Nativity Catholic Church
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My Grace is Sufficient for
You—Really? Quite often, when hearing the Word of God proclaimed at Eucharist, I am transported to other places and times and experiences. It has the power to do this! No, I don’t mean I daydream and wander off until someone’s kneeler makes a noise or an infant starts singing his or her own personally chosen hymn. I mean that the Word of God connects me with something deeper and richer beyond the present moment, and then opens that experience to illumination by God’s Word. Such a thing happened this past Sunday in hearing Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians. But first, walk with me backwards for a bit. A couple of weeks ago, I celebrated my 21st anniversary as a priest in the Missionaries of the Most Precious Blood. My anniversary falls one day after my birthday, so I have back-to-back occasions for celebration each June. The memories of my ordination day carry so many wonderful feelings, even as these memories become a little tarnished and foggy with the passage of the years. But embedded in those blessed memories is also a painful memory, one that continues to gnaw at me when I let my guard down. Coupled with the memories of my birth into this world and the birth of my ministry, as a priest of the Lord, is the memory of death—the death of my dearest friend, Fr. Stanley Cmich, C.Pp.S. Fr. Stan died of lymphatic cancer at the age of 29; he had only been ordained a priest two years before his sickness and death. Stan was a wonderful person and priest—a deeply spiritual man who had so much to offer God’s people, and in fact did so in his short number of years. Stan was thought to be in near remission from his cancer before his untimely death. Right before he was scheduled to return to his retreat ministry and participate in a special program, which involved traveling out of state, Stan received one final, heavy chemotherapy treatment, a treatment from which he never recovered. A cherished tradition of ordination and one’s “first Mass” is to invite a beloved colleague, mentor, and friend to proclaim the homily at the first Mass. Fr. Stan was to be the preacher at mine. As it turned out, Stan died about 7 weeks before that wonderful day, and instead of Stan preaching for me…I preached for him and his family…at his funeral. This past weekend, Paul spoke some powerful words about weakness and strength, words that I believe we swallowed on Sunday like a spoonful of tasty ice cream—smooth, slippery, and easily digestible, but words that upon further reflection, I assume we generally reject! I suspect that we’d all have different attitudes about power, prestige, muscle, and military exploits, both as persons and as a nation, if we truly bought into the words: “for when I am weak, then I am strong!” A beautiful sentiment, I’m sure we’d say—but totally impractical in this world of ours—right? Paul proclaimed the power of Christ shining through human weakness by embracing that weakness—the very weakness Jesus Christ displayed by hanging on a cross, by emptying himself of all that was of this world, so that he could be filled with the power of God that raises people from the dead. In Second Corinthians 7, Paul explains that when he begged the Lord to deliver him from the affliction that so deeply troubled his life, his “thorn” as he called it, the Lord responded by saying: “my grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” So what’s the connection? What’s the illumination? To where did this brazen Word of God transport me? “My grace is sufficient for you” was a central theme in the life of my friend, Fr. Stan. In fact, he chose this as the verse that graced the cover of his first Mass program and prayer card. Little did Stan know that his attraction to this passage would eventually play itself out in his living and dying as a young, unfulfilled priest. Yet as I reconnected with his friendship and life in those moments of Sunday proclamation, I began to see just how God’s grace was enough for Stan and for me in dealing these many years with his loss. Through God’s grace shining through the weakness of cancer and its debilitating treatments in Stan’s life, he was able to persevere through pain and disappointment and remain strong in his commitment to God and God’s healing gifts. Stan would have never made it as far as he did through that first year of cancer without a deep and abiding knowledge that God was still active in his life, raising him up in his lowliness, and allowing him to minister to others as a priest through his own suffering. While certainly Stan would wish not to have had cancer, he allowed God’s grace to fill up the places that were being depleted by the cancer cells. Stan’s priestly ministry did not diminish because he was unable to travel, or lead retreats, or celebrate Eucharist, or offer spiritual direction. Rather his priestly ministry shifted to a closer union with the ministry of Christ as priest, whose “altar” wasn’t the comfy-cozy table of the Passover Upper Room, but rather the tree of destruction, the cross upon which he hung as he truly offered his very self, his “real” body and blood, the gift of self not hidden under the “form” of bread and wine. No, the altar of the cross, from which Jesus presided as priest, clearly un-“Da Vinci-es” any quaint notion we have of the first Eucharist! In his living and dying, my friend Fr. Stan showed that in the direst, bleakest moments of his self-loss and self-emptying (not always by choice), God’s grace was enough to sustain him. Debilitating and dying, in his weakest moments, Stan proved to be stronger than I could ever imagine myself to be. As the days of celebrating my ordination anniversary fade, and I recall both what has been…and what never had a chance to be because of the loss of Stan, I still see these words of Paul etched on a now-yellowing piece of card stock…and I wonder…are these words idle sentiment to me…or are they a truth that still needs time to come to life within me? Perhaps in admitting to my weakness here…God’s strength will eventually shine through and be sufficient for me…and many others, as we struggle to face the losses and disappointments that color our lives.
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