St. Mary's Church, Roslyn: Pastor's Page

Dear Friends:

We learned last week that the level of unemployment in the U.S. is down to 3.5%, and that family income has increased significantly. It seems reasonable to infer from this that American families from all backgrounds—social, economic, and religious—are working more than ever. This is good news. Pope John Paul II begins his outstanding encyclical on the subject of work, Laborem Exercens, with these words: “THROUGH WORK man must earn his daily bread and…elevate the cultural and moral level of the society within which he lives in community with those who belong to the same family.” There is an inherent dignity to human labor, for by it we show ourselves to be the imago dei (“image of God”), the visible reflection of the One Who creates and sustains the universe. At the same time we recognize that, for all its benefits and nobility, work is often fraught with, as the Holy Father says, “the unceasing measure of human toil and suffering.” The Church therefore emphasizes marriage and family life as the basic unit of society that gives meaning and purpose to human labor, offsetting the sacrifices (both physical and emotional) it entails. How do Catholic Christians strike a balance between “making a living” and “making a life”? We take our cue from the Gospels, which portray Our Lord as a man of labor who yet teaches us not become overly anxious about work, and promises us rest from our burdens (Mt. 6:25-34; 11:28-30; 13:55).

Normally, we feature an image of Our Lady on the cover of our bulletin, and it is all the more fitting we do so on the feast of the Holy Family; you may rightly wonder why the Blessed Mother is absent today. Of course, the Gospel involves St. Joseph’s dream, but even so there are dozens of images of the story that also feature Mary and the Christ Child. Please forgive me. I chose this particular image because as a rule, images of St. Joseph tend to be “soft” and “sweet”: hardly those of a man who lived by the “sweat of his brow.” If today’s painting by the 18th-century German artist Anton Raphael Mengs tells us anything, it is that St. Joseph knew what it was like to put in a hard day’s work. Rugged and weary, he listens to the voice of God even in his dreams, serving Him amid the unsung duties of a father who protects and provides for his family.

The very fact that Joseph, the hardworking patriarch, has time for dreams (four that we know of) should tell us something. One can only dream, strictly speaking, if one is at rest. The whole reason Catholics “have to go” to Mass on Sunday—as if it were a chore—is that the Family of the Church must give itself the leisure of resting with Jesus, of allowing our hearts to burn with us when he speaks, and in the “breaking of the (Living) Bread” (Luke 24:32).

The Church prays today that we might imitate “the shining example of the Holy Family…[that] in practicing the virtues of family life and in the bonds of charity, [we might] delight one day in eternal rewards.” Let’s make it our business this weekend simply to enjoy each other’s company, remembering that the love of our family, itself the gift of God, is both the power behind, and the reward of, the noble work that we do.

Faithfully,
Fr. Valentine

Dear Friends:

When discussing the mystery of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, my students had a lively exchange about what it “means” to say that bread and wine, after the consecration, are no longer bread and wine, but truly the Body and Blood of Christ. This begs the question: by what method does one determine that this “really” happens? Various answers included the use of chemical analysis, electron microscopes, even DNA testing. These methods are legitimate, but beside the point, for they uncover only one aspect of the material world, namely, that which presents itself to the senses. By contrast, St. Thomas Aquinas tells us, faith affirms the reality of Jesus’ Presence, while the senses continue to say “bread and wine.” Faith, then, is not a denial of truth, scientific or otherwise. Rather, faith goes to the heart of reality, to behold what only grace can help us understand. Catholicism identifies people of faith who demonstrate a remarkable sensitivity to the spiritual life as “mystics.” To use a metaphor: an infant, sitting in his mother’s lap, sees and hears everything that the rest of the congregation sees and hears. Yet he does not “get” what is happening; he has not yet developed the tools to interpret the information coming at him. The mystic, by contrast, sees and hears exactly the same things as the rest of us, yet grasps their deeper meaning.

Artists, in their own way, help us perceive the meaning of the world around us, the various connections that tie together the events of the material world. When guided by faith, they can even connect the things of heaven and earth without the use of words. Alessandro Botticelli (1445-1510) was a Florentine painter of extraordinary ability, whose “The Birth of Venus” ranks among the finest—and most famous—paintings of the Renaissance. Later in life, he became alarmed by the events of his time, when Italy was undergoing the devastating effects of war and civic turmoil. He drew comfort from his faith, and in particular, the message of the Book of Revelation, which (as a colleague at St. John’s University told me) Christians should never read with fear, but with hope in God’s power to save us. Botticelli created our cover art today, the “Mystic Nativity,” filling it with symbols that keep our attention fixed on Christ, who transforms a seemingly hopeless situation into a divine victory. Inspired by the book of Revelation, the artist creates a scene of the second coming of Christ, who brings an end to all wars and human suffering. Yet we can only “see” this if we focus our attention on Christ. Notice that the artist suspends the laws of perspective to make the Madonna and Child larger than what would seem appropriate. Everyone at the stable, from Joseph to the Kings to the shepherds, looks only at them. Angels from above drop 12 crowns and ribbons from heaven, indicating the virtues of Our Lady, while those below embrace human beings with olive branches, the symbol of peace. Even the Kings’ robes symbolize the three theological virtues of faith, hope, and love. Botticelli never displayed the painting in his lifetime, perhaps because he feared that people might interpret it as a political statement, rather than as an expression of faith in God’s sovereignty over human history.

Friends, it would be fair to say that we all undergo turmoil, upheaval, and stress in life. When interpreted through the eyes of faith, however, this need not be a bad thing, but rather the means through which we conform our hearts and minds more closely to Christ. My colleague told me that his student, reflecting on the Scriptures, wrote: “God breaks my heart to heal me, to re-fashion me, and to place me where he wants me to be.” This, from an 18-year-old!

What a privilege it is to be your pastor here at St. Mary’s! Let us continue to search for the presence of Christ as he reveals himself through the ordinary and extraordinary moments of our life together.

Faithfully,
Fr. Valentine