Last Sunday the Mass was referred to as the “Solemnity of Sts. Peter and Paul.” In being named that way, you and I might be tempted to immediately think of how irrelevant their story is to ours. After all, who among us is a “saint,” and who among us is regarded with “solemnity?” These key figures are, by the feast’s name, presented to us as mythical supermen whose faith and commitment and powers were “Far beyond that of mortal men.”
Maybe we don’t think of our lives as matching the gifts of Peter and Paul. But maybe we SHOULD! Here’s what prompts me to suggest this perspective on ourselves.
I recently found my report cards from kindergarten. At the end of the year, Sr. Raynora, my teacher who kissed me on the cheek as I left school each day, wrote my mom saying: “It has been a pleasure to have had Michael. He is a most interesting little boy. I marvel at the adjustment he made entering late. I think you will be proud of him next year.”
Unfortunately, the following year I was inspired to imprint my wooden desktop by means of a pen that was able to gouge lines over the entire desk. I guess I thought it was neat how I could race the pen point up, down, across, and sideways over the grooves. However, this effort led to my being brought to the pastor on a Saturday with my parents. Perhaps little Michael needed counseling? After all, this defacing of a desk may indicate future delinquency, right? That seemed to be a possibility as I matured into a 3rd grader who was only able to bring home a report card that read: 1 C-, 1 C+, 6 C’s, and an A (I could spell really well).
My academic mediocrity isn’t what I remember most from that period. What sticks out in my memory is my scoring the winning touchdown in our class’s yearly game against the 4th grade. I caught a deflected pass and proudly ran into the end zone, untouched by my opponents. Unfortunately, I scored this touchdown for the 4th grade! I had run in the wrong direction. A moment of redemption came during Junior year in high school when my football coach said I might be the team captain the following year. That honor did not occur since I stopped playing and chose to be the student trainer (taping limbs, bringing water, etc.) Perhaps my departure was a factor in the team’s first losing season in 30 years.
At least I was consistent! When I finished my freshman year in college, my grades were very much like those I received in the 3rd grade. Challenges of all types made me think that I would continue my family tradition of no one graduating from college. Like Peter and Paul, I somehow saw the light, asked God for help, and received a degree with “magna cum laude” honors.
In thinking of my life’s challenges, I think of yours, too. And I’m reminded of the wisdom statement that we are products of the past—not prisoners of it. I often looked at people in the church, God’s artistry of their faces, and the varied colors of their shirts and coats–and was often reminded of an image. To me, you’re like beautiful Christmas presents with wrapping paper on each of you–moving about, or sitting with the choir, or ushers, or lectors. Your clothing was like wrapping paper covering the gift for others that you are.
Your presence at Mass provides you with lovely ribbons of inspiration and hope. It helps make you a gift for others–a real “keeper.” The homilies you hear along with readings, the songs sung, the presence of others you know are good people—all help complete the gift you take from church and offer to people you meet in a hundred different encounters.
I know, however, that you don’t always feel like a beautiful gift-wrapped present. Life can be a real struggle at times. Teachers might kiss you, but others might condemn you. Your victories are fast-fleeting as you sometimes are with the wrong people in the wrong end zone. We’re all capable of running the wrong way.
That’s why it’s important to recall what the Old and New Testament remind us of each week—such as in the persons of Peter and Paul. Scripture tries to break through our shell of hurt and remind us that yes, you’re not God. But you’re “God’s work of art.” When God made you, God broke the mold, and if God were to describe you in a poem, this is what you would receive:
If I were to seek a precious gift,
I’d gather wildflowers in a wicker basket.
And to every blossom give significance.
The biggest—understanding–is colored baby blue.
The warmest is affection—colored pink.
Patience, the hardest to pick, is deep purple.
The purest flower with milk-white petals is truth.
The strongest flower is yellow like the sun—faith.
If I were to gather all these flowers,
Blossoms all different in meaning and hue.
Then there in the basket I would find one—you.
That’s the greeting God gives each of us when we come to Mass. Our ritual language doesn’t quite communicate that message in the same way. However, were it stated in one sentence, remember: God chooses unlikely people to accomplish great things! And the 2 saints we honored “solemnly” were Peter and Paul. They were like you and me—ordinary people—able to be football captains, but serving wherever in or out of the lineup God calls us to be.
I cited above the winning of honors at college graduation, but that was sort of a beginning for where my life might unfold. Where would that be? Especially since I managed to get a degree that it took 4 years to realize I had chosen the wrong major! I felt like the Marlon Brando character in “On the Waterfront.” His life as a boxer was over (like my college career that supposedly prepared me to teach). He was going nowhere—which is what I felt in having a degree I didn’t want. I felt like he did when he said: “You don’t understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been a somebody . . . instead of a nobody . . . which is what I am—let’s face it.”
It seemed that everyone was interested in things which cast no appeal to me at all. My interest focused on American Indians, and when I mentioned the subject, people thought my interest was quaint and not particularly important. Maybe they were right. Maybe I should pursue more conventional interests.
I took this concern to my advisor, a Jesuit historian held in very high esteem throughout the academic world. He listened to me and said, “Stelts, you reach the highways, through the byways–follow your heart, for there your treasure lies.” And the rest, as you know, is history.
I pursued Indian studies, worked on reservations, pastored an Indian parish, taught at an Indian high school and college, worked for a tribe on the Indian gill-netting case, and published books and articles dealing with Indian life. As you know, two of those books helped pave the way for an Indian holy-man, Black Elk, to be placed on the road to canonization as a saint.
His was the story of a man whose world was turned upside down as he was brought out of the stone age and into the fast pace of 20th century life. He participated in the victory of Little Bighorn over General Custer in 1876, and witnessed the massacre at Wounded Knee in 1890 when 300 of his people, mostly women and children, were killed by the U.S. cavalry. He helplessly watched many of his friends and family die in war, or from disease, malnutrition, or depression.
Living most of his life on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota (America’s poorest county), Black Elk left a legacy that today has made his name famous around the world.
With more reasons than most people to “throw in the towel on life,” he instead befriended Jesuit priests who received him into the Church, and became a Catholic catechist who tried his best to live the Gospel.
In fact, he preached a gospel of hope to Indian and non-Indian audiences. He always tried to teach others that each person has a special mission in life, and that God made each person for a special reason. Yes, that person is you and me, Peter and Paul. May you and I take to heart the following:
if it falls your lot to be a street sweeper
go out and sweep streets like Michelangelo carved marble
sweep streets like Raphael painted pictures
sweep streets like Beethoven composed music and like Shakespeare wrote poetry
sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will have to pause and say “here lived a great street sweeper who swept his job well
if you can’t be a pine on the top of the hill
be a scrub in the valley
but be the best little scrub on the side of the hill
be a bush if you can’t be a tree
if you can’t be a highway just be a trail
if you can’t be the sun, be a star
for it isn’t by size that you win or you fail
be the best of whatever you are
As Black Elk would say: “cante wasteya napechiudzapelo” “my heart shakes hands with yours.”
