Ascension Sunday
Fr. Anthony Brankin
I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of you not only for your kind expressions of congratulations on the occasion of my Fortieth Anniversary to the priesthood but also for your part in these past forty years. What that means is that I hope that my priesthood has been a reflection and a response to the people in the parishes that I have tried to serve. I have never thought of my priesthood as something belonging to me. Oh yes in a certain sense—my vocation—my priesthood is what I make of it. I can make a wreck of it or I can make a success of it. Or I can be somewhere in between—but always hoping that I will be able to save my soul.
Forty years ago—many different priestly paths opened up. I could have chosen to teach or preach or raise funds or administrate. As Bob Seger said once—sitting on the great Divide. I could have gone east—I could have gone west. I guess I chose to be a pastor. And when I chose to be a pastor, I chose to throw in my life with the people in the parishes I was to serve. And so in that sense my fellow Catholics—my parishioners have helped shape me the past forty years.
What it means to be a priest
Now years ago, being a pastor meant a busy life—certainly a satisfying life. The focus and the task was pretty much a given. A priest’s main focus was to foster and maintain the faith of his people. But the faith was pretty much there in the people already—they all believed and went to Mass. The rhythm and the structure of Catholic life made the priest’s job pretty easy. Mass and the sacraments, devotions and meetings, comfort and consolation, hospitals and wakes. It was all there—in place—and just waiting for him to dive in. Being a priest forty years ago usually meant having a school and going over to see the kids and tease them and maybe give out report cards. I still try to do that . Of course being a pastor meant keeping up with finances and boilers. Fixing budgets and broken windows—replacing sump pumps and sewers. It is still part of a pastor’s life. And for me that is ok. I have always liked working with my hands. Some of my proudest moments have been when the maintenance men would ask to borrow one of my tools.
One Sunday recently someone came up to me in the back of the church and demanded to know: “Who is in charge of the toilet paper around here?” I shrugged my shoulders and said “I guess that would be me.” That is what a parish priest has done forever. For a long time his job was about maintenance—spiritual and material. He tried to maintain the faith that has been handed on to him and to his people and preserve the buildings and other resources that belong to his people. But things are changing. Oh my goodness Mass and confession and the sacraments will never change. That is the heart of it and will be the priests job until the end of time. But the priesthood is nonetheless being fine tuned—readjusted—overhauled—even as we speak.
What I have come to learn—in the last twenty years and very particularly in the last eight years that I have spent happily at Saint Odilo—is that the maintenance days of a pastor’s job are over. Today the priest has to be a missionary. Today he has to be an Apostle. There is a whole world out there—that used to be Catholic— used to be Christian—but no longer. They are moderns and no longer Catholics. I cannot assume anything anymore. I cannot assume that the people know the faith as they used to in the time of my parents and grandparents. I cannot assume that they accept it—even if they know it. I cannot assume that just because someone has a traditionally Catholic name that they are Catholic. I cannot assume that they are even baptized—or that they have even received their sacraments. Modern life has changed it all. There is a new landscape—a new cityscape. It doesn’t look the same anymore. It doesn’t act the same anymore. And no matter how sleek and shiny and glittery modern life is now, it is not at all beautiful and good—and is actually a little dangerous—to life—to persons—to souls—to families.
A missionary priest
So that means that I have to be more like Saint Paul and more so than all the pastors I have ever known. As I say, I have to become a missionary. I have to preach the Gospel to ears that have never heard the Gospel before or who have heard a distorted or incomplete version of it. I have to talk religion to people who don’t like religion—or who are bored with it or angry with it. I am the ambassador of Jesus to people who have no idea that He is God. I have to represent a Church that the media for twenty years has characterized as an evil group of unbalanced fanatics and grasping predators. I have to devise a way to explain and convince them that the Catholic Church is the Body of Christ on earth—with authority that comes from God—and actually comes before the government.
And to do all this I have to learn what is going on in the minds of moderns—how did we get that way? Who was our anti-teacher? How can I find a way into souls and minds and see if I could sow a few seeds of faith. When I came here—I had to learn about Berwyn—and Cicero. I had to learn about Cermak Road and Savings and Loans and Vesecky’s Bakery. Yes, a lot of the old timers have moved on—but not before they have left instructions for those who followed. I have had to learn Spanish. And I still struggle, but it is of course learning more than grammar and vocabulary. It is learning how a traditionally Catholic people—who are still traditionally Catholic—do things. How can I help them maintain their traditions and their faith in this modern world? And maybe this will be a lesson in Catholicism for those of us who don’t speak Spanish.
I have had to contemplate the Tsunami of the internet—the phenomenon of the social media—and texting and twittering—the world of laptops and notebooks—smart phones and iPhones and see how it interfaces with pop culture and movies and music. I want to see whether or not it is having a bad effect on children and families and husbands and wives. I want to know whether or not it is killing relationships and souls and faith. I am trying to figure out what is going on—and why and how to put our Catholic faith into the discussion. I have had to pull myself (as much as possible) out of the culture—out of the matrix—out of the screen—to get a better look at modern life—to try to see where we all are. It is almost as if I am doing a little triage—to examine how we and our families have been weakened or wounded or stained and scarred by all that goes on around us.
This is the Church as field hospital—as Pope Francis calls it. And we all have our hands full trying to bandage wounds that modern life has inflicted. Anyone who thinks that all these years my sometimes blunt and a little bit strange sermons are my way of scolding people—have misheard me. All I am trying to do is make us—myself included—aware of what is going on around us. Most of the time—unless someone calls our attention to it—we don’t even notice that we are being manipulated and propagandized. But that is always the way it is with the best propaganda—we don’t notice it—we just live it and feel very proudly that everyone thinks and feels and believes like we do. That’s when they have got us and we find ourselves totally concentrating on this world and ignoring the next and placing our souls and our loved ones in jeopardy.
We need to see how they—our masters—are trying to eliminate our faith in the supernatural world so that they can control us in this world, and then lead us to hell. It is the din of the world that prevents us from hearing the Gospel—which is the Good News of the Next World. The priest, the pastor now is a missionary who must learn what it is that is preventing his people from getting what they need—and he then must find a way to get it to them. In one sense a priest’s job hasn’t really changed—it is all about grace and sin—love and redemption—sacraments and sacrifice. But it has gotten a whole lot more interesting and dangerous lately—but truth to tell—it makes me wish I had forty more years. God love you.