The John Carroll Society

Homilies > 19th Annual Rose Mass Homily

19th Annual Rose Mass HomilyMost Reverend Timothy P. Broglio, Archbishop of United States Military Services

03/14/2010| Church of the Little Flower, Bethesda, Maryland

               I thank Archbishop Wuerl, Msgr. Vaghi, and the Officers and members of the John Carroll Society for the invitation to preach at the annual Rose Mass.  The occasion fills me with great joy, because of a deep debt of gratitude to the medical profession.  In fact I owe my very existence to medical personnel, but not because I was saved from some grave illness.  Rather some time around 1934, my mother, a young registered nurse, met my father, the senior Resident, at City Hospital in Cleveland. 

 

            My joy to be here pales into insignificance next to that apparent in the liturgy of this Fourth Sunday of Lent which stems from the experience of the Father’s love, made manifest in the commitment of the men and women we honor and for whom we pray, as well as the invitation we receive throughout this time of grace, our annual spiritual retreat.

 

The Readings speak to us of a return.  We know that conversion to be authentic must include purification, change, and renovation of the heart.  In that sense the passage from the Book of Exodus assures us that the liberation from Egypt and the pilgrimage in the desert have been accomplished.  Slavery has ended and the Chosen People have not only entered the Promised Land, but are now nourished by it.

 

Perhaps the passage from Luke, whose good news is often called the Gospel of Mercy needs little comment.  We have just heard a well-known segment from chapter XV, which stands at the center of the Gospel.  Three parables help us to grasp the depth of divine mercy. The Protagonist of the parables is always the Father whom Jesus has come to reveal. We read about the lost coin and the lost sheep and the chapter culminates in the son who returns to his father’s embrace. This crescendo of mercy teaches us that the farther away the sinner finds himself, greater is the divine mercy and love and more dramatic the gesture.

 

            Jesus is surrounded by publicans and sinners. His eating with them expresses the depth of His communion and is a prelude to the welcome He continually offers to us.  Sinners draw close, because they recognize a friend while scribes and Pharisees are critical.  The two sons show us humanity in disarray: slaves who either are in rebellion or work for a master without love.  Yet the master reveals himself as Father who restores and is not at ease until all participate in the celebration.  The parable of the forgiving Father has been called a “symphony composed by Jesus to recall every sinner to the peace and abundance of values in the Father’s house.”[1]

 

            It is a symphony that we are pleased to hear, because our condition is similar to that of one son or the other. Either we are like the prodigal who is lost, has no contact with anything familiar, and then discovers himself eager for renewal.  Or we could be like the older son: resentful, unaware of the Father’s love, and concerned only about duty.  He must grow in his relationship to the Father.  Which one of us can say that we have no need to grow in that relationship?

 

            We recognize the model in the Father who reaches out to both sons.  The figure is so complete that next to the authority and decisiveness of a father, we see the tenderness of a mother.  The embrace of Almighty God as He forgives us is complete and allows us to recognize the fatherhood and the maternity of God.  No doubt you have all seen a copy of Rembrandt’s “Return of the Prodigal Son”.  Did you notice that one arm of the Father who embraces His son is manly and coarse and the other clearly female?  He restores the prodigal even though he returns because he is hungry.  He goes out to seek the older son, despite his criticism.[2]  It is difficult to live as brothers and sisters if we do not appreciate the Father’s love and his constant outreach to restore our dignity.

 

Perfection itself is capable of such an immense love as to reach out, heal us, and draw us back to the fullness of life.  Lent invites us to accept the invitation. Can we not see a parallel here to the service given by those whose lives are so engaged in the physical healing of others?  After all, Jesus has been called the physician of sinners.[3]  What does the doctor do when someone comes to him or her with an ailment?

 

            There is an evaluation of the physical or psychological condition to determine what can be done.  The loving Father in the parable is on the lookout for his prodigal son and he notices the older son’s absence at the celebration.  He cannot remain passive in either situation.

 

            It is significant that He restores the prodigal to his former condition with the sandals of the freeman, the robe of restored dignity, and the ring of commitment and belonging.  So also does He seek to convince the older brother to recognize the new life in his brother and rejoice in that restoration. In the same way, the physician, the health care worker, or the nurse attempts to facilitate the restoration of health, the healing process, or at the very least, the ability to cope with the new condition.

 

            We honor you today for your willingness to use your talents to heal the sick.  We rejoice in your constant outreach to those in need and your service to those in difficult economic situations.  In a time when and in a city where health care is a very hot topic, we dare to highlight the merciful efforts of men and women who respond to concrete situations of need with expertise, talents, and good will.

            We also recognize those you serve.  To quote our Holy Father in his homily for the World Day of the Sick: “For all these reasons we live a joy that does not forget suffering but rather understands it. In this manner the sick and the suffering in the Church are not only recipients of care and attention, but first and foremost they are protagonists of the pilgrimage of faith and hope, witnesses of the wonders of love, of the Paschal joy that blossoms from Christ's Cross and Resurrection.

 

            This morning St. Paul reminds us that through our rebirth in the waters of baptism, we have become Ambassadors of Christ.  An Ambassador, as I know very well, is charged with acquainting others with the reality he represents.  In our case, having been reconciled by the merits of Christ, we have been inserted in Him and have been converted into cooperators in the work of salvation.  For the medical professionals and the health care workers here today, that means meeting Christ in the sick and their families while, at the same time, advancing His healing touch of life to them.  As the Holy Father wrote in his second Encyclical: “The true measure of humanity is essentially determined in relationship to suffering and to the sufferer"[4]

 

            Laetare Sunday joyfully announces the proximity of Easter.  It also reminds us that our Lenten pilgrimage nears its completion.  How have we used this time of grace and renewal? How is our spiritual health?  The annual Lenten retreat of the whole Church calls us to deepen our experience of the Father’s love, so beautifully expressed in the parable of the Forgiving Father.

 

              The occasion of the Rose Mass invites us to honor and thank those whose lives are dedicated to the care of the sick.  The Semitic culture presumed a link between illness and sin, as we see clearly the dialogue in St. John’s Gospel before Jesus heals the man born blind.  While that is not our experience and we see sin as a personal act, we recognize our duty to help others avoid the contagiousness of sin, even if only by our example.[5]  So also do we recognize our duty to see that those who are physically sick can be treated. “Those who spend a long time beside the suffering know anguish and tears, but also the miracle of joy, the fruit of love.”[6]

 

The mention of my parents at the beginning of this homily provided a useful introduction, because, as health care professionals, they met at a hospital.  However, the link does not end there.  My father practiced medicine for fifty-two years until his final illness forced him to become a patient himself exactly thirty-six days before his death in 1984.  Dear health care professionals, when I think of your commitment and speak with reverence about your service to humanity, it is with the utmost respect and gratitude for all that you are.