April 2024
 

My Dear Graduates of Chaminade, Kellenberg, and St. Martin de Porres Marianist School,

This past February, my Aunt Vilma Seminara passed away at the age of 93. A devoted wife, a beloved mother of six, an highly regarded English teacher, and even at one time a real-estate agent, Vilma lived a long, fruitful, nurturing life. She was the youngest of the three Sottosanti sisters – Perrina, Maria (my mother), and Vilma. My Uncle Vincent is the “baby” of the four children of Mike and Marie Sottosanti; at 86 years old, he’s still in pretty good health and as sharp as a tack.

A graduate of Holy Cross College, my Uncle Vincent has always prided himself on his keen intellect, his razor-sharp wit, his powers of analysis, and his sound judgment. During family debates (a frequent occurrence in the Sottosanti and Balletta households), Uncle Vincent proved himself a formidable opponent with a particular knack for withering cross-examinations.

I was surprised, then – surprised and saddened – at the response I received at Aunt Vilma’s wake when I asked Uncle Vincent how he was doing. Mind you, Uncle Vincent is not one to show any kind of vulnerability, but this time he did. “How am I doing, Stephen? Well, actually, I’m afraid I’m losing my faith.”

What? Uncle Vincent losing his faith? That certainly was not the answer I was expecting to hear, but as we discussed the matter further, I could tell that he was indeed undergoing a real crisis of faith. Health issues, the untimely death of his own wife due to cancer, and the general state of the world had gradually worn down this once imperturbable pillar of self-sufficiency and self-reliance. He sounded like a broken man.

I think that many of us face a crisis of faith at various points in our lives. It can seem, for example, that the world around us is falling apart. War rages in Eastern Europe and in the Middle East, with the potential for even further escalation. We have an immigration crisis at our border; homelessness in our cities; and an alarming spike in crime, drug abuse, and mental illness. Ideological and political divisions tear at the unity of our country. Americans, it seems, no longer share a common value system; we hold fewer and fewer truths to be self-evident. We might very well cry out with the psalmist, “Foundations once destroyed, what can the just do?” (Psalm 11: 3 - 5)

Nor might our own souls be faring much better. True, I suppose, with age comes wisdom, but with wisdom comes the realization that we ourselves are deeply flawed. We find ourselves dogged by the same temptations, dispirited by the same negative thoughts, confessing the same sins, falling short of our once idealistic goals. Again, the psalmist echoes our soul sickness: “Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am weary; / heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony. / My soul is deep in anguish. How long, Lord, how long?” (Psalm 6: 2 - 3)

These, I suspect, are precisely the sentiments felt by the Apostles during Holy Week. Imagine their heady jubilation as Jesus and his disciples entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, greeted by high-pitched Hosannas and waving palm branches. Imagine their intent concentration, their entranced sense of wonder, their no small amount of confusion as they heard their Master call bread His body and wine His blood. Imagine their fright later that night when Jesus was arrested, their cowardice when they were recognized as one of “that man’s” disciples, their abject terror in the face of an angry mob ready to crucify Jesus. What had become of the
Messiah, the one who was to save the Jewish nation? What had become of them, who had succumbed to fear and abandoned – in some cases, betrayed – their Lord?

For the followers of Jesus, these days were just as dark as our own might seem – darker, I would suggest. Yet something remarkable happened on the third day after that darkest of days. “Why look among the dead for someone who is alive? He is not here; He has risen. Remember what He told you when He was in Galilee: that the Son of Man had to be handed over into the power of sinful men and be crucified, and rise again on the third day. And they remembered His words.” (Luke 24: 5 - 8).

It turns out that we are not alone when the darkness of the times and of our souls threatens to dismantle our faith. But this is precisely the time when we need to rely most on our faith – not a facile faith, not a naive or blind faith, but a faith tested in fire, much as the faith of Christ’s first followers had been tested in fire.

The night before his journey into exile to escape the mortal dangers of the French Revolution, our founder, Blessed William Joseph Chaminade, wrote in his journal: “What is a faithful man to do in the chaos of events which seem to swallow him up? He must sustain himself calmly by Faith. Faith will make him adore the eternal plan of God. Faith will assure him that, to those who love God, all things work together for good.”

Age to age, the faith of Chritians has been tested in fire and has emerged refined, like pure, shining gold. Our faith, sorely tested at times, can emerge like gold as well – durable, resilient, and shining for all eternity.

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On behalf of all my Marianist Brothers,

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Bro. Stephen Balletta, S.M.