The Roseate Beauty of Laetare Sunday

 As we reach today the mid-point of the Lenten season, the Church is vested in rose---the color of the rising sun---to indicate that our journey from the darkness of sin to the glory of Easter dawns more radiantly on the horizon.  It is fitting, therefore, that the Risen Son leads us in this Sunday’s Gospel closer toward the Paschal Mystery of His Passion, Death, and Resurrection by means of the path He outlines in the parable of the Prodigal Son.

In tracing the trajectories of the three characters---the father and his older and younger sons---we are inescapably confronted by the all-encompassing mystery of gratuity.  The parable begins and ends in the riches of the father’s house, which embrace (so to speak) the drama of two brothers whose very lives and material inheritance are (to put it tautologically) “unmerited gifts.”  The younger son “spends freely” in self-destructive squandering, while the older son relinquishes his brother to sin, his father to loneliness, and himself to embittered servility.  Only the father is able to see from “a long way off” that each of his sons must be given an astonishingly creative and pro-actively redemptive invitation of love, that they each might share together in a great feast which neither of them “deserves.”

In this spirit of meditating on the fathomlessly foundational and incalculably generous gratuity of the love of God, I shall attempt in today’s reflection to fulfill a promise that I made in an earlier blog entry (February 25).  Having shared in that posting the story of St. Thérèse of Lisieux’s unexpected gift to me on the day after my jaw surgery in Florida of a (literal!) sign of “speaking roses,” I noted that there was a Theresian “prequel” to this wondrous account that also needed to be told.  So given that the color of this Sunday is rose, I cannot resist sharing three beautiful blooms of preparatory grace given to me from the Little Flower’s heavenly garden for deepening our understanding of the boundlessly beneficent freedom of divine charity.

I.

It all began with a splinter in my thumb last summer.  Having apparently failed to extract the little wooden invader entirely, I developed a cyst inside the violated digit of my right hand which grew larger and more painful by the week.  I finally decided to have it looked at by my regular doctor, who proceeded to tell me that the cyst was wrapped around a tendon and I needed to see a specialist to have it surgically removed.  Fortunately I knew just the guy---my friend from St. Pius X Parish days, Dr. Tom Akre.  We were both delighted to see each other, the circumstances notwithstanding, and spent more time plotting going out to eat with his wife Mary and eldest daughter Teresa than in scheduling my appointment for surgery.  I proposed that we dine the day after I went under the knife.

Prior to these events, I must confess that my mood alternated between anxiety and irritation, often spiraling downward toward discouragement.  Having to contend with two separate maladies at the same time---bad jaw and bad thumb---was really beginning to take its toll on my spirits.  Often the pain from one would distract me from that of the other, but in this I found no spiritual comfort.  I just wanted Heaven to see how pathetic I was and show me the way out of these messes.

The day of thumb surgery arrived, September 6, and I had my first ever experience as an adult of being prepped for surgery---dressed in the gown, placed on the gurney, wheeled into the refrigerated operating room, given the (partial) IV sedation in one outstretched arm while the other arm with the splintered hand was also extended to be worked on.  It looked like a horizontal crucifixion, except that everyone around me was good---especially Dr. Akre and the anesthesiologist (who kept me semi-conscious but insensate).  I was amazed at how quick, efficient, and utterly controlled the whole procedure was.  Reflecting on it now, I am convinced that this little surgery was a gift to prepare me for the greater one on my jaw, so that I would not be afraid of some of the scary general aspects of undergoing an operation.

In any case, the following day I met Tom, Mary, and Teresa at Trio’s jazz bar in downtown South Bend.  I sat facing the window looking out onto the sidewalk, my right thumb bandaged and looking like that of Mickey Mouse.  The evening was delightful and we talked for hours.  Well into the conversation, Tom mentioned that he was reading a book of retreat conferences given by Archbishop Fulton Sheen about St. Thérèse of Lisieux.  No sooner did he mention her name than I started to catalogue in my mind the great stories about her that I wanted to share when it was my turn to speak. 

At a certain point in this extended conversation, Tom said, “You know, sometimes when I read a single sentence of the Little Flower’s, I just have to put the book down and be quiet. . . .”  At that very moment, I saw a man enter the restaurant from off the street, proceed directly to our table, and shamelessly interrupt what we were saying with his proposal:  “Would the ladies enjoy receiving some flowers this evening?”  The man was holding about two dozen roses in his arms!  The four of us just looked over at him stunned and speechless.  Finally, after what seemed like a very long and awkward moment, I looked at Tom and said, “I think the ladies would like some roses.”  So Tom bought one for his wife and one for Teresa, and the man just disappeared---either further into the restaurant or back out onto the street.  We were too shocked to notice.  Looking at Mary and Teresa holding the roses, and fully aware of when and how our conversation about the Little Flower was gently but surely paused, I could only ask the Akres, “Did that just happen?”  We finally laughed and just accepted the heavenly orchestrated gift that reduced us to silence even as it surprised and quickened us with joy.

II.

One week later, September 14 (the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross), I had an appointment at Dr. Akre’s office to have the stitches in my thumb taken out.  Afterward, because I was in the neighborhood of St. Pius X Parish, I thought I would stop in to say hello and to collect my mail.  Even after six years away, I still get mail there---most of it just junk---but also occasionally a letter worth reading.  In the pile of that day, I noticed a bulk mail letter from the Carmel of Port Tobacco in Maryland, the oldest Carmelite foundation of nuns in the United States.  I had visited there years ago and continued to receive novena notifications throughout the year. 

I opened the letter to find a novena preparing for the Memorial of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, in itself no surprise, because the Little Flower is so dear to Carmelites and her feast day is October 1.  The enclosed photo of le petite Thérèse holding a bunch of flowers did, though, fill me with a desire to share my recent little encounter with her with Fr. Bill Schooler.  As I held the photo in hand, Diane Schlatterbeck, a staff member at St. Pius and a close friend, came around the corner and greeted me.  Not wanting to tell the story twice, I told Diane to follow me to Fr. Bill’s office for a great Theresian tale.  So I recounted to the two of them in precise detail what happened at the jazz bar, using my newly acquired photo of the Little Flower as a prop. 

At the EXACT MOMENT I finished the story, from the front office Leona Wigent the secretary approached us and interrupted our conversation holding A VASE OF ONE DOZEN WHITE ROSES!  Fr. Bill, Diane, and I just looked at each other in stunned silence, until I finally spontaneously burst out as I waved the photo, “She’s stalking me!  She’s stalking me!”.  Leona had no idea whatsoever to make of all this, but she simply pointed out that these flowers had just arrived for Fr. Bill.  The attached card indicated they were sent from Fr. Bob Van Kempen, who sends Fr. Bill some type of plant on the anniversary of the death of Fr. Bill’s mother, the Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows.  The dozen roses were a day early but right on time. 

When I was at St. Pius as Associate Pastor, the funeral directors had nicknames for us clergy.  Fr. Bill was “Smokey,” because he used so much incense, and I was “Windy,” because my homilies stretched the suburban attention span.  I had my own nicknames for the two of us, based on the primary motif that recurred in our respective preaching.  He was “Struggle” and I was “Mystery.”  One way or another, those facets of the Gospel were the ones which had marked us most deeply and also the ones which always made their appearance in our evangelical witness.  So I turned to my former Pastor, plucked one of the roses, and as I tapped him over the head with the Little Flower’s holy card said, “Remember, in the end mystery always trumps struggle!”.  We laughed at the improbable gratuity of it all.  Only after my jaw surgery would I reflect that even though Mystery does ultimately trump Struggle, nonetheless in God’s wise and love providence, Struggle refines and reveals the credibility of Mystery.

III.

As autumn of 2012 turned to winter, the date of my operation through the Piper Clinic was drawing nearer by the week.  When Advent came, I really was waiting in joyful hope for many things, including surgical intervention to heal my jaw.  I had begun to tell my regular appointments that we would have to postpone our meetings for several months after my recovery from surgery.  One such couple I spoke with about this was John and Kathleen Ferrone.  We had been meeting regularly for years for what we came to call our “Mother Teresa Hour.”  John and Kathleen are lay Missionaries of Charity.  Our last meeting was December 1.

In the meantime, some other friends of mine, Brian and Jen Starks, had come to me saying that they and a number of their friends from Little Flower Parish were considering registering at Queen of Peace.  Believing in the “bloom where you’re planted” principle, I wanted to encourage them to use this time at Queen of Peace as one of discernment to see if a return to their spiritual home was possible.  I also wanted to offer them hospitality, so I invited these Little Flower families to a Gaudete Sunday Party at my rectory.  Gaudete Sunday is, you will recall, the mid-point of Advent and the only day other than Laetare Sunday in which the liturgical color is rose. 

So there we were at table having a grand time (and also talking about Little Flower Parish vs. Queen of Peace) when the rectory doorbell rang.  I answered it, only to find John and Kathleen paying me a surprise visit to announce that they had a Gaudete Sunday present for me.  It was a homemade card with a color photo of a rose on it.  They were overjoyed to report that they had found a rose blooming after a snowfall outside St. Mary’s Convent infirmary at Notre Dame on December 11, the day before the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  I opened the card to find a single rose petal, which John and Kathleen asked me to bless with a tiny vial of holy water before they gave it to me.  The petal got a single drop---all it could handle! 

As I held the rose petal in my hand on my front porch, I simply marveled at how utterly impossible such a heavenly coincidence would be to make up:  I have the Mother Teresa couple on the outside and the Little Flower people on the inside, and I’m left holding a single rose petal---from St. Thérèse?  From Our Lady of Guadalupe, the Queen of Peace?  Whatever.  I went inside and showed my guests the freshly arrived rose petal, reassuring them that little Thérèse is taking very good care of them.  I added that no matter how long they remain here and when or whether they return to their home parish, they will always be loved and taken care of from above.  The whole thing was really too much for me.

Several days into the new year, the Fitzmaurice boys---John Paul and Gregory, who serve at daily Mass---came rushing up to me holding a baggie filled with what looked to be shredded paper.  They said that I was to choose a saint for the new year; but they quickly corrected themselves, adding:  “It is not you who choose the saint---it is the saint who chooses you!”  So I reached in the baggie and pulled out a scrap of paper that read:  “Blessed Mother Teresa:  Feast day September 5^th---“Yesterday is gone.  Tomorrow has not yet come.  We have only today.  Let us begin.”---Pray for charity and love in your parish.”  Yet again I was speechless at the gratuity of it all.  This maxim has sustained me every subsequent day of my life---leading up to surgery, passing through surgery, and throughout my recovery from surgery.  I have shared this maxim with the staff and teachers of Queen of Peace, so that “charity and love” may indeed continue to grow in my Parish.

***

In the rose-colored dawn of Laetare Sunday, we can all rejoice that our life of faith is more reliably secure and beautifully gratuitous even than the sunrise itself.  The Risen Son gives us countless lovingly prepared but wholly unexpected preparatory graces, so that we can face our sorrows in great trust and confidence, and receive all of the gifts He will surely give us---wholly free of calculating what we deserve or don’t deserve.  In terms of the Lord’s parable, Jesus Himself becomes our divine Brother, going in search of us to find us where we are tempted to wallow in despair, and to labor with us in being reconciled beyond our servitude.  He has come this Lent to accompany us home, opening for us---not in the slaughter of a fattened calf but in the sacrificial gift of His very Person---the celebratory Easter joys of our Heavenly Father’s House.  How surpassingly beautiful that the seed of Christ’s life falls into the ground of our life and dies, so that in Him we might blossom with the truth---and share in countless unpredictable ways (with St. Thérèse and all the saints)---that He is alive because He truly rose.