The Family Foundation School Catholic Community Bulletin
Pauca Verba ( A few words)
This past week a young man graduated with honors from a double major in Political Science and Psychology at UCONN. He learned recently that a paper he wrote will be published in a journal! But he chose not to wear the honor society cords for graduation because he claimed not to have finished the service part required by the honor society. How honest is that!? How refreshing! No one would have ever known.
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A pilgrimage to the Martyrs Shrine at Auriesville this past Wednesday. The Jesuits are doing their best to keep open and maintain this once great and much-visited shrine where the holy martyrs Sts. Rene Goupil, Isaac Joques and John Lalande gave their lives. Indeed, the forested ravine is a living reliquary where the bones of St. Rene Goupil are somewhere buried. We celebrated Mass in the Coliseum – the first round church in our country and read Isaac Joques’ diary account of the martyrdom of his dear young friend and companion, Rene Goupil. We prayed the outdoor Stations of the Cross. At Fonda, five miles further west, the Franciscans maintain the shrine of Blessed Kateri Tekawitha. We renewed our Baptism vows there and prayed the rosary in the longhouse-church near the remains of Kateri’s village – the village she left when her tribe turned against her after her Baptism. She walked and canoed to Canada, where friendly Indians embraced her. But these shrines are somewhat abandoned now by pilgrims. Pray a national awakening!
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We spent the week at Saint Paul’s burying the dead. Thanks to the many people who helped in any way. Burying the dead is a Corporal Work of Mercy.
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Remembering that Little John Mason was taken by Julie on pilgrimage to Lourdes with us several years ago. His brother and sister were marvelous helpers. This week I found a letter I’d kept from my sister, Karen. She’d gone with us as a volunteer.
“It was the greatest experience of my life to go to Lourdes with you. It’s a flash now – gone. But the powerful feeling that lingers changes everything. No matter what, I know for one week the world felt safe and loving to me. I’ve never been happier than having on no make-up and wearing the same skirt and lab coat every day. LIBERATION! I tell people that I disinfected hospital handrails each day for a week and swept hospital stairs and that I have never had better work to do. I have so many quiet stories from there. Were there sick people there, I didn’t notice. I only saw beloved people. I have to find some way of translation because I came home and immediately felt loneliness and danger, so much danger every day. We can make the world a paradise or a hell…How ugly and unsafe we make the world for others, over tiny things. Tiny intrusions become annihilating and we seek and destroy or run for cover, withdraw and destroy ourselves. At any rate, I am ever grateful for the good, encouraging people who give me courage and strength.”
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“From this day, from this hour, from this moment, let us strive to love God and fulfill His Holy will.” Saint Herman of Alaska
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Little John Mason was buried from St. Paul’s this week. Most of us knew him – at least by sight. Saints bear witness to God’s message to us. Catholics look to the saints as they share with us soul-insights into the life of Christ.
And in reflecting upon him, we remember that he carried no accomplishments before God – as if to say, “Let me in, look at all I’ve done for you, God!”
He didn’t speak. Monk-like, he lived in silence. He didn’t broadcast anything. He didn’t make sales pitches. He didn’t hold grudges. He didn’t give interviews. He didn’t run for an office. He didn’t lay claim to any status. He didn’t work to get himself well-connected. He didn’t hob knob.
But he was at the Eucharistic table – the altar – each week where he heard God’s Word. Only grievous illness kept him away.
Our spiritual senses are atrophied. God’s still, small voice is drowned out by all the noise. We need to retrieve and re-discover the spiritual sense of silence. That most of us crave some silence is what distinguishes us from barnyard chickens. We have an interior life. But few people protect or develop it. We can run around all day – busy, busier, busiest – make our money – take charge of every thing (everyone?) and fall into bed at night – exhausted, unfulfilled. And God will have been missed. I’m not the Vatican – but I’ll call Little John the local patron saint of silence. “Little boy, help us to discover God in silence and interiority”
