and Franklin counties, Virginia. I offer it here for anyone interested in “the spirituality of parish clustering.”]
Amen, amen, I say to you, the hour is coming and is now here when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live.
We all know what they say about death and taxes. Sure things. But Christ has revealed that the death of our bodies will not last forever. When He comes again in glory, all the dead will rise from the grave. And we won’t have to pay taxes then, either. The federal government will be shut down forever.
In other words, everything about life as we now know it will pass away, and eternity awaits. This of course changes our whole perspective. The things we deal with now are not the ultimate reality. We have no lasting city here, just a way-station.
…good, people are crazy.
It turns out that the world-famous Martinsville Chair is too big even for me. (But I appreciate the gesture.)
…Will I root against the Hoyas tomorrow night, even though they face-off against the school which sits directly across the street from the cathedra of Bishop Francis Xavier DiLorenzo?
No comment.
…Has someone ever rubbed you the wrong way?
Did you find yourself casting about for a fitting imprecation? At a loss for words?
I think I may have discovered the most eloquent string of insults ever spewed.
In William Shakespeare’s Richard III, the deposed queen Margaret excoriates the evil Duke who murdered her son with these words:
…stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.
If heaven have any grievous plague in store
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their indignation
On thee, the troubler of the poor world’s peace!
The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul!
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
Thou elvish-mark’d, abortive, rooting hog!
Thou that wast seal’d in thy nativity
The slave of nature and the son of hell!
Thou slander of thy mother’s heavy womb!
Thou loathed issue of thy father’s loins!
Thou rag of honour! (Act I, scene 3)
N.B. Just providing this as a public service. Use with discretion.
Not convinced that this is the most blistering string of insults the language has ever produced? Please submit other nominations.
Father Mark White Blog 