Who are our heroes? Who are the great men and women of our time?
CNN asked that question of its viewers last Christmas, and first on their list of heroes was a Peruvian Doctor who established a place for families to stay while their loved ones were in the Hospital. Also on the list was a Nigerian programmer who teaches impoverished women to write computer code in the slums of Lagos, a woman who connects restaurants and programs to feed the hungry, and a paralyzed ski instructor who provides physical therapy to people with mobility impairments.
It strikes me that, when I was a child, the all heroes were politicians or soldiers or famous people about whom books or big newspaper headlines were written. But the CNN heroes were people about whom books will be written. For they are not famous for for their power, but for their love.
And who are your heroes? Are they the great and the rich and the powerful, or are they the single mother whose husband died two years ago, who works two jobs to keep the kids fed and clothed and then rushes home to tuck them into bed and read them stories before she goes to her night job? She is their hero, because she loves, with a love that is patient and kind.
Who are your heroes? They are the couple who has been married in good times and in bad for sixty-six years, whose kids and grand-kids are a lasting testament to a love which is neither jealous nor pompous, nor inflated nor rude; a love which is not quick-tempered, but rejoices in the truth.
Who are our heroes? They are the folks like Joe Brady, who died this past week, and who for fifty years served at this altar and cared for the people of Saint Paul’s with a gentle love which sought not its own interests, but only to care for others and to do the right thing.
Who are our heroes? They are the good priests and sisters, like Sister Maria Luisa, who with her Xavarian sisters left her native country and came to this Cathedral Church to minister unselfishly for seventeen years with a faithful love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.
And who are my heroes? They are sitting in the pews in front of me right now. The ones who seek only to be faithful to Christ and to show to their children and friends their love of the stranger and the poor.
They are the ones who gave Justin a new backpack last week, because they know he sleeps on the street and the old one got stolen.
They are the ones who teach Religious Education, because they want the next generation to know the truth, and him crucified.
They are the ones who go out in the cold with Deacon Walter to make sure people get fed at the food pantry.
They are the ones like Rosemarie and Vo, who go to the homes of the vulnerable elderly to make sure they are alright and have the services they need.
They are the good and quiet folks who, despite the crosses God sends them, still try to do his will by loving and forgiving those who are not so easy to love.
They are you and me, people God chooses to form in the image of his Son, to whom God gives the grace to love rather than hate, and to sacrifice rather than cling to selfishness.
The real heroes are not the great ones who speak with angelic tongues, or who have been given the gift of prophecy.
The real heroes are not the the brilliant ones, who understand all the mysteries or who possess an infallible knowledge.
The real heroes are the ones who love. Quietly. Gently. Humbly. They choose to love.
For in the end, our great patron reminds us, there are but three things that last: faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love.
