The deacon and the World Day of the Poor

“Stretch forth your hand to the poor.” 

Sirach 7:32

 This is the theme of the fourth world day of prayer for the poor, this coming Sunday, November 15. It is a theme that should be at the center of the ministry and spirituality of every follower of Christ and, especially, of every deacon. 

Recently I listened to a webinar of a prominent deacon promoting his recent book. As I listened, I felt a lack of connection of his spirituality of the diaconate with the materially poor. He had some good insights on spirituality, especially on Jean-Pierre de Caussade’s idea of “the sacrament of the present moment,” but I did not find any suggestion that, in the encounter with the poor, we are face to face with “the sacrament of the suffering Christ.” 

My question is: how can we have a spirituality of the deacon without a careful investigation of how service with the poor makes us who we are as deacons? 

I believe that a diaconal spirituality that does not incorporate the poor into an understanding of our identity as deacons is incomplete. In my opinion, a deacon without frequent and continuous encounters with the poor, the materially poor, may be missing part of our calling. 

Before I began working as a lay campus minister in the parish of St. Thomas Aquinas Church in Ames, Iowa, I had a very limited understanding of this. I was very involved in advocacy, especially of peace and human rights, but my direct contact with the poor was limited. But, through the witness of members of the parish and students involved in the service and justice team, I learned this truth and began to involve myself more directly with those at the margins of society. 

Now, I live in the midst of the poor – though my house is not anyway near as poor and simple as my neighbors. 

Recently, there have been several articles and books that refer to the work of John Collins that, in my opinion, displace the centrality of the poor in the diaconal vocation. This does not mean that the deacon’s ministry and identity are limited to “humble service,” but service to the marginalized is critical. 

Attempts to contextualize the diaconal service of the poor can lead to a marginalization of this central aspect of our vocation. What is needed is an integration of the triple diakonia: Word, Sacrament, and Charity. 

According to a recent Vatican document, the ministry of the deacon is both evangelization and charity, brought together at the Eucharistic table. (Congregation of the Clergy, The pastoral conversion of the Parish community in the service of the evangelizing mission of the Church, ¶ 82) 

I would suggest that the deacon should be seen as a sacramental presence of Christ the Servant, who became poor. 

Present at the altar we should bring the needs of the poor, especially the materially poor, praying for them in the Prayers of the Faithful. 

In our preaching we should bring to light the needs of the poor and God’s special love for the poor. A friend who worked with deacons in his archdiocese for many years has suggested that when the deacon preaches, he should make present the poor in our midst. 

When we send forth the assembly at the end of Mass, we should be sending them to live out their baptismal commitment of service and charity. We ourselves should be animating them to accompany the poor in our midst. 

Deacon Enzo Petrolino, commenting on a passage of the Syriac Testament of the Lord, writes, 

“The edifying role of the deacon in his community requires him to perceive the suffering and needs that are present in the community and, as much as possible, to spread the mercy of Jesus Christ in a concrete way, making it visible to man." (Pope Francis: Deacons: Servants of Charity, p. 245)

The deacon is a herald who should be “Good News to the Poor,” in what we say and do. We should make real the connection between the People of God and the poor and marginalized and help the Church live this.

Much has been made recently of the role the deacon has in relation to the bishop, and rightly so. But the deacon also has a role for the entire church, directly related to the poor and marginalized. 

Commenting on the Epistle of Clement to James, Bishop Shawn McKnight noted that the deacon is a bridge between the poor and the community at large. 

"Whereas the emphasis had been placed upon the deacon bringing the needs of the poor to the bishop, here the deacon is to motivate and challenge the community to satisfy the needs of the poor…. The bishop must be advised as to the needs of the people and be made aware of the charisms available within the community to satisfy these needs. Deacons are clearly described here as servants of the church, and not merely personal attendants of the bishop. The deacon serves to animate the faithful to fulfill their Gospel obligation, working to bind the church more closely in solidarity with those in need. (Understanding the Diaconate: Historical, Theological, and Sociological Foundations, p. 137) 

How then can we deacons “stretch forth our hands to the poor” and motivate the whole church to the charity and solidarity of Christ, in a world filled with suffering?

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The photo is a detail of a mural being painted in the church of Dulce Nombre de María in Dulce Nombre de Copán, Honduras. 

New Orleans, Honduras, and the African-American woman

How an African American woman in New Orleans 

got me to Honduras.

During my twenty-third year in campus ministry at St. Thomas Aquinas Church in Ames, Iowa, something happened that changed my life. Maybe I should say some things happened.

The first was Hurricane Katrina that devastated the New Orleans area in August 2015.

We responded in the parish with aid and Dee Thompson, a good friend who is a nurse, went and served those who left and were housed in Texas.

But a young man, Nate Stein, insisted that we ought to go and help. He had been involved in our student service projects and was, for a while, on our student justice and service team. He had been to Appalachia.

Finally persuaded, Nate and I began to plan to get a group to go to New Orleans during the March 2016 student break. Fifteen of us went and worked with Catholic Charities of the Archdiocese of New Orleans.

The first days we gutted and cleaned a house that was empty. Then we went to another part of town to clean out a house that had not been touched for months. The waters had reached halfway up the wall and remained there for weeks. The house, the furniture, the clothing - all wreaked of black mold.

We arrived and met Sandra, an African-American woman in her sixties, who had raised her children and grandchildren in this house. She was ill just before the hurricane and thus had to stay in her house until the waters forced her out. Then, she fled to a neighbor’s roof to escape the rising waters. She and others were rescued by helicopter. She then went to Houston and she had just come back to New Orleans.

As was our custom, we prayed before we began. I asked her to join us. Her response was most welcoming. She noted that she was a Baptist but was very happy to be joining us in prayer.

Then we began the long work of taking all her possessions out of the house.

 As we took out all her possessions, Sandra stood there with a serenity I could hardly believe.

She stood there – with a sister and a grandson. Occasionally we came across something personal that was not very damaged and offered it to her. She gracefully declined.

What struck me through all this was her tranquility, her calm in the face of seeing almost all of her possessions, her life, being carried out to the curb, to be taken to the dump.

That night the students and I sat around in a church sharing our thoughts on the day. Many of the students remarked on Sandra’s tranquility, her calm. Some asked. “How would I feel if I lost all my possessions?”

But I began to think about my house and my possessions. I began to think of my mortality.

What’s going to happen with all my junk when I die? Who’s going to have to go through it?

It was a moment of detachment.

When I got home, I began to wonder if I might leave my ministry in Ames. I had been in correspondence with Dubuque Franciscan Sister Nancy Meyerhofer, a good friend whom I had first met in El Salvador when I was on sabbatical, volunteering for six months in the parish of Suchitoto where she and four other US sisters served. I sent her an e-mail, asking if there was any way I could be of service there.

This was not something I had thought of. In fact, in February, my spiritual director had asked me if I would think of just leaving my ministry at St. Thomas. I was happy in my ministry and even had the opportunity to teach a class about once a year in the university. I was comfortably ensconced in a nice small house. My immediate response to my director was “No.”

Yet two months later I was seriously considering leaving for Central America

Somehow, while we were emptying Sharon’s house God opened something in my heart. As I look back, I realize that while we emptied out Sandra’s house, I was being emptied.

This emptying raised a deeper question in my heart: Am I called to do something more? (How typically Ignatian.)

Somehow, while we were emptying Sharon’s house God opened something in my heart.

This happened almost fourteen years ago. And now I find myself in the hills of southwestern Honduras, older than Sandra was when we met her. But I still need to keep pondering – What does God want me to let go of? In what ways need I to experience the emptying of God? What more?

In all this I return to a passage from Paul’s letter to the Philippians2: 5-7, that has formed me – since high school.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave…

Help me, Lord, to remember the roots of my missionary vocation and an inspiration of my diaconal calling.

Help me, Lord, to empty myself.  

Hands, communion, water - a deacon's meditation

The Mass for the closing of the centennial year of the diocese of Santa Rosa de Copán was celebrated today in the atrium of the cathedral – since the crowd could not fit inside. 

On this bright, sunny, hot morning, I was one of five deacons at the Mass.

The other four deacons in the picture are “transitional” deacons who will be ordained, God willing, this year. I am the old guy, the permanent deacon, on the left.

The concept of a permanent deacon is still very hard for some people to grasp, since there only experience is the transitional deacon. The deacon as a permanent sign of Christ the Servant is new – even to some priests.

I had to explain this to people several times today. A young priest, who is very accepting but continually talks about me and the priesthood, had to tell a young man that I was not a minister of the sacrament of reconciliation. Later, speaking to a small group of young people from Santa Barbara I explained the importance of witnessing on the altar the image of Christ the Servant, but quickly had to correct myself by explaining that part of my ministry is to facilitate their ministry as servants.

But as I served today at the altar I remembered the remark of a US priest about the role of the permanent deacon. As I have reinterpreted his quote, a deacon serves at the altar, the table of the Lord, with clean hands because his hands are dirty from serving at the table of the poor.

My hands aren’t really dirty, though I do have some residue from coffee picking on my thumbs and forefingers and under my nails. That is a good reminder of my ministry - showing the link between the table of the Lord and the table of the poor in the world.

But as I distributed communion today at the Mass, the importance of hands come clearer to me.

Here most people, out of a sense of reverence and a feeling of unworthiness, receive the host on the tongue. But today there were many people who came forward, as I walked into the crowd, with their hands extended to receive Jesus. I noted the hands – especially several hands stained and calloused from hard work. What a fitting place for Jesus to rest – in the hands that daily sought to do the will of God, working God’s holy creation.

I was overwhelmed at one point, near tears. For here Jesus was finding his resting place in the hands of people like him, people he identified with, people he loved.These were people who made His presence felt in the world.

The Mass ended and the bishop moved with the deacons and the priests into the cathedral behind the altar. But I knew that not all the plastic bags of water had been distributed and so I decided to go and help pass them out. I went to the car where the bags were and had the men there fill my arms with the bags. I proceeded, refilling my arms several times, to pass the water around – in my vestments.

What better way to end the Mass – having served the people the Body of Christ, I was now serving them water for the journey. What better ways to serve as a deacon.

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A few other comments about today's liturgy.

The first reading was read by a Lenca woman from Intibucá. I didn't take a picture of her during the Mass since I was seated behind her, by the bishop. But I did take this one from a distance before Mass, as she was preparing to read.

During the Mass the five deacons shared their roles.

I carried the Gospel book in the opening procession.

I also ended up receiving the gifts from the offertory procession. As I think of it I find this most appropriate for a permanent deacon whose ministry, is in part, to witness to and to highlight the connection between the altar and the world.

I also was asked to assist the bishop with the incensing - accompanying him as he incensed the altar and the gifts. I also them incensed the bishop, the clergy, and the people. I go all out with them and sometimes fear that I'll send the charcoals and the incense flying over the people. But I see this as a way to recall and to reverence the presence of God in all God's holy people gathered around the table, so that our prayers go up to God with the incense . It is also a recognition of the holiness that God has poured out over the People of God.

Incensing at the Mass of my ordination in July 2016.