1. Rector’s Conference

    April 24, 2022
    Very Rev. Denis Robinson, OSB

    Last week, I was particularly taken with the homily of Deacon Thayer in which he quoted Pope Francis:

    Pope Francis says that the most beautiful experience we can have is: "to belong to a people walking, journeying through history together with their Lord who walks among us. We do not walk alone. We are part of the one flock who walks together."  

    For me, it was one of those “AHA” moments, an opportunity to hear the Word of God speaking very directly and very hopefully to us, as a People of God, as the Church. We have now arrived once more in the season of Easter, for the next 43 days we will be given the singular opportunity to meditate on the mystery of the resurrection. Easter, which in the secular mind, will come and go with the rapidity of a bouncing bunny, remains for us Catholics a mystery upon which we are not only invited but required to deepen in our hearts and in our lives. Easter is a call for self-knowledge, a knowledge that we have explored already in the discipline of Lent. It is a call for self-knowledge about that more central and important corporate self of which we are most vitally a part. 

    Likewise, our formation is a kind of continuous Easter, a time of growth, development and moving toward the ever-expanding horizon that is Christ, that is God. It is a time to discern ourselves in many dimensions.

    For example … 

    It is a time to look at our temperament, about the way in which our particularities of personality either attract or repel others. There is a holiness in quiet, but if quiet is read as indifference, there is a problem. We are called to be able to meet others, sometimes covertly, but often head on. Our temperament, our resting face can call others or keep them at a distance. So often a central part of the personality of seminarians is a kind of acute introversion. Solidly relating to the internal self is essential to our lives as priests, but we must also cultivate that public personality that attracts others, draws them in and out. We must become functional extroverts without losing the calm and depth of our interior lives. 

    Likewise, our intellect. The Church has no real need of ignorant priests, as we know, but sometimes our intellect can become an obstacle. Think for a moment about conversations at table. Sometimes people at breakfast wish to engage in a scintillating conversation about the theological controversies of the Fourth Century, but sometimes they just want to talk about nonsense. Small talk, while not of a particularly intellectual nature, may be just the vehicle to attract others to a more serious mode of conversation.  Sometimes we can put others off by our over-intellectualized conversations. Can we instead learn to converse about the various types of games played with different kinds of balls in the course of seasons? I am not saying that all conversations should be inane, I am saying that we must learn to “pitch” ourselves to the audience and need and thereby raise the level of conversation through familiarity, even friendship. 

    Another dimension of ourselves is perfectionism. We all know that an unrealistic sense of perfection can damage a person. Sometimes these ideals (if that is what we want to call them) are imbedded in us in childhood. We want to please parents. We want the perfect report card. We want to always do the right thing. Therapists will tell us that this kind of thinking can sometimes lead to dire consequences in adults, perhaps, for example, in our context. of having too many unrealistic expectations of people in our parishes or in the confessional. The obverse is also true, that is, the failure to challenge ourselves to be better and the failure to inspire the best in other people. Perfection is our goal, but it is a goal in heaven which stretches only to “nearness” here on earth. Can we become humble enough to garner our own perfectionism to serve others, to not intimidate them? It is a challenge. 

    Easter is also a time to continue to look at our sinfulness, our biases, our prejudices. It is a time to allow all the ties we have to crude corporeality and harmful or useless things fall away in the glory of his new person. 

    When we examine the various goals of Easter, or look, even in a cursory way at the trials of the human condition, I would say the major problem that Christians face as individuals is the refusal to enter what Pope Francis calls, the flock of those who walk together.

    We need to be a part of the whole and not individuals tilting our little boats toward an elusive salvation. 

    We live in a Church in which we have the strongest expression of cultural involvement in the history of the world and yet our parishes, our schools and our lives are culturally dead. We live in a Church which has consistently been involved in the betterment of humanity through education and yet our school children and adults remain ignorant of the basic principles of faith. We live in a Church which has consistently been an advocate of the marginalized and a champion of the politically oppressed and in places, we are turning into an un-welcoming Church for millions of new immigrants and wayfarers. We live in a Church that has assisted the poor in every turn and we are becoming a place of closed communities which push the needy into the background. So often I fear, we have become brothers and sisters, a Church which has, in the past, held fast to its teachings in the face of incredible social pressures and yet today the stance of Catholics today on abortion, on birth control, on capital punishment and dozens of other issues is unrecognizably different from our secular neighbors. 

    As Pope Francis might say, we think of ourselves and not of others and we become less than human by that turn. 

    All these issues are problems of imagination. 

    We cannot imagine a world in which the poor and the needy are brought into communion with the ever-present others.

    And so we continue to fall into the cultural and political biases of our own place and time which contradict the values of the Gospel we are supposed to uphold.

    We cannot imagine a world in which this group and that group find a common mechanism, like communion, for gaining access to the other’s insulated vision of life. 

    And so we take some smug comfort in out isolation from the rest of preening humanity in ivory towers of academia, or wealth, or a misguided orthodoxy. 

    We cannot imagine a world in which truth is triumphant 

    And so we continue to perpetuate lies about our social environment, our neighbors and ourselves. We lie to ourselves about ourselves because we cannot imagine something different, something alive rather than dead, something open rather than closed, something meaningful rather than mundane. 

    Somehow we need to become more Easter and now we have this season of the year to help us with that goal, a horizon toward which we continue to move. But we cannot accomplish that alone, in the world of rugged individualism. We must face the world together and strive together to make this place, as much as it is possible, the Kingdom of God on earth. We reach that nearness of perfection only when we surrender our isolation for the bounty of the common journey.

    I would like to go back to the saint that I proposed at the beginning of Lent for our reflection, St. Therese of Liseux. I wonder if there is a saint in the whole of the martyrology who had as much right, by nature, to claim sanctity on the force of her personality. I believe that St. Therese struggled with personality her whole life, short though it was. I believe she struggled mightily to be less of Therese Martin and more of a Carmelite, and so she is a saint for our modern world, a saint calling us to move away from the siren call of individualism and toward Pope Francis’ ideal of a flock that journeys together. 

    I close tonight with the words of the Little Flower:

    For a long time now I have not belonged to myself; I have given myself entirely to Jesus. He is free to do with me whatever He likes.

  2. Second Sunday of Easter

    April 24, 2022
    Very Rev. Denis Robinson, OSB

    Easter always makes me feel rather nostalgic because Easter is a nostalgic time, remembering childhood egg hunts and little seersucker suits.

    Remembering going to Church on sunny days, it always seemed to have been sunny.

    Remembering that fake shiny Easter basket grass that was undoubtedly carcinogenic 

    Remembering the spiral cut ham which you never realized why it was important that it was spiral cut. 

    Remembering PAAS dyed eggs whose uncertain color rubbed off on your hands and clothes

    Remembering the Easter egg hidden and not found until July. 

    Remembering lamb cake, that delectable confection of chocolate cake and white icing shaped like a lamb.

    And little girls’ bonnets, and chocolate rabbits and Reese’s Peanut butter eggs

    And yet … despite all of this sun-drenched joy there is a certain somberness in today’s Gospel. 

    Jesus, their hope and their master had been taken from them. Jesus was gone. I’m sure in the minds of those disciples they were convinced that their experiment in Messiahship had been a failure. They were not likely to see Jesus again. How could they not have been upset? I think of poor Thomas. He has received such bad press, but really is his reaction to the “Jesus crisis” presented in St. John’s Gospel so unusual? 

    Thomas was despondent that everything he had hoped for, everything he had dreamed of had been snatched away from him in the awful finality of the crucifixion. Is his reaction really so extraordinary?

    Thomas was upset that all his future plans, his expectations for the life of the world, for the life of the world to come had been taken away with the suddenness of people’s fickle responses to a mob mentality. Can we really blame him for his doubt?

    Thomas was doubtful, at least at first, that the promise of the Word Made Flesh might be made true. Is his engagement with the question of Jesus so very different from the way ours sometimes is?

    Thomas the doubter was a human person, prone to human responses and human reactions. 

    That was two thousand years ago. Now back to now. 

    In spite of the rosy glow we must ask ourselves what is the state of our faith, what is the condition of our discipleship?  Despite his doubts, Thomas’ life was transformed by the encounter he had with Christ.  He became one of the great evangelists offering the most profound confession of faith in all of the Gospels. “My Lord and my God.” Thomas profession of faith guides us as we move through these heady days of Easter, these early days of spring, this season of renewal. Thomas’ profession inspires us to be better disciples. Thomas’ profession inspires us in so many ways. 

    In the words we speak, words of peace, words of hope, words of love. That’s what Easter is.

    In the presence of the children in all of us, anticipating, dreaming, generously desiring seeking that elusive egg in the grass.

    In the sacrament we celebrate in full anticipation of being fed, of seeing our deepest dreams come true. 

    And this brothers and sisters, is Divine Mercy, 

    I am thinking now of the book of Pope Francis that came out a few years ago, The Name of God is Mercy. You know it aroused a smidgen of controversy.

    You know how it is. Like the Lord, sometimes the pope can’t catch a break. 

    The Name of God is Mercy. 

    We want to believe the worst about people. We want to revel in their problems and failures. How else would politicians thrive?

    We want to hear about the peccadillos of others, the falls from grace, the absolute need for proof. How else would gossip find fuel?

    We ardently desire to know the bad, to hope for a little failure. How else would tragedies like the war in Ukraine exist?

    Somehow the dismal makes us feel better about ourselves.

    But we are also hard on ourselves. We commit such calumny against ourselves. We are harsh in judgement with ourselves and we hold all of that within and it festers. 

    Jesus says: Open the wounds. Let the world see the failure. Here are my hands and feet, believe.

    That is mercy.

    God presents himself to us as he did to Thomas. That is mercy

    God holds himself out for us to touch. That is mercy.

    God leaps into the pure depravity of the human condition. That is mercy. 

    God insinuates himself into bread and wine to nourish us. That is mercy. 

    God lays down with the crippled soul of humanity. That is mercy.

    God allows his faultless flesh to be nailed to a cross. That is mercy.

    God hides in the earth for three days to accustom himself further to our condition. That is mercy. 

    And then he rises from the dead and destroys death and its awful stench in us.

    That is mercy. That is pure mercy, nothing but mercy. 

    Mercy pours out from the Divine Seat.

    It pours out like rays of light streaming from the heart of Christ.

    It pours out on a world so unaccustomed to Good News that it finds it incredulous

    It pours out like fresh water, the water of baptism on a people choking on the sands of a self-generated desert

    It pours out like light of Elendil to illumine the dark place of our world and our souls.

    It pours out like a rushing wind that wipes away the smoke of war, of terror,

    It pours out on you and on me. We receive his mercy.

    Like a soccer ball to the face, his mercy hurtles toward us.

    Like a heap of fake grass, his mercy covers us. 

    But here is the question of the pope: Can we also become vessels of that mercy?

    The world should not need the mercy of God to heal it from wounds inflicted by the Church and yet, sometimes it does. Has the Church become, at least in places, as much of the problem as the solution? Has our “theological method in the Church today become one of repair and not evangelization? 

    Mercy does have a place as we know. But we are the architects of that place, we are the parameters of that place, we occupy that place and we need to become heralds of the Good News, the news that the name of God is mercy. 

    Thomas became a great evangelist of the love and mercy of God, through his doubt. Can it be so with us? 

    Easter may come and go again, at least for a year but here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Blessed are we, blessed indeed, to be called to the supper of this Lamb.

  3. Easter Tuesday

    April 19, 2022
    Very Rev. Denis Robinson, OSB

    St. Thomas Aquinas Chapel

    Two very distinct outfits lay neatly across the equally neat chenille bedspread in his room. One was a fake fur bunny costume complete with ears and feet (after all a real fur bunny costume would be far too expensive for the once a year it was employed) and an impeccably pressed pink seersucker suit and Easter egg bow tie. Both signaled the enthusiasm that their owner felt for the coming day of solemnity which was Easter and would be celebrated tomorrow.

    The day before Easter was an incredibly busy day for Mr. Taylor Steggs, so much so that he often reflected during his long eight years of life that he, in fact, WAS easter. It was definitely his holiday. He loved the bonnets. He loved the inauguration of seersucker season. He loved the hymns and the preaching and the thing that he loved the most was the Easter egg hunt which he prepared and oversaw for all of the children of the First Baptist Church in Oxford Mississippi. This year of course the hunters included his sister, Miss Taylor Steggs who was, in fact, able to participate in the Easter Egg Hunt upright for the first time. He was giddy with excitement and had spent the entirety of that day, now gone to after dark, dying Easter eggs to the point that he smelled like vinegar and his hands were a rainbow assortment of color. For this task he had dawned his oldest pair of trousers, now almost too small on him and a so-called tee-shirt that proclaimed the wonders of a bromide called Cutshall’s soda powders.

    Mr. Taylor Steggs was in fact doing what he never did, and that is sweating. It was hard work and he had almost two dozen eggs to finish when he realized to his dismay that he had completely run out of dye. This would never do, not if Miss Taylor Steggs was to have the full experience of a Mr. Taylor Steggs upright Easter and so he decided to go, even at this late (and dark) hour to the Piggly Wiggly and so, extricating his Red Wagon from its garage under the stairs, Mr. Taylor Steggs headed out.

    On the way to the Piggly Wiggly, Mr. Taylor Steggs passed a few well-know personages. One was Mr. Alphonsus Rabboni, who, though a transplant from New Albany had already made his name upon the Oxford folks as a grave digger. As he passed him on the street outside of the Ajax, Mr. Taylor Steggs, dragging his wagon behind him made a mental note that you can never overestimate the quality of a good gravedigger. As he rounded the corner of Blossom Street, Mr. Taylor Steggs spied some activity around the Roman Catholic temple that had recently been built in Oxford. Mr. Taylor Steggs knew nothing at all about Roman Catholics except that they had built this temple and that they were somehow related to Old Testament Jews, though Mr. Taylor Steggs did not know how, nor could he be bothered, particularly tonight to fuss with the question since he needed to get to the Piggly Wiggly, get the dye, get home and get the project done.

    When he passed by the Roman Catholic Temple, however, he became aware that something was going on. Out in front, someone had built fire. Mr. Taylor Steggs could tell it was purpose made and not an act of vengeance because it was built in a tiny BBQ grill. Around this fire were a number of people, some of whom were dressed in white robes. Mr. Taylor Steggs did not wish to speculate on the role of these white-robed people. There was also what appeared to be a big candle that some fellow wearing a Mexican poncho was punching pins into.

    Soon after the pin punching the folks starting filing into the Temple and Mr. Taylor Steggs, parking his Red Wagon under a nearby japonica followed them. By the time he got inside, everyone had lighted some small candles and the man in the poncho was singing at the top of his lungs about some lady named Exult. The only Exult Mr. Taylor Steggs knew was Exulta Beberry and she was certified crazy in Whitfield. There was a man standing at the back of the temple and Mr. Taylor Steggs embarrassingly approached him. He was embarrassed because he could see this was a kind of church and Mr. Taylor Steggs wasn’t wearing church clothes. Coming up to the man he said: “Hello, I’m Mr. Taylor Steggs.” He thought that this moniker might have impressed the gentleman but it obviously did not, there was not even a twinkle of recognition.

    “I’m Harman Duckdown” the man replied, “I’m the usher here.”

    “What’s going on”” Mr. Taylor Steggs innocently asked.

    Mr. Duckdown responded: “I can’t say I rightly know; they say it’s a mystery. I do know it goes on all night, only time of year the thing goes on all night.”

    He continued, confidently chewing on a piece of straw. “Some of these people are going to be baptized.”

    Mr. Taylor Steggs didn’t want to be rude, but he knew there was not lake or pond around here and Dr. Tangerine Hope would be in the Tupelo church for Easter.

    He went on: “Some others will get their first communion, they will get the Blessed Sacrament for the first time.”

    Mr. Taylor Steggs had no idea what a Blessed Sacrament was. Now he couldn’t help but ask. “What is a Blessed Sacrament?”

    Mr. Duckdown pondered this question for a minute, churning the piece of straw around and around in his mouth.

    Finally, he responded: “I don’t rightly know, again, it’s a mystery.”

    “Don’t you belong to this place?” Mr. Taylor Steggs innocently asked.

    “Course I do. You should know this, what’s your name, you should know this. This place thrives on mystery, it stinks with mystery, it’s practically drunk with mystery. You need to roll away the stone Mr. Taylor Steggs. That is your name isn’t it?”

    “Of course it is.” 

    And Mr. Taylor Steggs did not know whether to be insulted or amazed. And so he turned to go. He was perplexed by his encounter with the Jews in the Roman Catholic temple. He staggered and reeled as he left. He left his Red Flyer parked under the japonica bush. He didn’t go to the Piggly Wiggly. The last of the eggs would not get dyed. Artificial rabbit fur might go unworn. The promise of pink seersucker might to unfulfilled.  He didn’t know what was going to happen. But over his shoulder he could hear the baptizing start and he knew there was more going on in that Temple than either he or Mr. Duckdown would ever understand. And somehow as the full moon peeked out from behind the clouds, Mr. Taylor Steggs saw that uncertainty as promise. He saw it as hope. He saw it as salvation. 

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Fr. Denis Robinson, OSB
Fr. Denis Robinson, OSB
Fr. Denis Robinson, OSB

Fr. Denis Robinson, OSB, is president-rector of Saint Meinrad School of Theology in St. Meinrad, IN. A Benedictine monk, he is also an assistant professor of systematic theology. A Mississippi native, Fr. Denis attended Saint Meinrad College and School of Theology, earning a bachelor's degree in philosophy in 1989 and a Master of Divinity in 1993. From 1993-97, he was parochial vicar for the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception in Memphis, TN. He joined the Saint Meinrad monastery in August 1997. Fr. Denis also attended the Catholic University of Louvain, Belgium, where he received a master’s degree in theology in 2002, a licentiate in sacred theology in 2003, and doctorates in sacred theology and philosophy in 2007.

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