By Fr.ChristopherMarino - St. Mary Cathedral

Father Christopher Marino, rector of St. Mary Cathedral, preached this homily Nov. 23, 2015, at the funeral of his younger brother, Joseph Anthony Marino, who died Nov. 21, 2015 at the age of 38. Joey Marino, as he was known in the family, had been born with Down syndrome.

In the fictional novel, “The Clowns of God,” by Morris West, Jesus comes back to earth, and some people think it’s Him while some don’t. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. At one point, “Jesus” is at a school for children with Down syndrome, not unlike our own Marian Center, and He is holding a little girl while the people watch.

“Jesus” says: “I know what you are thinking. You need a sign. What better one could I give but to make this little one whole and new? I could do it, but I will not. I am the Lord and not a conjurer. I gave this mite a gift I denied to all of you — eternal innocence. To you she looks imperfect — but to me she is flawless, like the bud that dies unopened or the fledgling that falls from the nest to be devoured by ants. She will never offend me, as all of you have done. She will never pervert or destroy the work of my Father’s hands. She is necessary to you. She will evoke the kindness that will keep you human. Her infirmity will prompt you to gratitude for your own good fortune … More! She will remind you every day that I am who I am, that my ways are not yours, and that the smallest dust mite whirled in the darkest spaces does not fall out of my hand … I have chosen you. You have not chosen me. This little one is my sign to you. Treasure her!”

This funeral Mass, like every funeral Mass, brings to the mind, heart and eye, the reality of death. The prayers, the sacred texts of scripture and song, the black vestments, the incense, the tears, the need to be close to each other and feel the touch of another’s embrace.

Try as we might, and we certainly try, we cannot escape it. Death is there in our face, like today, or lurking in the background, like the last week at Pembroke Memorial (hospital). Death reminds us of the fragility of human life and our need to place our hope — not in medicine, or finances or institutions though these are important — but in the Lord alone. When we come together in the Church’s solemn rites of mourning, in the private mourning of my mom and me, our family from NY and of this public mourning of our family of faith, we are strengthened and our hope in the promises of Jesus is renewed.

We pray for Joey and we pray for ourselves. We pray that Mercy has embraced him and that that same Mercy, Christ Jesus, will also embrace us, now and the hour of our death. The Mass is the greatest of all prayers, it is the very prayer of the Son to the Father offered in and through and with the Holy Spirit. The Eucharist is the Sacrifice and Death that gives Life. The wood of the Cross, watered by His Blood, blossoms into the Tree of Life.

Jesus says, “behold I come to make all things new.” The Church is a wise mother. At a funeral mass, we do well to let the Church’s ancient prayers and the living Word of Sacred Scripture speak through the Liturgy; our words, these words, my words, fall short and if they succeed, it’s only because we have echoed the Church.

These, the sounds and sights and smells of our Catholic liturgy help us to remember that indeed, in the Mass, God touches us as we touch Him; heaven is wed to earth and earth to heaven. All of these tangible things, touchable, sensible things, though important on their own, are signs, like Joey, of the intangible things of heaven.

We were made for heaven. This funeral Mass is not about death having the final say on Joey’s life but about heaven, his and our “happy home.” Death, Joey’s death, every death, is an occasion to think of heaven. We were made for heaven. Joey was made for heaven, and, to paraphrase the Clowns of God, through the “imperfection” of Down Syndrome, he showed us, he showed me, the better way of true perfection: to never offend the Lord, to never pervert nor destroy the things of God, to remind us each day that God’s ways are not ours, that dependence on God, and others, is better than the cruel illusion of control. These are the things of heaven, and for 38 years Joey, through his “imperfection,” lived this perfection.

Heaven is our destiny. The great Pope Emeritus, Benedict XVI, teaches us: “This word Heaven does not indicate a place above the stars but something far more daring and sublime: it indicates Christ himself, the divine Person who welcomes humanity fully and forever, the One in whom God and man are inseparably united forever. Man’s being in God, this is Heaven. And we draw close to Heaven, indeed, we enter Heaven to the extent that we draw close to Jesus and enter into communion with him.”

Heaven is communion with Jesus, starting now and lasting unto everlasting life. One of the signs of heaven is joy, and there’s no accident that Joy and Joey sound very much the same. How many of us can say that we are truly joyful, even when we are “happy”? When Joey knew that cake was on the way, he experienced joy, unrestrained, unapologetic, politically incorrect, delight in the knowledge that something wonderful was going to happen.

To Joey the cake was something wonderful; it was not only good tasting to his tongue but good feeling to his heart. With my mom every celebration called for cake. Joey was joyful not only in the cake but in the cause of the cake. For him, I am confident, every chocolate cake, peach pie and éclair, brought with it the memory of a celebration with mommy and daddy and Chris, the comfort of the company of family and friends. In that memory, not a melancholy nostalgia of the past, but the reality of the event made present now, Christ Himself was present because love and companionship were present. Read again Isaiah 25 (1st reading of the Mass). That’s heaven, that’s Joy, that’s Joey.

Pope Benedict says, “Each of us is the result of a thought of God. Each of us is willed. Each of us is loved. Each of us is necessary.”

In and of himself Joseph was necessary, Joseph was a human person, fully alive in the glory of God. He was and is, beloved by the Father and beloved by us, his mother, his father, his brother, his family and friends, and this community gathered in prayer here in Miami, and throughout the world. For 38 years, God gave him to us and us to him. Joey’s entire life was lived in a friendship with Jesus and His Church not only through the life communicated to us through the sacraments but through a real and true and concrete intimacy, friendship with God, nourished and supported day in and day out.

Joey spoke to Jesus, he listened to Jesus, he knew Jesus. Joey, like every human person, no matter how unexpected, inconvenient or difficult, from the moment of conception to the moment of death, is of inestimable value, a life worth living. Joey, this beautiful, funny, joyful man, thought of by God from the beginning of time, was intended. Joey was loved, Joey was necessary.

To paraphrase again “The Clowns of God,” Joey is necessary to you. He will evoke the kindness that will keep you human. His infirmity, and his dying, will prompt you to gratitude for your own good fortune … More! He will remind you every day that I am who I am, that my ways are not yours.

Joseph, just being Joseph, changed lives. Through the joy of his life and even through the sadness of his dying, people responded to Joseph in unique and unanticipated ways. He loved and embraced everyone, even the hardest, meanest and most vulgar amongst us. Truly and really, He evoked the kindness that keeps us human, not because he needed us, but because we needed him. Even if we had never met him before, in the moment of the encounter something moved within us. This moment of encounter was not an expression of pity, of feeling sorry, but a real leap of the heart in recognition of the mystery of the one before us. The leap of the heart is a response to the invitation of Christ, Jesus Himself, who stands before us, always —through the sign of humanity, the sign of “imperfection, the sign of reality.

Blessed are we when we remain in that relationship with Christ and each other. Christ, through Joseph, made us better. In my case, only for few and fleeting moments! Truly I can say, life with Joey had the power to transform. I believe that the relationship that my father had with Joey made my father a better man, a better husband, a better Christian. Joseph evoked something beautiful in Daddy and it is of particular poignancy that Joey left us on November 21st, not only a feast of Our Lady, but also my mom and dad’s 50th wedding anniversary.

Throughout these days, even through the confusion and sadness that marked them, mommy and I have felt God’s Mercy — Carmen, all of the visitors, the caregivers, the texts, the emails and all the signs of love. This is Mercy.

This week was necessary for us, my mom and me, to say goodbye to our baby. We knew, we always knew (that this illness wouldn’t turn out well) and in God’s Mercy this was also a time for us to get to know each other again, in a new and healthier way. We will never have to worry about Joey again, if he’s happy, if he’s sick or where someday, he will go. I am certain that he, who was innocent, who never offended or destroyed, is with God. And there is great comfort in that.

This week I saw the pieta, not in Rome, but in Pembroke Pines. My mother stood at the foot of the cross and held her son in his death as she had faithfully held him in life. My mother and her sons gave witness to hope to all who cared for us and were cared for, by Christ, through us. Many came to believe again or maybe for the first time, in a God who is present, a God who accompanies.

My mother, like Mary, was always attentive, always present, always intentional, sorrowful but hopeful that this relationship of love, begun here 38 years ago, would not end in death. Death is not the end. Resurrection follows. We were made for heaven.

And “Jesus” said: I gave you a sign, I gave Joseph a gift I denied to all of you — eternal innocence. To you he looks imperfect — but to me he is flawless, like the bud that dies unopened or the fledgling that falls from the nest to be devoured by ants. He never offended me, as all of you have done. He never perverted or destroyed the work of my Father’s hands. He is necessary to you. He evoked the kindness that had the power to keep you human. His infirmity had the power to prompt you to gratitude for your own good fortune … More! He will remind you every day that I am who I am, that my ways are not yours, and that the smallest dust mite whirled in the darkest spaces does not fall out of my hand … I have chosen you. You have not chosen me. This little one is my sign to you. Treasure him. Imitate him. Live in joy.

A scholarship has been established in Joseph’s memory at St. Mary’s Cathedral School, to help inner city children receive a Catholic education: Joseph Marino Scholarship Fund, St. Mary’s Cathedral School, c/o 7525 N.W. Second Ave., Miami, FL 33150.