The Best is Yet to Come!

The message in today's readings from the Book of Wisdom (6:12-16) and the Gospel of Matthew (25:1-13) is about the need for us to cultivate wisdom and listen to its lessons.

a homily by Fr. Brian Timoney
Christ the King Parish, Pleasant Hill, California, USA
32nd Sunday of Ordinary Time (Cycle A)

Four years ago, a good friend of mine was dying of cancer. A few weeks before her death I called, asking if it would be a good time to visit. She told me that she and her best friend were going to a small Deli for lunch and that I could join them there. We sat at a table and she asked to speak to the manager. "What could you provide for a reception after a funeral," was her question. "When is the funeral?" asked the manager. "The exact date has not yet been decided" was the answer. You should have seen the face of the manager as she realized to whom she was speaking. I don't think I have ever met anyone more prepared to meet Jesus than that friend of mine, both on the material and spiritual level. Her jar of oil was full. I will not easily forget that lesson. 

Wisdom is speaking to me and I am listening and learning. That is what the Scriptures are asking us to do today.

I may not be the only one who thinks that she/he is truly wise. I may believe that my advanced age and wispy white hair, my 61 years as a priest are signs that I have learned something over the years, that I can now make good judgments free from all bias. Alas, wisdom does not come with age or experience, or scholarship, or position in church or society. It comes, from being humble. St. Teresa of Avila said that humility is truth. Only God knows the absolute truth of everything and it is in God the Holy Spirit that truth abides, the wisdom that will help us to live well and look to the future, wisdom that will help us to make good decisions in situations where it is not easy to distinguish between wise and foolish, right and wrong. 

I am sure you recall the fruits of the Holy Spirit--wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and the fear of the Lord. In the Book of Wisdom today (6:12-16), we are urged to love and seek wisdom. That means being on the lookout for the presence of the Holy Spirit. It may manifest itself in the innocent utterance of a child, the good counsel of an experienced religious leader, the writings of scholars, but above all in the prayerful reading of Sacred Scripture. We have to open up our hearts and minds to the words of Jesus himself. In him the Spirit dwells in all fullness, we should be prepared to be guided by what we hear Jesus say, what we see him do. It may not be what we would like to see or hear, but it is the truth and we should pray for the humility necessary to accept that truth. Wisdom herself is speaking to us.

In praying  t h  e   Gospel passage f r o m   M a t t h e w   25: 1-13  today, it is quite clear that Wisdom is telling us to be prepared for the coming of Christ, that the summons to meet the bridegroom can come quite suddenly. I am keenly aware of this truth, given my advanced age. I am not the oldest member of this community, there are some in their nineties, but old enough to know that I should be stocking up on the oil that will keep my lamp burning until the bridegroom, Jesus, comes. No, I am not being morbid or paranoid, just realistic. Scripture calls it the oil of gladness and it is described by Jesus: "Whatever you do to the least of my sisters and brothers, you do to me." That is the oil we have to stock up on. That is the oil that burns brightest and, in doing so, most clearly shows the way to the wedding feast. Surely for us all, the wise thing to do is to have a full jar. This is ultimate wisdom, the greatest gift of the Holy Spirit, to have a stock of good deeds.

Last Monday, Frs. Paulson and Vince and I were at the funeral of one of our brother priest, Fr. Tony Herrera. Before the Mass began there was open casket and people were surprised and perhaps a little confused to see what Fr. Tony had in his hand as he lay in the casket. Not  Rosary beads, not a Bible, not a Cross. It was a fork! Yes, a dinner fork. Fr. Tony was a gourmet cook and, when he had friends to dinner and the main course finished, he would say: "Keep your fork, the best is yet to come." 

There he lay, in his casket, shouting out to all of us. "The best is yet to come, the wedding banquet is ready, be prepared." There, surely, was and is the greatest wisdom.

Let us all shout with him, "The best is yet to come!" 

"The best is yet to come!" 

Again, "The best is yet to come!”  

Amen

November 12, 2017

(c) 2017 Brian Timoney
All rights reserved

My Cello Year

What's not to love about the cello? Sexy design. Polished finish that brings every wooden fiber to brilliant life. A to-die-for "voice." 

Twice in recent months, this instrument has caught me by surprise and thrust itself upon my consciousness. First, in the PBS documentary, "Joan Baez: How Sweet the Sound," that chronicles Baez's life, including her 1993 visit to the destroyed and terrorized city of Sarajevo, Bosnia. In a December 26, 2009 blog entry, I described her moving encounter with Sarajevo Opera cellist Vedran Smajlovic. 

"Unable to stop the madness that had ripped apart the former Yugoslavia, Smajlovic honored the memory of his friends and defied their killers by doing the only thing he was good at. Placing his chair in the middle of the street, he took out cello and bow—musician and instrument melding into a single defiant force. Eyes closed to the surrounding destruction, he rendered the mournful Adagio in G minor by Tomaso Giovanni Albinoni."

That experience sent me to Google and beyond to learn more about Smajlovic, the man. I found and read Steven Galloway's best-selling novel, The Cellist of Sarajevo. According to an article in Wikipedia, "Although he only appears as a peripheral character in the novel, Smajlović has publicly expressed his outrage over the publication of the book, demanding financial compensation from the author. " Copyright attorneys I looked up have been quoted as saying that he has little chance of winning that legal battle.

More recently, my wife and I squeezed into our busy spring lives a 29th wedding anniversary date that started with Sunday Mass at our local parish, Christ the King, in Pleasant Hill (CA). Then we enjoyed a terrific seafood brunch at Scott's Restaurant in Walnut Creek, followed by a rare matinee visit to the Diablo Symphony at the Lesher Center for the Performing Arts (thank you, Goldstar).

The first half of the program was pleasant but uninspiring. The post-intermission program promised a guest appearance by a cellist, whose name meant nothing to me, but I do love the instrument. David Requiro, a tall, slender twenty-something, came on stage wearing dark slacks and a loose-fitting white shirt. He carried his instrument and bow. From the first note, I knew I was in the presence of a unique artist. What captivated me, beyond his exquisite rendition of Antonin Dvorak's Cello Concerto in B minor, was the mirage he created, making himself and his cello disappear as separate entities and reappear as a single, inseparable unit. 

This is an artist's supreme achievement, be it a musician, actor, painter, or writer: to become one with the work. I think of Michelangelo on the scaffolds of the Sistine Chapel, Antoni Gaudi living the last years of his life in the construction site of Barcelona's (still-unfinished) Sagrada Familia. I think of Victor Hugo becoming one with his idealized man, Jean Valjean, and Stieg Larsson losing himself in the personae of Mikael Blomkvist and Lisbeth Salander in the Girl With the Dragon Tattoo trilogy.

The great gift of artists is that they do not hoard their transcendent experience, but allow us less-skilled humans an opportunity to be transported in spirit to a higher realm of contemplative unity, be it ever so brief. That's a lofty and sacred calling.

(c) 2010 by Alfred J. Garrotto
All rights reserved

Author's Website

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Alfred J. Garrotto is the author of the suspense novel,

The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story.

Finding Faith in a Rock

Can't help it, I'm a church mouse. What else would you expect from a cradle Catholic with parochial grade and high school, seminary college and graduate theology education? Don't answer that! I know all the horror stories. Through it all, I'm both a survivor and an embattled believer. After all these decades, when I enter my parish church, Christ the King in Pleasant Hill, California (USA), a welcoming voice inside me still says, "You're home, Al."

While visiting several Baltic countries, Germany, Poland, and Russia this past July, Esther and I toured many Christian churches and cathedrals, mostly Orthodox or Protestant (only a couple of Catholic churches made it on our itinerary). Almost all of these edifices--some quite magnificent--felt like museums and art galleries. They demonstrated little evidence of a pulsing, 21st century faith. By that I mean real people engaged as a faithful, supportive, difference-making community. With one, wonderful exception.


As soon as I entered The Rock Church in Helsinki, Finland, my heart said, "The Lord is here." Architect brothers, Timo and Tuomo Suomalainen, designed the church and built it (1968-1969) by blasting it out of solid rock. Natural light brightens the inside through 180 panes of glass between the dome and the walls.

This was the only sanctuary in which I wanted to park my spirit and breathe the faith of its resident community. I thought it had to be a Catholic Church (pardon my bias), because I had that same "I'm home" feeling I get at CTK.


Several young men were setting up for a prayer service. I asked one of them, "What denomination is this church?"


"Lutheran," he said, seeming puzzled that I had to ask.

I wasn't surprised as much as I was impressed. In the lobby/vestibule of the church, I found a table with religious articles laid out, I suppose for sale. I was unprepared for my next surprise: the selection of devotional materials. The table monitor had spread an array of rosaries across the surface, along with books and pamphlets promoting devotion to Mary, the mother of Jesus.


I couldn't help myself. I said to him, "I'm surprised to see rosaries being offered in a Lutheran church." It was his turn to look at me with puzzled curiosity. "We have great devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary," he said with a warm smile. 

I stayed for the inspiring prayer service conducted--in English--by a young man and several musicians. About that time, Esther came to drag me away. "The bus is leaving!" she said in an all-too-familiar tone. I didn't say it, but my heart echoed the words of the 12-year-old Jesus in Luke 2:49: “Why were you looking for me? Do you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

What I said was a macho, "Do you really think I'd have missed that bus?"



Copyright (c) 2009 by Alfred J. Garrotto