THOUGHTS OF A MONK

“Availability” 

April 9, 2006

One of the dearest friends of New Skete passed away this week: Fr. Joseph Cotugno. He had been on dialysis for almost 12 years. Some say that was a record length of time: A record length of time to survive, a record length of time to suffer, for dialysis is no picnic. And yet, through it all, Fr. Joe was always there for others. He was always available. He was always available for us at New Skete, ready to listen, ready to console, and when necessary, ready to give some one who needed it a kick in the pants! He loved and was loved by many. He didn’t play games with people; he was straight with them. He drove a car with a license plate that read Holy Man. Some would look askance at that, but it didn’t faze him. After all, he didn’t buy it; it was a gift to him from his parishioners. They saw who he was and they wanted the world to know it. And those who knew him knew it was true. He was not a wealthy man, but he was rich in the riches of grace from God.  His famous greeting was “peace, love and joy” and it wasn’t a mantra, it was his calling card, it was what he was placed on earth to spread around: peace, love and joy. He was truly a disciple of Christ in the most catholic sense.

How unlike the rich man in today’s gospel. In the passages just preceding the one we heard this morning, Jesus condemns the Pharisees for their love of money. And it is easy to see that condemnation continued in the parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man. Indeed, St. John Chrysostom preached often on this gospel passage condemning the wickedness of the rich for their life style. He also extolled the poor man Lazarus (a name which means: the one who has been helped) for all that he suffered, which gained him his ultimate reward in heaven.  But for all the poetic justice of seeing the tables turned on the rich man because of his wealth and life style, in the end, the greatest sin the rich man committed was that he did not even notice the poor man who was lying at his gate, right under his feet.  He didn’t notice, he didn’t care, and he didn’t make himself available to this poor man. Fr. Joe was never like this.

The late Cardinal Basil Hume, in addition to being Archbishop of Westminster, was for many years, Abbot of Ampleforth Abbey in England. And in that capacity he would often be called on to give conferences to his monks, at which he would offer them guidance and encouragement in their monastic vocation. A number of these talks are collected in a little volume entitled The Intentional life: the making of a spiritual vocation. One of the talks in that little book is called “availability.” And it struck me that his advice about the value of “availability” applies easily to the lesson of this parable. Availability is about being open, and being open is about being aware, attentive, listening, noticing the call from God that comes to us constantly if we but attune ourselves to it. No one was less attuned to it than the rich man in today’s gospel, and no one was more attuned to it than our friend who just passed away, Fr. Joe, and he showed us how to do it.

Some of the questions Basil Hume asks get right to the point. He calls obedience a corrective to non-availability. “What is it that makes me hesitate to share, hesitate to give, hesitate to be open? Often it is our inhibitions, which can hide selfishness, self-centeredness, self-seeking. Obedience can be my liberation: it can free me from self and make me available to others.” (p. 87) Now, as we approach Holy Week, we see Jesus Christ living out these days in obedience to the God he calls Father.  “Let this cup pass, but let it be as you, not I would have it.”  He was available to God’s command, as was Fr. Joe, who had to take up that last bitter cup too.

God’s commands come to us in all the daily encounters we have with the realities of our tasks and through the people with whom we have contact. Do we see Christ in everyone around us, in both poor Lazarus and the rich man? Do we show them compassion? In this Gospel even dogs showed Lazarus compassion. St Cyril of Alexandria drew a lesson from that too:  “Yes, [the gospel] says that even the dogs licked his sores and did not injure him, yet sympathized with him and cared for him. Animals relieve their own sufferings with their tongues, as they remove what pains them and gently soothe the sores. The rich man was crueler than the dogs, because he felt no sympathy or compassion for [Lazarus] but was completely unmerciful.” (p. 261) Since we at New Skete live with dogs, we know how natural their compassion and attentiveness to others can be. No surprise, Fr. Joe loved dogs too.

Richard Schneider, who spoke to us a week ago Saturday, asked the question: what kind of church do we see here? He was analyzing the program of the icons, the interior arrangements of the furnishings, and the use of the space in the church for our liturgical celebrations.  But after participating in Sunday’s Divine Liturgy he added a further insight when he said that the icons on the walls are incomplete without the living icons who participate in the liturgy itself. And in all these icons we see Christ. And when our eyes are opened to see these living icons, then how can we turn away and be unavailable to the action of the Holy Spirit that comes to us through them?  One of Fr. Joe Cotugno’s last conscious acts was a Eucharistic celebration at a Psychiatric Center. Eucharist was the centerpiece of his life. It was the act that constantly reconnected him to Christ, the one who is always available to others. It is no surprise that this living icon was an icon of Christ.

Christ is in our midst.