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December 18, 2022: To Be a Slave for Christ Jesus is to Live in True Freedom
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In a weekday homily last week, I was preaching to the most holy, lovely, and beautiful faithful folks able to attend the weekday liturgy because they’re retired or rich, preaching that I made a recent trip to the Spencer Abbey where the monks no longer make any beer. But they still pray throughout the day, which makes St. Benedict extremely happy. Apparently, St. Benedict was not in favor of the beer-drinking proposition for the financial well-being of the Spencer monastery. And we do pray, sincerely, that St. Joseph’s Abbey does not take a financial hit because of their having to pull back from the unprofitable business of creating their own brand of beer. We need this most deeply spiritual group of monks and their scenic complex in our vicinity for centuries to come. As I told the folks at daily Mass, we need the Spencer Abbey until Jesus returns, because of what that place can do for those who search for a few moments of serenity.
My visit last week to the holy place was for the purpose of purchasing a few Christmas gifts for family at the Spencer Abbey Gift Shop. I do enjoy giving my somewhat small amount of finances for Christmas spending to help support – in the smallest ways – the holy monks of St. Benedict’s Order and their monastery we are blessed to have close by. It’s too easy to head over to Wal-Mart, or to the Solomon Pond Mall (while it’s still in existence). Or go to Amazon or any other type of online business that has what we desire to purchase gifts for family and friends. I do enjoy the social part of shopping in person at any number of large retail stores in the community, if for no other reason than running into someone from this Parish or a former Parish, which I did recently at Wal-Mart. It was nice to see Anita Callahan – originally from Shrewsbury, as she told me. Anita is now the Matriarch of her side of the Callahan family associated with Immaculate Conception Parish, a kindergarten religious education teacher (no one loves teaching God to children that age more than Anita), and world-class mother and grandmother. Such are the joys of going out to shop rather than hitting buttons on a computer in a semi-dark room, which is the all-too easy way to Christmas shop, as well as the most boring. Just my opinion.
Back to the monastery. Monasteries are places of prayer and peace, centered in the presence of God’s Spirit. When I finished purchasing the items for family at the Abbey gift shop, ending with a quick theological conversation with the gentleman at the cash register concerning the Catholic Church in Germany and how the German Church so far down the path of causing a second schism in 500 years because they’ve sadly forgotten how to be obedient to Christ Jesus and his teachings, I drove up the hill to the Chapel with the hope its front door would be open. Over the past two years, thanks to an evil pandemic and fearful lockdowns that went so far over the top it cannot be put into words without having to go to Confession, the front door to the holy chapel at St. Joseph’s Abbey was, yes, locked down. The monks were fully obedient to Uncle Sam and his demands. They never considered the “or else” part. They shut down like a light with no bulb. Thus, before arriving at the front door of the chapel that recent day, and as I drove up the steep hill that leads to the main part of the monastery and the chapel, I wondered out loud in my head if the door was going to be locked or unlocked.
So, after parking my vehicle before the rotary that leads to the chapel, obeying the sign put up by the prayerful holy monks to not park in the circle (there was no wording on the sign that threatened towing if parked in the circle, which remained consistent with the spirituality of St. Benedict), I exited my vehicle, enjoyed the incredibly beautiful landscape that surrounds the monastery, making my way toward the front door of the chapel. When about two feet away from the door, I said to Jesus and myself, “I hope this door is opened.” Behold, God heard my plea. It was probably locked, and the Savior of the world opened it immediately upon my thoughtful, prayerful request in that split second. “Thank you, Jesus,” as the Baptists like to say.
Upon entering the front door to the chapel, for those who have never entered this monastery, there is total darkness just inside this structure of great light. Especially on a day of sunshine as that day was, our human eyes need to adjust from bright light to immediate darkness, which takes only a handful of seconds. But in those few short seconds, it seems like an eternity before human eyes make the full adjustment. Once inside and able to see things as they are (which I wish our world would do on certain present moral issues), the space for visitors in the chapel is quite small. Probably as small as the stable was for Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. With a sense of gladness, I was the only visitor at the time. I didn’t have to share God with anyone else in that space and time. Not that I don’t want to share God with anyone else. Of course I do. Sharing God happens at every Mass, as well as many, many conversations over the course of a given week. But sometimes we just want God to ourselves. This was one of those times. What I realized in that moment, once again, is how the silence of God is deafening. Is there anything better than Divine silence that can deafen a person’s heart? Not in this world there isn’t. I was reminded in the moment how truly deafening this world presently goes about its business. Horns, sirens, TV, loudmouths who need to be heard on every street corner of radio and television… You name it. I suspect the world would be a better place if everyone did not have an opinion. Just my opinion.
The time spent in the monastery chapel at St. Joseph’s Abbey in Spencer was the best 10 minutes of my personal Advent season thus far, outside of Mass. Nothing beats the Holy Liturgy and experiencing God. Not even a totally quiet chapel at the holy monastery in Spencer. But, that place, and spending a few moments in the silence of what they provide for the outside world, is a solid second. It would have been nice to stay there for a while, or even for good. But that’s not to be. First, I’m too old for them to accept me. Second, I know I’m where God wants me; the Diocesan priesthood. It’s a good place to be, even when a few friends, acquaintances, and even family are lost along the way because the faithful message of Jesus is preached. His message is simply hard on some human ears. It was hard back then when he spoke it, and such remains the case today and tomorrow.
In the second reading this week, in preparation for Christmas, St. Paul begins this section of his Epistle to the Romans with an honest assessment of his Apostleship; “Paul, a slave of Christ Jesus…” Do you, you 4 or 5 readers, consider yourselves to be a slave of Christ Jesus? Is Christ Jesus your Master? The wording Paul uses about himself is attention-getting, is it not? A “slave?” This present day politically incorrect word is a word that Paul turns on its head. He refers not to being a slave to another person, one who causes us to live in fear, do all that’s commanded, or get fired or worse. Paul’s “slavery” is centered in obedience to God, which, for example, much of the German section of the Catholic Church is presently not doing. To use an image from a recent Sunday homily and bulletin article, they are at internal war with themselves. The problem here being, when so many Bishops go astray, they take lots of sheep with them.
To be a slave for Christ Jesus is to live in true freedom. The type of freedom Christ gives to our world in his birth. Freedom from slavery to the senses; freedom from sin; freedom from allowing a political party to be the guide of our faith lives; freedom from false influences; and eventually freedom from eternal death. This is where Paul takes the reader and listeners of this Epistle to the Romans. To be a slave for Christ Jesus is to live, know, and reach our potential in freedom, because God does not deceive us like some people will.
In our faith lives, to be a slave for Christ Jesus is to make some time in our lives for the deafness of God’s silence. It’s one of those spiritual virtues we hardly consider, if at all. A virtue that takes us into the silence of the stable in Bethlehem on Christmas morning. St. Paul had plenty of this sort of time in his numerous prison sentences for proclaiming the truth that Jesus is Lord and Caesar was not. Fortunately for Paul, he had a handful of fellow Christian disciples who helped care for his needs while imprisoned throughout the Empire. The Apostle also had plenty of time in “the Chapel at St. Joseph’s Monastery in Spencer,” if you will. He had hours upon hours, and days upon days of silence. Silence between him and the Lord. His time in this regard was not wasted. Yes, he wrote letters from prison, for which we are eternally grateful and blessed as Christians. But the amount of time he spent alone, not in pity, but in prayer and holy thoughts, was, oddly enough, a gift from above. We do well to make this type of silent time in our faith lives. Whether at the Spencer Abbey for a few moments, or another place where the deafness of God’s silence can be found, entering that holy spot is better than good on this journey to heaven.