The Twinkling of Little Lights...

I was delighted to celebrate Christmas at Our Lady of the Annunciation Parish in Queensbury, New York, where I preached this homily.

In the beginning it was very dark. Nothing but dark and bubbling chaos beneath the deep…and God said “Let there be light” and vegetation grew from the cold black dirt, while waters bubbled from dry ground and little creatures began to crawl on their bellies…and God breathed into the dirt, saying “Let their be light,” and the first of our kind walked and loved and saw the light. And it was very good.

As in the fulness of time on that first Christmas night, when it was so very dark.

Shepherds, scared and trembling, exiled to the night watch of their flock, ‘midst all kinds of fearful visions and phantasms wandering afraid amidst desolate hills. While three lost men from far away on camels, wandered hither and yon seeking for a King to guide them, and desperate for a star.

And perhaps it was darkest of all for a young girl on a donkey, heavy with child and the old man lumbering beside her wandering the dirt path of a strange town, desperate for a place to rest their baby on the verge of birth. They were a people walking in darkness, aching to be saved from a millenia of desperation, as prophets cried in the wilderness to a God they feared would never come.

And then it happened. They saw the child who is love and light and truth who came to save them, and to save us as well.

Like us, tonight. For it is very dark outside. Dark with the tyranny of the cold, bleak hatred of the truth, the propagation of the lie, embracing gladly the dark blindness of ignorance, refusing to forgive, with hope in short supply. My God, how dark it gets!

For the mother who can’t feed her child who cries softly tonight, it is very dark. For the young man, afraid of the sin that is slowly taking over his life, overwhelmed and ashamed by deeds of darkness who cries softly tonight, it is very dark.

For the teacher across the street whose brother and sister died from a needle full of heroin who cries softly tonight, it is very dark.

For the old woman whom no one has come to see this Christmas eve afraid that soon she will die alone who cries softly tonight, it is very dark.

For the parent who has been abandoned with a child in her arms,

alone and afraid, with no idea how she can do it who cries softly tonight, it is very dark.

For the girl who sits in her car across from the abortion clinic and imagines what it is like inside contemplating the darkest of deeds

with fear and desperation who cries softly, it is very dark.

For the guy who no longer believes and whose sole and fervent hope is to escape it all in a bottle, a needle or a pill who cries softly tonight, it is very dark.

For they are tempted and very much afraid, that the last small glimmer of the setting sun in their lives will fade and that the darkness will overcome it all.

But then they catch sight of it, and at first it is barely a glimmer: a barely perceptible twinkle of light, a promise of something to guide them.

So they follow this guiding star, hesitantly at first, which leads them to the unapproachable light. And basking here in the warmth of the Christ, the cold dark fear begins to go away, knowing the Babe who did not cling to his power as God, has been born for them.

That’s why, in here, we see the twinkling of little lights. For ‘a people who walked in darkness have see a great light,’ and he is is Christ the Lord, the Light through whom we were made who has taught us how to hope.

No darkness is so dark that he cannot shatter it.

No sinner so evil that he cannot forgive.

No fear so overwhelming that he cannot quench it.

No desperation so deep that he cannot lead us home.

He is not a cute story, or a fond or cuddly legend, He is the Christ, who giggled in a manger beneath a star crucified on a cross when the sun went black. Who wept by a grave and rose from the dead. Who heals us of blindness and commands us to love. Who is, who was and who is to come. He is the reason for our being our life, our love and our only hope.

So come to Church, and let us sing those ancient songs and hear the wondrous story yet again. And gaze at the twinkling of those little lights, for we need never, ever fear the dark again.

Obedience, Respect and the Holy Family...

Even though it’s been several days since Christmas, all the decorations are still up and the manger over there dominates the space, in this Cathedral Church, in our minds and in our hearts.

It’s good, therefore, to think about the Holy Family on this first Sunday of the Christmas Season, as the Church reflects on the ancient commandment: Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother.

God calls us to honor our parents in gratitude for the “gift of life, their love, and their work.” (CCC, no. 2215) The author of the Book of Sirach tells us as much: "With all your heart honor your father, and do not forget the birth pangs of your mother. Remember that through your parents you were born; what can you give back to them that equals their gift to you?" (Sirach 7:27-28)

It is a debt of love which we fulfill in all the various ages of our lives.

As a child, we owe our parents not only respect, but obedience, for they are our first teachers of all the mysteries of life and living. As Proverbs reminds us: “keep your father's commandment, and forsake not your mother's teaching. . . . When you walk, they will lead you; when you lie down, they will watch over you; and when you awake, they will talk with you.” (Proverbs 6:20-22)

This is why Saint Paul reminds children of their obligation to "obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord.” (Collosians 3:20; Cf. Ephesians 6:1) Day to day, in everything from waking up to going to school, children should obey their parents: it is what God wants them to do. It’s their job!

As children grow up, they still owe a debt of love and respect to their parents, although this takes on new and unique dimensions. For no son has ever grown up to be exactly like his father, and no daughter will be exactly like her mother. Which is why adolescence, the end of childhood and the beginning of being an adult, is such an exciting time!

Saint Luke tells us the story today of Jesus on the cusp of being a teenager deciding to remain behind in the Temple without his parents’ knowledge. In fact they find out he is missing 24 hours later, and find him in the Temple only after frantically looking for him for three more days! 

You can imagine their state of mind! It’s clear from their first words to him: “Son, why have you done this to us? Your father and I have been looking for you with great anxiety.” “Why have you done this to us?” is a kind of responsorial refrain for parents of adolescents.

But when Jesus responds, we are told that his parents “did not understand what he said to them.” Jesus, a man like us in all things but sin, knew the pain of adolescence. Respect for parents is one of the biggest struggles for an adolescent, for at the same time I am defining myself over and against my father and mother, I am called to respect them! But despite the tensions, we are told, Jesus returned with them to Nazareth where be obeyed and respected them. For it is the will of God that parents at all stages of life be honored and respected.

As years pass into adulthood, the obligation of obedience grows into an obligation of respect, as new challenges emerge. For the first time, sons and daughters begin to see their parents for who they really are: as human beings with strengths and weaknesses, hopes and fears. There is a wonderful opportunity at this stage of life to make friends of your parents and to learn from the couple of decades of experience they have under their belts. 

There are temptations at this stage as well. Such as the temptation of allowing unresolved adolescent tensions to become petrified states of alienation between child and parent. The only cure for such temptations, of course, is the forgiveness and love which can lead to respect of another adult, who, with their gifts and faults, first helped you (literally) to stand on your own two feet. 

It’s like the great story of Naomi and Ruth. Naomi’s son, Mahlon, fell in love with and married Ruth. Then Mahlon died. So the widow Naomi, sobbing and all alone in the world, tells the still young Ruth that while she will miss her and bless her for all she had done for her now dead son, she must now go back to her own mother, for Naomi has nothing more she can give her.

But Ruth protests to her mother-in-law: "Do not ask me to abandon or forsake you! For wherever you go I will go, wherever you lodge I will lodge, your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Wherever you die I will die, and there be buried." (Ruth 1:16-17)

Ruth provides an example for every child of the debt they owe to their parents, to ever be their child and to love and respect them until the day they die. So Ruth returns to Bethlehem with Naomi and, with the help of God, provides for “the comfort and support of her old age.” (Cf. Ruth 4:15)

So it is with each of us. We all grow old, parents and children alike (although parents have a bit of a head start on their children). But when we are old, the obligation of respect and love perdures. “As much as they can,” the Catechism of the Catholic Church reminds us, children must give their parents “material and moral support in old age and in times of illness, loneliness, or distress.” (CCC, no. 2218)

So, when parents and children grow old  (although parents have a bit of a head start on their children) and we find ourselves caring for those who first cared for us. It’s when Sirach’s advice should be heeded: “when [your father] is old...be considerate of him...for kindness to a father will not be forgotten…” (Sirach 3: 14-16)

And even once our parents have returned to God, our obligation to them continue, as we owe them a debt of prayer, that God might look upon them with mercy and show them perfect peace. Our love for them, like theirs for us, cannot be stilled, even by the separation of death.

For what makes the Holy Family holy is the honor and respect which Jesus, Mary, and Joseph held for each other. May we follow their example, showing to those who brought us into this world that “heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience” which the Lord had shown to us.” (Collosians 3:13)

PRESS RELEASE 

FROM THE DIOCESE OF WORCESTER

Bishop Robert J. McManus, Bishop of Worcester, has announced the appointment of Monsignor James P. Moroney as Interim Rector of Saint Paul’s Cathedral and the Office for Divine Worship, effective January 1, 2019.  

Bishop McManus recalled “the sacrifice which the Diocese of Worcester has made in allowing one of its finest priests to serve as Rector of Saint John’s Seminary." He continued, “I am now grateful that his extraordinary pastoral leadership skills will once again be placed at the service of his home Diocese.” 

Monsignor Moroney served for the past six years as Rector of Saint John’s Seminary in Boston. During that time the Seminary experienced a significant increase in enrollment as many new seminarians entered through the work of the Archdiocese of Boston’s Vocations Office and four new sending Dioceses were added.  During Monsignor’s tenure the Seminary facilities were expanded, new faculty members were added and the Archdiocese established an affiliation between the Seminary and the Pontifical University of Saint Thomas.

In August of 2018 Cardinal O’Malley and Monsignor Moroney mutually agreed that Monsignor would begin a sabbatical, in order to assure complete transparency for the process of a review concerning matters pertaining to St. John’s Seminary.  The Cardinal also held it unfortunate that there were reports that the sabbatical was prompted by complaints against Monsignor Moroney, noting that Monsignor had fulfilled his responsibilities very well as Rector.

Monsignor Moroney expressed his gratitude to Bishop McManus for his new assignment and for making him available for service to Saint John’s Seminary.  He also thanked Cardinal O’Malley for the privilege of serving as Rector. “Over the nearly forty years since my ordination,” he reflected “my single goal has been to be of whatever service to the Church I can. I am deeply grateful for my time at Saint John’s Seminary and look forward to serving the people of Worcester in the years to come.”

28 December 2018

Thank you...

Dear Loyal Readers,

Thanks for following the SJSRector Blog for the past six and a half years.  It has been an extraordinary privilege to be pastor of this Holy House in which God performs miracles in men’s hearts every day.

This morning Bishop McManus announced that I will be returning to Saint Paul’s Cathedral in Worcester, and I look forward to this assignment with the same eager joy as I have for each new assignment I have received in my nearly forty years as a Priest.

Needless to say, I am sad to leave Saint John’s Seminary, but I will always carry the good men and women there in my heart and in my prayers.  

As you will recall, I went on sabbatical in August in order to assure a fully transparent Review of the Seminary in the light of allegations by two former seminarians.  I look forward to the results of that review and am sure the Seminary will be an even better place as a result of the recommendations of that Review.  I also want to make it clear that no one accused me of anything, and I leave Saint John’s Seminary proud of our many accomplishments.

This time on sabbatical, however, has given me the opportunity to reflect on many things, and I have come to the conclusion that many of the current administrative challenges and complex institutional relationships faced by Saint John’s Seminary demand a fresh approach and a renewed energy.  I will pray for my successor and I ask you to give him your unwavering support and every encouragement.

For you, and especially for each of you seminarians whom I have been privileged to call “My Lord,” I pray simply that the Lord might bring to completion what he has begun so well in your life.

Ironically, my last homily at the Seminary was on “Endings and Beginnings,” and my last Rector’s Conference was “On Leaving” and “On Professional Standards.”  Allow me to quote from what I said in that last Rector’s Conference, as I believe God may have been putting those words in my mouth then as a foreshadowing of my leave-taking now.

Few things in life are as tough as change and few changes are as tough as taking your leave. As a Priest, you will experience innumerable leave-takings, from deaths to transfers. And each leave-taking is a rehearsal for the next and a preparation for that final leave-taking which is your death, that complete letting go, when you will be called to let yourself fall into the arms of God in a final great kenotic imitation of Christ upon his cross….

Sometimes those deaths, big or small, happen in a seminary, which is, by definition a place of formation and discernment. Sometimes those leave takings are the result of long days of wrestling in a seminarian’s heart. Sometimes they come from Bishops or rectors or faculty councils. But always they are painful, both for the man packing his bag and for the ones he leaves behind. For you see, leave-taking is never a solitary act. It deeply affects an entire community of people…

In fact, no one leaves as often as the diocesan priest. In the beginning you get transferred a lot because you need a lot of experience. And while I never really believed it when I was sitting where you are, there is nothing like experience. And then you get moved for all kinds of other reasons, some of which will make sense to you and some of which will not. But in obedience you go and do whatever he tells you, ever cognizant of what you said when you knelt before the bishop and placed your life in his hands.

I left my first parish after burying my first pastor, who dropped dead at the end of a parish pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Then I went as an associate to Father Bill O'Brien at Saint Leo's in Leominster, then off to Catholic University for a year. I came back as an associate to two parishes in Spencer and was then named pastor there. After the two parishes were joined, I went to the Bishops' Conference for thirteen years to run the Liturgy shop. I left there to become Rector at Saint Paul's Cathedral in Worcester, and now, here I am as your Rector.

That's a lot of moving (an average of once every five years) and a lot of people to say good-bye to. But as the contact list on my iPhone will tell you, I keep in touch with some. But the leaving is never easy.

It's never easy because you have become their father and you have witnessed them at their very best and their very worst. You are there when they are perfect reflections of Christ's love and when they have been hateful and vengeful and spiteful. Like any good shepherd you know and love your sheep. You may not always like them all, but you love them so much that you are willing to lay down your life for them.

And so leaving a parish can be very, very hard. For when you leave, the tears and the smiles will make something very clear. That some have loved you and through your personality, your actions and your good self, Christ was able to touch their lives. And that some have not been fully appreciative of your presence and are more grateful at your going away than your arriving…

And it is good to change assignments. Change reassures us that we are not God, but only an unworthy servant doing whatever he gives us to do, for whatever time he chooses, through the wisdom of the Bishop. Change is good for you and for me, for each time I have been transferred I leave behind my successes, but I also leave behind my failures which, by the grace of God and the fading of the memory, will slowly disappear…

Leaving and arriving and leaving again. Saying yes to it, opening your arms to it, accepting whatever he sends your way. That’s doing the will of God, and what more could we ever ask for?

Oh, and by the way, as God has taught me every time, leaving is usually just a prelude to a happy ending. Even when it’s sad.

The Press Release announcing my new assignment will be the last post to this blog.  At the same time, my new blog (msgrmoroney.blogspot.com) and twitter feed (@msgrmoroney) are already live, and you are welcome to join me there if you wish to share in all that God continues to have in store for me in this next chapter of my Priesthood.

In the Lord,

Monsignor James P. Moroney

Rector