December 24, 2023
Fourth Sunday of Advent, December 24, 2023 – 2 Samuel 7:1-5, 8B-12, 14A, 16; Romans 16:25-27; Luke 1:26-38
I asked you to listen carefully to who gets the last word in the First Reading and who gets the last word in the Gospel. In the First Reading, God, through the prophet Nathan, gets the last word. And the last word is “It’s not gonna happen,” basically. It’s an interesting story and I think there’s a lot of comedy in it. You can almost hear Robert DeNiro, in Taxi Driver, “You talkin’ to me? You gonna build me a house? You gonna build me a house? I made you into a house.” A play on words between ‘house’ as a building and ‘house’ as a dynasty is almost too rich to be true. But God says to David, through Nathan, “You’re not gonna do what you think you’re gonna do.”
It’s interesting, what happens next. Right after Nathan delivers the bad news to David, David goes into the Ark of the Covenant’s tent and gives a long prayer of thanksgiving for all the good things that God had just enumerated, that he had already done for David. And then, in the next chapter, David, who is told that God had made peace reign all throughout his kingdom, goes out and deliberately makes war. There’s something passive-aggressive about David’s response to being told, “No you can’t build me a temple. That’s the job of someone coming after you.”
On the other hand, in the Gospel, Mary gets the last word. And Mary has been just as confrontative with the angel as David had been with Nathan, perhaps even more so. Because, just like David, Mary thinks she has the next step in her life mapped out. And just like in the First Reading, God says to Mary, “Ahh, that’s not gonna happen. You’re not going to remain a virgin. Uh-uh.” But Mary’s final response is different. “It’s okay. I had decided on a course of action in order to serve God. If I really want to serve God, then I accept the change in plans.”
My classmates and I were in the Seminary, on the cusp of a brand-new chapter in the history of the Church. We entered the Seminary with the Mass in Latin. When we were ordained, we celebrated our first Mass in English. Among the changes that took place because of the Second Vatican Council was the desire that Bishops be more consultative with their priests. And so, when we were deacons, we were sent out to work in parishes - the first time ever - and we were given a long questionnaire to fill out about what we would like our first priestly assignment to look like. And my application, the only two things I said that had any point to them is, I said, “I did not want to go to an Italian national parish because, although I was half Italian, I didn’t speak any Italian at all, even after taking Italian for a year in the Seminary. I couldn’t speak any of it and I didn’t really have many Italian customs in my family. I enjoyed the companionship of the Irish side of my family more than the Italian side of my family. And the second thing I said was, “Of the ten counties in the Archdiocese, the only one I really don’t want to go to is Staten Island, because my parents live in the Bronx and it’s a long trip across at least one bridge, maybe two, from Staten Island back to the Bronx. So, when I got my letter of assignment as a priest, I was sent to St. Roch’s parish, an Italian national parish on Staten Island. So much for consultation.
However, it wasn’t just me. One of the two guys in our class that didn’t drive, and grew up in upper Manhattan, was sent to Poughkeepsie for his first assignment. He had to take the train there. So, things aren’t always what they seem to be.
And my first assignment was a difficult one. The first pastor I had was subject to terrible mood swings and was very controlling. And, after he died, the second guy who came was simply inept, and not very good at his job. Early on in my time there, I paid a visit to the parish where I’d been a deacon. And the priest who was pastor there had a great deal of power and influence in the Archdiocese. And I was telling him how things were. He said, “I can get you out of there, if you want. One phone call would do it. Do you want me to do it for you?” And I thought about it, and I said to him, “No.” I had recently bought a poster and hung it in my room. It said, “Bloom where you are planted.” Bloom where you are planted.
I don’t know if you know, but the Franciscans used to take care of all of the parishes on the west end of Sullivan County. And they’re the Order of Friars Minor, that’s what they are really called. But among the clergy in New York, they were always referred to, strangely, as the German Franciscans. The reason why was because, in the first half of the nineteenth century, this small group of Franciscans, all from Germany, arrived in New York, assuming that they could take care of the German immigrants in New York City. And they weren’t needed. And the bishop didn’t want them. At that time, the Archdiocese of New York took in all of New York State and all of New Jersey and parts of Pennsylvania. And so, the bishop sent them up to the Delaware River to get rid of them. But there they took root. That’s why some of the oldest parishes in Sullivan County are along the Delaware River, founded before the Civil War. And finally, they built themselves a seminary there, to train new men for the Franciscan Order. They’re all gone now, of course, but many, many generations of Franciscans were trained for the priesthood right here in Sullivan County at Callicoon.
Francis Cabrini, a nice little Italian girl, grew up in Italy and wanted to do nothing more than to go to the Far East and baptize pagan babies. That’s what she wanted to do, and she became a nun to do that. And she was told, “No you can’t go.” And finally, after a lot of begging and wheedling and cajoling, the Mother Superior said, “Okay, you can go to the missions. You’re going to America” - which was also a mission country. And she got off the boat in New York City, and the bishop didn’t want her and her nuns. To get rid of her, he sent her to Chicago, where she took root and flourished.
Elizabeth Ann Bayley was a Brahmin. She was born into one of the wealthiest Anglican families in New York City. She married a rich man. And they went off to do what a lot of people did before the Civil War. Rich people, both in America and in Europe, took the Grand Tour. And, on the Grand Tour, one of their stops was at a business partner of her husband, Mr. Bayley, in Italy. While they were there, her husband died. And, of course, he was buried there in Italy. And during her period of mourning, her host family were so kind to her, that she eventually converted to their Catholic faith, and she came home to New York City a Catholic, where she was promptly shunned by all of her wealthy women friends. She started a little school to earn money, because all of her husband’s money was gone, and no one would send their children to her school. She had to go to Maryland, to Baltimore, where there were a lot of Catholics, to put down roots. Bloom where you are planted.
Very often, life says to us, “That’s not gonna happen,” and all of our plans fall apart. But we’re invited to say, not passively-aggressively like David, “Well, okay,” then, after giving thanks to God, go off and make war. But rather, “Well, I wanted to do what I thought God wanted me to do, so I’ll do this instead.”
That’s not gonna happen. Bloom where you are planted. After all, I am God’s servant.