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During the
Millennium Year of 2000, I traveled to Rome to give a talk at a
conference of Catholic educators. Prior to my trip, just about all of
my family and friends told me how much I’d enjoy my trip, especially the
Basilica of St. Peter and all of the art treasures inside of it.
Everyone had a particular place they thought I should visit and a
favorite trattoria where I should eat. Truthfully, however, I had only
one ambition. That is, I wanted to climb the stairway to the top of the
dome of St. Peter’s and to survey the surrounding city and countryside,
“taking it all in,” so to speak.
At the time, I had
also just completed reading Martin Luther’s treatise, The Babylonian
Exile, in which my fellow Augustinian boldly excoriated the Pope of
Rome for extorting money from poor and superstitious Catholics of
Germany for the construction of St. Peter’s Basilica. As I was reading
that treatise, I understood and sympathized with Luther’s basic
argument; however, his unyielding stubbornness, choleric temper, and the
language more fit for a beer hall that Brother Martin invoked in his
invective against the Pope reminded me of some of my worst moments with
religious superiors and struck me as a particularly bad way to advance
one’s argument in a pitched battle with a religious superior!
So, I arrived in
Rome on a glorious, picture perfect, and cool day, full of anticipation
that I would experience all of the beauty, splendor, and majesty of the
Vatican that everyone had described so enthusiastically prior to my
departure. Furthermore, I was staying at the Augustinian college
located immediately across the street from the Vatican. It boasts a
large veranda overlooking the colonnades, the grand piazza, and the
Basilica’s façade. As an added attraction, the Pope’s apartment is
located immediately across the piazza, so I could can easily tell when
the Pope went to bed each night as I and my fellow Augustinians enjoyed
a single malt on the veranda. I doubt if there is any more strategic
vantage for surveying the Vatican City State and watching all of the
comings and goings than from that particular vantage.
Following the
conference’s conclusion, I decided my first trek would be to tour the
inside of St. Peter’s Basilica.
The façade is
astounding. From afar, it is big, really big. But, it seems to grow
larger and larger as one approaches it. Walking toward the Jubilee Year
door, the Basilica looms so immense, I felt dwarfed not so much by a
great building but by an awesome and great mystery. Fully expecting to
be overwhelmed by the beauty and dignity of the Basilica itself, once
inside, however, I found myself deeply disturbed. I can’t quite point
to it, but where I fully expected to be awed by artistic beauty, I felt
repulsed by opulence. And, as I wandered around―I
actually circled the nave’s perimeter at least three times―I
read the phrase we heard Christ utter in today’s gospel inscribed in
heroic gold letters around the dome,
“Tu
es Petrus.”
I had
expected to feel edified; but, instead, I felt disoriented and, yes,
even revolted, by all of the “this-worldly” splendor.
Dizzied by the clash
between expectations and the experience that was whirling around in my
mind, I decided to descend the stairway to the tombs of the Popes. As I
read the inscriptions, all I could think of was the statement from the
Ash Wednesday liturgy, “Thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return.”
As the Successor of St. Peter, each of the deceased men had ruled the
Church―which,
over its course of its long history―was
for only a very brief period of time. But, in the end, all of Popes―like
each of us―returned
to the dust from which God had created them. And yet, here each Pope
was, entombed as if he was an Egyptian Pharaoh who one day would rise
anew to reclaim his kingdom.
I had another
objective for that day, the real objective I hoped to accomplish on the
trip: to ascend the stairway to the top of the Basilica. So, upon
ascending the stairs from the tombs of the Popes, I trekked over to the
place where the stairway begins only to discover that I would have to
pay fifteen dollars for the “privilege” of walking up all of those
stairs! I couldn’t believe it and was outraged. “Paying to walk up all
of those stairs? I can understand paying to use a Stairmaster at a
health club,” I reasoned to myself, “but, this is the Vatican!” An
annual gift to Peter’s Pence is how Catholics express their gratitude
for the Pope’s many charitable works around the world. But, paying a
tax to the Vatican City-State for the privilege of walking up some
stupid stairs? I wouldn’t have any of that.
For a consolation
prize, I decided to tour the Sistine Chapel. I didn’t fare any better
there, either. It has an admission fee, too. Twenty dollars, if I
recall accurately.
So, I left the
Basilica of St. Peter that day feeling a profound sense of regret
and, in
particular, bitter disappointment. I felt this way not because I
couldn’t walk to the top of the dome and survey all of the sights. No,
my regret and disappointment stemmed from my thoughts about the poor.
With all of its fees and taxes, what poor person could ever behold and
partake of the Vatican’s worldly treasures? Maybe a poor person would
never be able to journey to the Vatican in the first place. But, if one
did, the price of admission would be too steep. This stands in stark
contrast to the people Jesus surrounded himself with, the poor,
society’s outcasts, and children…all of whom couldn’t afford to be
prominent members of the Temple’s congregation. Today’s poor, outcasts,
and children without a sizeable allowance could never enjoy the
treasures of the Church which rules in his name. That is what really
bothered me.
The next day just so
happened to be the Feast of Sts. Peter and Paul which, for the Vatican
City-State, is the equivalent of a “national” holiday, sort of like the
Fourth of July for us. It is also sort of like April 15th
for us as dioceses throughout the world pay their annual tax, called
“Peter’s Pence,” to the Pope. Traditionally, this Feast is also the day
when the Pope places a pallium―a
white, circular, ribbon-like emblem signifying unity with the Pope―upon
the shoulders of new-named Archbishops.
From the College’s
veranda, I had the best seat in the house where I could watch the entire
ceremony unfold. I spied on the dignitaries, their families, and well
wishers as they emerged from their chauffeured black Mercedes
limousines, were saluted by the Swiss guards, and escorted to their
assigned seats in the piazza. Following the Pope’s arrival in his
Popemobile, I listened attentively as he addressed the new Archbishops
in Italian―which
I do not understand and, I have been told, the Italians don’t understand
when this Pope speaks it―and
watched as he invested each new Archbishop in his pallium. Then,
following the blessing, I spied again on the dignitaries, their
families, and well wishers as the Swiss Guards saluted them and the
dignitaries departed in their chauffeured black Mercedes limousines.
They were departing to what I was told are some rather lavish
celebratory cocktail parties and dinners at national consulates, posh
restaurants, and private villas in Rome’s countryside.
Reflecting upon
these events and my experience of the previous day, I wondered whether
the Galilean fisherman named Simon―who
the Lord renamed “Peter”―would
be ill at ease in the baroque splendor and ceremonial pomp associated
with the Basilica named after him. After all, the temple of Jerusalem
would pale by comparison. And, I also found myself wondering whether
the Jewish tentmaker, Saul―who
the Lord renamed “Paul”―would
recognize his hand in all of this worldly splendor. After all, were it
not for St. Paul, Christianity would have most likely died as a sect of
Judaism when Jerusalem was crushed by the Roman army around 65 a.d.
Maybe Brother
Martin’s invective jaded my experience, but my point here is neither to
bash the Vatican nor its admissions fees because, after all, I
understand that it takes a lot more than good wishes to maintain art
treasures and buildings. My point also is not to deride the Pope as
Luther did for extorting money from the poor to build and, then,
maintain an earthly kingdom. No, my point is what the Second Vatican
Council reminded us about, namely, that the Church is not the Vatican,
its treasures, or its officers. Beautiful and powerful as they may be,
they are merely human creations. The Council reminded us that the
Church is the People of God, especially those who are like the two
people whose feast we celebrate today. Their heroic witness provides us
an example of what the Church really is, namely, sinful people who
experience God reaching into their lives and, in response, who seek to
live as Jesus’ disciples. This edifice is not a human creation but a
divine creation, one made, ultimately, not for this world but for the
next.
Undoubtedly, both
Peter and Paul are Christian folk heroes. The trials they endured for
their faith as Jesus’ disciples and the victorious martyrdom each
suffered at the hand of their enemies both inside the Christian
community and outside of it are the stuff that makes for a story where
each apostle looms―like
the Basilica of St. Peter―so
much larger than life. But, their status as folk heroes can mask over
the truth about the lives of these two apostles, the truth that not only
reveals them to be very much like us but also, and more importantly,
offers us insights into how we might turn to their example for
inspiration about how we might live better as Jesus’ disciples and gain
the courage and fortitude we need to do so.
Remember that night
in the Garden when Peter―despite
his protestations to the contrary―betrayed
Jesus not only by saying that he wasn’t a disciple but also that he
didn’t even know who Jesus was not one time, but three times? Here’s a
fellow who is, if not impetuous, who also speaks out of turn and allows
his eagerness to lead him to trespass beyond the boundaries of what
propriety requires. Remember, too, when Peter fled on Good Friday?
Some friend! And don’t forget those occasions following the
Resurrection when Peter didn’t recognize the Risen Lord standing right
there in his midst, sharing scripture with the disciples and breaking
bread with them? Through it all, Peter appears to be more of a skeptic
or unbeliever than a person of deep and abiding faith.
Then there’s Paul
who, by his own accounting, was one of if not the most faithful of Jews,
tutored by the most famous rabbi of his day, Gamaliel. In his attempts
to please the Jewish leaders, Paul persecuted the cult of Jews who
believed that Jesus was the promised Messiah. At least present at the
martyrdom of Stephen―if
not participating directly in it―the
early Christians had every reason to fear Paul. Here’s a man who was,
at the very least, an accomplice to the execution of one of their own
and was on the hunt to see all of the destroyed for the good of Judaism.
These facts depict
sinners not heroes. These are not courageous men filled with fortitude
but men with feet made of clay. These are not men with pure souls but
men whose souls bear the bruises and scars caused by their self-chosen
weakness and sin.
And, because of this―thanks
be to God―both
Peter and Paul are very much like us.
We, too, are weak
and sinful people. Our words and actions oftentimes betray the faith we
profess with our lips, like Peter. And, we oftentimes will stand idly
by―if
not participate directly in―the
execution of innocents, like Paul.
What transformed
“Simon” into “Peter” and “Saul” into “Paul” was God’s call to conversion
from sin and their response to this divine initiative. As Saint
Augustine put it in a homily he delivered on the Feast of Saints Peter
and Paul in the early fifth century,
“In Peter the weak
things of the world were chosen, to confound the strong; in Paul sin
abounded so that grace might abound the more. In each of them what
shone forth was the great grace and glory of God, who made them
deserving, but did not find them so….So how much better for them now,
how much more suitable for God first ‘to lift up the needy from the
ground, and exalt the poor from the dunghill’.”
It is precisely as
Simon and Saul responded to God’s initiative by turning away from the
dunghill of their sinful ways that they became Peter and Paul who could
provide the encouragement and inspiration we need to live more fully our
faith we profess with our lips.
Lest we get carried
away by their heroic witness to the faith, however, the lives of both
heroes following their conversions were not a “bed of roses.”
While today’s first
reading details how an angel delivered Peter from prison, he was also a
central figure in the difficult struggle within the early Christian
community to accept Gentile converts. Peter endured almost unbearable
stress and suspicion as he attempted to steer a middle course between
the traditionalism of the apostle, James, and the progressivism espoused
by the mistrusted neophyte convert, Paul. And, let us also not forget
that Peter ended up being crucified upside-down in Rome for his witness
to his faith. No turning and running away. No denial. No betrayal.
This truly was no Simon.
Then, in the Letter
to Timothy, Paul writes that he is tired and worn out by all of the
events following his conversion. Paul likens himself to an exhausted
runner at the end of the race, telling Timothy that he has poured
himself out like a “libation” or, in our language, a Gatorade being
chugged down to slake one’s thirst after a grinding work out. Believe
it or not, “truth squads” badgered Paul at every turn throughout his
missionary trips around the Mediterranean, willing to contradict Paul at
every turn as he taught about Jesus. Furthermore, his own people―the
Jews―rejected
Paul for becoming a Christian, branding him as a traitor while his new
found community―the
Christians―could
never trust him completely for what he had done to them. And that’s to
say nothing about the scourging, shipwreck, imprisonment, and stoning
that Paul endured for the sake of the gospel. He did enjoy one
advantage because he was a Roman citizen, however: for bearing testimony
to Jesus, Paul he could chose beheading rather than crucifixion as his
preferred form of execution. This truly was no Saul.
It is also fact that
even though Peter and Paul knew each other, they didn’t always get
along. Paul viewed Peter as a weak, “consensus building” type of leader
while Peter viewed Paul as a pushy entrepreneur whose “outside the box”
ideas about how to teach the Good News to all nations might wreak havoc
upon the nascent Christian community.
At the same time,
however, both apostles recognized the deep faith the other possessed
and, through it all, they respected and admired each other, despite all
of their differences. If not for the faith that both shared, neither
Peter nor Paul would stand today as an example showing how anyone―especially
sinners―can
respond to God’s call to conversion, overcome personal weakness and sin,
and live as a disciple.
By thinking of Peter
and Paul in strictly heroic terms, we overlook the fact that they―like
us―were
“too human,” as Nietzsche would say, “all too human.” But, what
motivated Peter and Paul that didn’t motivate either Simon or Saul was
the experience of God’s call to conversion and their realization that
Jesus stood with them in their sinfulness and, later, in their trials
and executions.
So, why do we expect
our lives to be a bed of roses when God calls us to conversion and we
respond by trying to live as Jesus’ disciples? Conversion does not mean
that we will not have to confront the cross in our daily lives and share
in Jesus’ sufferings. Quite the contrary! As we turn away from sin, we
experience what St. Augustine said of Peter and Paul: “So how much
better for them now, how much more suitable for God first ‘to lift up
the needy from the ground, and exalt the poor from the dunghill’.”
Because of God’s love for us―even
as sinners―as
this is revealed in the redemption His Son won for us, we can mover
forward with courage and fortitude to live as Jesus’ disciples who teach
the Good News to all nations.
The Church is not
its buildings, artistic treasures, or officers. No, the Church is the
People of God who have turned away from sin and are renewed as a divine
creation. Unlike Simon, these women and men don’t cower in fear or run
away from suffering, trials, and persecution. Unlike Saul, these women
and men don’t stand idly by or participate in the persecution of
innocents. No, these women and men confront the cross in their lives
each day and share in Jesus’ suffering. This is how the Church―strengthened
by the conversions of people like Peter and Paul―witnesses
to its faith in the resurrection of the dead and life everlasting.
On this Feast of
Saints Peter and Paul, let’s pray that the example of these two heroes
will spur us―the
People of God―onward
to greater depths of conversion of heart and mind. May their witness
remind us about what the Church really is, namely, sinful people who
experience God calling them to conversion and who respond each and every
day by striving to live more perfectly as Jesus’ disciples by teaching
the Good News to all peoples. May we not be merely a human creation but
live as a divine creation, as women and men who recognize that we are
made, ultimately, not for this world but for the next. |
HOMILY
