Living the Easter Mystery

As we observe the Octave of Easter, I am profoundly aware of having lived the days of the sacred Paschal Triduum – Holy Thursday to Easter night – in their fullness and very much in community. 

On Holy Thursday, as three of the Elect in the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults presented the blessed oils—the Oil of the Catechumens, Sacred Chrism, Oil of the Infirm—to the assembly, it was clear that they’ve found their spiritual home at St. Joe’s.

One of those presenters was Adam Welz. When Adam said he had promised his daughter that he would learn about becoming Catholic when she first dipped her toe into Faith Formation for children, the RCIA team prayed he would embrace the process not only for his family but for himself—that he would enter into his own relationship with Jesus Christ. And how beautifully that process unfolded over time as he pondered the meaning of the Scriptures and teachings of the Roman Catholic Church! To see his expression of joy as he was immersed in the waters of Baptism at the Easter Vigil, to watch him reach out and embrace his pastor in love and gratitude, was a great moment of faith. Only to be followed so joyfully by the Baptism of the children of Nicole and Brian Diehl, Chase and Lauren. 

A first in our experience of preparing candidates for the Easter Vigil was the five candidates—Nicole Diehl, Ginia Falcon, Dan Henry, Jim King and Vince Tassone—deciding to memorize and rehearse the Profession of Faith together. They proudly professed the faith of our Church, in full voice and in unison.

Completing the profound experience of the Triduum was an Easter day visit with our long-time parishioner, St. Joseph School faculty member and librarian, and dear friend, Mary Malone. Joan Doyle and I went to Shepherd Home to pray with Mary and bring Holy Communion. It was Mary’s prayer that this be Viaticum, her final reception of Holy Communion before going home to God. And so we prayed the Easter-filled prayers of Viaticum with Mary. When it came time for her to receive, her weakened body could not have taken a full host and so we broke the bread. Mary received a tiny bit of the Body of Christ; her beloved Joan received the rest. Mary said little but as always her loving spirit and gratitude for the presence of the Lord in her life came through in her gaze. Indeed, Jesus took her home as the sun was setting on Easter day and the Paschal Triduum drew to a close. 

The darkness of Good Friday gave way to God’s eternal light.

We know the angels were there to greet you, Mrs. Malone. Rest easy knowing there are newly received Catholics and countless children at St. Joseph’s who will do their best to fill the void you leave in our community and in our hearts. 

Blessings,

Cathy

Cross of Perfection

On this Holy Thursday, at Morning Prayer, I had the sacred privilege of sharing a reflection on a few powerful lines of Scripture:

We see Jesus “crowned with glory and honor” because he suffered death, he who “for a little while” was made “lower than the angels,” that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone. For it was fitting that he, for whom and through whom all things exist, in bringing many children to glory, should make the leader to their salvation perfect through suffering. Hebrews 2: 9-10

This passage from this morning’s Liturgy of the Hours might well be inscribed on the Crucifix and mosaic in the St. Joseph’s sanctuary.  Why is the painful image of Jesus hanging from the cross set against a backdrop of shimmering gold? It is the ultimate paradox. Jesus is crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death for our sake in such a horrific, violent, barbaric way.

God the Father did, indeed, makes his Son perfect through suffering. What does the author of Hebrews mean here by “perfect?” Rather than our superficial notion of a perfect score or perfect human achievement, in the New Testament this word is used to describe a person who fulfills their purpose or matures into the role God has in mind for them. In the early Church it described someone who had completed the catechumenate and was ready to be baptized into the faith community.

Jesus is made perfect so that he can lead all of us into the salvation God has waiting for us. Through his human suffering, Jesus embraces his identity with us, sympathizes with our pain and suffering, and now he knows how he can lead us to new life.

All of our pain and suffering pales in comparison. Yet, our setbacks in life serve a similar purpose. They allow us to join ourselves in deeper union with Jesus; our setbacks allow us to know each other’s pain and suffering so that we can lead each other through it. 

The spiritual writer Richard Rohr has shared a number of thoughts on this subject in his daily emails leading up to Holy Week. Among them is the idea that if we are not transformed by our suffering then we will surely transmit our suffering to others. (Isn't that the truth?) On the other hand, transformed people, he says, transform other people.

On this Holy Thursday, as we get ready to celebrate the Paschal Triduum, and as we prepare to welcome many into our Catholic churches, what is the model of suffering and salvation that Jesus asks us to imitate? Are we people who transmit suffering or are we people who are transformed by suffering so that we can transform others?

Pope Francis wrote in the Joy of the Gospel, “How beautiful it is to stand before the Crucifix, simply to be under the Lord’s gaze, so full of love.” What a beautiful invitation to stand before the Crucifix in these days. By the grace of God, may we be transformed in love for others.

When the one you love is sick

Father Jim Schwartz’s homily on the raising of Lazarus this past weekend at St. Joseph’s caused me to reflect as he did on illness in my family. He pondered why he is blessed with good health when his older brother Bill suffered complications of lupus that took his life, and his sister Sue has struggled with M.S. for the past 45 years.

In my family, we have puzzled over the extraordinary good health that most of us enjoy. You might say we come from “good stock.”  My mom lived a very full 90 years; my dad was the picture of health until  lung cancer in his late 70s. Of my siblings and cousins, we seem to go through life unscathed – that is until the past year or so.

Last year we lost my cousin Chip, very quickly and much too soon, following a cancer diagnosis. My niece Christine’s husband Mike was diagnosed with brain cancer in the past year, and has endured several surgeries. My oldest niece Debra was diagnosed with breast cancer at Christmas time, has had two surgeries, and is now at the beginning of a significant treatment protocol. Like so many families, we are learning how to cope with serious illness and now puzzle over why these wonderful, good young people, their spouses and children, must endure such pain and difficulty.

Here in Rochester, my mother-in-law Rosemary is dealing with significant lymphedema and complications of a variety of medical issues.

It is “at these times that we realize all depends on God,” Fr. Jim preached. At times when “the one we love” struggles with illness or loss, we become very aware of both our need for God, and our need to embrace each other.

Whether in family, and/or the community we find when we come together to worship God in faith, indeed it is times like these when we find opportunities to grow in trust in our loving God, and in closeness and love with one another.

May we always pray for each other’s family members—those suffering illness and those blessed with the good health to care for the ones who are ill. God gives each of us what we need to get through it all together.

Blessings

Moving Forward in Hope and Love

When I moved to Rochester from Long Island in 1995 and joined St. Joseph’s Church, I was surprised to see women preaching at the time of the homily. My surprise soon gave way to a new way of understanding our shared responsibility for the vitality of our Catholic community, and the need to develop our talents in the service of God and each other. Like the Samaritan woman in this past Sunday’s Gospel and the man born blind this week, my faith slowly deepened and I ultimately understood myself as called to ministry.

For the past five years, as your pastoral associate, my ministry has included occasionally offering Scripture reflections at the Mass. Authorized by Bishop Emeritus Matthew Clark for lay preaching in 2009, I took this sacred privilege very seriously. My formation has included six years of study at St. Bernard’s School of Theology and Ministry, receiving a Master of Divinity, and ongoing Scripture study.

I am deeply grateful for the exchanges I have had with so many of you in dialogue with what I have shared in my reflections.  I am deeply grateful to Bishop Emeritus Clark and Father Jim Schwartz for entrusting me with this ministry.

The matter of canon law relevant to preaching at the time of the homily is currently being reviewed on a case-by-case basis by the Most Reverend Bishop Salvatore R. Matano.  My reflections at St. Joseph’s Masses have been addressed in the early part of this process.  In compliance with canon law and more recent Church documents, I will no longer be reflecting on the Scripture in the context of the Mass.

Moving forward, Bishop Matano is encouraging to me in my ministry with you. I very much appreciate words he wrote to me, “To be sure, your love for Our Lord, the Catholic faith and the Church is quite evident, and I pray you will continue to use your talents to build up the Body of Christ.”  Please join me in praying for Bishop Matano and his ministry with us, his care and concern for all so beautifully demonstrated when he was with us this past Saturday evening.

I recommit myself to using my talents to build up the Body of Christ.  I hope to refocus some of my energy and gifts on new forms of adult formation and Scripture study. And there’s my new-found love, social media! If you want to follow my ramblings on a daily basis, follow me on Twitter @cathykamp or Facebook at Cathy Kamp. Weekly, check out “Cathy’s Journal” at http://cathykamp.blogspot.com. If you have other ideas or suggestions, please be in touch.

Humbly, I seek your prayers as I reflect on what this change means for me and other lay ministers in the Catholic Church. I thank you for the gift and the joy of being your pastoral associate at St. Joseph’s. You are ever in my prayers.

Blessings,

Cathy 

Show Me the Way

Throughout my life, when I have really felt confused and unable to discern the path God has in my mind for me, my mantra in prayer has been, “show me the way.” Our Gospel question of the week asks how our dialogue with the Lord has evolved over the years, as the Samaritan woman’s dialogue with Jesus evolves in this Sunday’s Gospel (John 4: 5-42). I find my need for direction and my dialogue changes as the crosses and joys of my life change, but the mantra stays the same. This Lent, that seems particularly ironic since here at St. Joseph’s our message is that Jesus is inviting all of us to “follow me.” I hear that invitation but I must confess I am still praying, ever more fervently, “show me the way.” With our five Lenten Gospels as guideposts, I find this prayer has been percolating in my heart. Maybe it will help you to know where Jesus leads when he says, “Come, follow me.”

Jesus, I desire always to know and follow you.

When I am tempted by own deserts of despair and disappointment,

Show me the way.

When I can no longer see you transfigured before me,

Show me the way.

When the well is too deep and I cannot find my way to your life-giving waters of truth,

Show me the way.

When the light of faith eludes me,

Show me the way.

When the ones you and I love are sick,

Show me the way.

Jesus, I desire always to know and follow you.

Show me the way.

Amen.

Blessings,

Cathy

Two Great Women of Faith

Over the course of the day yesterday, I learned of the loss of two great women of faith, Mary Claire Lyons and Sister Charles, OCarm.

Mary Claire was a decades-long parishioner at St. Joseph’s. She was deeply committed to many ministries over the years but nothing more than participation in the celebration of the Eucharist and the preparation of youth for the Sacrament of Confirmation.  I was privileged to get to know Mary Claire when her beloved husband, Charlie, was in the last year of his life, about three years ago. She was very committed to honoring his wish to live and die at home. Once when I was visiting with them at home, Charlie, who was not supposed to walk on his own, tried to follow us to the door as I was leaving and took a fall. He said, “A gentleman does not sit when two women stand.” Not wanting to call 911 for fear they would take him into the hospital unnecessarily, Mary Claire called a friend to help lift him while I enlisted a certain unnamed volunteer firefighter. Together, they were able to lift him. She never stopped expressing her gratitude for that simple act of kindness and respect to Charlie’s and her wishes.

After Charlie passed, I learned first-hand what others had shared with me about Mary Claire. She had a fierce determination to do everything according to a set of standards and values all her own. She knew how she needed to grieve for Charlie and no societal norms were going to get in the way of that. I came to have the greatest admiration for how she remembered her husband in her day-to-day living in the home they had made together and where they had raised their family. May they be reunited now in their eternal home.

Last evening, I also received a call that a lifelong friend of my parents and family had gone home to God, our dear Sister Charles. She and my dad had worked together and then she took her vows as a Carmelite nun, and she worked the rest of her life in physical therapy with the aged and infirm. 

I have the most wonderful childhood memories of dining out in the best New York restaurants with her and her fellow sisters. In the 1960s and 70s the Carmelite sisters wore full habits, but that did not stop my dad from egging them on to enjoy a cocktail or two with dinner. How they would laugh! How they loved God and life! How the maître d in one particular German restaurant would roll out the red carpet every time we arrived. For a young Catholic schoolgirl, this was delicious stuff! I loved our outings with her, and the mutual affection between her and my parents knew no bounds. Even in her final years when she was not so well herself, that love poured forth at the death of my mom and again a year later when I received my Master of Divinity. She was proud of that little Catholic schoolgirl all grown up, and she no doubt was an influence on my vocation to the Church. My “prayer” this happy hour is that Sister Charles and my dad are clinking glasses in heaven.

And so the Communion of Saints grows by two. May your precious souls rest in peace, Mary Claire and Sister Charles.

Treasured--All My Life

When you work for the Church, you’re always thinking a liturgical season ahead. And so I’m presently immersed in the Lenten Gospels as we’re preparing video and print materials for our small groups at St. Joseph’s. And so on this 13^th anniversary of my dad’s passing, I find myself pondering a question meant for reflection in the fifth week of Lent and the raising of Lazarus: How has the death of one you loved affected your journey of faith?

The truth is, prior to my dad’s battle with lung cancer in 2000-2001, I’m not sure I would have understood the question. In reflection, my journey of faith began anew with my dad’s passing.

As in any family or close group of people, when tragedy strikes, we discover many things about ourselves. First and foremost, we all handle crisis and grief differently. We take on roles to complement and support each other (and, of course, at times clash with one another’s human frailties).

When my dad was ill, there was no doubt about who would tend to his physical needs. My mom would take care of him for as long as she could, and then my sister Margaret would share her nursing skills and love to assist them. And so Margaret did, with a selfless tenderness I will never forget.

What could I do except be there? Even that was easier said than done with my parents living in Florida and Greg and I having a houseful of young kids in Rochester.

But on the trips I managed to make to Florida, I came to realize that my dad had a need to openly talk about dying. He needed to say the words out loud and be heard. He needed to wonder about what came next for him and for those he would leave behind.

In his need, I discovered something about myself. I was OK with his need to talk about it. I came to treasure these conversations or his very occasional, very brief written notes.

One was a handwritten note that came in the mail along with a 1960s, yellowed, soft-cover composition notebook. It was our bird-watching list, started in 1967, and kept by my dad for the rest of his life. He returned it to me, writing: “It has no monetary value, but it has been a treasured possession for a big part of my life. Take care of it for me.” I take it out every year on this morning and chuckle at the silly bird names and marvel at how my little-girl penmanship gave way to his continued decades of recording birds from Long Island to the West Coast to Florida, and even Rochester.

What a gift it was in those last months of his life to see into the very sensitive, emotional, and spiritual side of the one I loved. That experience awoke in me a need to better understand that bit of myself that was comfortable with these conversations, and to appreciate it for what it is – like everything else in life – a gift from God, not to be hidden but shared.

What gifts are waiting to be awoken in you? Blessings!