FR. BRENDAN MCGUIRE

I know that many of you, over the years, have told me how sad you are that your children and grandchildren do not come to church. It is hard, because you wonder what you have done that has led them away, or not to stay. It is hard, because you struggle. You want them to have what you have.
But I want to say to you: you have not failed. You have been faithful.

This last week I read an article about a tribe called the San tribe in southern Africa. They are believed to be the oldest continuous culture of human beings in the history of humanity, some 40,000 to 50,000 years old as a tribe. What is fascinating about this tribe is that it has no kings, no armies, no crowns, not even an official leadership in any way.

I was talking with a colleague this week, and she said, “God, where has the year gone? It is Easter already, has Lent already passed?” I said, yeah, it has. I sympathize. Lent seemed to go faster than any forty days recently. We never seem to ever get a chance to slow down.

They had carried a grudge so long that they had forgotten. It had become like furniture in their house. It was just part of their lives.
One leaned into the other and said, "You know, I am sorry. I was wrong." And the other calmly said, "Yeah, I know. And so was I."
What struck me was not the precision of the words. It was what happened afterwards. The light in their faces. Their faces changed,
both of them, simultaneously.

One of the great gifts we have as priests is to visit people in their homes and in their areas of vulnerability, in their hospital beds, in their convalescent homes. And when we get there, yes, we bring oils, often bring communion, and we bring prayers. But what we receive is often something quite spectacular. We see relatives, loved ones, not doing anything spectacular or heroic, but they are present. They are simply present to their loved one, holding their hand, taking care of simple deeds. Sometimes conversations, sometimes not, but there is a sharing of love.

And in this worst place of human suffering, he came to a profound realization. Who was it among them that survived? It was not the strongest. It was not the smartest. It was the one who had meaning in their life. And the meaning had to be greater than the suffering.