Homily at the Memorial Mass for Clement Metzger, S.J, January 24, 2010, St. Anthony of Padua Church, Parma, OH by Fr. Dennis Metzger

Many people have asked me if Clem, my uncle and a faithful priest for 44 years, was an inspiration for my own vocation. I must honestly say that he has been an inspiration to me for many years, but not that far back. We both went to Campion Jesuit High School in Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin (as did Clem’s father, his 6 brothers, the oldest of whom was my father, and two of my own brothers). But Clem graduated from Campion in 1951 and I, 15 years later. I was only three when he entered the novitiate, and in those days, visits home while in Jesuit training were rare occasions indeed. (“One year after Clem was ordained, I did enter the seminary…” Aunt Collette story) (Years later, when we were both pastors in Toledo, people would often ask me, “Are you related to Father Metzger at Gesu?” I would respond, “Oh, yes. He is my uncle, my father’s younger brother. He’s a Jesuit; I’m a Catholic priest! Just kidding—I love the Jesuits. I was educated by them in high school, in seminary and in graduate school in Rome. I have a profound respect for all the sons of Ignatius.)

Now, as most of you will know, if I were absolutely true to Clem’s preaching style, I would not be standing here confined to this pulpit, but I would be out among you roaming the aisle, terrorizing people with questions and “the look,” that sparkling, deep-seated stare, something akin to Fulton Sheen’s. (Blessed Sacrament story: “Mama, why is that many yelling at us?”) I always do that for school Masses with the children, speak from the aisle. But on Sundays I get nervous when some people are behind my back—you never know when someone might choose to pick up a hymnal and throw it during some particularly challenging homily!

When I was ordained in 1974, Clem did give me one particular piece of advice which I still remember and have in fact followed rather scrupulously for more than 35 years. He told me that when you are preaching, if you can’t say what needs to be said in eight minutes, it can’t be said. So sit down and don’t waste everyone’s time! Now for those of you who will inevitably be looking at your watches, the clock starts now, not three minutes ago, when I concluded the Gospel!

The scripture readings today are wonderful, and I preached brilliantly on them twice this morning at my own parish in Sylvania—you can get the text on our parish website. But on this occasion, a memorial Mass for a departed, beloved priest, teacher, mentor, brother, uncle, friend—the same scriptures may have a different message.

The first reading from the Book of Nehemiah was all about liturgy—Ezra publicly reading from the book of the Law at the rebuilding of Jerusalem and the Temple after the exile in Babylon. Liturgy—not exactly Clem’s strongest suit. (We used to have a saying in the seminary in Cincinnati—“as confused as a Jesuit in Holy Week.” Clem made professional liturgists tremble, at least the legalistic or rubrical ones, as he frequently would “embellish” the texts. He used to drive my father crazy—“Clem!” dad would say. “Just read what’s in the damn book! If it’s good enough for the pope, it’s good enough for you! Don’t make it up!”) So, maybe we should pass on Nehemiah and Ezra today.

Today’s Gospel is the wonderful story of Jesus going home to Nazareth—this part being the happy, temporary ending—hometown boy makes good. A little later, the same people would want to throw him out of town because his challenging words came too close to home. So perhaps I could tell you about Clem’s love of life in our home, Shelby, Bethlehem. But alas, as Clem’s sisters would no doubt tell you, his visits home were rare occasions—few and far between, something of a bone of contention for the Metzger girls. So I shall pass on today’s gospel as well.

That leaves us with the New Testament lesson—Paul’s wonderful teaching to the Corinthians about the Body of Christ. Ah! Here it is! Paul tells us that there is one body with many parts. No one person has every part, and we desperately need each other to make the body complete.

And what part was Clem? It couldn’t be any clearer to me—he was the voice! Certainly that booming, accented, drawn-out, almost drawl which boldly proclaimed the Word of God. People who may have met him, but not heard him preach, were invariably stunned when they encountered him at liturgy. One-to-one, he was so gentle, such a good listener, so soft-spoken. But preaching, he was someone else! He needed no microphone in any venue!

But it wasn’t just the voice, it was the spirit, the passion which animated that voice. Many of you know that one of his favorite descriptions of himself, and us, was “wretch” or “dirt”! That may have been some latent Jansenism coming through, but his point was that in spite of ourselves, our weakness, our unworthiness, our sinfulness, God still loves us! Jesus died for me! What an incredible gift! How could we ever digest it, appreciate it—God’s unconditional love for us, even to the point of giving us his only Son?

And today’s Gospel which I decided to pass over for the hometown reference, does indeed speak to us about our brother Clem. In the synagogue at Nazareth, Jesus chose to find the passage in Isaiah about giving sight to the blind, bringing liberty to captives, setting people free. That was Clem, wasn’t it? Always for the underdog—even the Red Sox until the glorious year of the Lord 2004!

But seriously, the marginal always had a special claim on Clem’s heart. The “powers that be” in the prison system cringed when they saw him coming—imagine: demanding bibles for prisoners; viewing the death penalty as something totally outside the realm of God’ kingdom. And then as a pastor, Clem was never above begging. Perhaps cajoling was the better term. Businessmen no doubt cringed as he came to the door: “What can you give me? Oh, we need this. You can spare that, can’t you? Pay? Oh, we can’t possible afford that! You can give it to us. God will bless you.” Of course, the begging was never for himself—his family learned decades earlier of the futility of giving Clem a Christmas gift—he would invariably give the gift away to someone he thought needed it more, even as he walked around with holey clothes, i.e. threadbare togs that even St. Vincent DePaul would have refused, a winter coat that belonged in Tampa, not Toledo.

What joy, what peace, what hope this follower of the Son of Nazareth brought to so many—to sophomore religion students (whom Clem claimed only received souls upon graduation!); to prisoners, especially those on death row; to parishioners, especially the poor, as well as those who had means to help those poor; and to all who came to him for spiritual direction as they saw in him the face of the Lord whom they could always trust.

What a privilege it has been to be his nephew! What a privilege it has been for all of us to have known him and heard him. Now, after 75 years, this “voice” of the Body of Christ is silent. But as Clem would be the first to proclaim, we are all part of the Body. We are all gifted by God. We must all speak the word of the Lord, in the unique way He calls and uses us. May Clement Metzger, S.J. enjoy forever the peace which for 75 years he labored to bring to God’s people.