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May 2017 – Journeying Into Mystery

A Musical Prayer for the Victims of Religious Persecution – Psalm Offering 8, Opus 7

The thought of my wretched homelessness
is wormwood and poison;
Remembering it over and over,
my soul is downcast.
But this I will call to mind;
therefore I will hope:
The LORD’s acts of mercy are not exhausted,
his compassion is not spent
They are renewed each morning—
great is your faithfulness!
The LORD is my portion, I tell myself
therefore I will hope in him
The LORD is good to those who trust in him,
to the one that seeks him;
It is good to hope in silence
for the LORD’s deliverance.
(Lamentations 3: 19-26, NAB)

For centuries upon centuries religions have persecuted other religions in the name of the God they profess to worship. It matters not whether it be Christian against Christian, Muslim against Muslim, Christian against Muslim, Muslim against Hindu and everybody against Judaism. We all like to think that God is on our side. As Abraham Lincoln pointed out to a citizen who was boasting about God being on the side of the Union Army, “The question is not whether God is on our side or not. The question to answer is are we on God’s side?” We may call God by different names and titles, but the fact remains that God is the creator of all people and is Lord of all religions.

After a little over 7 days, I have composed this Psalm Offering. This Psalm Offering is offered up as a prayer for all the victims of religious persecution.

(c) 2017 by Deacon Bob Wagner OFS, all rights reserved.

Homily for the Sixth Sunday of Easter, Year A, 2017

HOMILY FOR THE 6TH SUNDAY OF EASTER, YEAR A

The summer of 1969. I had just gotten my driver’s license. Every Friday or Saturday night saw Ruthie and I going out on a date to a movie theater in downtown St. Paul. Her older sister, Annie, working the ticket booth at the Riviera Theater on Wabasha, would let us see a free movie from time to time. One movie we saw a number of times was “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.” Butch, Sundance and their gang robbed trains and did so with the ease of someone picking fruit off a tree. (For our high school and college graduates present today, I must add that robbing trains, anyone, or anything is a very poor career choice.) The railroad, tired of having their payroll robbed, hires a special posse to kill them. In a series of scenes, unable to escape the posse that is tracking them, Butch keeps on asking Sundance the question, “Who are these guys? Just who are these guys?” Butch and Sundance to escape being shot by the posse jump off a high cliff into a river far below. Sundance complains just before he jumps that he can’t swim, and Butch shouts, “You crazy? The fall will probably kill ya!”

Butch Cassidy asked a very fundamental question, “Who are these guys?” The most fundamental question that all of us ask ourselves is the question, “Who am I?” “Who am I, really?” Like the posse that chased Butch and Sundance this  important question relentlessly chases us throughout our lives. It is a question that cannot be answered by what we do for an occupation, whether we be a student, a graduate, a farmer, a business professional, a homemaker. The question, “Who am I?” is not about what we do, but with whom we are in a relationship. I can answer the question with “I am the husband of Ruth. I am the father of Andy, Luke, Meg, and Beth.” While all of this is true, my answer is incomplete. It still does not answer the question, “Who am I?” With whom was I  in relationship before I was even born? I was in relationship with God. From the moment God thought me into existence, I have been in relationship with God. This is true for all of us. First and foremost, we were children of God. The gospel tells us today that we are not just children of God. We are more. We are the Christ!

Jesus tells his disciples today, “In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me, because I live and you will live. On that day you will realize that I am in my Father and you are in me and I in you.” If the world can no longer see Jesus because he has ascended to the Father, how is Jesus going to be revealed to the world?

There is only one way. You and I are the living presence of Jesus to our world. The only way our world will come to see and know Jesus is through you and I.

How can this be? I am a very flawed person. How can I be Christ to the world? Jesus tells us, “Whoever has my commandments and observes them is the one who loves me. Whoever loves me will be loved by my Father, and I will love him and reveal myself to him.” The world will know that we are truly the revelation of Jesus by the way we live his commandments.

So what are these commandments? In his first letter, St. John is quite specific. He writes, “Love is of God; everyone who loves is begotten by God and knows God. Whoever is without love does not know God, for God is love. In this way the love of God was revealed to us: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might have life through him. In this is love: not that we have loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as expiation for our sins.” St. John concludes, “Beloved, if God so loved us, we also must love one another. No one has ever seen God. Yet, if we love one another, God remains in us, and his love is brought to perfection in us.” Jesus is revealed to the world in the way we love as God loves.

You may have already heard this story from me, yet, for me, it remains one of the most profound acts of God’s love being lived out. It was my first Christmas Eve at St. Stephen Catholic Church in South Minneapolis. The parish of St. Stephen’s at that time was made up of many people who were broken by life. Some were homeless. Others were ex-priests, ex-nuns, gay and lesbian, developmentally disabled, ex-offenders, and so on. Many self-righteous Catholics of the Archdiocese pretty much wrote off the parishioners there as already being damned by God. The parish ran and to this day continues to run a homeless shelter that sleeps 45 homeless men every night.

On my first Christmas Eve at St Stephen’s, a homeless man, intoxicated and dressed in a purple suit, sat in the front pew of the church. He wept throughout the Christmas Eve Mass. At the conclusion of Mass, he had no place to go to sleep that night. Because he was intoxicated, the parish homeless shelter could not take him. With 45 men sleeping in close proximity to one another, the parish homeless shelter had to have strict rules about the use of alcohol and drugs. I struggled greatly as to what to do for this homeless man. Not dressed for the weather, he would have frozen to death were he to sleep outside that night. I appealed for help to one on my parishioners, a gay man, who with his partner and their children, were at Mass that night. The gay man reassured me and then sat next to the homeless man speaking quietly to him. The homeless man turned toward him, put his arms around him, and wept in great heaving sobs on the gay man’s shoulder. It was as if all the burdens of his life were emptied in the tears he shed on that man’s shoulder. The gay man comforted the homeless man, till the homeless man’s sobs ceased. Then the gay man, his partner, and their children drove the homeless man to another homeless shelter, a safe, warm place that accepted and housed intoxicated people until they sobered up.

St Peter in his first letter today writes, “Sanctify Christ as Lord in your hearts. Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope, but do it with gentleness and reverence.” With gentleness and reverence , the Christ sanctified in the hearts of that family was revealed to the homeless man and to me on that cold, Christmas Eve night. That family on that Christmas Eve, gave up all the family activities and fun they had planned, so that the homeless man had a safe, warm place to spend the night. They loved as God loves.

Today, we sit in this church and are faced with the question “Who am I?” It is the same question that all Christian communities have pondered since the time St. Peter wrote the letter we heard today. Who am I? Whether we be graduating from school and going on to further education, or graduating from school and looking to work in a career. Whether we leave church today and go home to the life of our family. Whether we leave church today and go off to work or go some place for recreation, the answer remains the same. Who am I? In so much we love as God loves, we are and must be Jesus Christ revealed to the world today. Let us sanctify Christ as Lord in our hearts. Let us always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks us for a reason for our hope, and do so with gentleness and reverence.

 

 

Psalm Offering 7, Opus 7 – For the victims of sexual violence.

“Look, O LORD, at the anguish I suffer!

My stomach churns,

And my heart recoils within me:

How bitter I am!

Outside the sword bereaves—

indoors, there is death.

My life is deprived of peace,

I have forgotten what happiness is.”

(Lamentations 1:20, 3:17 Revised New American Bible)

Sexual violence. World history has been filled with sexual violence. The Bible is filled with stories of men, women, and children sexually violated. Rape, incest, the murder of men and women from the GLBTQ community fills the news. Incidents of sexual violence has escalated seemingly since November of 2016 domestically and abroad. It matters not whether it the violence is institutionalized by political motive, as it is in Russia, or religiously motivated, as it may be in some world religions. Sexual violence is always an affront against God and humanity, who have been made in the image and the likeness of God. This Psalm Offering is a prayer for all victims of sexual violence. May God heal the brokenness they have suffered at the hands of others.

(c) 2017 by Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.

ABOUT THE MUSIC: Of the Psalm Offerings in Opus 7, this is one of the shortest at just a little over 2 minutes in length. It is composed in a style that is largely from the Impressionistic period, with a use of parallel V7 chords and the use of a whole tone scale. It is in 3 part, ABA form. The unique feature of this music is that is is written in 7/4 time (seven beats a measure, a quarter note gets one beat).

WOULDN’T IT BE NICE – A POEM FOR MOTHER’S DAY 2017

My beloved Ruthie. This picture was one of four taken by my wonderful photographer, daughter-in-law, Olivia, and given to me as a birthday present last year.

WOULDN’T IT BE NICE – A POEM FOR MOTHER’S DAY 2017

“Wouldn’t it be nice …”
the Beach Boys serenade,
our dating dream for us,
a life spent together
uninterrupted, focused
only on each other.

 9:15 pm, the song
runs through my mind
as I open the bedroom
door, call out to you softy
to awaken and pause
for your eyes adjust to
the light leaking in
from the hallway before
throwing the switch
to flood with light
the darkened bedroom.

 Another night apart,
much like when we dated.
Luck and schedules may
give us two nights together
in a row, a gift bestowed
every other week, yet,
grateful am I for even
one night with you,
exhausted as you may be
sleeping in your chair.

 Feelings of disappointment,
of dreams cheated cruelly
might be justified to one
of an ungrateful heart.
Thirty of our nearly
forty-three years of
marriage spent apart
in order to just survive.
How cruel a joke to play
on two people so in love.
Yet, I kneel before you
in humble gratitude,
one who recognizes
the tremendous sacrifice
that you have made for
 our children and I.

 A mother’s love transcends,
transcends in ways far
exceeding the norm of
expectations and limits.
Self-sacrifice, never taught
but, seemingly a part of
a mother’s DNA, something
that comes from the moment
of conception, as a mother’s
life flows from herself
to the child within her uterus.

 Not so men, not so is
self-sacrifice a given,
except for the Christ
who, as Julian of Norwich
wisely observed, was both
man and mother.
Only the rare, distinctive man,
my own father one of them,
is given this gift of self-sacrifice
freely and without asking.

 I, your humble student,
kneel at your feet, yearning
to touch the hem of
your nurses uniform,
that somehow miraculously
I may be cured of my own
self-centeredness and
possess the gift of love
that flows so openly
and willingly from you to us.

 I peer out from lighted window
Into the darkened world,
the blessing I impart to you
chasing you as you open
the door to your car.
We smile at one another,
and wave, blowing kisses
to one another as you
drive off in the dark,
much like we did so many years
ago, as the Beach Boys serenaded,
“Wouldn’t it be nice …”

 

 

The Servant Girl at Emmaus – a poem by Denise Levertov

The Servant Girl at Emmaus (painter – Valazquez) Is the painting about which this poem was written by Denise Levertov

The Servant-Girl at Emmaus (A Painting by Velazquez)

 She listens, listens, holding

her breath. Surely that voice

is his – the one

who had looked at her, once, across the crowd,

as no one ever had looked?

Had seen her? had spoken as if to her?

 

Surely those hands were his,

taking the platter of bread from hers just now?

Hands he’d laid on the dying and made them well?

 

Surely that face – ?

 

The man they’d crucified for sedition and blasphemy.

The man whose body disappeared from its tomb.

The man it was rumored now some women had seen this morning,

alive?

 

Those who had brought this stranger home to their table

don’t recognize yet with whom they sit.

But she is in the kitchen, absently touching

the winejug she’s to take in,

a young Black servant intently listening.

 

swings round and sees

the light around him

and is sure.[1]

[1] ‘The Servant-Girl at Emmaus.’ The painting is in the collection of Russborough House, County Wicklow, Ireland. Before it was cleaned, the subject was not apparent: only when the figures at table in a room behind her were revealed was her previously ambiguous expression clearly legible as acutely attentive.