Until I was age 9, my family was not hurting financially. Back then, one of our regular experiences was to go out to dinner at a nice restaurant. Years later, I asked my mom why she and dad allowed my brother and me to order a shrimp cocktail as an appetizer. They were just as costly then as they are today.
As an adult, I wondered why they permitted us to order such an expensive item, and then order an entre from the just-as-expensive menu. We could also order a “Shirley Temple cocktail” as they had their “Old Fashioned.” We were young boys who had no sense of running up the bill. Mom said they let us order these expensive dinners “because we loved you.”
When my dad lost his business and we were poor, we never again went out to dinner as a family.
This week’s gospel brought these memories to mind. It tells of a rich young man asking Jesus how he might find eternal life. Asked if he had observed the commandments, the young man said he did. Whereupon, Jesus “looked upon him lovingly”—maybe just like my mom and dad looked upon my brother and me. Jesus knew the young man had much to learn—just as my brother and I had much to learn after experiencing a life of privilege.
I can just picture Jesus reacting to the young man’s assertion that he had observed the commandments. Jesus probably smiled, rolled his eyes, and sighed before responding to this child of God who thought he was perfect. Like an all-knowing parent speaking to a naïve child, Jesus then diplomatically suggested the young man sell all his possessions and give his wealth to the poor. Yikes—the young man probably no doubt thought. Maybe I better re-think whether or not I have observed the commandments. Surrendering his wealth to the poor was NOT an idea he wanted to embrace.
Not surprising is that modern-day studies have shown that wealthy people give proportionately less to charities than poor people. This topic always unleashes political fights when large tax breaks are given to individuals or corporations because some will argue that wealthy people will create jobs with their windfall.
Known as “supply side” or “trickle-down” economics, tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations have been found to NOT stimulate economic growth that helps the less affluent. Instead, it has created a greater gap between the rich and lower classes. Economists currently say that it has been the most enduring failed policy idea in American politics. A timely example of this shows that Trump supporters often point to his administration’s “supply side” policies as worthy of their vote. However, 16 Nobel Prize winners in economics recently announced that his economic plan will be a disaster. Meanwhile, many ordinary folks think they know more than these Nobel prize winners, and think the supply-side strategy will work! See Wikipedia on this.
Jesus told his disciples that it is hard for a rich person to find eternal life. This coincides with the theory that wealthy people are not dependent on anyone or anything (if their financial pipeline is sustained in some way). This contributes to a mindset that they need not rely on God, too. Hence, our secular society has many people comfortable enough to avoid church attendance or have a religious practice of any kind (Christian or not). Jesus could have asked the young man if he had been generous to people (and not just observed “Thou shalt not steal”). Or, he could have asked him if he brought life to people in some way (instead of just observing “Thou shalt not kill”). Each commandment isn’t just a prohibition but is also a stimulus to bring about the opposite of what they forbid. Thus, each of us is that rich young man who Jesus looked upon lovingly. Like the young man, we fall short of the ideals we preach. Jesus “ministers” to each of us—HOPING that we make decisions that see us as proactive and not just living in a neutral gear.
I met with Bishop Gruss and a group from Detroit on Saturday. The group wanted to know more about the Indian man whose biography I authored which helped put him on the road to canonization as a saint. “Black Elk” first came to the attention of the world in the book Black Elk Speaks and then The Sacred Pipe: Black Elk’s Account of the 7 Rites of the Oglala Sioux. These books captured world attention in reporting a “Sioux” (Lakota) man come of age in the buffalo-hunting era of tipis and fighting the cavalry. He was at Custer’s Last Stand (the battle of the Little Bighorn) in 1876 and Wounded Knee in 1890. This latter site saw many elders, men, women, and children killed. Weaned on these books and others, I was curious to learn more about Indian people—and so requested an assignment to teach at Red Cloud Indian School on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota.
Why should I, someone born and raised in Detroit, decide to forsake teaching at a Jesuit prep school and seek a placement at the poorest school run by the Jesuits? Over time, it occurred to me that my story is, or can be, your story–just as the rich young man is a story about each of us.
My departure for the reservation was not an easy decision to make. After all, I had any number of other options that glittered enticingly with fantasies of “the good life.” Fortunately, I did what each sincere Christian should do. I told my spiritual director about entertaining thoughts of going to Pine Ridge to teach instead of places where my peers would go. Maybe I should drop the idea and simply go with the flow. After all, I’d probably “fit in” better at a nice, first-world school. No one was interested in teaching on a reservation, but here I was—thinking of what a neat setting I’d be inhabiting with this famous tribe. Maybe this was a silly fantasy and not reality-based.
My adviser said it seemed my interest in the Sioux/Lakota was solid, and that the “call” to be at Red Cloud Indian School seemed authentically from God. He said: “Stelts, you reach the highways through the byways, and it seems you’re being offered to take one of those byways now.” And the rest is history—except for learning the truth of what Albert Einstein once observed: “Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.” In retrospect—and not at the time—I was able to see one coincidence after another on my path to writing about Black Elk.
Getting my college degree, the Jesuits allowed us guys to get a Master’s degree before teaching—my class being the first to be given this option. I wanted to learn more about Indians—so this new policy was serendipity. Good timing. A Jesuit scholar suggested I go to Indiana University’s Folklore Program. I did so, and what a surprise to learn that the author of The Sacred Pipe was a visiting professor that year at I.U.
I was nervous and frightened about making the big move to Pine Ridge—wondering if I’d fit in or fall out, succeed, or bomb in the classroom and with the kids. Would I meet Black Elk’s relatives and learn more about his religious practice in the old way? Uptight, I flew to South Dakota holding my turtle bowl in my lap since I was accompanied by my little turtle who could only go with me if I carried him.
Long story short is that I met Black Elk’s only surviving son, Ben, and was excited to make some contact with the venerable patriarch’s family member. It was a great disappointment when Ben died just months after I met him. I now knew no one who could provide me with information about the revered Black Elk. I was disappointed.
And then, one day, the boiler stopped working in the school, and classes were canceled. I went outside to have a smoke and sat next to a Lakota grandmother on a bench. I asked if she had gone to school here and she said that yes, she had, and that the school dedicated its yearbook to her brother. Since I was the faculty member who volunteered to oversee making a yearbook, I knew about its dedication to Ben Black Elk. That’s how I met the holy-man’s only surviving child, Lucy Looks Twice. Over the next 5 years until her death, I gathered as much information as I could about her father. Eventually, the University of Oklahoma published Black Elk: Holy Man of the Oglala, and Nicholas Black Elk: Medicine Man, Missionary, Mystic. These books told the story of a buffalo-hunting Sioux warrior who converted to Catholicism in 1904 on the feast of St. Nicholas and became a dedicated catechist for the rest of his life. He died in 1950.
In 2017, the bishop of Rapid City, Bishop Gruss, asked the U.S. Catholic Conference of Bishops if they would vote for Black Elk to be considered for sainthood and name him a “Servant of God” (the first title given to a person who was being considered). The bishops unanimously declared him a Servant of God on November 14th, my birth date (unbeknownst to anyone there).
By the grace of God, I somehow made decisions that seemed to be good promptings of the Holy Spirit. For some reason, a sincere interest in something good (learning about Indians) presented me with the option of pursuing that interest more seriously. I could have made many other decisions that percolated within my mind and heart. But I took the percolating and wonderment to a spiritual director, and involved myself with more “mini-decisions” related to the interest area—and made my way west. The same process is offered each parishioner of St. John’s (and all God’s people). Coincidences and other experiences combine to help us pursue the special roles God created each of us to incarnate. This process is at play right now as you read this.
One of the readings from a weekday mass is worth noting here—for your benefit. It spoke of Paul persecuting Christians before falling to the ground on the way to Damascus (in present-day Syria). He heard the voice of Jesus ask him “Why are you persecuting me?” From that experience on, Paul ended his old way of life, changed his thinking, and became a great light of Christian tradition. Most importantly, he realized that God/Jesus was telling him that the past was the past—and he could start afresh NOW. He could find new life in his commitment to living as Jesus had taught. And so it is with you and I. We can begin anew today.