This is the sermon I gave on May 27, 2007, @ 12:15 Mass, the 40th Anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood.
I'm not going to preach on the scripture readings of today's Mass, instead I'm going to tell you my life story. Well, not the whole 65 years, but just the last 40 years of my priesthood, with some background.
The question I have been asked most often in the past 40 years is "Why did you become a priest?", or, more commonly, "What MADE you become a priest?", (as if some kind of coercion had to be involved!) I usually answer flippantly "God!". But that's a cop-out. The answer is more complex. I didn't hear voices. I didn't have to. It was always there. I have my own theory about vocations to the Priesthood. There are basically two kinds of priests: those that were born priests, and those who realized their calling later in life, usually after embarking in a different direction. I fit into the first category. As far back as I can remember, I've wanted to be a priest. The earliest memory of my childhood is, when I was nine years old. My 4th grade teacher back in Our Lady of Perpetual Help School in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn was Sister Muriel Vincent,of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Chestnut Hill. (The only teacher from my elementary school years whose name I still can remember!) I remember her asking me in the schoolyard one day, "Michael, what do you think you want to do when you grow up?" Without hesitation I answered, "I'm going to be a priest!" I think she must have suspected that, or she wouldn't have asked.
Most people presume that, because my uncle and godfather is a priest, that he must be responsible! Well, that's only partially true. He certainly was a significant influence, but the real responsibility lies with his sister, my mother. I used to say that Archbishop Boland, on May 27, 1967, ordained the wrong person. He should have ordained my mother! (If that were possible!) She was the real theologian. When I came home to Lodi on my summer vacations, I would bring with me my theology textbooks, with the intention of reviewing them. ( Yeah, right!) Well, my mother read them. She also taught 7th grade in the CCD program at St. Francis of Sales parish. The Archdiocese of Newark would hold various workshops for parish CCD teachers, in a variety of subjects. One of the courses one year was given at Mt. Carmel Church in Ridgewood by my scripture professor at the seminary, Fr. Ed Ciuba. One Monday morning he came into class, looked at me with a smile of amusement , and said "Hansen, why aren't you as smart as your mother?". When I went home for the next holiday I would say, "Mom,I think it's great that you teach CCD class, and that you're always improving your knowledge of the Faith, but do me a favor, and in the future, please, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!" (I really didn't talk that way to my mother, but words to that effect.)
She also converted my father to the Catholic Faith. He was born in Norway, and baptized and raised a Lutheran. But when he met my mother,without hesitation he became a Catholic. Mother was a person of very deep faith. I'm convinced that her father, my grandfather Frank, was a saint! I don't mean that rhetorically, I mean a real, living saint! He went to mass and communion every morning before going to work, and except for his fondness for beer, (not necessarily an impediment to sainthood), he lived an exemplary life. He was faithfully married to my Grandmother Aloysia for more than fifty years and raised six children, one of them a priest. So he certainly was a compelling inspiration to me. My father may not have been the most religious person, but he supported my choice of vocation without hesitation or reserve. His mother, my Bestemor (Grandma) Ellen, remained a Lutheran to the end of her life, living the last ten years of her life in our Catholic household. When I was in Bergen Catholic High School , my pastor and spiritual director was a kindly, Friar Tuck kind of Franciscan, Father Francis Jerome Doughan. When discussing religion with him, I would occasionally come out with some outrageous opinion, and Father Francis would just shake his head and mutter, "Michael, Michael. That's your Lutheran blood coming up again!" And I would think to myself, "Well, I'm damned proud of my Lutheran blood!" (But, of course, I'd never say that!) I'm also grateful to my parents for having raised all of us with an open mind, teaching us to think for ourselves and question authority, even if was their authority. (To which my father might answer with an equally open hand!) Maybe she shouldn't have told me about all the hot water she got into with the nuns at St. Dominic High School in Oyster Bay, Long Island, when she would express her outrageous opinions. (That's where I got it from!) She certainly was a free-thinker. All her life, up 'till the end. One of the greatest gifts my parents gave me was to name me Michael. At my baptism they entrusted me to his care, and I have to say that nothing bad has happened to me. Oh, the usual disappointments and problems that are part of every life, but nothing really major and life-shattering. When I celebrated my 13th birthday they gave me a painted plaster statue of Michael the Archangel, driving a lance through Satan's eye. That statue has been on my bedside table for more than fifty years! What I am today is a gift from my mother and my father, and for that I will be eternally grateful to them.
In ending this talk, I would like to conclude with a dramatic example of how God , through His Great Angel Michael, has directed my life. Before I came to Assumption I was twenty years in my previous parish. That's too long, and it's very difficult to adjust to change after such a long period of being comfortable and secure. How difficult, I didn't realize at first! So for the first eighteen months, I was very unhappy here in Emerson, so I decided I would try again, someplace else. I didn't realize that wherever I tried, it would be the same. It wasn't the place, it was me. So, in my stubbornness I decided that I would call the Personnel Office in the morning and make an appointment to discuss my request for a change. That night I got a phone call. From a 6th grader at Villano Public School, who I knew very well, Nick Ramaglia. "Father Mike, Our class has been taking this workshop on Community Involvement. And as a project at the end of the year, we're supposed to pick someone who has made a difference in our lives by their involvement in our community. My class picked you!" I was stunned! I looked up to heaven and muttered, "Lord, what are you doing to me?!" There was no way I was going to leave these kids now! All plans of asking for a change were flushed down the proverbial toilet in that instant! If that wasn't enough to convince me, the next morning I got another phone call, this time from the teacher of the 5th grade at Villano School. He started to explain to me about the workshop on community involvement his class had been taking this year, when I interrupted him, "I know all about that. Nick Ramaglia from the 6th grade called me last night and told me about it." "Well then you won't be surprised to learn that my class also picked you, and it was unanimous!" He explained to me that when they had counted the votes there were three students who had named someone else, and the rest of the class ganged up on them, demanding, "What's wrong with you? Don't you know Father Mike?" Well, in the finest tradition of Soviet democracy, they voted again, and this time it was unanimous! Talk about a message, loud and clear! Afterwards, when I reflected on the incident, I realized that I had just avoided a fatal mistake, and since then I have always referred to those kids as "The Class that saved my life". I don't see anybody from that group out in the church this morning, but if there are, or wherever they are, thank you - thank you. I love you more than I could ever tell you!
I'm not going to preach on the scripture readings of today's Mass, instead I'm going to tell you my life story. Well, not the whole 65 years, but just the last 40 years of my priesthood, with some background.
The question I have been asked most often in the past 40 years is "Why did you become a priest?", or, more commonly, "What MADE you become a priest?", (as if some kind of coercion had to be involved!) I usually answer flippantly "God!". But that's a cop-out. The answer is more complex. I didn't hear voices. I didn't have to. It was always there. I have my own theory about vocations to the Priesthood. There are basically two kinds of priests: those that were born priests, and those who realized their calling later in life, usually after embarking in a different direction. I fit into the first category. As far back as I can remember, I've wanted to be a priest. The earliest memory of my childhood is, when I was nine years old. My 4th grade teacher back in Our Lady of Perpetual Help School in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn was Sister Muriel Vincent,of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Chestnut Hill. (The only teacher from my elementary school years whose name I still can remember!) I remember her asking me in the schoolyard one day, "Michael, what do you think you want to do when you grow up?" Without hesitation I answered, "I'm going to be a priest!" I think she must have suspected that, or she wouldn't have asked.
Most people presume that, because my uncle and godfather is a priest, that he must be responsible! Well, that's only partially true. He certainly was a significant influence, but the real responsibility lies with his sister, my mother. I used to say that Archbishop Boland, on May 27, 1967, ordained the wrong person. He should have ordained my mother! (If that were possible!) She was the real theologian. When I came home to Lodi on my summer vacations, I would bring with me my theology textbooks, with the intention of reviewing them. ( Yeah, right!) Well, my mother read them. She also taught 7th grade in the CCD program at St. Francis of Sales parish. The Archdiocese of Newark would hold various workshops for parish CCD teachers, in a variety of subjects. One of the courses one year was given at Mt. Carmel Church in Ridgewood by my scripture professor at the seminary, Fr. Ed Ciuba. One Monday morning he came into class, looked at me with a smile of amusement , and said "Hansen, why aren't you as smart as your mother?". When I went home for the next holiday I would say, "Mom,I think it's great that you teach CCD class, and that you're always improving your knowledge of the Faith, but do me a favor, and in the future, please, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!" (I really didn't talk that way to my mother, but words to that effect.)
She also converted my father to the Catholic Faith. He was born in Norway, and baptized and raised a Lutheran. But when he met my mother,without hesitation he became a Catholic. Mother was a person of very deep faith. I'm convinced that her father, my grandfather Frank, was a saint! I don't mean that rhetorically, I mean a real, living saint! He went to mass and communion every morning before going to work, and except for his fondness for beer, (not necessarily an impediment to sainthood), he lived an exemplary life. He was faithfully married to my Grandmother Aloysia for more than fifty years and raised six children, one of them a priest. So he certainly was a compelling inspiration to me. My father may not have been the most religious person, but he supported my choice of vocation without hesitation or reserve. His mother, my Bestemor (Grandma) Ellen, remained a Lutheran to the end of her life, living the last ten years of her life in our Catholic household. When I was in Bergen Catholic High School , my pastor and spiritual director was a kindly, Friar Tuck kind of Franciscan, Father Francis Jerome Doughan. When discussing religion with him, I would occasionally come out with some outrageous opinion, and Father Francis would just shake his head and mutter, "Michael, Michael. That's your Lutheran blood coming up again!" And I would think to myself, "Well, I'm damned proud of my Lutheran blood!" (But, of course, I'd never say that!) I'm also grateful to my parents for having raised all of us with an open mind, teaching us to think for ourselves and question authority, even if was their authority. (To which my father might answer with an equally open hand!) Maybe she shouldn't have told me about all the hot water she got into with the nuns at St. Dominic High School in Oyster Bay, Long Island, when she would express her outrageous opinions. (That's where I got it from!) She certainly was a free-thinker. All her life, up 'till the end. One of the greatest gifts my parents gave me was to name me Michael. At my baptism they entrusted me to his care, and I have to say that nothing bad has happened to me. Oh, the usual disappointments and problems that are part of every life, but nothing really major and life-shattering. When I celebrated my 13th birthday they gave me a painted plaster statue of Michael the Archangel, driving a lance through Satan's eye. That statue has been on my bedside table for more than fifty years! What I am today is a gift from my mother and my father, and for that I will be eternally grateful to them.
In ending this talk, I would like to conclude with a dramatic example of how God , through His Great Angel Michael, has directed my life. Before I came to Assumption I was twenty years in my previous parish. That's too long, and it's very difficult to adjust to change after such a long period of being comfortable and secure. How difficult, I didn't realize at first! So for the first eighteen months, I was very unhappy here in Emerson, so I decided I would try again, someplace else. I didn't realize that wherever I tried, it would be the same. It wasn't the place, it was me. So, in my stubbornness I decided that I would call the Personnel Office in the morning and make an appointment to discuss my request for a change. That night I got a phone call. From a 6th grader at Villano Public School, who I knew very well, Nick Ramaglia. "Father Mike, Our class has been taking this workshop on Community Involvement. And as a project at the end of the year, we're supposed to pick someone who has made a difference in our lives by their involvement in our community. My class picked you!" I was stunned! I looked up to heaven and muttered, "Lord, what are you doing to me?!" There was no way I was going to leave these kids now! All plans of asking for a change were flushed down the proverbial toilet in that instant! If that wasn't enough to convince me, the next morning I got another phone call, this time from the teacher of the 5th grade at Villano School. He started to explain to me about the workshop on community involvement his class had been taking this year, when I interrupted him, "I know all about that. Nick Ramaglia from the 6th grade called me last night and told me about it." "Well then you won't be surprised to learn that my class also picked you, and it was unanimous!" He explained to me that when they had counted the votes there were three students who had named someone else, and the rest of the class ganged up on them, demanding, "What's wrong with you? Don't you know Father Mike?" Well, in the finest tradition of Soviet democracy, they voted again, and this time it was unanimous! Talk about a message, loud and clear! Afterwards, when I reflected on the incident, I realized that I had just avoided a fatal mistake, and since then I have always referred to those kids as "The Class that saved my life". I don't see anybody from that group out in the church this morning, but if there are, or wherever they are, thank you - thank you. I love you more than I could ever tell you!
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