From Altar Server to Bishop

Last Friday Zenit carried an article by Bishop Frederick Henry of Calgary, Alberta, Canada, on the story of his vocation to the priesthood. He is an exact contemporary of my own, though I was ordained some months before him. Unlike the bishop, I was never an altar server until I entered the seminary at the age of 18, though I do remember 'playing Mass' as a kid. I joined the altar servers at the Capuchin Church in Dublin after my First Holy Communion but got discourged at the prospect of having to memorise the Confiteor in Latin and left.

Bishop Henry is one of the most outspoken bishops in Canada, not afraid to confront the secularising influence in that country.

I've highlighted some parts of the article and made one or two (comments).

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From Altar Server to Bishop

Priesthood Is a Pilgrimage and Privilege

By Bishop Frederick Henry

CALGARY, Alberta, JUNE 26, 2009 (Zenit.org).- One of the great joys of my youth was to be an altar server. I was so taken by the Eucharist that I used to pretend to say Mass in my bedroom with my younger brothers acting as my altar servers. It was always a challenge to teach them their Latin responses and, while I was not always the soul of patience, our mutual perseverance seemed to win the day and we didn't do too badly.

Being an altar server allowed me to see what the priest did up close. I can remember thinking what a privilege it was to be a priest and bring the Body and Blood of the Lord to people.

As I observed my pastor's activity, I noted that the people would bring their newborn children to him and say, "give them the faith, baptize them." He always seemed to be there at the critical moments in their lives: weddings, sicknesses, funerals, and parties. I thought, "What a neat job!"

The possibility began to emerge in my consciousness that maybe God wanted me to be a priest.

Several years later, upon being appointed bishop of Calgary, I was being interviewed about my vocation on radio and I shared these early memories.

It just so happened that my mother heard the interview and told me that I didn't quite get it right. She explained that one day during Mass at the cathedral, while still a preschooler, I pointed to the priest and blurted out: "I'm going to be one of those guys."

Mysterious

I have no recollection of this event, but it taught me something of the mysterious nature of the working of God grace. God's presence is not always obvious and God's actions are sometimes subtle and hidden. "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; before you came to birth, I consecrated you; I have appointed you as prophet to the nations" (Jeremiah 1:4-5).

Building on the internal drawing of God's grace, the identification with my pastor, the tapping on the shoulder by a religious sister who asked, "have you thought about becoming a priest?," the example and faith of my mother and father, and with the encouragement of my peers and people -- both those with faith and those without -- with whom I worked over the years, and the seminary formation personnel, together enabled God's call to be both clarified and confirmed. (I can identify with most of that, especially the encouragement from my peers, my classamtes in school).

One of my father's comments proved to be of particular importance in my formation. We used to have many animated discussions around the kitchen table about religion and our parish activities. Sometimes, we would move into the realm of critical comments. My father was always uncomfortable about criticism of any of our priests and he would repeatedly say: "Yes, but he is a holy man." I wasn't always convinced, but I began to understand the distinction between the office and the man.

God makes use of human instruments, imperfect men, whom he calls to continue the role and mission of the Apostles, to do what he did. It is much like the Apostle Paul who could write: "I who am less than the least of all God's holy people, have been entrusted with this special grace, of proclaiming to the gentiles the unfathomable treasures of Christ" (Ephesians 3:8). (If only we priests could keep that focus always!)

I was ordained a priest in 1968 and a bishop in 1986. It's been a wonderful journey, perhaps more aptly, a pilgrimage. I remember, with considerable embarrassment, praying at the end of first theology before applying for tonsure: "Alright, God, I will be your priest, but I hope you realize all that I am giving up for you." At the time I didn't understand: "In truth I tell you, there is no one who has left house, brothers, sisters, mother, father, children or land for my sake and for the sake of the Gospel who will not receive a hundred times as much, houses, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and land -- and persecutions too -- now in this present time and, in the world to come, eternal life" (Mark 10:29-31).

God has certainly not been stingy with his blessings.

Most of my experience of priesthood and the episcopacy has been lived under the motif of John 21. I can readily identify with Peter as he was repeatedly questioned by Jesus, "Do you love me?" Peter's response is much like my own -- a measured, tested, but feeble and humble, "Yes, Lord, you know I love you."

Chosen

However, the really critical words are Jesus' rejoinder: "In all truth I tell you, when you were young you put on your own belt and walked where you liked; but when you grow old you will stretch your hands, and someone else will put a belt around you and take you where you would rather not go" (John 21:18).

I have never had one appointment that I would have chosen for myself. As a result of my discernment in the seminary, I concluded that God wanted me to be a parish priest, not a member of a religious community and certainly not a teacher.

My first assignment as an associate pastor was to follow a very successful extroverted priest who had a special gift for working with young people. As an introvert, I did not want to follow him and thought that I had no gifts for working with young people.

I did not want to do postgraduate studies but was asked to do so by my bishop and so I consented. I would also teach for a number of years at the seminary.

I didn't want to become rector of the seminary, but rather to return to parish life and I told my bishop so. I added that I could only tell him where I was at, and that he, as bishop, would have to make the decision as to where I would serve based on the needs of the diocese. For my part, I would have to respond with faith and obedience.

I thoroughly enjoyed being a seminary rector.

I didn't want to become an auxiliary bishop, but God's will be done.

I didn't want to be an ordinary (note: 'ordinary' here means the bishop in charge of a diocese) in either diocese where I was assigned. However, by surrendering and letting myself be led by the Holy Spirit, each successive move became more satisfying and fulfilling than the previous one. So much so that, jokingly, I have said that I can't wait for the next move!

Nevertheless, I am really happy where I am and it goes without saying: I don't want to move.

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Frederick Henry was ordained a priest for the Diocese of London, Ontario, on May 25, 1968. He was ordained an auxiliary bishop of the diocese on June 24, 1986. He has been the bishop of Calgary since 1998. Bishop Henry served as a Canadian delegate to the 1990 synod of bishops on the formation of priests, and was appointed as representative of the Holy See for the Apostolic Visitation of Canadian seminaries.

'Give her something to eat'

Christ resurrects the daughter of Jairus, Friedrich Overbeck, 1815

I won't be on the net until at least Monday because I'm flying to Cebu tomorrow, about 25 minutes east of Bacolod City, to be the team-priest for a Worldwide Marriage Encounter weekend.

Here are some thoughts on the gospel for the 13th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B, 28 June, which I've also posted on the Online Forum of Misyon, which I edit on behalf of the Columbans in the Philippines. The gospel is taken from St Mark 5:21-43 (shorter version, 5:21-24, 35b-43). It's really a pity when the Church lets us omit one of two powerful stories that the evangelist has deliberately intertwined.

This is one of my very favourite gospels. St Mark combines two stories, that of a woman who has been sick for twelve years, and the raising to life again of a 12-year-old girl.

In the shorter version of the gospel that may be used the story of the woman is left out. Really, I think the full gospel should be read.

St Mark's gospel gives us human details about Jesus that the others don't give. An example of this is the very last line: 'He . . . said that she should be given something to eat.' I can imagine the excitement of the parents and relatives and the smile on the face of Jesus as he gently reminds the family that the young girl is hungry, having been very ill.

This is also one of very few gospel stories where the actual words as Jesus spoke them in Aramaic are recorded. 'Talitha, koum!', 'Little girl, I say to you, arise!' There's an intimacy in the recording of the Aramaic here. The Maayong Balita - Good News - translation in Cebuano-Visayan translates those words as 'Inday, bangon!'. In Cebuano, 'Inday' is a term of affection and respect for a young girl or for a woman not older than yourself. It is sometimes a person's nickname.

I once gave a recollection day to children in a Catholic elementary school in Cebu and used this story. Some of the children thought that the girl's name was Talitha! After lunch some of the chldren came to me to tell me that one of them had a toothache and asked if we could pray with her so that she would get better as 'Talitha' did. We prayed together with the young Cebuana 'Talitha' and her toothache went and she was able to continue with us in the afternoon.

The story of the woman with the hemorrhage is one that is so common in the Philippines, not in the details of the actual illness, but in the reality of families, sometimes families that weren't poor before, becoming penniless because of medical expenses. Even those who are covered by Medicare have to pay cash down before they are treated, even though they may have been paying in for years. (They eventually get a refund that doesn't take into the account the money they have had to borrow in the meantime and pay back with interest because of the unfeeling bureaucracy that is so prevalent in the Philippines).

This poor woman was also considered 'unclean' because of the nature of her illness and so was ostracized to some extent. so she experienced not only a physical cure but was brought back into the life of the community.

St Mark notes that Jesus was 'aware at once that power had gone out from him'. This shows that Jesus wasn't a 'magician; saying words that cost him nothing but that he was personally involved with those he healed and that each of these encounters cost him something.

Raising of Jairus’ daughter, Ilya Rapin, 1871

Mk 5:21-43 (Revised Standard Version)

And when Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered about him; and he was beside the sea. Then came one of the rulers of the synagogue, Jairus by name; and seeing him, he fell at his feet, and besought him, saying, "My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live." And he went with him.

And a great crowd followed him and thronged about him. And there was a woman who had had a flow of blood for twelve years, and who had suffered much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was no better but rather grew worse. She had heard the reports about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his garment. For she said, "If I touch even his garments, I shall be made well." And immediately the hemorrhage ceased; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. And Jesus, perceiving in himself that power had gone forth from him, immediately turned about in the crowd, and said, "Who touched my garments?" And his disciples said to him, "You see the crowd pressing around you, and yet you say, ' Who touched me?" And he looked around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had been done to her, came in fear and trembling and fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. And he said to her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease."

While he was still speaking, there came from the ruler's house some who said, "Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the Teacher any further?" But ignoring * what they said, Jesus said to the ruler of the synagogue, "Do not fear, only believe." And he allowed no one to follow him except Peter and James and John the brother of James. When they came to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, he saw a tumult, and people weeping and wailing loudly. And when he had entered, he said to them, "Why do you make a tumult and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping." And they laughed at him. But he put them all outside, and took the child's father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. Taking her by the hand he said to her, "Talitha cumi"; which means, "Little girl, I say to you, arise." And immediately the girl got up and walked (she was twelve years of age), and they were immediately overcome with amazement. And he strictly charged them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.

I was unable to locate a painting of the healing of the woman.

Heavy feelings over Greek and Latin being introduced in Mass

Manila Cathedral

Below is an email I received the other day from a friend who, with his wife, both now retired, has spent all his working life in the professional service of the Church, particularly in the training of lay leaders in rural communities and among the poor in urban areas.

The names of my friends don’t matter here nor their place, which is in Mindanao. I have included the email as written in Cebuano-Visayan and given an English translation. Cebuano is the most widely-spoken mother-tongue in the Philippines, both in terms of numbers and in terms of area, and is the second or third language of many more in Mindanao. For the past 40 years or so it has been the main liturgical language in the southern Philippines, especially outside of large cities where English is widely used, though not in the parish where my friend lives.

I would welcome your views on this. I have my own but prefer not to share them yet.

For readers outside the Philippines, 6am is the most popular time for both Sunday and weekday Masses throughout the country. People get up with the sun and it’s not at all the same as 6am in northern Europe or in North America.

Buot lang ko mopadayag sa akong gibati tungod sa paggamit sa (Griego)ug Latin nga mga alawiton sa importaneng bahin sa Misa sa Cathedral. Ambot unsa kaha ang reaction sa Obispo ini. Ania ang content:

Sorry kaayo, Monsignor, nga sukad gibalik ang (Griego) o Latin nga mga kalantahon sa importante kaayong bahin sa alas 6 nga Misa sa Domingo, mopauli ko nga frustrated kaayo. Mobati ko nga dili hingpit ang akong pagdayeg ug pasalamat sa Ginoo. Dili hingpit ang akong pagsaulog, kay dili man kaugalingong natong pinulongan ang gigamit, ug gawas pa, diyotay ra kaayo kog masabtan niini. Ambot kon mao ba usab ni ang gibati sa uban. Para nako nindot man ug balaan ang Misang Latin kon itunong kini sa tinuyo nga oras ug sa espesyal nga grupo. Ang alas 6 nga Misa mao man god sakto kaayo nga panahon alang namong magtiayon. Bug-at kaayo kining akong gabati mao nga nangahas ko pagpadayag ini nimo. Usbon nako, pasayloa lang gyod ko.

I want to share my feelings about the use of (Greek) and Latin in the important sung parts of the Mass in the Cathedral. I don’t know how the bishop will react to this. Here’s the content:

I’m very sorry, Monsignor, but since the return of Greek and Latin singing in the important parts of the 6am Mass on Sundays, I go home very frustrated. I feel that my worship and thanksgiving to the Lord aren’t perfect. My celebration isn’t perfect because the languages being used are not our own. Furthermore, very few understand (them). I don’t know if others feel the same. For me the Latin Mass would be good and sacred if it were celebrated at a specific time for a special group. Mass at 6am is just right for our families. I feel a heaviness and that’s why I wanted to share this with you. I repeat, please forgive me.

The Sleeping Santo Niño

The Sleeping Sto Niño (There are many versions)

This is the actual Santo Niño given by Magellan to Rajah Humabon (Carlos) and Hara Amihan (Juana) in 1521.

Yesterday I quoted from a reflection by Simeon Dumdum, Jr, on the gospel of the day, the storm on the Sea of Galilee. Jun/s wife Gingging in the comment box mentioned that he had another article relating to the same theme in yesterday's Cebu Daily News. Since the article isn't online, Gingging kindly sent it to me.

I tried, unsuccessfully, to upload an image of a carving of the Sleeping Santo Niño but you can find a photo here. 'Santo Niño' is the Spanish for 'Holy Child' and is closely linked with the history of the Catholic faith in the Philippines.

THE SLEEPING GOD

by Simeon Dumdum, Jr.

Not too long ago, a couple gifted us with a wood carving of the Child Jesus. It has the size, curls and royal garments of the Santo Niño of Cebu, as well as its crown, globe and scepter. Except that the globe lies on a seat and the figure reclines on it, sleeping – the scepter resting on a leg.

The statue, which has apparently gained popularity, goes by the name Sleeping Santo Niño.

In the house we give pride of place to a copy of the standard, the official representation enshrined in the basilica. It occupies the center of a table that serves as altar, together with the crucifix and the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe. But I am unsure as to where to put the Sleeping Santo Niño. My decision on the matter would almost certainly depend on whether it is a holy object or a mere artistic item – an objet d’art. I have since been inclined to the latter, having dragged my feet towards having it blessed (terrified of the priest’s refusal or ridicule), and for the moment having installed the statue above a console together with a paper weight portraying the head of a plumpish baby angel.

How did the first Sleeping Santo Niño come about? Did the one who carved it, true to his restless, artistic soul, make it purely for the purpose of creating something different, just as others have come up with their own different versions of the Holy Child, many of them clearly out of character, such as a Santo Niño holding a saw, a sight that would have terrified good St. Joseph himself.

Did the carver want to make such a statement? By the way, the official statement of the official representation of the Santo Niño is of the universal Kingship of Jesus, who is God, who became man, and is shown as a child to stress the need in the kingdom for the childlike virtues –dependence, trust, simplicity.

Someone, who apparently was losing in his grapple with faith, wrote about the Sleeping Santo Niño being a revelation of the “real” character of God – detached, indifferent, unconcerned with human problems.

This was exactly what the disciples felt when, while aboard a boat on the lake, a storm arose and the waves began swamping them, and Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. Mark tells us that they woke Jesus up, saying, “Teacher, don’t you care that we are about to die?”

Jesus got up and rebuked the wind, commanded it to stop, and then turned towards the disciples to chide them, “Why are you cowardly? Do you still not have faith?”

I doubt that the originator of the Sleeping Santo Niño had this episode in mind when applying chisel to wood. Likely as not, he thought of a tender human scene – Baby Jesus, like any infant elaborately dressed up by its parents for a pageant and unmindful of adult concerns, succumbing to sleep, the thing that infants most need and yield to no matter the occasion.

But subconsciously the carver has conveyed to me the message that Mark gives in the incident about the storm on the lake. It was not accidental that Jesus slept on a cushion at the stern (neither was it inconceivable – it was evening, and as usual Jesus must have had a full day). His rebuke being proof, he gave the disciples a lesson on faith – of reliance on the protection of the Father so complete that like him they should have slept the storm away, as well as that his mere presence among them should have been assurance enough of safety. After all, he had power at any time to tell off the wind and the waves.

People who complain that God does not intervene enough in human affairs really want Him to do the work for them. But really with full faith in God they should first act, carry out their roles, let the play of their lives unfold, and not always whine for the Author to appear. Incidentally, C. S. Lewis tells us, “When the author walks on the stage, the play is over.”

Perhaps the Sleeping Santo Niño deserves a second look. It does no more than remind, not of a divine pastime, but of the proper human attitude – trust. The God who appears to sleep is really an unsleeping God – as watchful as a parent is of an infant that is learning to walk, and coming to its aid only when necessary.

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I love Jun's reference to the sight of the Child Jesus holding a saw as something that 'would have terrified good St Joseph'! As the son of a carpenter named Joseph myself I felt embarrassed the first time I tried to use a saw and didn't have a clue. I still don't!

'Who then is this, that even wind and sea obey him?'

The Gulf Stream, Winslow Homer (1899)

Last year Ateneo de Manila Press published a book by my friend Simeon Dumdum, Jr, Ah, Wilderness! Jun, whose day-job is that of a Regional Trial Court judge in Cebu City is a distinguished poet and his prose reflects that.

The subtitle of Ah, Wilderness! is A Journey Through Sacred Time. The short essays, which I think first appeared in the Cebu Daily News, are reflections linked to the different seasons of the Church’s liturgical year. In his introduction the author writes, ‘I move in a sacred world because God fills every space. Every journey – because in the en it s return to God – is a journey through sacred time.’ (Jun is expressing something similar to the quote from my patron St Columban on the masthead of my blog: ‘Since we are travellers and pilgrims in the world, let us ever ponder on the end of the road, that is of our life, for the end of our roadway is our home’).

I happened to read Jun’s essay Gulf Stream this morning in which he reflects on a painting by American painter Winslow Homer, The Gulf Stream. He writes: ‘One can look at Winslow Homer’s painting as an allegory of faith. The fuming waves and hungry sharks represent evil, and the boat the raft of faith that, though the fits of doubt have broken its mast, keeps one safely afloat. The painting calls up a scene from Mark. There, while Jesus and the apostles were crossing the lake a squall arose, terrifying everyone, except Jesus who was sleeping at the back of the boat. They woke him up, complaining that he did not care that they were about to die. But Jesus soot up and commanded the wind and the waves to be still, and they obeyed, and Jesus chided the apostles for their lack of faith’.

Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee, Jan Brueghel the Elder, c.1596

This story, from Mark 4:35-41, is the gospel for tomorrow, the Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B. Below is the RSV translation.

On that day, when evening had come, Jesus said to them, "Let us go across to the other side." And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. And a great storm of wind arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke him and said to him, "Teacher, do you not care if we perish?" And he awoke and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Peace! Be still!" And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. He said to them, "Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?" And they were filled with awe, and said to one another, "Who then is this, that even wind and sea obey him?"

First ordination in Irish diocese for seven years

Padraig Fitgerald, Rev Michael Toohey and John Hassett

Seminarians of the Diocese of Waterford and Lismore, September 2008

Appropriately, on the day the the Year for Priests begins I came across a report of the first ordination to the priesthood in seven years in the Diocese of Waterford and Lismore, in the southeast of Ireland. Father Michael Toohey was ordained in Clonmel, County Tipperary, last Sunday, the Solemnity of Corpus Christi.

Father Toohey was born in London in 1970 and spent his first 23 years there but seems to have moved to his parents' home town, Clonmel, after that. May he have a long and fruitful ministry.

I've only been to Clonmel once, way back in November 1956, when my father was working there for six months, the foreman in charge of the renovation of Old St Mary's, the Church of Ireland church, built in the 13th century as a Catholic church.

Old St Mary's Church, Clonmel

We are all in need of conversion - via head and heart

Ananias Restores the Sight of Paul, Jean Restout II, 1719.

Acts 9:10-19 and 22:10-16.

The Year for Priests begins today, the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and will continue until the same feast next year. It briefly coincides with the Year of St Paul, which began on the somentiy of Sts Peter and Paul last year, and ends on the same day htis year, 29 June.

I must confess that the Year of St Paul didn't impinge on my life too much though I hope that the Year for Priests will be one with which I will be fully engaged. I was happy to discover that I wasn't the only one not to have paid too much special attention to St Paul. Bishop Robert Vasa of Baker, Oregon, in his weekly column in the Catholic Sentinel, a column I get by email every week, acknowledges the same. However, he makes up for it with a very fine column, We are all in need of conversion - via head and heart.

BEND — This past year has been dedicated by the Holy Father as the Year of Saint Paul. I must acknowledge that I have been most negligent in not focusing on this theme more effectively throughout this year. I do know that there has been a significant amount of “Pauline” activity in the diocese in response to this theme and I commend the pastors and directors of religious education for their efforts in bringing Saint Paul, his life and his writings into clearer view this year. Before this year comes to a conclusion on the Feast of Sts. Peter and Paul, I want to offer a few reflections on the Conversion of Saul.

We know well that Saul was blinded by a bright light as he was on his way to Damascus to arrest disciples of Jesus, known as followers of the Way. At the same time he heard a voice which asked why he was persecuting the speaker. In response to Saul’s question about who was speaking, he heard: “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.” Then he was given instructions about what to do next. Someone else was also given instructions. A message came to Ananias, a follower of the Way in Damascus, who was very likely one of those whom Saul would have arrested and brought back to Jerusalem in chains. He was instructed to go to Saul and lay hands on him. Ananias shows his humanity by questioning the wisdom of such an action. He informs the Lord in his vision that Saul was the one who was persecuting the Church, as if the Lord did not already know this. So the Lord instructs Ananias that Saul was to be his chosen instrument. Imagine the faith, the charity, the forgiveness, the courage it would have taken for Ananias to approach this powerful, murderous man with a message of healing. But Ananias went because he had been sent.

What I find to be absolutely remarkable is the manner of approach taken by Ananias. We know that Ananias must have gone to the house on Straight Street with a bit of reluctance and trepidation and yet when he comes to that house he greets Saul saying, “Saul, my brother.” He does not come to him and say, “Saul, you murderous so-and-so ...” but rather “my brother.” I believe this welcome word has a profound effect upon Saul. During his days of blindness Saul had to be puzzling about many things, particularly his own previous blindness and his past excessive self-righteousness. He had to be asking himself how he could have been so sure of his theological positions just a few days ago and so confused now. He had to have had some fear that those whom he was intent upon arresting, and in whose complete power he now was, could easily do him great harm. Thus, to be received by a representative of the Christian community, a follower of the Way, with these welcoming words, without any indication of repentance on his part, had to have been a most powerful experience of mercy, acceptance and forgiveness. Simply, Saul, my brother.

It is important also to evaluate Saul’s blind passion against the Way. He approached the task of ridding adherents to the Way from the face of the earth with a raging, fuming anger muttering murderous threats. Why? Certainly there is pride but pride usually generates a different kind of hatred. The hatred of pride is more usually a cold disdain. There is a possibility of envy but Saul does not seem at all envious of those who were rejoicing in the Way. The passion that seems to explain Saul’s actions is fear. He sees in the Way the possibility that his world will be turned upside down and he happens to like his world very much. There was a strong possibility that he would be a great leader among the Jews. He was already endearing himself to the chief priests and there was promise of great religious fame. The adherents to the Way showed every sign that they were going to interfere with his plans for the future, interfere with his life, interfere with a promising career, disrupt his world. His fear, it seems to me, is not dissimilar from the fear expressed in our secular society. The degree of raging, vituperative anger expressed against the teachings of the Church, particularly relative to abortion and homosexuality, is a sign of this same fear. Being greeted in the midst of that confusion with the consoling and welcoming title of brother dissipates a lot of fear. Saul, my brother.

I see in Saul’s conversion a two-fold movement. He is moved by the theological consideration, presented to him in most dramatic fashion, “I am Jesus whom you are persecuting.” This is material for thought, for the head. This is something with which Saul would have been very familiar and even comfortable. This is perhaps likened to pure catechesis. But Saul is also moved by the fraternal, communal consideration, “Saul, my brother.” This is an experience of community and fraternity which touches his heart. It is in this context that Saul can make a personal application of what he had heard on the road to Damascus, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting Me?” because it is now linked with, “Saul, my brother.” In being addressed by Ananias, a member of the Way, in this familiar, warm and accepting fashion he must have heard, “Saul, my brother, why are you persecuting me?”

Saul needed conversion. He was absolutely, unshakably certain that he was seeing matters clearly. He was certain that he was just and righteous. He categorically refused to call his view of the matter into question. He was incapable of asking himself, “What if I am wrong?” After meeting with Ananias he must have asked himself, “What was it in me that precluded me from seeing before what I see so clearly now?” Conversion entails both head and heart.

We are all in need of ongoing, even Pauline, conversion. Perhaps the issue is abortion or contraception or homosexuality or immigration or fidelity or alcohol abuse or pornography or physical abuse or liturgical renewal or Mass attendance or drugs or promiscuity or self righteousness or harboring resentments or a host of other possibilities.

Saul, Saul, my brother, why do you reject and oppose the teachings of the Church in these areas? Why do you persecute me?