Then the LORD God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.
What is it this moment holds? Not last night, not later today. This moment. What does it hold?
Hello my friend. Good morning.
It is cold. Outside. In here though, it’s quite comfortable.
Just you and me.
Just me and you.
Shall we talk or just sit a while?
Ha, that reminds me of being in the chapel, early in the morning.
No one speaking but such a beautiful sound.
An old man, a holy priest, breathing quite loud.
But it wasn’t just air passing to and fro.
It was the sound of “spirit and truth.”
Community is the beautiful sound of other people breathing.
May God truly bless your day. May we both appreciate what He has given. And may we forgive each other our petty crimes. For you, my friend, in many ways, here and now, in earthen clay, are all I got. For without you—my neighbor, my brother, my wife, my boss, my employee, my business partner, my competitor, my foe—I won’t glimpse the face of Christ. And that I so badly need to do. He is after all, all we truly got. My face and yours will dry up and wrinkle, His remains the same. His love never gets old. May we hear each other breathe, with compassion and mercy, knowing that so much we take in causes mold. But it’s also in that very sound—the mysterious sound of breath—that can seemingly annoy us to death—that we witness daily the Word become flesh, again and again, to and fro, the entire universe, expand and contract.
We hear the One who sits on the throne.
We hear Him reconciling the world to Himself.
Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit…”
St. Gabriel Possenti, whose feastday is today, was born on March 1, 1838, the 11th child of Agnes and Sante Possenti, governor of Assisi, Italy. Gabriel was baptized Francis after that city’s famous patron. He had everything a privileged child could hope for.
In 1841, the Possentis moved to Spoleto and Gabriel fell under the spell of that city’s bright social world. Lively, headstrong, intelligent, he was educated by the Christian Brothers and the Jesuits. Popular, usually head of his class, he embraced the city’s latest fashions, plays, dances and sporting events. Spoleto was influenced by the Enlightenment, a movement that preferred what’s new to what’s old.
Gabriel was charmed by it all.
Yet, something else kept calling him. A year after moving to Spoleto his mother Agnes died. Her death and the death of two brothers and three sisters made him think seriously about life. A couple of times he almost died himself. He heard Jesus calling him to give up everything and follow him, but then the call seemed to fade away.
In the spring of 1856, a fierce cholera epidemic struck Spoleto and Gabriel’s favorite sister died in the plague. Overwhelmed by the tragedy, the people of the city processed through the streets with an ancient image of Mary, praying that she intercede to stop the plague and help them bear their heavy cross.
It was a transforming experience for Gabriel, who was drawn into the presence of Mary, the Sorrowful Mother. Passing the familiar mansions where he partied many nights, the theater and opera that entertained him so often, he realized what little wisdom they offered now. He took his place at Mary’s side and at her urging joined the Passionist Congregation.
In a letter home, Gabriel described his new life as a Passionist to his father: “ I would not trade even fifteen minutes here for a year or any amount of time filled with shows and other pastimes of Spoleto. Indeed my life is filled with happiness.”
Gabriel died on February 27, 1862 and was canonized in 1920. He’s a saint for young people who are looking for the pearl of great price, but sometimes in the wrong place. May St. Gabriel help them find it in the right place.
you hide your gifts “ from the learned and clever,
but reveal them to the merest children.”
Show your love to the young of today,
and call them to follow you.
Give them the grace you gave St.Gabriel,
grace to know you as good.
grace to judge life wisely,
grace to be joyful of heart.
For today’s Gospel, please play the video below:
For the last week or so we have been reading from the Book of Sirach at Mass. It’s always helpful to look into the background of the books of scripture and ask when, for whom, and why were they written.
The Book of Sirach was written by a Jewish sage in Jerusalem around 200 BC in Hebrew and was translated into Greek sometime later, scholars say. It seems to me authors like Sirach were people who loved their Jewish tradition and wanted to pass on its wisdom to a generation that might be saying: “We don’t see anything in it for us any more.”
Is the Book of Sirach a grandfather’s attempt to speak to grandchildren abandoning their own tradition as they experience a powerful Greco-Roman influence on the world of their time? If so, do we have to do what Sirach did?
That would mean, first, to love our religious tradition ourselves and, second, to have the wise words and deeds to make it known and appealing to others. The scriptures are not only to be read, they’re to be imitated.
What state are we meant to be?
To be happy. No matter the circumstances. No matter the facts. No matter the evidence you see.
But shouldn’t we try to change unfavorable circumstances? Help beautify ugly facts? And want to witness genuine good being done?
Yes. Good desires, are all three. And, still, happy is the state you should be.
But are there not times we cry, we grieve, we fight? Times for righteous anger? Times, if you will, to flip the tables of hypocrisy?
Yes. Seasons such as these, yes, they do come and go. Happy is the state you should be.
But surely then, being happy too is also a phase, one that must come and go?
That I hope not. For happy is hope. And hope is always. Always happy. Knowing that somehow, someway, it’s all gonna be ok. That’s the state of hope. And happy is such a state. A state that is meant to be. A state to move into. And to stay. Not just for visits. A permanent lease. A place within. A home. From within which all seasons are observed. A duck blind. From which all God’s creation is closely, and quietly, and calmly glorified.
A place of patience. And of great expectation.
A place of simplicity. And of bare bones.
A place of abundance. And of hearty bread and good wine.
A place set apart.
A place setting for two, or perhaps for three or four…
A place for more. And a place of much less.
Surely, then, you speak of a different type of “happy”—a different type of “happy” than that known to the world? You simply speak of a place I do not know!
I speak. And what I speak comes to be. I speak Joy. I speak Peace. I speak Love. I speak Mercy. I speak Grace. I speak Kingdom. I speak now. Put out your arm. Look at your hand. Is that distance far? Shorten it still by placing your palm upon your heart. Now say, “Thy kingdom come.” I say it’s that close. I say the kingdom is at hand. I say it resides within. I say it is not of this world.
You are not of this world.
You are of ME.
And I AM.
And I say happy.
Live in the place I meant for you to be.
A place for all seasons, of all times, beyond all phases.
Happy is a state meant to be.
Today’s the feast of St. Polycarp. Some years ago, I visited Izmir in Turkey where Polycarp, a revered Christian bishop, was martyred about the year 155. The city was then called Smyrna. Now predominantly Muslim, there’s a small church of St. Polycarp in the city and up the mountain is the ancient agora and the ruins of the stadium where Polycarp was burned to death by the Romans.
The account of his martyrdom, sent to other Christian churches by the Christians of Smyrna, is one of the most interesting documents of the early church. Polycarp was an old man. As a child he knew John the Apostle and was a friend of Ignatius of Antioch, another early bishop martyred for the faith. He was also a teacher of Irenaeus, who became bishop of Lyon in Gaul.
The old bishop went to his death peacefully and heroically, the account indicates:
“When the pyre was ready, Polycarp took off all his clothes and loosened his under-garment. He made an effort also to remove his shoes, though he had been unaccustomed to this, for the faithful always vied with each other in their haste to touch his body. Even before his martyrdom he had received every mark of honour in tribute to his holiness of life.
There and then he was surrounded by the material for the pyre. When they tried to fasten him also with nails, he said: “Leave me as I am. The one who gives me strength to endure the fire will also give me strength to stay quite still on the pyre, even without the precaution of your nails.” So they did not fix him to the pyre with nails but only fastened him instead. Bound as he was, with hands behind his back, he stood like a mighty ram, chosen out for sacrifice from a great flock, a worthy victim made ready to be offered to God.
Looking up to heaven, he said: “Lord, almighty God, Father of your beloved and blessed Son Jesus Christ, through whom we have come to the knowledge of yourself, God of angels, of powers, of all creation, of all the race of saints who live in your sight, I bless you for judging me worthy of this day, this hour, so that in the company of the martyrs I may share the cup of Christ, your anointed one, and so rise again to eternal life in soul and body, immortal through the power of the Holy Spirit. May I be received among the martyrs in your presence today as a rich and pleasing sacrifice. God of truth, stranger to falsehood, you have prepared this and revealed it to me and now you have fulfilled your promise.
“I praise you for all things, I bless you, I glorify you through the eternal priest of heaven, Jesus Christ, your beloved Son. Through him be glory to you, together with him and the Holy Spirit, now and for ever. Amen.”
When he had said “Amen” and finished the prayer, the officials at the pyre lit it. But, when a great flame burst out, those of us privileged to see it witnessed a strange and wonderful thing. Indeed, we have been spared in order to tell the story to others. Like a ship’s sail swelling in the wind, the flame became as it were a dome encircling the martyr’s body. Surrounded by the fire, his body was like bread that is baked, or gold and silver white-hot in a furnace, not like flesh that has been burnt. So sweet a fragrance came to us that it was like that of burning incense or some other costly and sweet-smelling gum.”
One small incident occurred on our visit to Izmir I still remember. It happened during our visit to the Church of St. Polycarp, which is today the only Christian presence in a Muslim city. The custodian asked us to sign our names in the visitors’ book and as I did I noticed many signatures in Korean. When I asked about them, the custodian said the church is a favorite pilgrimage destination for Korean Catholics.
Somebody must have told Polycarp’s story in Korea and it must have impressed them there. A missionary priest or sister, perhaps? Heroes inspire us. Who know? But we need more Polycarps.