Bishop-elect John Keehner delivered the following homily at his farewell Mass at St. Columba Cathedral in Youngstown on March 23.
One of the things about being a priest that I most enjoy—and which I often find most humbling—is the fact that I get invited into the very sacred moments in people’s lives. Sometimes, that means sharing in the joy of young parents as they bring their infant to church for the first time for Baptism, and I recognize—even in their exhaustion—just how happy they are to be parents and how much they want to bring their child up to have a relationship with Jesus.
Sometimes that means sitting with someone as he or she sobs through a confession they’ve been afraid to offer for a very long time—sometimes even decades—and seeing the utter relief that is theirs in knowing that they are truly forgiven. Sometimes that means sitting with a family at the bedside of a loved one who is breathing his or her final breaths and commending that person to the mercy and love of God. Sometimes it simply means enjoying a family meal.
No matter what the situation—a wedding, a funeral, working with a couple before marriage, hearing confessions, offering the Anointing of the Sick and the final Sacraments to those who are dying—these are all very privileged moments. They are sacred moments in people’s lives in which they invite a priest because they want to Sacramentalize that moment. They want to know and acknowledge concretely that God is truly present.
I was thinking about this last week, when I was reflecting on these Scripture passages and came to the startling revelation that this is exactly what Moses came to realize in witnessing the burning bush—that he was standing on holy ground. Whenever we enter into the intimate moments of people’s lives, whenever we help others come closer to God, whenever we celebrate the Sacraments, we priests are standing on holy ground. And that is an awesome—and at times terrifying—reality for me and, I’m sure, for my brother priests.
Moses approaches the burning bush as a curiosity. He’s drawn to it as we are all drawn to the unusual and the unexpected. But as he nears the bush, as he sees that the bush remains unconsumed by the fire, he hears the voice of God himself speaking to him, telling him to remove the shoes from his feet because he is standing on holy ground.
We all have those “holy ground” moments, those moments we realize are sacred. What is important for us as persons of Faith is not to ignore those moments or to allow ourselves to become immune to them, but to allow them to touch us to the very core, to startle us, to remind us of the sacredness of human life and the fact that we are, all of us, created in the image and likeness of God. And so every time we encounter another person, we encounter the image of God—regardless of how sinful we or that person might be. Every time we look in a mirror, we should be willing to see Christ looking back at us. Every time we see another person, we should be willing to see Christ looking back at us. Every time we see another person, we should be willing to recognize God’s face. And that’s why sin can be so destructive—because it distorts our understanding of what it means to be created in the image and likeness of God, to the point that we view others simply as objects, as things to be used and manipulated. But it is also and especially why we must be attentive to the needs of those around us, the poor, the hungry, the homeless, those who walk our streets, the marginalized, those suffering from mental illness. Because in a special way, they remind us of what it means to see Christ in others—Christ who is crucified in their suffering, Christ who invites us to join Him in carrying His cross and all the while He carries our individual and collective crosses for us.
And so, every time we come to Church, we should approach with that same attitude with which Moses approached the burnt, burning bush—with the realization that we are walking on sacred ground. Every time we approach the altar that we might share in the Eucharist, we should at least spiritually be taking off our shoes, taking off our attitudes of self-reliance or arrogance, taking off our masks of self-righteousness—conscious that we are standing on holy ground and are about to receive the living and eternal God into our bodies, into our hearts. We should be “taking off our shoes,” taking off our masks of self-reliance and our souls—and that God allows us to do so at all is a reminder to us of just how merciful God is, of just how much He loves us.
As our Gospel passage reminds us, God does not want us to die in our sins. He does not withhold Himself from us as if we were unimportant to Him, but rather pours Himself out for our sake, inviting us to share in this meal of what are not just symbols, but the true and living body and blood of his Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. In doing so, He shares His life with us, inviting us to see Him and to know Him and to love Him, simply because He loves us.
The morning of the announcement that the Holy Father had named me Bishop of Sioux City, a friend sent me a video clip from the movie Field of Dreams. I’m sure you know which clip I’m talking about. Shoeless Joe walks up out of the massive cornfield onto the baseball field and asks, “Is this Heaven?” to which Kevin Costner’s character incredulously responds, “No, it’s Iowa.”
As I prepare to leave Ohio for Iowa in just a few weeks, please know that I’m grateful to all of you for offering me a precious glimpse of Heaven here on earth. Thank you for allowing me to enter into the sacred moments—those burning bush moments of your lives. Thank you for the witness of your faith, even in difficult times; for your patience with me in my foibles and weaknesses: for your willingness—like the gardener in the Gospel parable—always to give me a second chance and a third chance and however many chances I’ve needed when I’ve stumbled and tripped—usually over my own ego. I will be forever grateful to all of you.
I’m grateful to the priests and religious, to the dedicated lay men and women and to the members of the parishes and institutions where I’ve served. First, the Tribunal staff here at the Chancery offices; St. Charles and St. Luke Parishes in Boardman (now St. Catherine of Siena Parish); St. Columba Parish, (the former) St. Casimir, the Newman Center at Youngstown State University and St. Christine—all here in Youngstown; St. Paul in North Canton and Holy Spirit in Uniontown; as well as the four parishes where I currently serve, Our Lady of Peace in Ashtabula, Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Geneva, St. Andrew Bobola in Sheffield and Corpus Christi in Conneaut. I’m grateful to the members of the Ancient Order of Hibernians—whom I served locally and on the state and national levels, as chaplain— for your friendship, unity and Christian charity, that you’ve always extended to me.
I will be forever grateful to God for the gift of priesthood, which I’ve shared here, in this particular corner of God’s vineyard, that I’m blessed to have called home. And so I say, “Thank you, and God bless you.”
