Rev. Msgr. Carl Kemme, our diocesan administrator, delivered the homily and I have to say: it probably ranks in the top five homilies I have ever heard and is the most moving reflection on the priesthood I can remember. Here’s a short sound bite:

To my brother priests in this presbyterate I want and need to invite something very important from us. These men to be ordained are a gift to us, gifts not to be taken for granted, but cherished and honored. It behooves us to offer them and those who come after them, in union with our bishop and his successors, a presbyterate that is healthy, supportive and joyful. To that end, I would humbly submit that we have work to do. We cannot afford to allow them or any of us, to be subject to the destructive forces strong in our world today, which have gripped far too many priests in our church, the evil that is isolation, the inclination to cynicism, or the abandonment of the hopes and dreams of the Church for us, in exchange for spiritual apathy and moral indifference. Rather, with courage and love we must invite them and ourselves to stand firm in the faith, to unite in a stronger bond of prayerful and priestly fraternity and to together become saints for nothing less is expected of us as priests after the mind and heart of the Good Shepherd.

My estimable friend Fr. Daren Zehnle has the complete homily posted on his blog. It is definitely worth the read.

Respect has no substitute; neither assistance nor obedience nor love can supply it or take its place It may happen that children are no longer obliged to help their parents; they may be justified in not obeying them; the circumstances may be such that they no longer have love or affection for them; but respect can never be wanting without serious guilt. The reason is simple: because it is due in justice, because it is founded on natural rights that can never be forfeited, even when parents themselves lose the sense of their own dignity.

- Rev. John H. Stapelton, Explanation of Catholic Morals (1913)

Why go? If it is to find a safer haven, a less corrupt Church, then I think that you will be disappointed. I too long for more transparent government, more open debate, but the Church’s secrecy is understandable, and sometimes necessary. To understand is not always to condone, but necessary if we are to act justly.

Why stay? I must lay my cards on the table; even if the Church were obviously worse than other Churches, I still would not go. I am not a Catholic because our Church is the best, or even because I like Catholicism. I do love much about my Church but there are aspects of it which I dislike. I am not a Catholic because of a consumer option for an ecclesiastical Waitrose rather than Tesco, but because I believe that it embodies something which is essential to the Christian witness to the Resurrection, visible unity.

When Jesus died, his community fell apart. He had been betrayed, denied, and most of his disciples fled. It was chiefly the women who accompanied him to the end. On Easter Day, he appeared to the disciples. This was more than the physical resuscitation of a dead corpse.

In him God triumphed over all that destroys community: sin, cowardice, lies, misunderstanding, suffering and death. The Resurrection was made visible to the world in the astonishing sight of a community reborn. These cowards and deniers were gathered together again. They were not a reputable bunch, and shamefaced at what they had done, but once again they were one. The unity of the Church is a sign that all the forces that fragment and scatter are defeated in Christ.

Really: go read the whole thing.

In this short video, Brett explains why he thinks is this happening and why it appeals to today’s young men:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=_AxLaCltp2o

Men and women were asked, if they [had] any deal-breakers for going on a second date, what would those be? And men named three. If she’s cute enough… warm and kind… and interesting enough to talk to, she gets a second date. Men are not going, “Am I going to marry her?” Men are like, “Do I want to spend another two hours with her?”

…

Women named 300 things that would be deal-breakers for a second date. We’re talking a second date, another two hours with the person. And they were things like, “You know, we were having a really good time, but then he did this Austin Powers impression, and it just so turned me off. I can’t get that out of my head.” Well, if she goes on a second date with him, and he starts doing Austin Powers impressions, then dump Mr. Austin Powers guy. Don’t go on that third date. Absolutely not. Who wants that? That’s annoying. But the thing is, there’s no correlation between the guy who’s the nervous first dater… and the guy who’s going to be the great life partner that you’re going to fall in love with.

This year’s relevancies are often next year’s embarrassments. One who does not appreciate this should meditate on the Nehru Jacket and Death of God movement. The liturgy frees one from such compulsions. It must not succumb to them.

- Aidan Kavanaugh, Elements of Rite (1982, Pueblo)

Suppose I commit a grave sin.  It does not matter what sort it is.  The materialist says to me, “Yes, you did wrong, according to the customs of our age, and perhaps even according to the dictates of reason, if you follow them to their conclusion,” though of course no one is going to consult a book of modern rationalist philosophy before robbing a bank or deflowering the neighbor’s daughter, and it is much to be doubted that the book would decide the matter anyway.  “But,” he continues, “you were programmed that way.”  And here it does not matter what form the programming takes.  “In fact, there really isn’t a ‘you’ who committed the action; we only use that pronoun because we can’t practically live otherwise.  Now then, don’t you feel better?”  Well, no, I don’t feel better.  I feel immeasurably worse.  For now I am even farther from forgiveness and healing than ever I was.  When I committed the sin, at least I bore the dignity of sin; it was a weight on my shoulders, but it was a weight I took upon myself, and a weight that might someday be lifted.  Now I am told that the weight is simply a part of my makeup; it will never be lifted; I should not even care whether it is lifted.

“The lethal logic of Roe v. Wade is that nobody has rights that we are bound to respect if they cannot effectively assert those rights. They are at the mercy and the discretion of those who can effectively assert their rights. We’re not talking simply about the unborn, we’re talking about the aged, the radically handicapped, the deformed.”

- Father Richard John Neuhaus, We Shall Not Weary, We Shall Not Rest

No one can lay God and the Kingdom on the table before another man; even the believer cannot do it for himself. But however strongly unbelief may feel itself thereby justified it cannot forget the eerie feeling induced by the words “Yet perhaps it is true.” That perhaps is the unavoidable temptation which it cannot elude, the temptation in which it, too, in the very act of rejection, has to experience the unrejectability of belief. In other words, both the believer and the unbeliever share, each in his own way, doubt and belief, if they do not hide away from themselves and the truth of their being. Neither can quite escape doubt and belief; for the one, faith is present against doubt; for the other through doubt and in the form of doubt. It is the basic pattern of man’s destiny only to be allowed to find the finality of his existence in this unceasing rivalry between doubt and belief, temptation and uncertainty. Perhaps in precisely this way doubt, which saves both sides from being shut up in their own worlds, could become the avenue of communication. It prevents both from enjoying complete self-satisfaction; it opens up the believer to the doubter and the doubter to the believer; for one it is his share in the fate of the unbeliever, for the other the form in which belief remains nevertheless a challenge to him.

- Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, Introduction to Christianity

We are born to die. Not that death is the purpose of our being born, but we are born toward death, and in each of our lives the work of dying is already underway. The work of dying well is, in largest part, the work of living well.

Resquiat in pace.