May 25, 2022
Paulist Fr. Rich Andre preached this homily on the Sixth Sunday of Easter (Year C) on May 22, 2022, on his last weekend serving as Associate Pastor at St. Austin Catholic Parish in Austin, TX. The homily is based on the day’s readings: Acts 15:1-2, 22-29; Psalm 67; Revelation 21:10-14, 22-23; and John 14:23-29.
I moved to Knoxville, Tennessee, in January 2012 to begin full-time ministry as a deacon. My first weekend, as I was introducing myself to parishioners after Mass at Immaculate Conception Parish, they were gushing about how much they loved the Paulist Fathers. I’ll never forget what one woman said, in particular. She said: “You know what I love best about the Paulists? You leave!”
Well, that didn’t exactly sound like a compliment to me. I decided that what she meant was that as missionaries, Paulists build parish communities that will continue on after any of us individually leave for new assignments. Jesus tells the disciples in our gospel today that they should be happy that he is going to the Father. But I ask a favor of you all: if you’re happy that I’m leaving St. Austin after this weekend, please don’t tell me!
As you and I prepare to take our leave of one another this weekend, we know – as Jesus knew at the Last Supper – that our time together is limited. What should we say, do, and pray in the very short time we have left?
Let us begin by celebrating the great gift of God’s mercy.
It’s an experience that happens to a lot of seminarians. I first heard about it from my buddy Peter, a Franciscan friar. As part of a summer ministry program in Georgia, he was talking with a small child. The child looked at Peter’s brown beard, grey habit, and leather sandals, and tremblingly asked him, “Are you Jesus?”
No one has ever mistaken for me Jesus, and yet today I might be channeling the great Paulist Gene Burke, who frequently preached, “As Jesus said, and I tend to agree….” Today, Jesus and I are both preaching our final messages before leaving dear friends for an undetermined amount of time.
What am I going to miss about Austin? Well, my first response is that I will miss the avocados. I have never lived anywhere else where avocados were such a staple in people’s daily diets. I still can’t say publicly where specifically up north I’m headed, but I assure you, avocados will not be as abundant there!
Another thing I’m going miss about Austin is the ability to use the word “y’all” in conversation without everybody staring at me. I’m from a tiny region of the country where we have our own words for the second person plural: “yinz,” “yunz,” “youses,” and “youse guys.” But “y’all” is a more widely-used word. However, up north, the words “y’all” and “all y’all” are like a pair of cowboy boots – northerners see them as a foreign oddity, just like Austinites would view men who wear three-piece suits and lace-up dress shoes in the summertime.
Our translation of John’s Greek in today’s gospel passage exposes the deficiency of not having separate pronouns for the singular and plural second person. Jesus does not say to each disciple individually, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.” Instead, he says to the group, “Peace I leave with y’all; my peace I give to y’all.” When we talk about the Church, it’s best to think of it not as a what, but as a who. The Church is us. It’s all of us – not just the saints in heaven. Not just the holy people who have their act together. Not just the professionals like me. Not just the people who join us for Mass every week. The Church includes the people who are struggling, whom we haven’t seen at Mass in decades, people who belong to other denominations. In fact, all people who’ve ever lived – whether or not they are Christians – are people created and loved by God, and therefore, they have a place in our hearts. In other words, as members of the Church, it isn’t just an issue of “Jesus and me and you;” it’s “Jesus and me and all y’all.” We are the Church. We are God’s people.
Which brings me, of course, to the thing I’ll miss the most about Austin. Since my second year in the seminary, I’ve realized that my personal mission is to witness how the Holy Spirit is already present in other people’s lives. The opportunities to see the Spirit at St. Austin Catholic Parish and St. Austin Catholic School are simply astonishing. You might not think that you’re especially holy, but let me assure you, the Holy Spirit is abundantly present in each and every one of you. Here at St. Austin, Jesus’ promise has obviously come true – the Spirit has come and dwelled in each of us individually, and among all of us together. I wrote this in my first bulletin column in 2016: “This is a place where everyone – the rich and the poor, the young and the old, the conservative and the liberal, and people of different ethnicities – join hands to praise God together.” And when the pandemic becomes a distant memory, I hope we will be able to join hands again!
Oh, my dear friends, as our six years together come to an end, the words are hard to find, even for a professional preacher like me! This is not farewell, as much as, until we meet again, thank you for allowing me to be part of your lives. Our relationship with one another will continue, but it is changing. I am now assigned to serve another community more than a thousand miles away. Although the Holy Spirit will keep us connected to one another, I will miss each and every one of you.
You are forever in my prayers. Let me put it another way, while I still can: I will miss – and I will pray for – all y’all.
As all y’all gather around [pointing] this altar, and I gather with others around an altar far, far away, we will continue to be united, along with all the saints and angels in heaven…because God will make it so. The Lord is our light and our salvation. Why should we be afraid? Nothing is impossible for God.
I can usually keep it together at a final Mass until communion, when I look so many of you straight in the eyes. Even though the miles may keep us physically distanced, God will gather what has been scattered each time we share in the body and blood of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
“Blessing,” arranged by Katie Moran Bart
May the road rise up to meet you;
May the wind be always at your back;
May the sun shine soft upon your face,
And the rain fall soft upon your fields.
Until we meet again, my friend(s),
Until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.