I
love the Italian countryside with its rolling hills and steep mountains with groves
of olive trees and vineyards climbing up their slopes. I‘m intrigued by the ancestral cemeteries
dotting the landscape. You can see those sacred spots for miles. They are
singled out of the Italian landscape by tall Italian cypresses which, like huge
fingers, point upward towards heaven. The cypresses constantly whisper to the
nearby villagers saying, “Sono qui, sotto i cipressi,” “Here they are, at peace
under the cypresses.”
I also love the countless
towns and cities nestled upon the lofty heights of hills and mountains. When you
travel past them at dusk, they’re all aglow with city lights. That’s the image
which always comes to mind whenever I hear the words of the gospel, “A built city
upon a mountain top cannot be hidden” (Mt
The gospel says that we are
like, or should be like, one of those Italian towns perched upon a
mountain top, sparkling like a gem in the evening dusk. And people passing by
us should see our goodness and give glory to the heavenly Father.
Aaron: a city
built upon a hill
Aaron
Feuerstein is CEO of Malden Mills in
Time
magazine
for the
That CEO and faithful Jew
is the salt of the earth. He is the light of the world, especially in these
dark days of corporate greed of Enron proportion. He is a bright glowing city
built upon a hill. And all of us passing by
see his goodness and give glory to the heavenly Father.
Jerry Quinn: a city built
upon a hill
I
got an e-mail two Sunday ago. The person who sent it knows that you have to be
very simple with me when it comes to the super-information highway of
computers. The e-mail read, “Go to www.abcnews.com.
On the right hand side (the hand you make the sign of the cross with) near the
bottom of the screen under Wal-Mart, click person of the week. On the next
screen under Jan., 2005, click on Jerry Quinn.” I blindly obeyed, and, lo and
behold, there was Jerry Quinn.
He’s
52 years young, owns a bar and restaurant in
Quinn
has been saving his money for a major down-payment on a two-bedroom apartment
in a suburban part of
Piedra
and Quinn met. Said Quinn, “He hugged me and kissed me and told me I was an
angel. As I thanked him I could feel the shivers going up and down my back.”
The article doesn’t say a
word about Quinn being a good Catholic, as good Irishmen are known to be. He
might even be a “roaming Catholic” as many Catholics are these days. He
might even be some kind of a rounder. I don’t know. But whatever he is, in this
age of wild consumerism which has us buying not the things we need but the
things we want and the things we don’t need there’s no denying that he is the
salt of the earth. He is the light of the world. Jerry Quinn is a bright shining
city built upon a hill. And all of us passing by see his goodness and give
glory to the heavenly Father.
Some
years ago Kurt was a stock boy in a supermarket and one day he was called to do
a carryout job for a very nice looking girl at register 4. Later that day he waited at the punch-out
clock. She came, smiled softly at him, punched her card, then left. The card, he saw, read “Brenda.”
Next
day he offered to drive her home. He
looked harmless enough, and she accepted.
When he dropped her off, he asked whether he could see her again, and
take her out. She explained she had two
children and she couldn't afford a baby-sitter. He offered to pay for the
baby-sitter. She hesitated a bit, and
then accepted. Saturday night came. He
arrived at the door. She said to him, “I can’t go; the babysitter cancelled out
on me.” “Oh well,” he said, “let’s take
the kids along.” “That’s really not an
option,” she answered. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Finally Brenda invited him in to meet her
children. She had a pretty
daughter. Then she brought out her son
in a wheelchair! He was born a paraplegic with Down syndrome. To her utter
amazement, Kurt said, "I still don't understand why the kids can't come
along." Most men would take off
high speed from such a situation as that. Her former husband had done precisely
that.
That
evening Kurt and Brenda loaded up the kids for dinner and the movies. When the
son needed the rest room, Kurt picked up the little guy and carried him. The kids loved him. A year later, they were
married. Kurt adopted both of her children. Since then they have added two more
kids of their own. Mr. & Mrs. Kurtis Warner now live in
That bit of “mountain top
glow” was sent to me by e-mail. It was a kind of gentle rebuttal to a previous Sunday
homily with my digs about Super Bowl heroes. The e-mail was entitled:
“Sometimes heroes are heroes.” In a culture which abounds with super
bowls full of heroes whom we fans have turned into spoiled overpaid brats, you,
oh Kurt, are a city built on a mountain. You are the salt of the earth. You are
the light of the world. We fans see your goodness and give glory to the
heavenly Father.
Conclusion
I will
venture to say that the supreme task of religious people is not to seek truth. That
almost always gets us into trouble. Beware of
seekers of religious truths. They can be quite haughty. They write
bumper stickers which declare that “God said it; I believe it; that settles
it!” Or they boastfully proclaim, “I found it!,” by which they mean, “I found
the truth.” It’s really a finger in the eye of all others who are not as
enlightened by the truth as they are.
Beware
of seekers of the truth. They can be terribly dangerous. In Arabic “Taliban” means “seeker of the
truth.” And this is the religious truth
with which the Talibaners terrorized
Osama
bin Laden, the supreme Talibaner, the supreme seeker of truth, found the truth
he was looking for, and in its name on 9/11 he brought down the two
I will
venture to say that the supreme task of religious people is not to seek truth
but to seek goodness. That can never go wrong for us. Instead, it can
only transform us into shining cities sitting on mountain tops, into savory
salts of the earth and luminous lights of the world. And it inspires the people
around us to give glory to the heavenly Father.