Hello and welcome!
This week, I’m very happy to bring you another guest post by one of our newly ordained priests, Father Marcelo Ferrari. However, there were a few important events this week I want to share with you in addition to that.
The first of those was the funeral of Jack Connors at St. Ignatius Church in Chestnut Hill on Tuesday, which was one of the largest Boston funerals I have ever attended. It brought together so much of the leadership of the community: the governor, the mayor, the former governor, senators, captains of business and many philanthropists. But also represented among the throngs who attended both the wake and funeral were so many of the young people who were the beneficiaries of Jack’s unfailing generosity and service.
As I shared in my remarks to the people, the day of the funeral marked 21 years to the day that I met Jack, because it was the 21st anniversary of my installation as Archbishop of Boston. I met him at the installation and it was then that he committed to help our Catholic schools. Over 20,000 inner-city children have benefited from his work with the Campaign for Catholic Schools.
He was a man who stayed with the Church in our darkest hour and was so committed to helping those in need through Camp Harbor View, his commitment to healthcare, and so many other aspects of life of the local community.
So, his funeral was a great tribute to him, but it was also a tribute to his Catholic faith and the commitment that he had to serving the entire community.
The following day, we gathered at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross for the Funeral Mass of Luis Santiago.
Luis and his wife Neri worked at the cathedral for many years and had been faithful parishioners for decades. They are originally from Puerto Rico but have been here in local community since before I arrived.
There was a very beautiful celebration of his funeral, and his niece Jessica, who also works at the cathedral, gave a beautiful reflection.
Finally, this week, we sent off a statue of Our Lady of Aparecida that will be placed in the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. It’s a very beautiful statue that was a gift to me from the Brazilian bishops’ conference after I gave them a retreat a couple of years ago.
As many know, the National Shrine has altars dedicated to the various patronal titles of the Blessed Mother for the various ethnic and national groups. And now, in September, we will be part of the celebration to inaugurate an altar to Our Lady of Aparecida, the Patroness of Brazil. They expect thousands of Brazilians from all over the country to join us. (And, of course, in Massachusetts, we have the only two Brazilian bishops in the United States, Bishop Edgar da Cunha and Bishop Cristiano Barbosa.) We are all very much looking forward to that celebration.
And now, I bring you Father Ferrari’s reflection:
Thank you, Cardinal Seán, for the invitation to contribute to your blog!
The Ferrari tree of life traces its roots far and wide. From my father’s side, our fiery, passionate temper stems from the great Toscana, Italy. On my mother’s branch, we acquired our joie de vivre from southern France and our macho love for Mama from her Mexican father. Many novels could be written about those who built our crest. But, in an effort to prevent a genealogical rant of biblical proportions, I will simply say that I have a scattered but deeply treasured family tree.
As for me, life began kicking and screaming my way into what was then a family of 5 but quickly became 6 when my younger brother was born. Completed, our immediate posse was led by my father, Bruno and my mother, Cecilia, followed by the brotherhood: Bruno (Jr), Marco, myself, and Claudio.
For the first few years, we had a nice home in the suburbs of Monterrey, Mexico. We then embarked on a series of relocations from Mexico to California, then off to France and finally back to California, all before my 10th birthday. With each move, our growing family shrub was completely unearthed and replanted into new soil. These displacements stripped us of the comforts of familiarity but forged amongst us a deep bond. The enduring companionship we never found amongst friends was filled with what we now endearingly refer to as “Ferrari Power.” Although this instability was difficult at times, I had nothing short of a blessed childhood. One story sums it up best.
I’ve always loved Cocoa Puffs. Those little chocolate pearls of great price filled the bowls of my youth with great joy. In an effort to curb my growing waist size, my parents would often hide these chocolate delights from the four boys. So, after a successful outing for groceries, I rushed for the fresh family-sized bag of cereal. Having acquired the box, I made a mad dash for the safety of my room. In my haste, I tripped over the carpet and collapsed on the floor, exploding the cereal all over the room.
Recovering from the daze, I looked around for any witnesses. My Brother Marco was stepping into the room to scope out the scene of the crime. He calmly suggested that the only reasonable course would be to vacuum up the lost goods. I insisted that they were all still perfectly edible. As he left to get the vacuum, I threw myself back on the ground and, furiously extending my arms like a human windshield wiper, began to stuff my face with Coco Puffs. Handful after handful, I was the full personification of a Hungry Hungry Hippo. My insatiable desire nearing satisfaction, my younger brother Claudio approached with what I could only assume was the last small handful of chocolate goods. Little did I know, he had gathered up some of our pet rabbit’s leftovers. I quickly realized that these were not the same sweet pearls. It was just another day in the Ferrari home.
Twenty years later, I found myself back on the floor prostrate, arms extended, now begging the Lord to satisfy my ever-hungry and restless heart. This time, the celebration was my ordination to the priesthood — the Eucharistic banquet on the eve of the feast of the solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity.
The lesson was clear: God alone will fulfill all the deepest desires of our hearts. In place of trivial earthly snacks, he has given us bread from heaven, having all sweetness within it. My little hands were being trained to hold what all of heaven could not contain. As C.S. Lewis writes, “It would seem that our Lord finds our desires not too strong but too weak.” The posture was appropriate, but the object of my desire was much too small. Never could I have imagined that God would deign to come into those same hands.
These early days of priesthood have been filled with tremendous grace. With every Mass celebrated, each confession heard or penitent anointed, time after time, God has fills my hands with more and more graces to dispense. All these, He insists, should be distributed by the same hands like millions of priceless pearls.
I remember one particular moment I was called to the bedside of a dying patient: a young woman diagnosed with cancer. I had been fervently praying for her healing, but after each visit, she grew worse. Finally, just before she passed, she was able to receive the last sacraments. At the funeral, her mother spoke beautifully about the tremendous hope that had filled the end of her daughter’s life and the great peace that had comforted her in her death. As she left the church to go to the burial, she turned and thanked me: “You saved her!” She kept insisting as she kissed my hands, “You saved her!” It was clear that she was speaking to God himself and thanking the hands of Jesus. As her daughter was carried to her place of rest, the mother expressed nothing but gratitude to God for the grace poured out by the hands of a priest. These simple hands, accompanied by a few prayers and quiet gestures, were all she needed to transform the tragedy of death into the assurance of the Resurrection.
Later that day, I knelt before the Lord in complete awe. In prayer, I demanded, “Who am I that my hands be chosen to carry the Lord? Who am I that these hands command God’s victory over sin in the confessional? Who am I?” The answer was abundantly clear: “My servant,” nothing more and nothing less.
Jesus chose us, his ministers, that we might multiply the reach of his hands. First, he laid hands on the Twelve, and the Twelve laid hands on more and now, thousands of hands of His priests extend the reach of our crucified Lord and share it with all those who ask for a saving word.
On May 25, Cardinal Séan laid his hands on me and anointed mine, not only that they might remain folded in prayer but that they would extend over God’s people. So now I reach out, not for little chocolate puffs, but for those precious pearls that God thirsts for: the thousands of souls that God wants to gather to himself.
Every day, I wake up and fall back on my knees, thanking God and praying, “I’m hungry for more!”
Pax,
Fr. Marcelo Ferrari