We may adopt Pope Francis’ most frequently quoted (and misunderstood)
question, “Who am I to judge?” in reflecting upon what we perceive as erratic
ways of our priests. To begin with
we can ask the Lord to show us how our own weaknesses are feeding those of the
priests.
Priests do not live in a vacuum—we are part of their world, we share in
their culpability. When on account
of their soiled hands we hold priests in contempt we may be committing a sin
just as grave as that we are condemning.
Do we not pray every day, “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who
sin against us”? If we can be
blind to our own faults, how can we claim to see those of others? How do we know that these “difficult”
priests we complain about do not beat their breasts every night in
remorse? Who are we to weigh their
souls and read their hearts? Who
are we to judge?
We can only beg the Lord to increase our compassion and faith in His
mercy for us sinners. In God’s
goodness He tenderly receives us penitents in His Heart, shows us our wounds,
and humbles us in secret. If the
Lord can strengthen us to embrace His cross, how much more His anointed men
upon whose shoulders He has placed heavier crosses? We can only marvel at the mysterious ways God melts the
hardest of hearts, including those of priests.
A priest in his late 30s—bright, good-looking, energetic, esteemed by
colleagues and superiors alike—fell from his proverbial ivory tower when he
underwent a so-called executive check up.
Day One at the hospital he enjoyed the attention of the nurses and the
doctors who complimented him on his attractive qualities and sizzling
energy. Day Two proved to be a
different story. He was subjected
to several tests, samples of his body liquids were taken, and his insides were prepared for more
tests. He was to say on
hindsight: “That was my first time
to be so physically exposed. That
part of my body which for years I had reverently kept for God’s eyes only,
became a mere laboratory specimen. While the doctors and the nurses called me
‘Father’, I felt more like a piece of meat being scrutinized, evaluated, and
labeled.”
The enema was particularly agonizing, he recalled, “Nothing prepared me
for that kind of assault on my dignity. I felt violated. That was so cruel, far worse than any
penance I had experienced in my whole life. I was wilted when it was over.”
The procedure wearied him physically, but the experience soon enveloped
his being in a newfound self-knowledge: “I realized I had presumptuously placed
myself above others (less gifted); I was riding high, on top of the world, with
my future assured, deserving of everything good thing I was receiving—until
that ‘executive check up’ pulled me back down to earth. I had to accept that like everybody
else, I am made of corruptible stuff.”
About two weeks later, still struggling to erase the enema episode from his memory, this young priest was to see with fresh eyes something he had always taken for granted. “Jesus took me by surprise,” he said, “it was during Mass, I was seated, waiting for the singing to end, when I glanced at the small crucifix on the altar. The realization struck me like lightning: the ‘Father’ attached to my name is a mockery if I am not willing to be naked like our Lord on the cross.”
(To be concluded)
About two weeks later, still struggling to erase the enema episode from his memory, this young priest was to see with fresh eyes something he had always taken for granted. “Jesus took me by surprise,” he said, “it was during Mass, I was seated, waiting for the singing to end, when I glanced at the small crucifix on the altar. The realization struck me like lightning: the ‘Father’ attached to my name is a mockery if I am not willing to be naked like our Lord on the cross.”
Like bolts of lightning, too, the images flashed back to his memory of
his nakedness in the hands of the medical personnel: “I was virtually transported back to my private air-conditioned hospital room
with cable television, refrigerator and telephone, the fresh bed linens,
gourmet meals, flowers from friends and admirers, my favorite cakes and ice
cream filling up the refrigerator, a coterie of nurses at my command—and I was
not even sick! This man, this man
on the cross had NOTHING!”
 | |
| I believe the priest's sentiments are echoed in this moving painting of our Lord Jesus, naked on the cross. Instead of writing a mere caption, i urge you read the story behind the painting here, http://art-for-jesus.blogspot.com/2008/04/crucifixus-naked-son-of-man.html |
