Saint Mary of the Immaculate Conception Roman Catholic Church

Dear Good People of Saint Mary,

This week has us seeing stars! I have to mention the beautiful constellation of art that has appeared over Bethlehem in the church. They are the loving work of a parishioner, Elise Lynch, who has been creating this beautiful galaxy for many months so that we might enjoy them at Christmas. It is such a great example of how the unique gifts of one can be so beneficial to everyone — to thousands of us.

Bethlehem is ready; the Magi and the camel are still far away, but on the way. The star begins to lead us to Jesus, calling us to prepare in our hearts a place for him to come dwell, an original homeless child seeking a safe place within us, a place of love and concord. In these last days of Advent, we need to empty ourselves a little more of ourselves, so that there can be space for him when he comes to us.

Part of why this is so complicated is that we just don’t live in Bethlehem. Or Nazareth, for that matter. Around this time of year as duties and requests ramp up I usually try to figure out how I can simplify my life to more reflect the world into which Christ was born. I don’t think the simplicity of Bethlehem was a product of not having much to do (I like having nothing to do least of all). Even in the quieter, less hectic context of Bethlehem people were still too busy to realize what was happening. If it weren’t for the angels and the star, the whole birth Event might have been overlooked entirely.

Nor do I think the simplicity of Bethlehem was a matter of solitude. Some people have this ideal of living alone on an island without the cares and complications that are brought about by others. I’m reminded of my dear friend who looked out over a sea of tourists in Venice and said to me, “I’m just not ready for heaven.” I asked what he meant. He replied, “I’m supposed to want to share heaven with all these people.” Being alone is not the answer. In fact, I just spent nearly two weeks in the hospital with rules I had set for myself to prevent too many visitors — no visitors — and recall those days as being so very empty of others. No, the simplicity of life necessarily involves the presence of other loving persons who experience the solitude with you.

Bethlehem wasn’t the lavish accommodations or the gold faucets in the bathroom, or the great feasts — obviously. People who have everything they want will most often be the ones to tell you that everything doesn’t supply you with what you really need.

So what was so great about Bethlehem? I think my answer might surprise some. When I was in the seminary coming to terms with what it meant to make a promise of obedience to a bishop, part of me wanted to rebel. Such a blind commitment seemed to violate concepts of personal freedom and self-reliance that I had come to value greatly in my own life at the time. Of course, such a promise is never binding if someone were to ask you to do something that you know is wrong; but what about the things of which you are not certain?

It requires a kind of trust, an admission that I am not in control, also a humility that says, at very least, that someone is capable of making a decision at least as good as me. And I am willing to give the assent of mind and heart to follow where I am led, believing the source of the leading is God and the place where I am being led is God. When you are following God in faith: hardship, suffering, disappointment, cold and hunger — all these things are bearable if you can see beyond them to a purpose and know that God’s will is being accomplished through it, and through me and my life. And that new life will come from it.

This is exactly how I would describe Bethlehem. The cold, the cave. The faith of Mary and Joseph, the fertile moment in which God is born in us.

God bless you.

Dear Good People of Saint Mary,

We have just recently completed compiling all the responses you graciously gave to our Parish Life Weekend call for ministry participation in parish groups and ministries. Thank you. If you haven’t heard from someone already, it is now the work of our group and ministry leaders to contact all you who are interested in actively participating in various activities in the parish and you should be hearing from someone soon. If you don’t, please give us a kind reminder.

Of the nearly 4,900 catalogues that were mailed to registered families, we received 765 responses, all very different, each beautiful in its expression. You see, a tangible commitment is more likely to be carried out than an “I’ll get to it” in a rare moment of calm. But the overwhelming sense that I get as I read through your comments, nearly all of which were kind and constructive this year (thank you again!) is that there is a remarkable amount of love, charity, involvement, service, commitment that could never be measured by a survey or quantified into a total analysis of “who we are.” I am humbled by the sheer immensity of the ways our people serve one another and never mention it or are never recognized for it.

Although the 765 responses, which constitute a 15% response rate, would be considered an excellent return for a direct mail piece to strangers, I think they are probably only scratching the surface of what we go about doing quietly in the name of Christ. Because the Church is not a professional association of dues-paying members and does not require any sort of annual report of our activities, we are not accustomed to the idea that it might actually be important for the benefit of all the faithful that we share what we are doing at this point in our lives, and how we are living the Gospel.

I would like to include here one such response I received attached to a returned commitment card. It was so inspiring to me, I called up this person and asked if I could use it in the bulletin. Her message was for me, itself, a work of ministry and I hope it illustrates for you this idea of what I am talking about. You just never know where people are coming from, and what they are dealing with at the present time.

Dear Fr. Don,
 
My husband and I have been in the parish for the last three years. We are both graduates of Jesuit universities where we were deeply formed in service. I have participated in many ministries during our parish lives in Boston. Now, retired and in our early 70s, I am a 24/7 caregiver for my husband who has had Parkinson’s disease for the past 20 years.

 

We were Eucharistic Ministers from 1976 to 1987. My husband has been rector in Cursillo many times and both of us on teams as well. I sponsored a candidate for RCIA. I was president of a parish organization and my goal was to sponsor a Laotian family from a refugee camp in Thailand. They eventually moved to Rhode Island and one of their sons graduated from Providence College. We were active members of the “Voice of the Faithful” in Boston when we were stunned by the sexual abuse scandal. I could go on and on!

 

My desire is to attend daily Mass (which was my habit) and be involved in as many parish activities as possible. Unfortunately, or fortunately, my altar is at my husband’s side – helping him live as normal a life as possible for as long as possible. Thus, the limited offering of time, talent, and treasure.
 
In Christ’s love.

And she signed her name. I wanted to share her message with the whole parish as a word of encouragement and inspiration for all of us in this Advent of hope-filled waiting. Trust in the deep goodness which God has placed in your hearts, and let this goodness become visible in you as we prepare for Jesus’ coming.

God bless you.