When we can no longer give what someone needs
Fr. Ben Berinti, C.PP.S.
Provincial Councilor
I always enjoy my time away from my own parish for one main reason (I’m sure you can guess some of the “other” reasons!) — because I get to sit in the pew on a Sunday morning! In my mind, every priest needs to get out of the sanctuary and into a pew on a regular basis — just to be reminded what it’s like out there in the trenches.
And yes, like so many parishioners, I have had my own uplifting, energizing, and touching experiences of worship — and I have had numerous boring, death-dealing, sonorous experiences.
While vacationing at my parents’ home one summer, I met their pastor, Fr. Denny. He surely seemed to be a likeable guy, who clearly had the heart of his people close to him. He tended to have a whirlwind style of preaching — touching on many topics and images in rapid-fire succession — but one image stuck with me that Sunday. He spoke about the struggle we have as priests when we stand before those whom we have been called to pastor, and we realize in our own hearts, that, on any given day or in any given situation, we simply cannot give to people what they need, what they are looking for — no matter how much we desire to, how much they may demand it or criticize us for our inability to provide it.
And as we all know, this dilemma is surely not limited to priests!
Parents, friends, siblings, teachers, therapists, doctors, nurses … eventually, all of us will find ourselves in a situation where we are unable to respond with what someone is desperately looking to receive from us. It is a painful place to be, knowing inside oneself that I am not able to be for someone what he or she and I desire me to be for him or her.
Despite St. Paul’s claim to have been “all things to all people,” I am certain he was not! The Scriptures even recount for us those who once followed Jesus and then abandoned his way when he no longer seemed capable of providing what they needed from him. I recall the powerful scene from the movie and stage play, “Jesus Christ Superstar,” where the sick and desperate crowding around him is overwhelming Jesus. In a fit of pain and exasperation, he cries out: “There’s too many of you!”
On a sultry summer afternoon many years ago, the pain of not being able to live up to expectations was somehow made less overwhelming simply by speaking the truth of the matter. That old prayer about the “gentle heart of Jesus” suddenly made more sense to me, and I now utter it quietly more often than I used to. Sometimes, a little bit of gentleness is all we need — to give — and receive.