Eureka!

(The Law of the Pearl)

Introduction

Finding things

I’m always losing things. I lose my keys, the phone, my wallet and glasses. Once in a while I even lose my car. A few times I actually thought it had been stolen, only to remember that I had parked it in another spot. Once in a while I even lose the cat, only to find out she’s locked up in some closet or cupboard.

I notice also that I am always finding things. So far I haven’t found any big pot of gold that would allow me to retire before I’m 99. But over thirty years of early jaunts along Lake Michigan with my dogs, I’ve found piles of pennies, dimes, dollars, wallets, driver licenses, sunglasses, key chains -- you name it. When possible I drop some of them into the mailbox, but I’m always happy to find a wallet with no identification.

In one of my early morning meditations I wondered why I am always finding things. Is it because I am always looking for things, and is that simply part of the poverty culture of immigrant parents into which I was born? According to that culture, in which many of us were born, you don’t throw anything away, and you also keep your eye open for anything you might find. Nowadays, though, no one stoops so low as to pick up a penny, except myself and a few other cheap skates still hanging on. But when my early morning meditation is more profound, my poor immigrant story doesn’t fully satisfy me. I think there’s something else more profound about my always looking for and finding things.

Born to search

The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant searching for fine pearls. When he finds a pearl of great price, he cries out, “Eureka! I found it!” Then he rushes home to sell all that he has to buy the pearl (Mt. 13: 44-45). My take on this tiny parable, born out of the rising sun, is this: there is a pearl of great price out there for each of us, and we are all born to go in search of it and hopefully arrive in the land of Eureka. That, I believe, is a more profound explanation not only of me but of all of us. There is a pearl of great price out there, and we are all born to go in search of it and hopefully arrive in the land of Eureka.

For me the most ominous sight in the inner city is that of young people, especially young males, who are in search of nothing. You don’t need 20/20 vision or the brain of a space scientist to see it. You see it in their lack of urgency. You see it in their sauntering gait going nowhere. They’re not shouting “Eureka!” They don’t seem to be rushing home to sell all that they have in order to lay hold of some wonderful pearl of great price which they have found. None of them seem to have the least suspicion that such a pearl exists. That inner city sight is, indeed, foreboding. At best it bespeaks a benign despair and at worse it forebodes a disastrous future. When there’s nothing for you to search for and lay hold of, then there’s nothing for you to lose, not even your very life in a shoot out, of which Milwaukee is enjoying a bumper crop.

Not just inner-city folk but all of us as well have a problem with the gospel pearl of great price. We might, indeed, be in pursuit of a pearl, but it might be a fake. The gospel pearl of great price isn’t our very fine homes. It isn’t our very expensive cars. It isn’t our very impressive professions. None of these can generate an honest-to-God, “Eureka! I found it!” In our heart of hearts we know what Jesus warned us about—that these can be eaten by moths, ruined by rust and carried off by thieves (Mt 6:19-20).

The Eureka of the Good Samaritan

What, then, is the gospel pearl of great price? There is no neat one-line description of it. It usually takes a whole story to tell what it is.

The gospel pearl of great price is what the Good Samaritan stumbled upon on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. One day a man was waylaid on that road by robbers who relieved him of his money and left him half-dead. Along came a busy Jewish priest, saw the poor man, crossed the street and hurried by. Along came a busy Levite, the priest’s helper. He, too, saw the poor man, crossed the street and hurried by. Neither had the least suspicion of a pearl of great price for which he was born to search. Both hurried by and continued on with their very busy lives in search of nothing more than the same old fake pearls that had always kept them ambiguously and uneasily contented.

Then along came a Samaritan who, in his heart of hearts, always harbored the suspicion of a pearl of great price, and who was always, at least subliminally, in search of it. Suddenly seeing the dying man, he slammed on the breaks of his busyness, came to a screeching halt and poured the oil of compassion into the poor man’s wounds. Then he hoisted the dead weight of the victim unto his beast of burden and hurried him off to the nearest inn where he dug deep into his pockets to pay for his care and cure.

Well, the sun finally set on that day, which was very long and arduous for the Good Samaritan. His business in Jericho hadn’t gone too well. He finally arrived home way past midnight. Though exhausted by the unexpected ordeal that he stumbled upon that day, there was a song singing in his heart, and he found himself exclaiming, “Eureka! I’ve found the thing I’ve been looking for! Nothing, just nothing I have ever done in my very busy life has been as meaningful as what I did today.“ At long last, the Good Samaritan had found his pearl of great price (Lk 10:25-37).

When, however, the Jewish priest and Levite returned home that night, even after a very lucrative day in Jericho, their hearts were not singing at all but were filled with the same old ambiguous and uneasy feeling that fake pearls always generate.

The Eureka of Fr. Mycal Judge

There is no neat one-line description of the gospel pearl of great price. It always takes a whole story to tell what it is. Franciscan friar, Fr. Mycal Judge, like the Good Samaritan also found his pearl of great price. He was one of the four chaplains for the New York Fire Department, and the story of his death in the line of duty was one of the first to come out of the tragedy of September 11^th . The story goes that he had taken his helmet off to give the last rites to a dying fireman when suddenly debris came crashing down upon him. He died there on the spot, and his body was carried off to a nearby church and there was laid upon the altar.

An article in the New York Magazine says that he was a recovering alcoholic and was gay. In fact, he marched in the first gay-inclusive St. Patrick’s Day parade. The article describes him as very earthy and streetwise. It says he had no compunction when it came to language. He would actually use the “f” word at times. He’d tell an alcoholic, for example, “Oh look, you’re not a bad person; you have a disease that makes you think you’re bad, and that’s going to `f…’ you up.” The article characterizes him as fitting in very well with the characters and chaos of New York City. And in his own house, the church, he was controversial and very unconventional, holding Mass in the most unlikely places, frequently compelling a Monsignor in the New York Chancery to call him on the carpet and admonish him for this and that. That article claims that he was more a friend to the notorious Bill Clinton than to his Eminence Cardinal O’Connor.

But then the story goes on to say that he had an encyclopedic memory for people’s names, birthdays, and passions. He knew everyone from the homeless to Mayor Giuliani himself. Though he was a true New Yorker, born and raised in the city, he lived on an entirely different plain of priorities than most New Yorkers. He wasn’t acquisitive. He wasn’t grabby. He had no fake pearls to keep him ambiguously and uneasily contented. He was utterly unselfish and totally uncomplaining. When a memorial was held for him, an endless flow of priests, nuns, lawyers, cops, firefighters, homeless people, rock-and-rollers, recovering alcoholics, local politicians and middle age couples from the suburbs streamed into Good Shepherd Chapel on Ninth Ave., an Anglican church, to do a memorial for a Roman Catholic priest.

At his funeral Mass, covered in its entirety by the media, the homilist, one of his Franciscan confreres, said that one year he had asked him, “Mycal, what do you want for Christmas?” And he replied with a glow of Eureka on his face, “Nothing! Absolutely nothing! I don’t need a thing in the world. I’m the happiest man in the world. I’ve got everything I want.” Long before, Fr. Mycal had found his pearl of great price, had sold all that he had and went for it, and after that, there wasn’t much more that friends could give him. It’s the Law of the Pearl in operation: the more you are in possession of the pearl, the fewer possessions you need.

The Eureka of Elie Weisel

There is no neat one-line description of the gospel pearl of great price. It takes a whole story to tell what it is. Elie Weisel, Nobel Laureate for his efforts on behalf of peace, is the most famous Jewish survivor of the Nazi concentration camps of Auschwitz, Buchenwald, Buna and Birkenau. At the end of the day, these camps, which specialized in man’s unspeakable inhumanity to man, were countenanced, condoned and constructed by the indifference of the German and Polish people. In one of his books entitled Night, he writes of his first night in the concentration camp of Buchenwald, when he saw the bodies of little children going up in smoke from the crematoria. “Never shall I forget that night, my first night in camp, which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed…. Never shall I forget those moments that murdered my God and my soul…. Never shall I forget, even if I am condemned to live as long as God.“

Out of that experience was born his pearl of great price--that for which he is ready to sell all that he has and go for it. He who has written more than thirty books tells us, "I write about only one thing--the evil of indifference--nothing else." That’s his pearl of great price. That’s what makes his life worth living, and it is for that he’s ready to die. Yes, indeed, that’s his pearl of great price, but it is a painful pearl for Elie Weisel. And that’s an interesting twist: the gospel pearl of great price can be painful.

Strange to say, Elie Weisel’s painful pearl of great price puts this Nobel Laureate for peace in a sort of hawkish stance. He urged Europe to confront Saddam, and on February 27, 2003 he said, “I believe it is a moral duty to intervene when evil has power and uses it.” Some of us might not be able to resonate with him on that point, but that’s because we don’t have his pearl.

My Eureka

There is no neat one-line description of the gospel pearl of great price. It takes a whole story to tell what it is. Let me share with you what my pearl of great price is. I, priest and head of the priestly community, through fifty plus long years of ministry have always had the fierce conviction that there is nothing—just nothing—that I do all week long which is more important than what I do in preparation for the mother of all moments: the Sunday assembly. It is the supreme moment not only for the priestly people of God but also for me, the priestly head. This is the moment in which I either cheat the people of God and especially myself or do justice to both, especially by an honest-to-God preparation of the liturgy of the Word--the homily. And in the preparation of the homily I am possessed with the fiercest conviction that if religion matters at all, it matters enough to be taken to task. At the end of the day, that’s my pearl of great price.

But like Elie Weisel’s pearl, it’s painful. I didn’t ask for it. It was given me. It makes me rise daily many hours before dawn seven days a week to go in search of something to say about the church-appointed scriptures for the Sunday—something that is not harmless or innocuous or pious. My pearl is also painful because the weekly demand “to perform” (whether it be my weak human demand or the assembly’s) is onerous.

But my painful pearl is also an absolutely pleasing one. Not too long ago I was celebrant at a wedding here at Old St. Mary’s. I painfully rose many hours before early dawn especially to prepare the homily. The wedding day came and went as they all do. Soon after I receive an e-mail from the father of the groom. It read: “The country club reception after the church wedding was great, but everyone focused on and talked about the service—your presence, your homily, the very serious exchange of vows. Folks felt how seriously they took the ceremony. They felt their loyalty to one another.” “Wow!” that e-mail made me exclaim. “ It’s worth all the eggs I’m putting into this one basket of mine!” The exclamation wasn’t just about the firm pat on my back (that always feels good). It was especially about a whole wedding party rejoicing spiritually. Imagine a whole wedding party rejoicing spiritually!

Conclusion

The law of the pearl

The gospel pearl of great price, once laid hold of, is never lost. It can be neither eaten by moths nor ruined by rust nor stolen by robbers (Mt 6:19-20). We don’t hold it in our hands; we carry it in our heart. We don’t possess it; it possesses us. And the more we possess the pearl, like Fr. Mycal Judge, the fewer possessions we need.