as it sounds, I think there is the danger of making a
god out of the community. I don’t say we’re doing that,
but I think there is the danger of trying to keep or pre-
serve the community as we want it to be or keep some
aspect that we’re married to. We have a certain reputa-
tion in our province. Will we lose this? Is this our god
that we have to let go of? This or that ministry? This or
that parish? Even the place where we live?
It’s like putting all this in our open hands and say-
ing: “God, this is our life, take what you want.” And
then as soon as God takes something, right away we
close our fist and say: “Not that, God. Come on!” Then
once again you reach out tentatively and try again. I
don’t know about you, but I need Elijah to call me out
like he did the Israelites to “paint or get off the ladder.”
These days we use the word edge or the margins to
signify people and places that don’t count, the nobod-
ies, the losers, the powerless, those who are ignored,
those at the bottom.
Some years ago, Fr. Joe Nassal wrote a prayer called
“Psalm of the Edge.” For me, that prayer is a call to leave
something behind. It’s no secret that we have a lot. I
don’t feel like I’m on the edge, (except maybe the edge of
civilization down in Texas). Don’t misunderstand: I love
what we have, but I don’t think it is the edge.
The prayer starts out: “Spirit of St. Gaspar, take us
to the edge.”
How does St. Gaspar go about this? What do
we members and Companions have to do to get to
the edge? We certainly have a powerful example in
Francis, the Bishop of Rome. I see our Precious Blood
Ministry of Reconciliation in Chicago as definitely
at the edge. Or our brothers and sisters at Most Holy
Redeemer in San Francisco. I’ve heard their ministry
has softened the heart of the Archbishop such that
he is a regular helper each week at the dinner for the
needy. You can’t beat that for results.
Not everyone is called to these things, but in some
way we are called to the edge, perhaps even in the midst
of wealth. Let me give you an example. I would not call
the Diocese of San Angelo in Texas a wealthy diocese
by any means, but there are several wealthy parishes,
especially in this time of the oil boom. The pastor of one
of these parishes told me: “If I preach charity, the people
will give the shirts off their backs. But if I preach justice,
they’ll run me out of town.” As I see it, if it is charity, I
am in control, I am free to say yes or no; if it is justice
then I’m not in control, I’m obliged, I have a duty. Does
that make these wealthy parishes bad people? Of course
not? It just means that we still have a lot of work to do to
bring people to see what justice requires. It means we’re
not at the edge yet.
I don’t think it is so much what we do, what our
ministry is, but how we do it, how we get to the edge
even in the midst of wealth. But that’s not easy. Let’s
get on with our prayer.
“With a gentle push, send us forth to fly beyond the
confinements of our minds to the heart of mystery.”
Elijah wasn’t so gentle with the 450 prophets of
Baal. He had the people slit their throats. I guess it’s
my wimpiness coming through, but every time I pray
this prayer, I emphasize the “gentle” push. So maybe it
is time to listen more closely or to expect that the kick
in the pants would be a little less gentle. I don’t think
we’re at the edge yet.
“You preached the vision of a new heaven and a new
earth. This vision has its time and will not disappoint.”
At this time it looks dark. In another community
prayer, we say: “Help us to understand the signs of our
times.” I don’t know how much brighter the signs have
to be for us to realize that something has to be done. If
we stand up and are counted for the sake of truth and
human decency, we will definitely find ourselves on
the edge with many people.
continued on page 15
July 2018 • The New Wine Press • 11