Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, July 2, 2023 – 2 Kings 4:8-11; Romans 6:3-4, 8-11; Matthew 10:37-42

It was 23 years ago, this weekend, that I became your Pastor. I believe that particular year, this was the first of July, this Sunday. I know that many of you got a letter from me sometime during the last week, but those who aren't on our mailing list probably did not. So, I reprinted the letter on the back of this week's bulletin because, starting this weekend, I begin my last year as your Pastor. The Archdiocesan regulations for administrators is that no one may serve as an administrator after he turns eighty, and I will turn eighty sometime next spring.

But I've known more of the pastor's here than not. I remember all the way back to Fr. William Cassidy. Us kids called him “Hop-a-Long.” And after him, came E. Harold Smith. An interesting thing about E. Harold Smith is he had no car. Up here in the boondocks. And the man who had the gas station catty-corner across the street, who at that time was Roosa, used to drive Father Smith around everywhere. And, when Fr. Smith left here as pastor, he got out of a cab in front of my church in the city to be my pastor there. And he is the one who signed the papers for my entering the Seminary.

After him came Francis X. Mahoney. The interesting thing about Francis X. Mahoney, he could get people out of here in 35 minutes on a summer Sunday.  After him came Fr. Ray Blust. Fr. Blust had been a teacher at Hayes High School for his whole career, did not really like being Pastor, he was very nervous. Very nice, but a very nervous fellow. And the longer the summer went on, the more nervous he got. Fr. Blust and I arranged for one of my first Masses to be celebrated here on a Sunday in 1969.

When I arrived for the Mass, he was gone and in his place was Fr. Jim Finnegan. And Fr. Finnegan and I got along very well. He would frequently invite me in for breakfast after morning Mass.

After him came Fr. George McGrath. And Fr. McGrath would send me all over the county to say Mass while I was here on vacation. So, I said Mass in Woodbourne, and in Livingston Manor, and all of the missions connected to Livingston Manor, and in Kauneonga Lake, and out in Otisville, and all sorts of places in addition to Wurtsboro.

And after him came Fr. Hugh Dardis. And I took over from Fr. Hugh Dardis. But probably, nobody is going to take over after me. With such a terrible shortage of clergy, it’s becoming clearer and clearer that, in the future, one Pastor is going to have to take care of more than one parish. And we don't know what our future is here in St. Joseph’s.

That's why I asked you if you thought Jesus was being too harsh in the gospel. He says some other things in another part of Matthew's gospel, very much like it. “Whoever, putting his hand to the plow, keeps looking back, is not worthy of Me.” Someone came running up said, “Jesus, I will follow you, but first let me go back and bury my parents.” And Jesus said, “Let the dead bury their dead. You come away and follow me.” Another person came running up and said, “I’ll follow You wherever You go.” Wherever You go. And Jesus said to him, “The birds of the air have nests, the foxes have dens, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.”

I want to tell you a story. When you go to the seminary in the Archdiocese of New York - at least back when I was in the seminary it was true - you spend your first two years of college at a day school in New York City. You can commute home every night. Starting with the third year of college, you transfer to the seminary campus outside of New York City, in Yonkers. Once you go there, you stay there. You stay there. You come home for Thanksgiving weekend, for week and a half at Christmas, a week at Easter, and then you come home for the summer at the very beginning of June, and you have three months off.

So, the very first day on campus, your parents bring you up. You ship your trunk up way ahead of you. Your parents are allowed to see your room and walk around with you for a while. Then a bell rings and all the parents have to leave. And my mother clung to me, weeping. She said, “Today I am losing you as my son.”

So, the next Fall, when I had to go back again, I drove up all my stuff ahead of time and threw it in my room, and the day that we were supposed to report, I actually took public transportation from the north Bronx up into Yonkers because I knew if I let my parents drive me again, I would not get out of that car. And so, I forced myself to say goodbye at the apartment door and turn my back on my mother and leave.

But, as it turns out, she really didn’t lose me because I spent every summer vacation, every day off, every winter vacation, with my mom and dad. And when they bought their winter home here, I spent them here with them. When my father got sick, I was home even more often. I was at their beck and call from the place where I was working. After my father died, my mother became reclusive. I spent every night in her home and drove back to my parish the next morning. And so, far from losing me, she had more of me than most parents have of their married children. You never know how things are gonna turn out.

So, I asked myself, what can I make of today's gospel reading? I think we can look at it this way. It's a way of understanding the past. Looking back over 53 years of ministry, I understand what has happened to me over my lifetime, what
I have done over my lifetime, and what it cost me. 

And the story it’ paired with this morning comes from the second Book of Kings. It’s part of the saga of Elisha. Elisha, the prophet. But, about a chapter-and-a-half before this morning’s reading, is the spot where Elijah, the prophet, chooses Elisha as his successor. And what God tells Elijah is, “Your time is up. I'm taking you away. Your time is up. Go find a replacement. I think Elisha will do.” And so, Elijah goes and takes his cloak and throws it over Elisha’s shoulders. And Elisha backs up and says, “I need to say goodbye to my parents first.” And Elijah says to him, “Did I do anything to you? If you want to go, go.” So, Elisha spends a lot of time with his folks. He throws a big feast, and when it's over, he finally begins to follow Elijah. And then Elijah dies. He’s taken up to heaven by God. And Elisha is the one who takes care of prophecy in Israel. I recall that story because that story helps us to know where we're going and how we're going to get there.

One of the things that Jesus said in His seemingly harsh instructions for those who want to follow Him is, “Birds have nests. Foxes have dens. The Son of God has nowhere to lay his head.” It sounds like a difficult thing. But it's really an explanation of what it means to be a Christian. What it means to be a Catholic.  What it means to be a minister in our church or any church. It is not the destination that matters. What matters is the journey. Come Along. Come along.

We don't really know what the destination of our parish, or any other parish, will be. There are lots of heads trying to figure out what happens next. But for this year, it is the journey that matters.

Let us journey together.