Of Homilies and Purpose

Or “What were YOU chosen to do?”

Homily: aka sermon. A homily is a speech, lecture, or spoken thoughts given typically in a spiritual manner and usually in relation to some form of holy scripture. Being brought up Catholic, our priests give their “homilies” following the readings of the bible (both the Old and New Testaments) and then from one of the four Gospels, read by the priest himself, during Mass. The homily is the priest’s effort to explain, highlight, showcase, or make connections with the readings to our current lives.

Because they are human, some priests are better at crafting and giving homilies than others. Over my life, I’ve heard homilies from poet priests who could make a shopping list sound mesmerizing (especially if it were accompanied by an Irish brogue); and homilies from prose priests who lost me after their first two sentences. Some were like stern lectures from an authoritarian parent; others that seemed they were meant to provoke a humble guilt (they don’t call it “Catholic guilt” for nuttin’); and still others that were over way too quickly because of how seamlessly and lyrically the priest could weave together words that were inspiring.

And if it was football season, and you were in the pew when Msgr. McGrath was celebrating Mass at Holy Rosary in Moxee, then the homily was quick, heck the whole Mass was quick, so that he could catch as much as he could of the Seahawk’s game following an early 10am kickoff. THAT is not a joke. I was his alter boy, I know.

But some homilies transcend all this and reach a level of rare air such that words like “mesmerizing,” “inspiring,” and “profound,” are all, themselves, woefully inadequate to fully explain their impact. Some of THESE homilies actually get printed so that a congregation can continue to read it into the future—where transcendence leads us all.

And then there is John O’Donohue.

Walking in Wonder

Okay, I know John O’Donohue has shown up here a lot in recent months. But there is a strong reason—his writing, and spoken words through the recorded lectures, podcasts, and YouTube videos I’ve been able to find, have been perhaps THE most impactful thing in my life, separate from my family and my Dad’s caregiving, over the past few years. A person with this much influence in my life was bound to show up in my own writing—since he’s showing up in my life virtually every day. I’ve just completed the last book of his that I had: “Walking in Wonder: Eternal Wisdom for a Modern World” (Convergent Books, NY. 2015), and I’ve already moved on to other books from other authors who will, because they always do, continue to impact and influence my life in ways unexpected—ways that will likely show up, of their own accord, in future blogs.

But there was something in Walking in Wonder that was SO beautiful, I wanted to share it here with you to see if it sparks anything at all in you like what it sparked within me.

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The Setup:

You may recollect that John O’Donohue was, for a portion of his life, a young Catholic priest in Ireland. As a member of a cadre of young, progressive clergy at the time, O’Donohue vigorously pursued his serious academic interests in philosophy, mysticism, and inter-religious orthodoxy and comparative religions in conjunction with his priestly duties such that he earned a Ph.D in philosophy and wrote many scholarly books. He wanted to continue to do both, pursue these academic interests and write on them while remaining a priest, but a new bishop to his area essentially gave him an ultimatum to choose either writing or priesthood since doing both meant he needed to reduce his parish responsibilities. The bishop was not willing to grant that request so, after a couple of years of serious thought on the matter, O’Donohue, in the mid 1990’s and as reluctantly as he was to do so, began to walk away from the Church. Interestingly, he never “laicized” himself—he never formally quit. So, not so ironically, O’Donohue remained a priest until he died. (The bishop considered him to have retired from the clergy so out of the respect he had for the institution, and out of his love for his religious brothers and sisters, O’Donohue stopped celebrating Mass). But he said after the decision to walk away was made, he experienced incredible peace which was indicative that, from his soul’s perspective, the right decision was made even though he always expressed sadness in not being able to continue as an active priest in good standing; and even as he became an active critic of the Church and its practices and policies in how it was handling the various scandals that were surfacing all over the world.

But O’Donohue walked away, and continued his passions for philosophy, poetry, mysticism, and writing. And because he did so, O’Donohue’s congregation expanded from a small parish in west Ireland, to the world. And because he did so, my life was changed.

It was after he walked away from the priesthood that O’Donohue discovered the reason he was chosen to be here.

(That’s called foreshadowing btw!).

Dawn Mass:

What follows is an excerpt taken from a John O’Donohue Dawn Mass homily on Easter Sunday, April 15, 1992, that, fortunately for us, was recorded and later transcribed and included in Walking in Wonder. These were the words that I found incredibly profound. But don’t take my word for it. I believe they speak for themselves:

To be born is to be chosen. None of us is accidentally in the world. We are sent here because there is something special for each of us to do here that could not be done by someone else. One of the wisdoms of living a full life is to try and sense what it is you were sent here for and to try and let the hindrances that block you from that fall away so that you can claim completely the life that was so generously offered to you. We were all reared in a world that concentrated on sin and sinfulness, but I believe that when we come into the eternal world we won’t so much be checked for our failures, but we will be asked whether we honored the possibilities that were placed inside us when we were so carefully fashioned out of the clay. There are limitless possibilities within each one of us and, if we give ourselves any chance at all, it is unknown what we are capable of. So on this Easter morning, let us look again at the lives we have been so generously given and let us let fall away the useless baggage that we carry—old pains, old habits, old ways of seeing and feeling—and let us have the courage to begin again. Life is very short, and we are no sooner here than it is time to depart again, and we should use to the full the time that we still have.

We don’t realize all the good we can do. A kind, encouraging word or helping hand can bring many a person through dark valleys in their lives. We weren’t put here to make money or to acquire status or reputation. We were sent here to search for the light of Easter in our hearts, and when we find it we are meant to give it away generously.

It’s impact:

Since reading that homily’s excerpt, I’ve been reflecting quite a lot on what it is that I was sent here for—something that no other person could do. It’s a very poignant and humbling thing to consider. And it is especially relevant for me right now as I’m in this liminal space of “no longer a principal” and “no longer Dad’s caregiver” and “what are you going to do now” questions.

As I’ve been reflecting on John O’Donohue’s words, I’ve been realizing, if done with a full and open and benevolent heart, that it is also a reflection from courage and vulnerability.

Because, maybe, just maybe, I haven’t done what I’ve been sent here to do. Yet. Well, maybe “yet,” but maybe never. And THAT is scary. Another mentor of mine once said “Never die with your song still in you.” So since my reading of this homily, and rereading (and rereading again), with deep reflection, I’ve discovered this has surfaced for me one deep, essential, and existential question that maybe more of us should lean into, especially in these trying times that appear to be calling for us all to be more human, more humane with each other and with all the beings we co-exist with on this earth, more compassionate, and more Sage-like (or, more of an Elder if you will):

How do you know when you are doing what you’ve been sent here do to?

This obviously gains in relevancy the older we get. I don’t want to die with my song, my purpose for being here, still locked somewhere deep inside because, what…I’ve been afraid to unlock it’s potential? Ignorant of the calling? Resistant to join that path? Scared to leave a life of comfort? Because it might expose me to hurt?

I’m still grappling with this and suspect it will be with me, now, until the day I, myself, die to transition to my next realm of existence.

Which brought me back to my Dad.

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The other day, Kristin asked if there was one question I wished I could have asked Dad but didn’t while he was alive. In the moment, I said no because I thought he and I had some wonderful conversations and because he led such a simple (my perspective!) life, that I thought I knew enough about him to anticipate most of his answers. But now, since this homily entered my life, I do wish I could have learned how Dad would have answered that question. I do suspect I know his answer, but still to have heard it from his own voice would have been priceless. And maybe he might have surprised me. I hope he would have surprised me:

“Dad, what is it you think you were especially sent here for, in this world, that no one else was chosen to come do?”

And I hope he felt he accomplished EVERYTHING he was chosen to do here.

Because, from my perspective, he did.

(I thought we needed to hear O’Donohue’s voice right now. And the scenes are from his beloved Connemara in west Ireland.)

A Morning Offering

May my mind come alive today
To the invisible geography
That invites me to new frontiers, 
To break the dead shell of yesterdays,
To risk being disturbed and changed.

May I have the courage today
To live the life that I would love,
To postpone my dream no longer,
But do at last what I came here for
And waste my heart on fear no more.

~ From John O’Donohue’s  “To Bless the Space Between Us“

Always and Ubuntu,

~ kert

Postscript:

Are YOU doing what you were chosen to be here for?

And how do you know?

Post-Postscript:

John O’Donohue died unexpectedly in his sleep in 2008 at the tender age of 52 — five years younger than I am now. It is self-evident why John O’Donohue was chosen to come to this world.

I’m still searching for mine; but I think when I’m next asked the question “So what are you going to do next?”, I know what my answer will be:

I’m setting out to discover the reason I was chosen to be here; it is the Alchemy of my Journey as a human.

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