Feast Day: June 16^th 

About as far south as you can get in France without falling into the Mediterranean, or becoming Spain, is a little town named Fontcouverte. The population only crested 500 souls in the early 2000s, so in large part it looks just as picturesque as it did a few hundred years ago – simple brick homes, their copper-colored tile roofs gleaming as the sun sets, all of it perched on the side of the hill they call “La Vade”, and named after the Fontcalel which flows out from the village.

Probably that little place was as unscathed as one could be amidst the civil war tearing France apart in the late 1500s, but the unity and patriotism and confidence in the monarchy that had swelled in the years after St. Joan of Arc, had been all but shattered now 150 years later by the atrocities committed by Catholics against Protestants and vice versa. It’s true that right as Jean- François was born a truce was finally established as Henry IV secured the throne in 1598 (he, a Protestant, converting to Catholicism in order to do so, then re-establishing Catholicism as the religion of the realm, albeit granting the Huguenots/Protestants religious liberty). Little Jean’s dad had been part of the Catholic League which had fervently fought against King Henry until his conversion, so the family had gained a bit of noble standing from his service in that war. This mean that Jean was blessed with both a rich, and a firmly Catholic, education. He was growing up where many of the Protestants in France had settled, so though the country as a whole was 90% Catholic, his early years were certainly impacted by that disparity of faith all around him, and even if the war was over, the shells of burned churches and stories of murdered priests were not far in his past.

Growing up, he was inspired by the Jesuits who taught in his school, especially the stories of the great Jesuit missionaries like St. Francis Xavier who had died just 50 years before. The age of martyrs, of course, was not over (still isn’t, and never will be as it turns out for anyone who follows a Crucified Savior): Jean de Brébeuf was born just a few years before Jean-François, and Isaac Jogues would be born less than ten years after him, (all of these Jesuits from France). During his decade-plus of formation in the Society of Jesus, our Jean grew rapidly into a tremendous teacher of the faith, besides exemplifying a deep and wholehearted devotion to God as well as a tender heart for the poor and hurting. Surely these were the skills and gifts needed for a world – rapidly expanding – in which so many unknown people had never heard the Gospel. But when he was finally ordained a priest in 1632 his assignment was … to Montpellier, that’d be about 70 miles up the coast from where he was born, and his task … to work with fallen-away Catholics in those areas ravaged by the civil war the century before. 

It wasn’t as glamorous as Francis Xavier, and he wasn’t going to come home mutilated or martyred as would Brébeuf and Jogues and so many others. Nope, he was going to hear confessions before and after his morning Mass, visit the prisons and hospitals in the afternoon, try to get people to come to his formation-conferences in the evenings and try amidst the long days to exude kindness and compassion to widows, orphans, and others who had been neglected, or wounded, by the Church in all those horrible years before. He would endure not foreign jungles or horrendous passages across the ocean, just harsh winters and discouraging turnouts. He just went town to town and preached the Gospel – his words were poetic and moving when preaching at Mass, substantial but simple when he taught the faith on other occasions – and he just traveling ahead of his bishop to try and prepare people to hear from their shepherd and help them return to the sacraments after years far from them. His was the life and work of a pretty typical parish priest of today. 

And then one day, in front of the Church in Saint-Andé (a bit further south than even Fontcouverte), someone asked everyone who they were waiting for, and they said they were waiting for “the saint.” That’d be ‘Saint’ (not yet canonized, not yet dead) John Francis Regis who was coming for another parish mission. His simple words, sacrificial love, and prayerfulness had made an impact after all! And not like 50 years later either! Eight years after being ordained and beginning his circuit around that diocese he had a premonition that he wasn’t going to live much longer. He put his affairs in order, continued to preach about God’s love, and right after Christmas of 1640, he knew he was in his final hours. He spent December 31^st looking on the crucifix and simply prayed “Into thy hands I commend my spirit” before taking his final breath that evening. 

– Fr. Dominic is immensely inspired by this “ordinary” saint. Heroic virtue does not mean martyrdom or baptizing thousands; it mostly means consistent prayer, persevering in charity, and enduring the day’s burdens. All of us can manage that!

Last summer, when I began my series on praying the Mass, I honestly had no idea how long it would last.  I thought perhaps it might take me into the Fall, or possibly the beginning of Advent at the latest.  As it turns out, it pretty much took an entire year to complete the series.  There were, understandably, a few breaks that I needed to take for various reasons, but overall, it was pretty much one article after the next, making our way slowly but surely through the Mass.

I have been very encouraged by the feedback that I have received from many of you on the series.  It demonstrates to me that the Holy Spirit was prompting me to take on this labor or love because it was something needed by the Church.  As you know, many of the most profound insights came from sources other than myself, so I cannot claim any specific credit for anything that may have been moving to you, but I am grateful for the opportunity that the Lord has given to me to have this vehicle for sharing something so important for us as Catholics, which is praying the Mass well.  This time of Eucharistic Revival is far more than just explaining our belief in the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist.  To be sure, that is important, and I hope many Catholics throughout our country have experienced a renewed appreciation for this important truth of our faith.  But a desire of those responsible for crafting the goals of the Eucharistic Revival was to highlight the treasure of the Sacred Liturgy.  If it is true that the Mass is the “source and summit of the Chistian life”, then a renewal in our love for this gift is essential to the success of this special time for the Church in the United States.

As this series on praying the Mass was nearing completion, I found myself both joyful and a bit nervous.  As I said, this series has been a labor of love, and now that it is done, I am so thankful for the experience.  But then I face the question: “What’s next?”  Is there another series planned?  At this point, that answer is no.  But, I do not want to put limits on what the Holy Spirit may prompt me to do, so do not be surprised if something comes along.  In the mean time, I am content to take these articles one week at a time.  This is where that nervousness comes in!  With a defined series, it was somewhat easy to know what the topic of the next article would be.  Of course, each article required a fair amount of thinking, praying, and researching, but to have a general direction took a lot of pressure off.  Now, I will return to where I’ve been in the past, most likely, praying each week: “Lord, what do you want me to say?”  The Lord always provides, so that brings me comfort, even as I experience a little nervousness.

By the time you read this, I will have just finished attending our annual Priests Retreat with Bishop Paprocki and several other of our diocesan priests.  It was on that retreat last year when I really received the inspiration for this series.  Who knows if the Lord has something in store for me again?  One thing I know for sure about retreat (which is a little strange to think about given that I am writing this before retreat), I will be giving thanks to God for the gift of serving you as Rector of the Cathedral.  On July 1, I will be beginning my 5^th year here, which will officially make it the longest parish assignment I have ever had.  In many ways, these have been some of the most fulfilling and happiest years I have known as a priest, and much of that I credit to your loving support and encouragement of me and my brother priests.  And speaking of my brother priests, I think that is possibly the greatest gift of these past four years that have made for such fulfillment, the gift of priestly fraternity that we have here at the Cathedral Rectory, under the spiritual fatherhood of Bishop Paprocki, who has truly been a father, a brother, and a friend to me and my brother priests.  Please continue to pray for us each day, as we happily do so for you!

Father Alford     

Feast Day: June 9^th 

Legend has it that one of the first High Kings of Ireland was the suitably named Niall of the Nine Hostages. It was his roving bands of pirates who captured a young Padraik and held him hostage for 6 years before his escape, and then return, to bring the Gospel back to the Emerald Isle. One of Naill’s great-great-grandson, a century after the great apostle of Ireland, was Columba. Born into the still-royal family, though now also surrounded by a Christian culture with schools and monasteries to form his early years, he had every comfort his world could offer. 

(I often forget how early that all this happened. St. Patrick was born in England when Britain was still ruled by Rome. When he was bringing the faith to Ireland, the Franks had still not received the Gospel in France and the Council of Chalcedon had still not cemented the Church’s understanding of Christ’s Divine Personhood and divine and human natures. St. Columba, even a century later, 521-597 AD, still lived while St. Benedict was founding his monastery at Monte Cassino, Muhammad was born in Arabia, and Pope St. Gregory the Great sent missionaries to England, which, despite St. Patrick’s coming from there was still predominantly pagan.) 

St. Columba was talented, intelligent, strongly built and a natural leader, but he chose to leave behind the comforts of a regal heritage in Donegal and commit himself to the austerities of the life of a monk. His skills were quickly manifested and he founded monastery after monastery around Ireland, most famously at Derry. They were places of prayer and consecrated life, agriculture and art, study and education, peace and prosperity. Well, until Columba messed it all up.

He had returned to the Abbey at Movilla where he had begun his studies and surreptitiously made a copy of the treasured psalter kept there by Finnian, who had brought it back from Rome, one of the famous translations by St. Jerome. To loop back to St. Patrick for a moment: during his life Jerome’s translation had been completed, but it had yet to reach ubiquity around Europe so sometimes St. Patrick quoted the scriptures from earlier translations. Of course, Finnian was quite proud then to have this bible, and Columba was quite interested in getting a copy of it despite Finnian refusing him that permission. Our gutsy, not yet saintly, Irish monk copied a section every night, and had the whole psalter ready to take with him when he prepared to depart but then the truth came out.

Finnian accused Columba of disobedience. Columba claimed he did nothing wrong in copying the bible. The High King was asked to adjudicate the decision, Diamait mac Cerbaill, the last High King to be inaugurated by pagan ritual, by this time it seems a Christian, and in any case a relative of Columba. Still, in the earliest recorded judgement on copyright infringement, he sided with Finnian. Columba was furious, and the details are muddy, but it seems that in the midst of some sort of contest of strength one of the Northern O’Naill’s (Columba’s side) injured or killed one of the southern O’Naill’s (Daimait’s side, perhaps his son), and fled to Columba’s monastery for protection. Despite the inalienable right of sanctuary, Diamait dragged the man out and killed him. And so began the Battle of Cúl Dreimhne, with thousands dead at the end of it, and Columba choosing a self-imposed exile to Scotland to do penance. He would build many monasteries there, became known for his holiness and wisdom, convert the King of the Pict’s to Christianity, and – fitting given what had brought him there in the first place – help to mediate disputes among the warring clans, and continued to transcribe books until his death. 

Oh, and there was one famous time while working to convert King Brude that Columba came upon a group (of still pagan Picts) burying a man who had just been killed by a “water beast” in the River Ness. Columba touched the man, bringing him back to life, but knew the people needed a greater sign of Christ’s power to come to belief. He directed one of his young monks to swim the river. The Brother, Lugne Mocumin, leapt into the water and to the dismay of the crowd immediately attracted the beast. Columba calmly strode to the bank, made the sign of the cross and commanded the monster to stop, which it did instantaneously. 

His Irish temper had, at long last, been yoked to Christ.

Fr. Dominic some months ago heard a podcast by the apologist, and polymath, Jimmy Akin about the Loch Ness monster. Unfortunately, these days, it seems unlikely we have a dinosaur still living there, and though eel DNA is present in large amounts, we don’t have strong evidence for a giant eel living in the loch at the moment. So we don’t know what monster Columba faced that day, but we do know that he converted the Picts, which would be able to assimilate with the southern (already Christian) tribes, uniting Scotland a generation later.

We now come to the Concluding Rites of the Mass, the final elements that bring this great prayer of the Mass to a close.  The General Instruction of the Roman Missal does not give much in the way of explanation of this part of the Mass, only the elements that comprise these rites:

To the Concluding Rites belong the following:

• a) brief announcements, should they be necessary;
• b) the Priest’s Greeting and Blessing, which on certain days and occasions is expanded and expressed by the Prayer over the People or another more solemn formula;
• c) the Dismissal of the people by the Deacon or the Priest, so that each may go back to doing good works, praising and blessing God;
• d) the kissing of the altar by the Priest and the Deacon, followed by a profound bow to the altar by the Priest, the Deacon, and the other ministers.  (n. 90)

Although I could say something about each of these items, let me focus on point c), the Dismissal.  There are four options given by the Roman Missal for the Dismissal, and they all begin with the same word: “Go.”  As the GIRM mentions, our going has the character of being sent “to do good works, praising and blessing God.”  Although the Mass in ended, our giving glory to God has not.  My favorite Dismissal option expressed this beautifully: “Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.”  Having encountered God’s word and having been nourished by His Body and Blood, we are equipped to go and live the Gospel in our daily lives.  The Mass is not one hour a week, totally separated from our daily lives.  No, the Mass is integral (necessary) to our lives as Catholics.  Here is how Father Timothy Gallagher, OMV, describes it in his book, A Biblical Way of Praying the Mass: The Eucharistic Wisdom of Venerable Bruno Lanteri:

He sends us, Venerable Bruno writes, as apostles. The word “apostle” means exactly this, “one who is sent.” Venerable Bruno sees in Acts 15:26 the portrait of an apostle: Paul and Barnabas are men “who have dedicated their lives to the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” We are apostles when, in our vocations as husbands and wives, parents and children, brothers and sisters, in our various professions in the world, and in our life in the Church, we have dedicated our lives to the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. When the words “Go forth, the Mass is ended” are proclaimed, we receive the call to exit the church and reenter the world in this way, as apostles. In a very real sense, the end of the Mass is a beginning. 

(p. 86 of Kindle version of book)

This year-long series focusing on trying to pray the Mass better is, very fittingly, also coming to a conclusion.  It has been my great joy to share these reflections with you, reflections which I hope have helped you to enter into this greatest prayer better.  It is my hope that, as we come to the conclusion of these reflections, this will not be an end, but as with the Dismissal at Mass, a beginning.  May it be just the beginning of a journey into a deeper intimacy with Jesus in the most beautiful gift we have as Catholics, the Holy Mass.  If, down the road, we find ourselves losing that fervor for the Mass, falling back into our autopilot ways, not getting much from the Mass, let us take one final piece of advice from our friend, Venerable Bruno Lanteri.  Though these words speak more specifically about our struggles with sin, I think they apply well to our struggles with keeping our hearts focused in prayer at Mass.  He uses his favorite phrase, Nunc coepi, which translated means “Now I begin” or similarly, “Begin again”:

If I should fall, were it even a thousand times, I will not lose courage, I will not be troubled, but I will always say immediately, with peace, Nunc coepi [“Now I Begin.”]  

Father Alford