Like many Catholics, I come from what many would consider a medium to large size family – I am one of seven children. That simple numbering, however, belies the diversity of situations within! I have an older half-sister, two biological siblings (one in heaven), two adopted siblings, and a foster brother. Our family grew in fits and starts – with some of my siblings entering our family well into their own lives. And as with any situation involving adoption & fostering, there were various elements of tragedy, sorrow, and joy that brought us together – though at the center, always love.

Sometimes there are darker responses elicited from the growth of a family and the stretching required to make room for new members. Though I don’t recall what exactly preceded it, I distinctly recall a moment of bitterness & resentment in my heart when I was 10 or 11. Sitting on the front porch with one of my adoptive siblings, I angrily lashed out – “before you came, he was my dad first!”, reducing my sibling to tears.

Little did I know that my father happened to be inside the house, just behind the door. After he issued the (much-deserved) consequences for my cruelty, he sat me down and explained the depth of how selfish and hurtful I was being. Many of my siblings suffered terrible wounds of rejection in the adoption or foster process – both in the loss of their natural families and in families that did not welcome them into their homes. With a single sentence, I had added a fresh wound to the collection. It was a humbling illumination of my own heart & a sobering call to truly embrace the sacrificial love that defines family.

As we move forward as a parish family, there is much stretching that has already been required of us – and the implications of that continue to unfold as we look to the future. Some of those have been quite delightful: the welcome socials at each parish and our first joint staff meeting were both marked by excitement and eagerness. A month and a half and we’re already finding interesting new possibilities, with plans being considered & discussed. Among them, talk a new altar server manual (and perhaps new bells for servers to ring before Mass begins!), ideas about shared events & efforts of many kinds, and hopeful speculation about what we might build together in many, many areas.

And also – especially a month and a half in now – the stretching we must do leaves us aching. Though we recognize the practicalities that require flexibility and change, a sentiment lives within the hearts and on the lips of many: “it’s not fair!”. The distribution of priests, Masses, and events don’t balance against the normal metrics of population numbers & density, finances, or church size. Rather, much is determined by the necessities of the distances between and geographies of the churches of our parish family.

In reflecting on this struggle, I stumbled across the Old English word for ‘fair’: fæger – pronounced ‘FAE-yer’. It refers to what is beautiful, joyous, pleasant, or sweet. In this context, to say that something is ‘fair’ is to describe how pleasing and lovely it is. I am struck by how our protest about fairness rings true even in this usage: “it’s not fair!” – it’s not beautiful, joyous, pleasant, or sweet that we are stretched so thin, that we have just a few priests for five communities spanning well over a hundred miles between the furthest locations.

While we all have heard the rebuttal of “life’s not fair”, it seems that the Lord is actually quite a bit more sympathetic – not only to our particular situation, but to that of all of creation. Looking at the sad state of humanity – in our time and in every time since the Fall – I suspect that He was the first to utter what we are saying now “it’s not fair!”. The beautiful plan of God, now subverted by sin and death – is hardly fair at all.

From that divine indignation, a plan was formed – one that we celebrate at every Mass and in the annual liturgical cycle of Advent, Christmas, Lent, and Easter: sending by the Father of His Son to stretch Himself – not only between heaven and earth, but upon the cross, for our sake. Jesus’ life, passion, death, and resurrection is simultaneously deeply unfair and the fairest gift we might ever receive.

Taking our cue from God, we are challenged to shift from justice-based to beauty-based fairness. While we can’t possibly know – or accomplish – the balancing of the scales of justice, we can both comprehend and contribute to beauty! And what is more beautiful than choosing to stretch ourselves, to willingly sacrifice for the good of the other, so that they might love and be loved as part of the family – who of us doesn’t want to be part of both the receiving and giving side of that beauty, that fairness? May we reflect on the example of Christ, allowing Him to illuminate not only our hearts, but His. As we consider the beauty of what He does for us, may we aspire to build a family that is fair to behold, made good and pleasing by the love that we receive and share.