Answer:  In the weeks leading up to Ash Wednesday, it is not uncommon to see old, dried palms show up in the Atrium.  These palms are typically from the previous year’s Palm Sunday masses.

Let’s address the first question.  What do we do with old palms?  The answer to this can apply to a whole host of blessed items.  When something is blessed, it is to be used for devotional purposes.  If the item breaks, wears out, or it no longer usable, then the question arises as to how best to dispose of those items?  The tradition response is that these items should either be burned or buried.  An article I read on this topic offers a nice explanation as to why this practice is observed: “The tradition of returning blessed items to the Earth stems from the idea that an object sanctified in God’s name should be returned to God, much like the way a person is buried and returned to the earth.”

So when it comes to palms, what should we do with them?  In the late 1800’s, the Church issues a few different decisions on how to dispose of blessed items.  Among them was a directive on what to do with blessed palms.  It directed that palms are to be burned, and the ashes then used for distribution on Ash Wednesday or returned to the ground.

Here is where the second question comes in.  What do we do with all of those palms that people drop off at the Church?  First of all, we are not asking anybody to drop old, blessed palms off, people just do it, likely for the reason I mentioned above regarding Ash Wednesday.  Now, I hope this does not disappoint or scandalize you, but we do not burn those blessed palms in order to make ashes to be distrusted on Ash Wednesday.  We have a bucket full of ash, from which we extract a small amount each year.  Based on it’s current capacity, I would guess we have ashes for a decade or two!  So, when we get these palms, we usually just burn them in the fire at the Easter Vigil, then those ashes are placed in the ground.

So, if you still have palms, and are wondering what to do with them, I would encourage you to consider burning them outside at your home and then burying the ashes in the ground.  If you bring them to us, we will eventually burn them, but we certainly do not require any of those palms for making ashes for Ash Wednesday.  So if you do not absolutely need to bring them to us, then please take care of them in the way mentioned above.

Feast Day: February 11^th 

So I went deep down a Wikipedia rabbit hole researching “Jones” this week. One of my cousins had her first baby about two weeks ago, the baptism being last Sunday down on Maxwell Airforce Base (she and her husband are in the Airforce), and they named him Jones. I had certainly heard the name before, but almost exclusively as a last-name/surname. So, off I went on a deep-dive into human language, names, and etymology. To save you from a similar investigation: Jones itself originally comes from the Welsh version of “Johnson”, which, as you  may be able to tell without perusing many articles on the subject, is a last-name for somebody who was the son of John. (Many surnames are like this, the father’s name with something added indicating “son-of”, like “Wil-son”, “Fitz-Gerald”, “O-Connor”, or “Rodríg-uez”. Another common way to derive a surname is from occupation [e.g. “Miller”, “Eisenhower”] or location [e.g. “Hamilton”, “Stone”]).

Of course, our rabbit hole now turns to the name “John”, which originally comes from the Hebrew name “Y’hohanan”, a name summarizing the phrase “YHWH is Merciful”. It shows up throughout the Old Testament though it grew greatly in popularity after one of the five Maccabean brothers had that name. Two of the most famous New Testament figures, John the Baptist and John the Apostle, indicate the name’s popularity in Our Lord’s day, and it only grew more widespread as Christian parents chose those saints as patrons for their baby boys. And now you can find versions of this name all over the world: Arabic: يوحنا / Yūḥannā, Chinese: 約翰 / Yuēhàn, Danish: Hans or Johannes, French: Jean, Georgian: იოანე / Ioane, … I think you get the picture!

But … this leads us to that enigmatic name of God, technically called the “tetragrammaton” (Greek meaning “four letters”), the four Hebrew letters: Yod [י], He [ה], Waw [ו], and He [ה], rendered in our Latin alphabet as “YHWH”. This is the name that God gives for Himself while speaking to Moses at the burning bush.

¹³ Then Moses said to God, “If I come to the people of Israel and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what shall I say to them?” ¹⁴ God said to Moses, “I am who I am.” And he said, “Say this to the people of Israel: ‘I am has sent me to you.’” ¹⁵ God also said to Moses, “Say this to the people of Israel: ‘The Lord, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you.’ This is my name forever, and thus I am to be remembered throughout all generations.

[Exodus 3:13-15]

Whenever you see God referred to as the “Lord” (all capitals) in the Bible, that is an indication that originally the text had this four-letter Divine Name (יהוה / YHWH). To respect and keep holy God’s name, Jews will never articulate it, speaking instead another word such as “Adonai” (Lord) or “Elohim” (God), a practice maintained when one of our bible translations uses “LORD”. (With the same respect, notice that the name “Y’hohanan” itself abridges God’s name to just its first two letters.) As God Himself describes, His name means “He Who is.” Scholars debate endlessly on the topic, but we’re going to trust the LORD on the right interpretation of His name. “H-Y-H” in Ancient Hebrew is the basic infinitive “to be”, and by adding the prefix “Y-”, you make it third-person: “He [Who] is.” 

You might think this has little to do with St. Jonas … and you’d be right. St. Jonas was a little-known monk who became a saint by praying the psalms while making rope for one of St. Pochomius’ monasteries in the Egyptian desert (St. Pochomius an emulator of the famous St. Anthony of the Desert). Sadly, hilariously for me, “Jonas”, derives from the Hebrew name “Jonah” (like the prophet), and probably has no connection to the name “John”. Most scholars think that it simply means “dove”, perhaps linking it to other related words which add a character of flightiness or instability.

Fr. Dominic can only laugh at having followed the wrong trail for so long in investigating today’s saint. Happily, Jonah – both the prophet and the monk – in the end still chose to follow the LORD. Happily for us, we also can always choose Christ no matter which path we’ve gotten ourselves onto thus far.

The first time I travelled outside of the United States was in 2006.  Up to that point, I had only ever attended masses that were celebrated in English.  While in Rome during that trip, I attended Mass one Sunday afternoon in St. Peter’s Basilica that was celebrated in German.  Having taken three years of German, I thought I might be safe, but I soon found out that I struggled to understand pretty much anything, likely because I had not done anything with my German language skills in almost a decade.  Although I found it difficult to understand the words being said, I had absolutely no problem following along with the actions that were taking place.  The flow of the liturgy, and in particular, the actions of the Eucharistic Prayer, were all familiar to me, and there was a great sense of comfort.  Though I was far away from home, listening to words I could not quite understand, I still very much felt at home in the liturgy that I had come to know so well.

I have had many people over the years report similar experiences of attending Mass in an unfamiliar language.  Although it is always nice to understand the words, we know there is more to the Mass than just the words that are spoken.  In the Roman Missal, the book that the presider uses when celebrating Mass, the words that the priest are to say are printed in black, but there are also words in the book that he does not say, and these are printed in red.  These words in red are known as the rubrics.  Speaking of words we might not understand, this is one worth defining.  The entry for ‘rubrics’ the Modern Catholic Dictionary reads as follows:

Originally red titles of law announcements. They are the directive precepts or liturgical provisions found in the Missal, including the Sacramentary and lectionary, and in the ritual, to guide bishops, priests, or deacons in the Eucharistic liturgy, the administration of sacraments and sacramentals, and the preaching of the Word of God. Rubrics are printed in red and are either obligatory or merely directive, as the context makes amply clear. (Etym. Latin rubrica, red earth; title of law written in red; hence law instruction.)

In our formation, priests have been taught the simple, though important liturgical principle: “Do the red and say the black.”  When a priest is faithful to following the rubrics of the Mass, the faithful will be able to follow along much more easily, not so much because they understand what is being said, but because of what is being done.  To be sure, it would be ideal if we understood the words as well, but not understanding the words does not mean that we cannot fully participate in the Mass.  If, therefore, you find yourself in a different country or in a situation where the only Mass available is in a different language, you are not dispensed from attending Mass just because you do not understand the language.  You will always understand the “language” of the actions of the Mass and you will always be able to unite your heart to the sacrifice that is being offered to God on your behalf by the celebrant.

I share this reflection as an invitation to pay closer attention to the actions that accompany the words at Mass, especially during the Eucharistic Prayer.  Perhaps they may seem random, but they are carefully defined and given to us by the Church to be followed faithfully, for they, in addition to the words spoken, are significant to the meaning of the liturgy.  

Father Alford     

Feast Day: February 4^th 

The year was 1572, the place, Viterbo, Italy.

Eufranio Desiderio was 16 years old, and sick with a fever.

In our day fevers are more often a nuisance than a critical illness, and usually pass after a few days of rest or after a standard round of antibiotics, but in Eufranio’s day they were ominous. 50% of all deaths, of all humans, until about 150 years ago were because of infections before the age of 15. 

Eufranio was, by all accounts, a prayerful, cheerful boy (his name, originally stemming from the Greek word “eúphrōn”, literally meant “good heart/mind”, fitting for such a kindly young man). He would play Mass with his siblings (he was one of 8), and would fast and practice penances every Friday as part of the Confraternity of the Holy Savior. However, at the age of 12 he lost both of his parents and moved from his hometown of Lionessa to live with his uncle in Viterbo. His uncle, a teacher, reared the boy as best he could and managed to arrange a marriage between him and the daughter of a local noble family. 

Eufranio, however, was torn. He wanted to be grateful for all his uncle had done for him, but he was attracted to the ardent and wholehearted life of a religious vocation. Somewhere in the midst of his discernment he fell sick. It is uncertain whether his consternation over his future and the Lord’s call was so profound that it caused his illness, or perhaps his recovery was the sign he needed from the Lord to indicate which way to go, but in any case when the fever abated he had come to his decision: he would return to Leonessa and join the Capuchins.

I want to stay with him, at the age of 16 or 17, as he was wrestling about this decision. He, like so many young people, had different options before him, and chose the admittedly daunting task of actually engaging them, discerning them, trying to find God’s will in them. It is so much easier to just keep ourselves distracted and not take an open-eyed look at what is happening inside of our hearts, at what options are truly open to us, and to dig deep into prayer and see what the Lord keeps bringing up before us. And, on top of all of that it is often not easy to choose the path God has prepared for us. Fear and uncertainty buffet us from side to side. Our own weaknesses and sins cause us to doubt whether we’re capable of it. And, wherever the Lord calls us it will always cost us everything – of course it’s worth everything too; it’s a path of joy and love and peace and leads us to heaven – but it will also entail the cross!

As Christians, we believe that God’s love extends to the big and little things of our life, that He has a plan for our holiness and happiness, and if we stay in relationship with the Lord, and ask for Him to guide us, He will. But, that knowledge does not take away the angst that comes as we glance into an uncertain future, or the tension between various good paths, or the reality of the impact our decision has on others around us. Eufranio found sanctity, inner peace, a zeal and liveliness in the capuchins that cast every doubt out of his mind … but what about his uncle? What about the young lady who was preparing to marry him? What about his siblings back in Lionessa? We don’t know their stories, but his decision would have impacted them too. Somehow the Lord’s will was there for them of course, but it is undeniable that Eufranio’s conviction that he must become a friar could have caused them suffering or uncertainty themselves.

One thing learned from the rest of St. Joseph’s life (his religious name): As a friar, he was known for his remarkable self-denial: of small pleasures, choosing little penances, fasting and offering other sacrifices to God. This was amplified when he was sent to Turkey (Constantinople) to minister to Christians held captive there as slaves for the Turks. He, and his fellow friars, lived in absolutely impoverished conditions themselves, and he would go day after day to minister to the captives and preach against their captivity, getting himself thrown into prison again and again, even marvelously surviving a death sentence. Notice a theme: he was constantly finding his sanctity in embracing poverty. Embracing the loss of his parents, the rigors of illness, the poverty of the capuchins, the situation of Christians slaves… He found an anchor for his discernment in the discovery that leaning into poverty was, for him, a path to sanctity.

If you discover a similar place where God is making your holier, or more loving, or more like Him, stay with that! Stay with God in that place where He is so obviously leading you home to Him and everything else will work out.

Fr. Dominic was studying in Rome when the 2016 earthquakes struck the town of Amatricia, where Fr. Joseph ended his days. Pray for that city and all those who lost their lives. Certainly Fr. Joseph would have ran into their poverty if he wasn’t already doing more for them in heaven!