Of Splinters and Beams

Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye,
but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own? (Luke 6:41)

Thirty years ago tonight, Fr. Sam Verruni left the sacristy at West Chester University’s Newman Center with his vestments a mess. His chasuble was crooked, the back all caught up under the belt of his alb. Utterly oblivious to his disheveled state, he processed from the sacristy to his chair, and later from his chair to the ambo to proclaim the Gospel. After the congregation seated themselves for the homily, he called me out.

You see, I’d been conspicuously distracted, absorbed with trying to undo a knot in the cord of the cross I was wearing around my neck. I hadn’t looked up for the Gospel. I hadn’t looked up as the homily began. “Christine,” Sam said sharply, “Can I interest you in paying a little attention to what’s going on around you?”

“Well, Fr. Sam,” I replied . . . “Maybe you want to straighten out those vestments of yours first?”

The congregation, who’d been frozen in horror at Sam’s totally uncharacteristic meanness, burst out laughing. We took a little bow. I fixed his vestments, and he went on to preach about the Splinter and the Beam. I don’t remember what he said about the human tendency to harp on the faults of others while blithely ignoring our own. He probably doesn’t either.

But I’ll bet many people there that night remember Sam’s wonky vestments, and the homily he preached without words.