Earlier this year I was invited to speak in a parish and to give the homily at the Eucharist. Usually, when I travel to give retreats and talks, I stay in a nearby hotel, but in this case I agreed to accept the invitation to stay at the home of the two priests a mile or so from the church.

I was driven down a rather dreary looking street, past poorly constructed homes and, eventually, pulled into a small parking lot beside what looked something akin to an abandoned house. Inside, it was rather dim. The first thing we walked into was an old kitchen table covered with a red plastic tablecloth and piled high with papers, messages and memos. The kitchen was simple and basic.

"Make yourself at home," I was told cheerfully by my driver. "There's some cereal somewhere, maybe some fruit and there might be some stuff in the fridge." The fridge, actually, turned out to be just about empty except for one plastic container with leftover food from some past parish event. Up the rickety wooden stairs I was shown a narrow room with minimal furniture and a bunk bed made up with fresh sheets. I felt more like a missionary back in Africa that a visiting speaker in a North American parish. The place was utterly poor and utterly simple - except for the small prayer room off the kitchen where the two priests prayed early every morning and at night - this room was bright and comfortable and had a light - all of its own.

And I prayed: BLESSED ARE THE POOR IN SPIRIT.

That evening I spoke in the packed church. The noise of greetings, laughter and conversation warmed the winter air. The People of God were gathered - they were young and old, male and female, black and white, Catholic and Protestant, straight and gay. All of them were different. BUT in one thing they were all the same...

Their eyes shone with the love of God.

The next day I visited a few of the many ministries run by this inner city parish which, once dying with barely 200 parishioners, now had a membership of nearly 4,000:

A shelter for the homeless - and I prayed: BLESSED ARE THE MEEK
A mission in Haiti
A food pantry
A mission in Mexico
A clothing store for the poor
A Hospice - and I prayed: BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN
A day care center
A home for former prisoners - and I prayed: BLESSED ARE THEY THAT HUNGER AND THIRST FOR JUSTICE
A restaurant run and managed by former prisoners
A free clinic - and I prayed: BLESSED ARE THE MERCIFUL

And everywhere I went the community radiated joy and gladness, and their eyes shone with the love of God.

Early that evening the Pastor invited me to join some of the parishioners in a down town march for peace outside the Federal Building. The parish community was protesting the threatened bombing of Iraq by the U.S. Government. It was a hard decision for me to make because it was pouring - teeming - rain and I had just washed and fixed my hair in preparation for standing up and giving the homily that evening. But I looked at the priest and the band of gathered parishioners - old, young and even babies in arms, holding their banners for peace and drenched in rain - their eyes shining with the love of God.

And I prayed: BLESSED ARE THE PEACEMAKERS

And so I joined them: And so we marched: And so we got very, very wet as the rain poured down our faces. But our hearts were filled with longing for peace and our eyes shone with the love of God.

That evening, in the packed church, I watched as the Associate Pastor stood at the altar and held high the chalice. And as she stood, in alb and stole, her eyes shone with the love of God.

Later on that night I sat in the little kitchen with the two priests who had hardly eaten for most of the day. They rummaged for food in the fridge and pulled out the parish event leftovers. "Does anyone cook for you?" I asked. "Oh no, of course not," the pastor said. "But food always turns up somewhere. The people are very good to us."

And his eyes shone with the love of God.

That same night the associate priest whose family was in Mexico received a phone call from home that his father was undergoing serious surgery. The pastor sat up throughout the night with his colleague sharing his grief and praying in vigil. I left them praying and went to bed, exhausted...

BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO MOURN.

I left that place the next morning, humbled and awed by the most graced and spirit filled experience I had enjoyed for a very long time. When I returned home I shared with my friends that I had experienced a little bit of heaven, I had seen what it really meant to be church. My eyes shone with their love of God.

A few months later, this summer, the Pastor of that church, Fr Jim Callan, was ordered by the Vatican to leave his community, his church, his family as a punishment for breaking the rules - for gathering together a diverse community and feeding them, and for inviting a woman to stand with him at the altar of God.

And I prayed: BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO ARE REVILED AND PERSECUTED.

The community cried out in pain and devastation at the injustice and the terrible loss, but came ever closer together in their commitment to be faithful in the face of oppression and to continue in their way of being Church even without their much loved and prophetic priest. And their eyes shone with the love of God.

There comes a time, when the Poor in Spirit - who know that God is in charge - must stand up and proclaim it.

There comes a time when they that mourn - who long deeply for healing and wholeness must begin to reach for it.

There comes a time when those who are abused and persecuted in the name of righteousness must claim the seal of Yahweh.

(stole)

     the Symbol of Servanthood
     the Sign of Discipleship...

and
Whatever the consequences
Whatever the persecution
Whatever the loss...
     MUST WEAR IT...
must not be afraid to wear the seal of Yahweh.

Blessed are you... Rejoice and be glad..for your reward will be great, this is how they persecuted the prophets before you...

And their eyes shone with the love of God.