[Propertalk] Proper 15 a

[robertpmorrison at charter.net]

First draft! 8 - )

Bob


THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH OF ST. ALBAN, ALBANY 
THE TENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST
GENESIS 45:1-15						                                    PROPER 15 (A)
ROMANS 11:1-2a, 29-32					                           17th AUGUST, 2014	
MATTHEW 15:10-28			                                                              	 
PSALM 133

	One of the more moving stories that’s stayed with me concerns the late 
Joseph Cardinal Bernardin, who was archbishop of Chicago from 1982 until 
1996. Consecrated Auxiliary Bishop of Atlanta in April, 1966, at the age 
of thirty-eight, Bernardin was the youngest Catholic Bishop in America. 
By the time he reached Chicago he’d been engaged in most of the major 
social and ecumenical committees and commissions of the Roman 
bureaucracy. His interest and his ministry, though, however much based 
on academic learning and teaching, grew out of a life of hands-on 
compassion and the search for the meaning of life.

	We know how difficult it can be to have cordial and productive 
relationships with folk from the other side of the aisle, whether it be 
in politics, or the United Nations, or even with those who sit on one or 
other side of the aisle in this room. I’ve seen you exchange glances!

	But when people from the highest levels of government, or religious 
bodies, are involved, life can be very difficult. Language takes on 
incredible import. People have to pussy-foot around, not wanting to give 
away the store. One word, one gesture might create havoc from which it 
might be impossible to recover, and when you’re dealing with 
relationships – whether familial or political or ecclesiastical – you 
can’t be too careful, especially when there’s been a history of 
suspicion, and recrimination, and abuse and torture.

	That’s what made Cardinal Bernardin’s remark so memorable. He was 
invited to meet with a large gathering of Jews from different branches 
of Judaism. There had been a few, on both sides, who wondered whether or 
not this was a wise move, or whether or not it would deepen the tension 
between Judaism and Christianity. People wondered what on earth would 
happen. Then the cardinal stood up to talk and he began with the words, 
“I am Joseph, your brother.”

	There was an audible inhalation before each one present rose to his 
feet in pleasure and there was a long and heart-felt standing ovation. 
Centuries of fear and distrust began to crumble with those few words.

	It wasn’t the first time Bernardin had said them. In a homily he’d 
preached when he’d been given the official notification of his 
appointment to the Archdiocese of Chicago, he said “I Am Joseph Your 
Brother.” He said, “To be good priests we must first be good men. This 
requires that we seek to understand the mystery of our whole humanity. 
We must make provision for our physical, emotional, and psychological 
health. We [simply] cannot hide from life. Our vocation is not a matter 
of ‘easy hours and no heavy lifting.’ Only by living life in all its 
complexity will we be able to serve our people with compassion. Our 
genuine interest and authenticity should be manifest. If we are truly 
comfortable with ourselves and have a deep appreciation of our celibate 
commitment, we should not fear opening of ourselves to others in love 
and lasting friendships. Like everyone else, the priest needs 
affection.” 1

	In identifying as brother to people who didn’t share his religious 
beliefs, as well as to those who DID share them, the cardinal talked 
about what defines us all as human beings, about what makes us children 
of God. In these particular cases he was addressing abuses. In the case 
of the clergy and congregations within his own denomination, he was 
talking about living vows faithfully and addressing, without blinking, 
the charges made against clergy so that there could be some sort of 
healing. In the case of his relationship with the Jewish communities, he 
was saying that past behaviour was unacceptable, and that any further 
expressions of bigotry and persecution would not be tolerated. He was 
holding out his hand in love to those who had been wronged; he was 
restoring, or trying to restore, the true relationship of brotherhood, 
living it as fully as he was able. He was BEING Joseph.

	 This makes me wonder just how Joseph was feeling, alone with his 
brothers – those to whom he’d been so mean and had behaved in such a 
supercilious way before. I mean, he’d been a really rotten to them in 
the past. What did he know about being a brother? For him to admit to 
them that he WAS their brother, he was taking a terrible chance. To some 
it might seem an act of craziness or desperation.

	How Joseph had grown! There had been all sorts of occasions since his 
arrival in Egypt, possibilities for him to be opportunistic. He could 
have curried favour with any number of people, fooled around, lied, 
cheated, you name it. But he’d learned, he’d grown up.

	I wonder if it was because he was in a foreign land with strange 
customs. Maybe that had brought him back to his senses and led him to 
reevaluate his religious and social roots. Whatever it was, he’d 
realized that he DID have gifts which would benefit the whole community, 
no matter who that community was. He began to understand that God was 
not confined by any boundaries. He’d become aware that just because 
things were different in Egypt, and no matter how he’d ended up there, 
God wanted him to use those gifts he had as a blessing even for those 
who might ridicule him and his ways. Joseph, whom some had characterised 
as “the Dreamer” was now Joseph “the Risk-Taker”, whose vision had been 
so enlarged and improved. There was no one for whom Joseph could and 
should not extend himself, to whom he could and should not reach out – 
no one! Part of his spiritual and emotional maturation process  was a 
willingness to do what was unexpected, not to cling to his gifts, not to 
use them at the expense of others. Maybe he realised what Robin Williams 
verbalized a few years later: You're only given one little spark of 
madness. You mustn't lose it.” 2

	Joseph had learned. He wasn’t about to lose the opportunity to reach 
out, to be compassionate, to learn what it meant to be a child and a 
sibling, what “being family” meant.

	But think of the others in that room with Joseph. What terror might his 
words to them have induced? They’d not taken his youthful haughtiness 
and petty self-aggrandisement lying down. Finally, it had boiled over 
and they lashed out at him, brutalising him and casting him off to some 
fate worse than death. It was a case of good riddance. If Joseph were to 
be swallowed up by foreign customs and practices, if he were to be 
abused, that was no longer of any concern to them. Let him pay for his 
arrogance, and all his other mannerisms and beliefs. They were well rid 
of him. Or so they thought.

	But now they stood alone with him. Joseph, ennobled, trusted, 
respected, with all sorts of power; and the brothers stood there, 
wondering what was about to happen. Then he spoke: “I am Joseph, your 
brother”. NOW they were in for it, God help them.

	Their learning was about to begin in earnest. No doubt for a long time 
they’d regretted their hostility and their compete lack of compassion. 
They must have seem how they’d hurt Jacob, how they’d played their part 
in destroying the fabric of the family. But how far had they come? Did 
they know what it meant to be family? They were called on to do 
something crazy themselves, to take that leaf out of Robin Williams’ 
book. They too had to understand that “You're only given one little 
spark of madness. You mustn't lose it.”

	The wonderful news, though, is that these simple words – I am Joseph, 
your brother. It seems that family trumps abuse; family trumps anger; 
family, and the understanding of what familial relationships are 
supposed to be all about – family not only trumps everything, but 
invites us to take risks, to reach out not matter what the other looks 
like; no matter how anyone has behaved in the past. Family, childhood, 
sisterhood and brotherhood – they’re part of the invitation to draw 
closer and closer to knowing God and acting for God.

	So our latter day Joseph, Cardinal Bernadin, could stand before clergy 
of his own denomination and say, “I am Joseph, your brother”, meaning 
you can talk to me in trust and, no matter what’s happened, we can find 
a solution. He didn’t say, let’s sweep this or that under the rug. He 
was upfront and non-defensive. He sought honesty and openness, but he 
was there out of compassion and not power; out of love and not 
vindictive authoritarianism. As his namesake in Egypt, the cardinal 
pledged to use his resources to make things right, and just, and filled 
with a new understanding of relationships and love.

	I haven’t read how those clergy responded to Joseph Bernadin that day 
or in the months ahead. It’s quite possible that some – or even all – of 
them rolled their eyes behind carefully hooded lids, silently muttered, 
“Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard this before.” Some may even have decided not to 
make or encourage any change in behaviour. But that didn’t stop Joseph 
Bernadin.

	Standing in front of his Jewish sisters and brothers, that same man 
sought to repair centuries of legalised brutality and the deliberate 
propagation of misinformation and lies. He took a really crazy chance. 
He made himself quite vulnerable. Some might say that he was inspired to 
think of that spark of madness that lay within him and to hold out his 
hand, no matter what the response might be. And, for their part, those 
Jewish sisters and brothers in the room with Joseph recognised what 
Joseph was doing and they too took a chance by responding in love and 
understanding.

	I like to think that everyone in these stories – both the biblical 
account and the ones involving modern day participants in the awakening 
to God’s love – I like to think that everyone grew in the understanding 
of the incredible mercy, compassion, justice and hope that God extends 
to everyone, without exception: just as happened when the disciples, the 
Canaanite woman and Jesus came together in such a wonderful moment. 
There too, everyone learned. Jesus Himself was staggered. He gave the 
official line – about God’s love, but of the fact that He didn’t have 
time to move beyond the small, though admittedly chosen, family. But He 
was amazed by the inclusiveness of God’s loving and healing blessing 
taught Him by that woman. SURELY that was no chance encounter. SURELY 
she and Jesus HAD to meet, for His enlightenment.

	No one is beyond the reach of God. No one is beyond the longing of God 
to see people be in harmonious relationship. And no one – even God’s own 
Son – no one is beyond the call to serve to bring people together and to 
restore health and salvation as God intends.

	I can’t remember how long ago it was, but I was at a gathering in the 
Veterans Memorial Coliseum in Portland at which Cardinal Bernadin was to 
speak. I had something else happening later in the day, I don’t recall 
what, but I was there in my black suit and clerical collar. I DO 
remember that it was a gathering of different Baptist conferences. After 
Joseph spoke, as well as several times through his speech, he was given 
standing ovations. At that point, the man sitting behind me tapped me on 
the shoulder and said, “Thank you for sharing him. Thank you for his 
ministry.”

	Who was I to tell him that was an Episcopalian, and, as far as I know, 
didn’t have anything to do with Joseph Bernadin’s visit. But what I took 
away from that brief encounter, and remember to this day, is that I am 
Joseph’s brother – even in the midst of mistaken identity!

	I am Joseph’s brother, even when it’s awkward. I am Joseph’s brother, 
even if there are differences of opinion, even when there has been 
anger.

	And because I am Joseph’s brother, and he mine, that means that I 
cannot but strive for compassionate love and mercy throughout the entire 
human family – to make sure, as the first Joseph did, that everyone is 
fed and given water. I cannot but strive to make sure that people have a 
place where they can relax and settle down to sleep without worrying 
about bombs, and sudden, aggressive behaviour – no matter whether it’s 
in Israel, or Gaza, or St. Louis.

	I wonder whether Robin Williams was completely right, that we ARE given 
only ONE little spark of madness. I pray that that’s not so. I pray that 
we can risk all for the sake of bringing the entire human family back 
together again. Surely we’re not beyond the possibility of learning? But 
if it IS only one little spark that we’re given, then, for heaven’s 
sake, let’s use it with abandon – for Joseph’s sake!

NOTES:

1 	Homily delivered at Evening Prayer on 24 August 1982. Joseph Louis 
Bernardin Collection, 1966-1997, University of South Caroliniana 
Library, Manuscript Division 
http://library.sc.edu/socar/uscs/2001/bernard.html

2	Robin Williams see http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000245/bio

Robert P Morrison
Interim Vicar
The Episcopal Church of St Alban
PO Box 1556
Albany OR  97321   541-921-1076 (cell)
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