Rabbi Shapiro and My Colleagues in Ministry,
Dear Friends and Neighbors,
Brothers and sisters, all children of the one true God:

Among the many courtesies and honors that have been extended to me since my arrival as archbishop of Milwaukee thirty months ago, your gracious invitation this evening, your warm welcome, your interest in what I have to say, stand out as one of the most meaningful for me, and I am indeed grateful.

If I seem a bit distracted it’s only because, usually, I’m the only one in the room wearing a yarmulke!

Can I take you back about forty-five years? It is October 17, 1960, and 130 Jews from the United States, led by Rabbi Herbert Friedman, who I understand was from Milwaukee, are at the Vatican to meet Pope John XXIII. The formal texts had all been composed, edited, vetted; the protocol on both sides had been rehearsed; the stage was all set. In comes “Good Pope John,” who dutifully assumes his ornate throne and looks out at the nervous American Jewish visitors. He sets the text aside, stands up, walks off the platform, takes a simple chair, and sits with his guests. He then tells them his favorite biblical story, that of Joseph recognizing his brothers in Egypt. Pausing, he reminds his guests that his middle name is Joseph, “Guiseppe,” and says, “I am Joseph, your brother. Yes, there is a difference between those who accept only what we call the Old Testament as their guide, and those who add the New Testament as their supreme law and norm. But that distinction does not abolish the brotherhood that comes from a common origin. We are all children of the same Father. We come from that Father, and we are all returning to Him.”

I propose to you this evening that this simple, sincere, human gesture accomplished more than pages of documents and hours of speeches. Here was an act of the heart from a man who liked to call himself a peasant, an act of the heart that did more to bring Catholics and Jews together than any statement or formal agreement.

Can we fast-forward a bit, to April 13, 1986? We’re still in Rome, okay? The Jewish community of Rome may be the oldest in the world with a continuous history, dating back to the days when the emissaries from the Hasmonean prince, Judas Maccabee, arrived in the imperial capital. Throughout 1900 years of a tortured relationship, no pope had ever set foot in a synagogue of Rome. And on that beautiful Roman spring day, John Paul II drove from the Vatican, across the Tiber, down the Lungotevere, to change history. The bishop of Rome was going to the synagogue of Rome to visit with the Jews of Rome at their house of worship.

It was, in a sense, the culmination of a journey that had begun in Wadowice, Poland, sixty years before. As he drove to the synagogue in Rome, Karol Wojtyla carried with him his boyhood friendships with Jews, his father’s lessons of tolerance and respect for others, his old pastor’s teaching that anti-Semitism was contrary to the gospel, his experience of the Nazi occupation, when he had lost friends - - Christians and Jews - - and almost his own young life, to a culture of death; he recalled his own intense participation in the Second Vatican Council as a bishop from Poland, and the promulgation of the epochal decree Nostra Aetate of 1965, in which the Catholic Church condemned anti-Semitism, affirmed that God’s will and election of the Jews were irrevocable, and declared that Judaism was hardly extrinsic but intrinsic to Christianity. All these memories John Paul II carried with him as he embraced the Chief Rabbi of Rome, Elio Toaff, and greeted the hundreds of Jews gathered for Sabbath with the words, “You are our dearly beloved brothers and, in a certain way, it could be said that you are our elder brothers and sisters.” It was an unforgettable encounter which the Pope closed by praying, in Hebrew, Psalm 118,

O give thanks to the Lord for He is good, His steadfast love endures forever! Let Israel say “His steadfast love endures forever.” Let all who fear the Lord say, “His steadfast love endures forever!”

Now, Dolan is far from John XXIII or John Paul II, and Rabbi Shapiro would hardly claim to be Elio Toaff, but here we are again, gathering as neighbors and friends in community, children of the one, true God. And I propose to you this evening that, when all is said and done, these simple acts of courtesy, friendship, hospitality, and common prayer may do more to deepen our unity than, however important, more documents and statements.

For both Jews and Catholics believe in a classic theological proposition that “grace builds on nature.” God works through the efforts of His creatures and the groans of His creation. You hold fast to your belief that God works through such agents of grace as covenant, call, prophets, Israel, Law, community, creation. We Catholics nod in agreement, adding that, for us, He continues to come to us through Jesus and His Church, through sacraments and liturgy. Yes, grace builds on nature; God works through creatures and creation.

Thus, our clumsy efforts have a role in salvation; our stumbling words and gestures can carry a message of His mercy and providence. A handshake and embrace, an invitation and visit, a common initiative and shared project, a prayer as one or a cup of coffee together can all be prophetic gestures with meaning and impact beyond the immediate.

So, here I stand this evening: I certainly lack the theological depth and sophistication of my esteemed predecessor, who did so much to advance Jewish-Catholic dialogue; I cannot come near the learning and eloquence of my auxiliary bishop, Richard Sklba, who spoke so movingly at Beth El Ner Tamid Synagogue only six weeks ago on the fortieth anniversary of Nostra Aetate. But I sure can speak from the heart as I say:

I love you very much!
I tremble before your faith, your perseverance, your fidelity to the convenant!
I am in awe before your tradition!
I am in debt to your Scriptures, and eternally grateful that you have shared your history, your wisdom, your trust in the promise with me;
I am so shaken and saddened by the crimes, bigotry, violence, and hatred that have been visited upon you by spiritual relatives of mine whose hideous actions pervert the genuine teaching of Jesus and His Church;
I am honored to be part of a local community that has such a heritage - - albeit still young - - of productive dialog between Jews and Catholics;
and, while proud of the 2000 year tradition of my own Church, I still feel like a boy in his dad’s hat, coat, and slippers as I stand before you whom my Pope called “elder brothers in the faith.”

Some of the finest Jewish minds of the twentieth Century - - Martin Buber, Franz Rosenzweig, Abraham Joshua Heschel - - once turned their minds to the question of where Christianity (whose Bible, liturgy, and basic theological approach to reality are all legacies from the Jewish people) fits into a Jewish view of God’s plan for the world’s salvation, and today, thank God, many are doing so again. I am thinking, for instance, of Dabru Emet, issued four years ago by 170 North American Jewish scholars on the noble enterprise of Jewish Christian dialogue, which made a litany of timely points. For example:

• Jews and Christians worship the same God.
• Jews and Christians seek authority from the same book the Hebrew Bible.
• Both can respect the Jewish claim upon the land of Israel.
• Both share the same foundational moral law, including a commitment to the sanctity and dignity of every human life.
• Nazism was not a Christian phenomenon, although, tragically, distorted Christian anti-Jewish prejudice prepared the ground for it.
• The differences between Jews and Christians will not be resolved until God definitively redeems the entire world.
• Genuine dialogue will not weaken the integrity or practice of either party.

Now can I conclude with three points. The first is this: yes, we legitimately rejoice in all that we know in common. Heck, as I hold my Bible daily, I realize that you and I share 80% of it in common. But perhaps what unites us even more cogently is what we do not know in common. For you and I bow down before a God of Mystery, who inspired,

not only answers but questions
not only satisfaction but longing
now only supplications but sighs
not only faith but frustration

Lord, my heart has no lofty ambitions, my eyes do not look too high.
I am not concerned with great affairs or marvels beyond my scope.
Enough for me to keep my soul tranquil and quiet, like a baby in its mother’s arms,
as content as a baby that has been weaned. Thank you, King David, for that reminder in Psalm 131. Yes, we need to keep our faces covered and our heads bowed in awe before the Lord’s utter majesty and beyondness. He alone has all the answers, not us. He alone in the Lord our God, and we shall not have strange gods before Him, especially our pride, our egos, which want to claim to know everything and have all the answers.

“Good is Good; God has His ways; it’s all beyond me” - - sayings as common to my Irish grandparents as your Jewish ones.

“People look to religion” Nostra Aetate says, “for answers to those profound mysteries of the human condition which deeply stir the human heart . . . What is the meaning and purpose of life? What is goodness and what is sin? . . . What, finally, is the ultimate and unutterable mystery which engulfs our being, whence we take our rise, and whither our journey leads us.”

Our wise ancestors both referred to the “cloud of unknowing” which inspires awe, trust, and, yes, humility. We can use a dose of that now.

So they think I am the “answer-man” when I visit the home where a nine-year-old girl has just died of Leukemia. “And what am I to tell the third-graders at St. Jude School who have been praying so hard for Maggie not to die?” asks the mom. And perhaps I am most faithful to our shared faith when I become like Job and admit, “I don’t know.” For what we acknowledge we do not know is perhaps as important as what we confess we do.

Secondly, part of our birthright is joy, my friends. Leon Bloy claims that “joy is the infallible sign of God’s presence” and that is true for both of us. Stalin said that he was most frightened by a person who laughs. We have a God who keeps His promises - - takes His time, yes - - but keeps His promises, and that gives us hope, and that gives us joy.

As a young seminarian in Rome, I attended a Mass to open the academic year. There, Cardinal Angelo dell Acqua begged us: “All I ask of you is one favor - - as you walk the streets of Rome to the university, smile!”

Cannot a world at times drab and dreary expect her believers to smile, whether they worship on Saturday or Sunday, even in the shadow of great tragedy?

Finally, go back with me once more, this time only five years, to Jerusalem, where Pope John Paul II leans in prayer against the “Western Wall.” See the tremble, see the head bowed, see the tear down his check. He is pondering all those who suffer - - from sickness, hunger, exile, war, violence, terrorism, injustice, bigotry, poverty, addiction, depression, homelessness, ignorance. He is crying with them. He is “wailing” for them. And he is reminding us that, in words he used at the Roman Synagogue, “Our common heritage drawn from the Law and the Prophets requires a collaboration in favor of man, in defense of human dignity and human life, in defense of freedom and in work for peace.”

Yes, we share a mission for peace, justice, and charity. We have a God who rarely loses His temper; but when He does, it is usually because His children treat each other so poorly.

I look out at you and recognize, with immense affection, admiration, and appreciation, not only “children of the one God,” but “neighbors and friends in community,” who are partners at hospitals, soup kitchens, on boards, at schools, organizations, homes, projects, initiatives, all devoted to service of those in need. Yes, we are united in “who we are,” as children of the one God, but we are also close in “what we do” for those at the side of the road.

“In the four decades since Vatican II” writes Rabbi Jack Bemporad and Michael Shivack in their excellent book Our Age, “more has been done to change the relationship between Jews and Catholics than in the preceding twenty centuries. Hopefully, it will not take quite as many generations for the changes to take place where ultimately they must: in the human heart.

One month ago, right before he was hospitalized, Pope John Paul II met with a distinguished group of Jewish leaders from America. At the conclusion of the audience, they asked for his blessing, which the Holy Father gave, the ancient Mosaic blessing from Exodus. Then, bowed down, he said to them, “Now, please give me your blessing.”

This evening, I gladly give you my blessing, and I sincerely ask yours.

Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get to a fish fry.