|
One of the
reasons falling in love is such an exhilarating, energizing, and
wonderful experience, I believe, is because all of a sudden we find
ourselves feeling that we really “count for something.” It’s a
narcissist’s dream-come-true but to experience another person who really
does care for and about us cuts straight through all of those other
dreadful disappointments we’ve experienced when we hoped and believed
others did care for and about us. But, for one reason or another, the
lessons of harsh experience have taught us that we really didn’t count
quite as much as we had hoped we would, at least, in the estimation of
those people.
One of my
favorite writers is Flannery O’Connor, a Catholic woman who grew up and
lived in the South during the first half of the 20th century. She
possessed keen insight into and a wry sense of ironic humor about life’s
most troubling dilemmas and the theological issues implicit in them.
She wrote what is now a wonderful compendium of short stories, each of
which features a protagonist who is confronted by some rather bizarre
and tragic events which require the protagonist to make a choice that
can be stated in the form of an either/or question: “Will I choose to
believe in the possibility of what can be and the choices I have to make
that happen?”―or―“Will I resign myself to despair because I choose to
believe that nothing will change and I am powerless to do anything about
it?” In each of her short stories, O’Connor not only pits hope
against despair in what are very odd and tragic twists of Fate and
Fortune; she also challenges her reader to see that the resolution to
these difficult questions is what Catholic faith is really all about.
In one short
story Flannery O’Connor entitled “The River,” the protagonist is
a five-year-old named Harry, the son of affluent, uncaring, alcoholic parents. To
this point in his young life, what Harry knows for sure is that he
doesn’t count for much. Almost daily, his parents berate Harry and,
over the years, the message his parents have consistently sent has only
served to build and, then, to reinforce Harry’s certainty that he really
doesn’t count for much. Of course, all Harry desires―as any youngster
does―is to count for something, especially in the eyes of his mother and
father.
One day when
Harry’s parents are out and about partying, the babysitter decides to
take Harry to a religious revival an itinerant preacher is giving at the
river. There Harry hears that he has a Father in Heaven who cares
for him. Deciding to be baptized, the itinerant preacher dunks
Harry into the river and, lifting Harry from the river, tells Harry that
now he “counts” among the roster of the saved. Choosing to believe
that everything will change in his life because of this promise, Harry
takes the takes the preacher’s name “Bevel” to signify his intention to
serve as a messenger to unbelievers. With his new name, little
Bevel “counts,” just as his namesake counts, in God’s eyes. In other
words, baptism has made Bevel infinitely precious to God, even if his
parents believe that Bevel doesn’t count for anything.
When he returns
home, Bevel finds his parents hosting yet another party and, sadly, he
recognizes that he does not count at all at their house. Then, as
his mother tucks him into bed that evening, “he heard her voice from a
long way away, as if he were under the river and she on top of it,”
signifying that Bevel’s mother is outside the Christian experience,
while Bevel is immersed in it.
The next morning,
Bevel awakens to a silent house and recalls how wonderful it felt to be
under the river where he counted for something. So, Bevel decides
to leave the house and Bevel returns to the spot where he had been
baptized the day before. He plunges into the river, aiming to find
“the Kingdom of Christ in the river,” but in pursuit of that hope,
drowns.
Seeing
the tawdriness of life in the physical world compared to the life
promised to those who live in Christ, with a child’s innocence, Bevel
left his earthly parents to join the Father who welcomed Bevel into
God's Kingdom him with open arms.
While some might
conclude that this short story is depressing and morbid, nothing more
than a suicide committed by a young boy because he realized that not
loved, that was not O’Connor’s intention. From her point of view,
by accepting
baptism,
Bevel chose to hope rather than to despair, that is, to hope in the
possibility that he did count for something. Bevel could have
chosen to despair, because in a world where facts count for more than
hope does, the facts of Bevel’s life have taught him that he really
doesn’t count for anything.
The point
Flannery O’Connor emphasizes in this short story is how the Sacrament of
Baptism changes everything in our lives. It’s not just the change
the water makes as it washes away the effects of original sin and
restores us to grace. That certainly makes us “count for
something.” Neither is it the change the sacred chrism makes which
seals us in holiness as a child of God. That also makes us “count
for something.” But, as important as these changes are, the
Sacrament of Baptism makes another change, one that makes each of us
really “count for something,” as the itinerant preacher noted.
This change occurs as God breathes His Holy Spirit into us and endows
each of us with a “personal vocation.” It is because of our
personal vocation and how we live it out through genuine holiness of
life that God will say of us as God said of Jesus, “This is my
beloved…with whom I am well pleased.”
For a variety of
reasons having to do with the Reformation, Catholics aren’t all that
familiar with the concept of a “personal vocation” as much as they are
with the more generic concept of “vocation.” A personal vocation is not
God’s call to live a generic lifestyle, as in the vocation to the
married state, the ordained state, or to the single state. Neither is a
personal vocation a more particular lifestyle within one of those three
states, for example, the vocation to be a mother or father in the
lifestyle of marriage or the vocation to be a deacon, priest, or bishop
in the lifestyle of the ordained. No, a personal vocation is the way
God calls each of baptized personally and by name to give a unique and
unrepeatable form of concrete witness through genuine holiness of life.
No one else has my personal vocation nor do I have anyone else’s
personal vocation. That call is uniquely and personally mine, entrusted
to me by God, just as your call is uniquely and personally yours, one
that God has entrusted to you.
So, to be
baptized and to choose and to live out one’s vocation in one of three
lifestyles, although important, isn’t quite the whole story of
discipleship. What is also required is to know and to live out one’s
personal vocation which requires the willingness to discern God’s
presence in all things as well as the willingness to do God’s will in
all things. Our personal vocations, then, are how we “count” in God’s
estimation because it is as we respond to our personal vocations that we
give concrete witness through genuine holiness of life.
Notice that a
personal vocation takes a generic vocational lifestyle, like that of
being married, and translates it into a very personal expression, a
unique and unrepeatable form of concrete witness, through which a person
expresses genuine holiness. Being married and a mother or a father are
marvelous vocations indeed; but, it is as mothers and fathers discern
God’s presence and seek to do God’s will that they give a unique and
unrepeatable form of concrete witness through genuine holiness of life.
No mother and no father gives the same witness through genuine holiness
of life; instead, each gives a unique and unrepeatable form witness
through genuine holiness of life that evangelizes and catechizes others
about their personal vocations.
People who are
animated by a sense of personal vocation make it possible for other
people, like Bevel in O’Connor’s short story, “The River,” to
believe it possible that everything in their lives can change. The
belief that we do not have to surrender to despair is the seamless
legacy that unites people who live out their personal vocations with all
of those people throughout the Christian centuries who belong to the
communion of saints. As all of these women and men discerned God’s
presence and sought to do God’s will in all things, they didn’t seek to
be “legends” nor were they motivated by the hope that their achievements
would be chronicled, honored, and their memories celebrated long after
they were gone. No, the unique and unrepeatable contribution these
wonderful people have made to human history is recognized in their
distinctive lives of heroic virtue and how this witness challenged other
people to contemplate their personal vocations and how they might also
give unique and unrepeatable witness to holiness of life in everything
they do. This is the spiritual legacy that lives on in the hearts of
those whose lives are forever changed because these women and
men―animated by personal vocations―were there.
That is why we feel
such gratitude for our parents, our priests, and those dedicated single
people who have touched our lives through their witness to genuine
holiness of life. These people have
“added value” to our
lives in such a way that not only enriched us personally but also
challenged us to believe it possible that we count for something as we
live out our personal vocations through genuine holiness of life.
This is what “spiritual leadership” is all about.
Today, there is
an awful lot of ink is being spilled about the topic of “leadership” and
an awful lot of people are buying and reading these books, as if the
contents of these books are the Holy Grail that will make it possible
for their lives to “count for something.” Spiritually speaking,
however, God has called each of us to be leaders in the sense that the
holiness of our lives will challenge other people to envision the whole
of their lives in terms of their personal vocations. This is what it
means to be baptized, to be anointed, and to witness to the Gospel in a
unique and unrepeatable way. And this is how, as Jesus’ disciples, we
“count for something.” It’s not because other people admire us, applaud
us, and do what we say when we snap our fingers. No, we count for
something because God is well-pleased with us and, like Jesus, our
holiness of life challenges others to discover their personal vocations
and to witness to them through genuine holiness of life. |
HOMILY
