Tuesday, August 27, 2019

Learning Humility

Dear Parishioners,

When I was a seminarian preparing for ordination to the Priesthood, I thought that it might be a good idea to pray for humility.  It seemed, at the time, to be a wise aspiration.

Gradually, things were brought to my attention concerning the topic of humility—now on a somewhat regular basis.  I heard things said to me like:  Be careful of what you pray for, you might get it and The quickest way to humility is through humiliation.

On the day of the senior class graduation from the college seminary, there was a well-planned Baccalaureate Mass.  I happened to be the sacristan of the seminary chapel at the time.  I would be the person leading the reader to his appropriate place at the pulpit during the proclamation of the readings from Sacred Scripture.  The chapel was packed.  Family and friends, the entire faculty and various dignitaries were present for this momentous occasion.  The homily was thoroughly prepared by the priest assigned to preach, based primarily on the first reading, which I later found out had been chosen from the book of the Prophet Jeremiah.

I led the reader to the pulpit after making the appropriate bows.  As we looked at the Lectionary and the reading set open in front of us, he whispers to me, “This isn’t the right reading.”  In a state of panic I said quickly and without much thought: “Well . . . read it anyway.”  I instructed him to read the incorrect reading in front of everyone.  It was from the Acts of the Apostles.  It had multiple difficult names to pronounce.  The homily, I came to find out, had been based almost entirely on the reading from the Prophet Jeremiah.  I was humiliated.  I guess I began to learn humility.

Fast forward to when I initially became a principal of a diocesan high school.  It was the night of the open house.  I was hurrying around the buildings trying to make sure the bathrooms looked clean and presentable for any guests.  I began to clean things up.  Not really a pleasant job for anyone, I thought.  Then I recalled the brilliant words of advice that I had given to my students at various times:  Stay in school.  Get your degrees so that you don’t wind up cleaning bathrooms for a living.  Who was it now cleaning bathrooms?  Humility? Hmm . . .

At other times humility kicks in as well.  One Sunday the deacon had preached during the Mass that I offered.  We went to the back of church to greet the people as they exited.  “Great homily Father!” One particular gentleman had said that right to my face with all seriousness.  I hadn’t preached at that Mass.  He hadn’t a clue.  Great homily . . .  Oh well!  Humility . . .

Be sure to heed the reminder from today’s GospelFor everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.  (Lk. 14:11) 

May I also add my own words of caution when praying for something (like humility):  Be very careful; you might actually get what you pray for!

Fr. Ed Namiotka

Tuesday, August 13, 2019

“I Have Come to Cast Fire Upon the Earth”

Dear Parishioners,

The Gospel reading for this Sunday (Lk. 12: 49-53) might make a person very uncomfortable or even troubled.  If you have been fed a type of sugar-sweet Jesus most of your life—being presented only with an ultra-compassionate, always-forgiving, never-judgmental savior—then you could seriously doubt that Jesus would ever say such things.  One reaction to this Gospel might be to gloss over it quickly.  Let’s pretend that it does not exist.  This is not the Jesus I know.  He is merciful, forgiving, and patient.  He prays in St. John’s Gospel (17:21) “that they all may be one. . . .”  He would never want any division among us.

There’s a problem when we do not see the more complete picture of Jesus as presented in the Gospels.  Jesus is the one who called the scribes and pharisees a brood of vipers (Mt. 12:34), hypocrites and white-washed tombs (Mt. 23: 27).  He told us to pluck out our eyes and to cut off our hands (Mt. 5: 29-30) to avoid sin.  He made a whip out of cords and overturned the money changers tables in the temple (Jn. 2: 13-16).  He called Peter, his close friend, “Satan” and told him to get behind Him (Mt. 16:23).  In the Gospel this Sunday, He speaks about casting fire on the earth and creating division—even within families.
What gives?

How we react to Jesus’ teaching might just depend on how we are living our lives.  Jesus sometimes has to jolt people out of complacency or erroneous thinking.  “You are thinking not as God does but as human beings do.”  (Mt. 16:23)  He requires a radical change in our way of living when we are headed to eternal destruction.  “Go [and] from now on do not sin any more.”  (Jn. 8: 11)   He demands things from us that are not appealing.  “If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and pick up his cross daily and follow me.”  (Lk. 9:23)  One thing that can be determined upon thorough investigation:  Jesus was not some pushover and his teaching inevitably made an impact on people.  “ . . . For he taught them as one having authority, and not as their scribes.”  (Mt. 7: 29)

Jesus’ chosen path to freeing us from sin and eternal damnation was through the cross.  It involved suffering and a sacrificial love.  It involved the Son of God being put to death by His creatures.  His life and teaching cast a fire upon the earth.  He jolted those who were complacent in their sin.  He upset the status quo and the religious leaders of His time.  And some totally resented Him.  Some wanted to see Him dead.  Crucify Him!  Crucify Him!
The reaction today to Jesus’ teaching and to his actions can  and does create division in families, in communities, and in nations throughout the world.  The call to conversion and repentance does not necessarily bring peace to those resistant to change.  People can become very, very comfortable in their sin.  Nobody is going to tell me what to do.  Some might follow Him, while others reject Him.  His moral requirements require a decision from us.  If one tries to straddle the fence, it promises not to go well.  “I know your works; I know that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either cold or hot. So, because you are lukewarm, neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth.” (Rev. 3: 15-16)

Does Jesus’ teaching upset you?

Fr. Ed Namiotka

Tuesday, August 6, 2019

Facing Death (with the Help of My Guardian Angel?)

Dear Parishioners,
(Summertime and swimming in the Atlantic Ocean once again bring to mind this life-changing event.)

I was going to die
I seriously thought that the end had come.  Recalling the situation still produces a cold sweat.
It was September, 1989--sometime around Labor Day weekend.  The storm that was to become known as hurricane Hugo was picking up strength as it approached the Caribbean many miles away.
I was vacationing with a priest-classmate and his family in Sandbridge Beach, VA (just south of Virginia Beach).  He had invited me down to join him for some R & R.
Sandbridge Beach was private and isolated.  No lifeguards.  A few surfers were in sight as the waves were kicking up significantly.  And there was lurking along the coastline a soon-to-be opponent waiting for someone to combat—a very strong, deceptive riptide.
My classmate, Fr. Bob, decided that he was going to go into the ocean.  Not too bright of an idea, looking back.  As I was walking along the beach I saw him swimming and realized that he was having some real problems.  No, he was in trouble, for sure.
Without much thought I jumped in and began to swim toward him.  (Even though I grew up in Wildwood, NJ—a beach resort—I was not a great swimmer.)  I was fortunate enough to reach him, and to give him just enough assistance to allow him to catch a wave and head into shore.
In the meantime, the riptide got me!  It wrestled me down. It pulled me under.  When I surfaced it seemed like I was more than a football field’s length from the shore.  And I began to panic! Seriously panic!
“Help! Help!” I screamed as I waved my hands hoping that someone in the distance would see me.  I was treading water but then I was pulled under once again!  I never was more afraid in all my life.  I am going to die.  Nobody’s here to help me out in the Atlantic Ocean.
When I surfaced, I remembered that I looked down at my Miraculous Medal (an image of the Blessed Virgin Mary) hanging around my neck and resting on my chest.
Soon after I heard a voice coming from my left side.  “Everything will be alright! Stay Calm! Stay Calm!”  Someone was swimming toward me.  A young fellow in his teen age years.
Although he reached out his hand toward me once he was next to me, I didn’t want to take it.  For some reason I recall thinking that if I was going to die I didn’t want to take him down under with me.  I was significantly larger than he was—probably at least 100 pounds.  And I was panicking.  (Funny the things that you remember.)  He kept swimming around me trying to keep me calm and assuring me that everything would be alright.
Meanwhile, Fr. Bob had reached shore and pointed out to some surfers that I was in trouble.  They came after me with a surfboard.  Good thing they did because I felt my body going into shock.  It was as if there were lead weights on my arms and legs making it difficult (nearly impossible) to move them.
Thankfully I was rolled onto a surfboard and pushed to shore.  Fr. Bob, looking exhausted and beat up, was there waiting for me.  I could hardly walk.  I sat down on the beach with my body so tense that every little movement was a major project.

The fellow who first reached me in the water and swam around me keeping me calm was now standing at my left side.  He asked me if I was okay.  I remember saying, “Yes. Thank you so much.”  Then I turned to talk to Fr. Bob for just a moment.  He was sitting on my right side.  When I looked back to the left, my rescuer was no longer there.  Where did he disappear to so quickly?  There were only a few people on the entire beach.  And he was nowhere to be seen. 
That evening Fr. Bob and I celebrated a Mass of Thanksgiving for having averted a possible tragedy:  the drowning/potential death of two priests.
We asked ourselves a number of questions:  Who was that teenager who swam out to meet me?  Where did he come from?  Why did he not seem to have trouble swimming in those rough waters like we did?  Where did he disappear to all of a sudden, as if into thin air?
I continue to wear my Miraculous Medal every day, faithfully. 
I also believe in guardian angels.  Do you?
Fr. Ed Namiotka,