From Archbishop Marino
Mass of Thanksgiving for the Beatification of
Mother Katharine Drexel
December 4, 1988
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
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Second Sunday of Advent
Readings #6: Bar 5:1-9; Phil 1:4-6, 8-11; Lk 3:1-6
Dear Friends in Christ,
In the first reading proclaimed today from the book of the prophet Baruch, we hear the call: "Up, Jerusalem! stand upon the heights; look to the east and see your children gathered from east and west at the word of the Holy One rejoicing that they are remembered by God." May I say: "Rejoice, Philadelphia! We have gathered from east and west. We have been remembered by a saving God, even as we remember a saintly woman."
Perhaps some here were able to visit Rome to celebrate the liturgical honors accorded Mother Katharine last month. Most of us celebrated her beatification elsewhere, searching through fond memories and inspiring anecdotes of the lie of a great religious. Where do we start in putting together the pieces, pictures and principles of a woman who changed the course of history?
As one whose religious community has shared and benefitted from the vision of Katharine Drexel, I know where my search through the record begins. It starts with a letter written to James Cardinal Gibbons in October, 1889, nearly a century ago, as the American Bishops prepared to celebrate the first centennial of American hierarchy. The author was Herbert Cardinal Vaughan, the founder of the Josephites. The tone of his letter might appear surprisingly blunt and pointed in anticipation of a grand centennial, as we listen to its words:
Has not the time come for the American Church to take its share in the great Foreign Missionary work of the Church? Can you expect that the second century of your existence will be as blessed and magnificent in its religious history as your infancy has been, if you do not send forth your heroic missionaries to bear the torch of faith into those dark regions which are now possessed by the enemy of man's salvation and by over 1,200 millions of pagans and unbelievers?
The genteel decorum of Victorian England could not prevent Herbert Vaughan from challenging his "American cousins" with a sharpness that urgent times demanded. The time had indeed come for the CAtholic Church in America to do many things. It was time to recognize that the immigrant status of the church could not be used as a pretext to turn a blind eye toward the suffering of other minorities. It was time in short to read the signs of the times, to discern both the evil of racism lurking under indifference and neglect and the healing grace of Christ. Within two years of this challenging letter to the American hierarchy, FEbruary 12, 1891, Katie Drexel took her vows as the first Sister of the Blessed Sacrament. She had seen the need. She had heard the call. She summoned the courage to answer it wholeheartedly. In a manner not unlike the experience of Francis of Assisi, she had come to the rescue of a struggling church. Anticipating by half a century the admonition of John XXIII at the Second Vatican Council to the universal church, she had read the signs of it times.
Our Advent liturgy today lends itself beautifully to the central theme of Katharine Drexel's religious life--the meaning of mission. It was the mission of John the Baptist to announce the arrival of the Messiah, the promised Savior Who alone could rescue His people from the bondage of slavery and the alienation of sin. John's truly was a "herald's voice in the desert," crying out often to a society deaf to his message and amused by his vocation. There must have been times in the private musings of Katharine Drexel when she thought herself an isolated voice in the wilderness. Few in the church shared her priorities. The needs of Black and Indian Americans were not at the top of many lists. But like John the Baptist, Katharine Drexel marched to the tune of a much different Drummer. Whatever private discouragement she might have felt, it never became a preoccupation. Nothing other than the power of her understanding of mission could account for her steadfast determination in the face of hardship and opposition. She could not be depressed in the face of a mission that she knew would ultimately triumph. She could not be dismayed by the pace of change when she believed with all her soul that the meaning of every incident of life was changed through the providential design of God.
At a time when sensibilities about the role of women in the church are great, we are filled with a special joy today to honor a woman whose prophetic voice and heroic, truly saintly lifestyle have changed the consciousness of the church by making the church more faithful to its foundational mission--the proclamation of the Gospel to the poor. The contributions of Katharine Drexel in the fields of religious life, education, evangelization and the social mission of the church are all the more breathtaking for helping to shatter the stereotype that women have not been "first-class citizens" in the CAtholic Church.
Nor does the saintly mission of Katharine Drexel stand in isolation among the contributions of women to the church and its work of evangelization in the world. There was another woman, a woman from Georgia, who shared Katharine Drexel's passion for Christ's church. She changed the consciousness of literary America about the meaning of Christ today. I speak of Flannery O'Connor, who is increasingly
considered one of the greatest American writers of our century. Although illness tragically abbreviated her life, she did not meet the God Who, in her words, "haunted her life" before writing unforgettably about colorful characters whose exploits poignantly demonstrate the forces of sin and grace.
There are some striking parallels between the mission and outlook of Katharine Drexel and Flannery O'Connor. Flannery O'Connor spoke of her disdain for what she called a "socially desirable Christianity." She felt that her contemporaries were tone-deaf to the great meaning of symbols, and needed to be shocked into an awareness of life's great lessons of love, service and fidelity. She said that her writings were designed to hold a huge portrait up to the nearly-blind and to shout Christ's Gospel to the nearly-deaf. In a letter to a friend, she wrote:
In the Gospels it was the devils who first recognized Christ and the evangelists didn't censor this information. They apparently thought it was pretty good witness. It scandalizes us when we see the same thing in modern dress only because we have this defensive attitude toward the faith.
It was precisely in the evils of poverty, racial discrimination and social neglect that the grace of Christ's healing love shone most luminously in the work of Katharine Drexel. Against a background of hopelessness, frustration and discrimination, she offered a beacon of light to show the way out.
Katharine Drexel was preoccupied, not by her own interests, but by the meaning of the Eucharist. Her witness should teach us yet again that no conflict exists between personal prayer and social involvement. On the contrary, a Eucharistic spirituality discloses the privileged place of the poor in God's providence.
When we stop to think of the origin of the term "tabernacle" as a resting place for the Ark of the Covenant of the Jewish people in exile, moving with them through the wilderness, we realize that the tabernacle in which the Blessed Sacrament is kept is not a place of flight from the perils of the world. The Ark of the Covenant accompanied God's people through desert, storm, and battle during their exodus experience. The tabernacle and the Blessed Sacrament are for those who struggle, journey, battle and search, convinced that a divine light shines through a pillar of cloud, laying open a vision of the promised land. The Eucharist is not for those who seek refuge from the world, but for those who dare to confront the world, who dare to transform it.
While it is true that the life of Katharine Drexel is a call to sanctity, please do not consider her journey as altogether different from yours. Saints are not freaks or exceptions. Charles Peguy said, "life holds one tragedy, ultimately: not to have been a saint." Katharine Drexel, like every saint, was both a realist and an idealist. She accepted the bad news of human sinfulness along with the good news of God's redemption. She embraced sacrifice and heroism on an epic, historic scale only because her heart loved on that some epic scale.
She was a sworn enemy of "the world, the flesh and the devil." She knew that we are locked in mortal combat with principalities and powers. But she went to New Orleans and New Mexico, to South Dakota and to South Philadelphia not to accuse, but to heal.
As one who witnessed the transition from horse and buggy to automobile, she took her hands off the wheel of her own life and let God steer. It was surely a bumpy road on occasion, for one cannot see the map from which God charts our journey.
Katharine Drexel responded to the voice of conscience, not to public opinion polls. If the course of her life had been dictated by the conventional wisdom of the time, she might not have built a single school or orphanage. She took her orders from the General, not the troops.
Katharine Drexel demonstrated that saints have long memories and vivid imaginations. They know better than the rest of us that every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.
We would make a serious mistake today if we understood the legacy of Mother Katharine Drexel only in terms of the generous financial contributions which she made to the apostolate of Black and Native Americans. Her abundant charities were the result, not the cause of her sanctity. It was a heart overflowing with love and generosity that prompted Katharine Drexel to act as she did. Each one of us here today has the same opportunity as she had--to give without counting; to see what others ignore; to act where others pass by. Hers is truly a legacy of love in action. She did not stop with good intentions. Through the overpowering grace of God she transformed good intentions into unforgettable deeds.
In the words of our responsorial psalm, “The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy.”
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