The Judge Report

From The Reagan Diaries:

Monday, December 19, 1988

…A dispute also with task force looking into Fetal tissue research.  They say using aborted fetuses is not immoral. Well I say it is because abortion is immoral.

I was watching Father Corapi’s catechism lesson tonight on EWTN. (Don’t ask me which of the fifty episodes it was. Every one’s a classic).  He related a personal anecdote, dating back to the time when he found himself homeless and penniless, having squandered millions in an immoral, irresolute life.  There he was, sitting on the very park bench where he used to perch when taking a break from the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

He had sunk about as low as you can go.

And then a woman came by, looked him over, and smiled.

“That smile may have saved my life.”

********

I think I lived that story in a way a couple of times before and after he told it, and long before I heard it.  I suspect most everyone has been in one of those dark situations at one time or another, or will be.

There was the time Mary was eight months pregnant with our first child, and her father soon to die, and we had a mortgage to pay and I got fired from my job in Albany and I went over to Old St. Mary’s to pray and Msgr. O’Malley smiled at me.

And that other time, the evening of the day when my most grievous sins first appeared in the headlines of a local paper and Pat McDermott at a noisy crowded football game said to me simply, “Hang in there.”  And so I did, rather than disappoint him.

And even before that when only those closest to me knew how desperate  I was becoming, when a court  reporter came into my office and handed  me a pamphlet.  “I know what you’re going through.  Say this novena prayer every day for the next nine days.  You’ll be ok.”  And I was.

And then there was that crazy man in New York City.  I had gone to early morning mass at St. Patrick’s, remembering the 25th anniversary of my father’s death and bolstering myself for the 14 hours of testimony I would be giving on my own behalf in a vain attempt to keep my judgeship.

So here’s this street person with the most beatific smile I have ever seen standing on the corner near my hotel.

“God bless you!” he called to me and I felt his blessing warm every cell in my body on that December day.

********

I wonder how many times I’ve just walked on by, completely oblivious to someone whose life I could have saved with a smile?

Week two of my impromptu EWTN Groupie Tour began Friday evening when Mary and I arrived at the Lowell (MA) Memorial Auditorium to take in a weekend of presentations by Father John Corapi, SOLT.

We are big fans of his, dating back to his series on the Catechism on EWTN which began playing in 1996 and has never been off the air.  We also have a certain affinity for him.  His conversion took place at the Shrine of the North American Martyrs in Auriesville, NY, only about six miles from our house, where he not only returned to the church after many wild years of decadent living, but decided to become a priest as well.

He hails from Hudson, New York, a city much like Amsterdam and about the same distance south of Albany as we are west.  In the 1940’s, 50’s and 60’s, St. Mary’s of Hudson were the arch rivals of St. Mary’s of Amsterdam in basketball.  Rocky McCune remembers Father Corapi’s father as being one of the star players of his era.  What we didn’t know is that Father Corapi had two aunts who lived in Amsterdam, one a Sister of St. Joseph who worked in the operating room of St. Mary’s Hospital for about forty years and another who he mentioned in one of his addresses as the person who reconciled him to his father after a twenty year estrangement. 

After the lectures he chatted with Mary and I far longer than he should have considering the long line behind us and autographed Mary’s copy of the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

If Father Rutler, my host last weekend, represents the cerebral and the scholarly approach to passing on the teachings of the Church, with his perfect erudite references to Aristotle and Aquinas and his total immersion  into sacred music and forms, Father Corapi  presents more as a  blue collar rock star, and so he was welcomed as he walked onto the stage on Friday night.

The warm-up act was a contemporary Christian music chorale and band.  I confess it didn’t do much for me, though later at benediction they handled O Salutaris Hostia and Tantun Ergo Sacramentum and Holy God We Praise Thy Name with exceptional skill.

But all those jumpy-clappy middle aged and later women scattered around the hall failed to enrich me, though I’m sure they felt quite spiritually involved themselves as they grabbed their tambourines and skipped up the center aisle in a sort of impromptu ecclesial Conga Line.

*******

Father Corapi is a mesmerizing speaker and every moment of his six-plus hours over two days was memorable.  This new series, Easy Prayer for Hard Times was taped a few weeks ago and will be broadcast on EWTN sometime in the future.  Particularly useful was the segment “Offer It Up”, the substance of which most Catholics over the age of 50 should recognize immediately.

“Johhny, take the garbage out.”

“But Grandma, it’s snowing!”

“Offer it up.”

He did his doctoral thesis on the theology of suffering, later published as a 333 page book.  He gave a copy to his father.

“Dad, did you read the book?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes, I liked it a lot.”

“Did you understand it?”

“Not much.  Just the part where you said, ‘Offer it up.’”

The simplicity of prayer.  The simplicity of joining your sufferings to Christ.

A good message.

And one Father Corapi won’t be giving before crowds of thousands any more.  For after traveling millions of miles since his ministry began, more miles than Pope John Paul II flew in his entire pontificate, Father Corapi announced that we were witnessing his last public performance, at least until 2009.  He is concentrating on books, television and his web site, where he will be giving weekly homilies soon.

Pray for him.  Pray hard.  He needs the strength of our prayers.

**********

Personal to Dawn Eden: The lecture on the first night primarily concerned  making yourself receptive to the power of prayer, and mentioned seven virtues to strengthen yourself as part of the process, including the essential virtue of chastity.

Sunday morning found me in midtown Manhattan in the greatest city in the world on as perfect a day weather-wise as I have seen since probably September 11, 2001.  I parked the car on 37th Street with the initial intention of catching a bite before attending Father George Rutler’s 11 a.m. Mass at Our Saviour, but the dearth of traffic on a summer Sunday in the big town had allowed me to cruise from Bob’s place in East Elmhurst to midtown in twenty minutes, so I wandered in for the 9:30 instead.

I have previously written about this wonderful parish chuch four blocks from Grand Central Station and its exceptionally gifted pastor.  His Masses exude sanctity in a way that’s difficult to describe but wonderful to experience.  Christ in the City would be a good thing to call it, and Father Rutler already has, on his EWTN series filmed there.

The homily was just magnificent, as always, Father commenting on the gospel of the day with references to Aristotle and Aquinas, and mixing in wonderful anecdotes and examples from the lives of St. John Vianney and a contemporary ordinary parish priest who could have been a baron and chose to serve God instead.  Seemingly heading off in different directions, Father Rutler drew it all together and wrapped it in a bright ribbon for us and for God.

After Mass I introduced myself and he seemed delighted to meet me, a reception somewhat different from what I have received locally lately.

“That gentleman who was in front of you is former Senator Larry Pressler of South Dakota.  You should go say hello to him.”

Just like the Cure d’Ars! I thought.  He sees my soul and recognizes me as a Conservative Republican Pro-life Catholic Red Sox fanatic!

Well, no, actually he reads The Judge Report once in a while. 

And I really have no idea what baseball team South Dakotans traditionally root for. But otherwise, Senator Pressler has always been my kind of guy.

And he was most gracious.  He had arrived alone a little early for the 11 and had no problem whatsoever spending time with a total stranger.  He kept asking questions about Amsterdam.  Ultimately the only things he could relate to were its distance from Albany and its connection to Kirk Douglas.

He’s currently teaching at St. John’s University in Queens, trying to teach our future leaders that it is indeed possible for a rich man to get into heaven, that free markets are not incompatible with virtue, and how both are important for the physical and spiritual well-being of the human race.

“What brought you to this church from upstate New York?” he asked me, and I tried feebly to explain as I did here how there’s just something about Our Saviour that sets it apart.

“Maybe its just that there seems to be more faith in this little parish church than in all the great cathedrals,” I said.

He nodded.  He knew.

By this time Father Rutler was ready to begin the next Mass, and I stayed for the beginning, then wandered on my way, confidant that Sen. Pressler would find much to chew on from the sermon he was about to hear.