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Dear Friends:

Rob and his wife Kate are a loving couple whose daughter Barbara suffers from a debilitating medical
condition, one that limits her ability to socialize and make friends. For as long as Kate could remember, no
one had ever gone through the same experience. The situation was, to say the least, devastating. For his part
Rob, a gregarious soul, makes it a practice to make a new friend every day. One afternoon, while strolling
the beach, the family happened upon a young woman about the same age as Barbara. Something about her
posture seemed…familiar. As it turns out, the girl suffered from the exact same condition, and could relate
to Barbara in a way that no one else could, not even those who loved her the most. The two girls became
fast friends, and Barbara who was lonely for so long, developed a new lease on life; her parents rejoiced
that their little girl finally made that life-saving connection. Who’d have thought that a chance meeting
would lead to such a happy ending? Or did God arrange the whole thing?
This Thursday, the Church celebrates the Feast of the Nativity of Our Lady. In past years, I’ve related the
story of her birth in the Gospel of James, which is strikingly similar to that of Jesus. But today we read the
genealogy of St. Matthew’s Gospel, which traces Jesus’ lineage from Abraham to David, to the Babylonian
Exile, to the birth of Christ. Along the way, we meet saints and sinners, scoundrels and tricksters: all neatly
arranged in three groups of 14 generations. Who’d have thought that a haphazard collection of flawed
human beings would wind its way to Jesus? Or does Matthew give us the “God’s-eye” view of salvation?
Today’s art actually belongs to St. Mary’s parish. According to the National Gallery of art, the Florentine
painter, Pier Francesco Fiorentino (1444-97) was a priest-painter known for his depictions of the Madonna
and Child, often accompanied by one or more saints. His style shows the influence of more well-known
artists, including Baldovinetti and Botticelli. There is also an un-named painter whom art historians call
Pseudo Pier Francesco Fiorentino, because the themes, expressions, and positions of his characters are “in
the manner of” the original artist (and of others, e.g. Fra Filippo Lippi). This beautiful replica, the
“Madonna and Child with St. John the Baptist,” is one such work. The radiant face of Our Lady gazes
affectionately upon her child, whose contemplative expression seems to welcome us into the setting. The
generous use of gold leaf in both the painting and frame was a widespread practice that emphasizes the
dignity of the subjects, and the divine milieu that envelopes them.
Friends, this painting came to St. Mary’s Parish decades ago, but languished in our rectory without being
seen or appreciated for many years. Thanks to the generosity of Mr. Richard O’Hara and his family, the
painting and its frame were lovingly restored, encased, and re-donated to our parish in honor of his late
wife, Dolores. The estimable Mrs. O’Hara was a great benefactor to St. Mary’s who could be found at daily
Mass and Rosary, toiling in Religious Education and Outreach to parishioners in need, and serving as a
liturgical minister. Her great devotion to the Blessed Mother was genuine, and so it seems fitting that a
gorgeous image of Our Lady should find a permanent home in our exquisite old church, just as we
celebrate the Nativity of Mary (September 8). A seemingly random set of events has resulted in a thing of
sublime loveliness…much like the family of Christ, gathered together by the Holy Spirit.

Faithfully,
Fr. Valentine

Dear Friends:

Just about this time, 19 years ago, I found myself with my fellow chaplains-in-training in the woods of
Fort Jackson, South Carolina at 3 AM. We were practicing “night land navigation,” ie, finding the way
from point A to point B in the dark. Each group had a map reader, a “pacer” (who walks with a
consistent gait) and, of course, the leader who holds the compass. Guess which role fell to me? It was a
moonless night; I could see nothing beyond the “cat eyes” (illuminated dots) on the helmet of the
soldier in front of me. My main thought was: “Dear God, we’re going to die in the woods.” Only two
things kept us going: (1) the cadre’s assurance that the object of our search (the flag of our unit) was at
the destination, and (2) the drill sergeant who, with a look of amused annoyance at our ineptitude, kept
pointing us in the right direction. The takeaway was clear: there is no substitute for expertise, but the
ability to search for treasure is not itself a guarantee that the treasure exists. Along with the ability to
read the treasure map, the seeker requires faith that the treasure chest is out there.
Often, I hear from people of my generation that their children do not so much reject their Christian
faith as they simply have other interests. These things are legitimate: education, profession, home,
comfort, entertainment, etc. By contrast, the spiritual life seems dull, a sad reality not always helped by
the dry, bloodless explanations of religious types like me. Still, I think we can all agree that by their
very nature these good things will pass away. What then? In a world of fragile peace (at best),
senseless violence, and misplaced priorities, is it any wonder that people, particularly young people,
experience a crippling loss of meaning in life?
The Catholic sensibility, once again, provides direction, much like that drill sergeant. On the one hand,
faith is trust that the source of Being that holds everything together is “out there,” so to speak. On the
other hand, faith points us in the right direction: perfect union with God in Heaven. Faith is not an
excuse for avoiding homework; we must learn, work, train, sweat, love, and suffer through life. On the
contrary, faith gives cohesion to these eminently human undertakings, which in turn give life meaning
and beauty. Ultimately, only God is worthy of our trust because he will never pass away. Still, we must
keep in mind that faith, by its very nature is a gift. One cannot simply go out and “get” it. Then where
do we turn?
Today’s artwork is Titian’s 1541 masterpiece, Pentecost. Art historians tell us that his style is marked
by natural colors and a soft texture best appreciated from a distance. The scene, with the Holy Spirit
(the dove) descending upon the Apostles in tongues of fire, illustrates the creative tension between
faith and reason I’ve described above. Reason, for all its benefits, is limited in its ability to pierce the
veil of ultimate reality, and risks falling into the dark skepticism of doubt. It needs faith—freely given
by God—not to control it, but to give assurance that the Source of Truth, Beauty, and Goodness
beckons us to come near.
We reenter Ordinary Time bringing the comfort of faith to a world so desperately in need of it.

Faithfully,
Fr. Valentine