As I have written in a previous article, the new English translation of the Roman Missal, 3^rd Edition, introduced the First Sunday of Advent in 2011, brought to our ears new words that we had previously not heard in the prayers of the Mass.  One such word is “oblation.”  Simply translated, oblation means offering, but in terms of the Mass, the offering is connected with the notion of sacrifice.  

We offer bread and wine as the offerings (or oblations) to be used in the Consecration.  The Consecration at the Mass unites us to the sacrificial offering of Christ on the Cross for our salvation.  But there is more to the oblation that just the bread and wine we offer.  The General Instruction of the Roman Missal explains it this way as it addresses the next of the main elements of the Eucharistic Prayer:

The oblation, by which, in this very memorial, the Church, in particular that gathered here and now, offers the unblemished sacrificial Victim in the Holy Spirit to the Father. The Church’s intention, indeed, is that the faithful not only offer this unblemished sacrificial Victim but also learn to offer their very selves, and so day by day to be brought, through the mediation of Christ, into unity with God and with each other, so that God may at last be all in all.

(GIRM, 79f)

This is how we can participate most fully and fruitfully in the Mass, when we learn to offer our very selves to the Lord, which is at the service of deepening our communion with the Lord and with one another.  I addressed this point in a previous article, but it is worth revisiting it again in the context of the Eucharistic Prayer.

As an interesting piece of trivia, Bishop Paprocki has shared with me that when the translation process was being undertaken, Cardinal Francis George was insistent that they use this word “oblation” in the Eucharistic Prayers instead of the more generic “offering”.  Cardinal George belonged to the Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate (O.M.I), so that notion of oblation was central to his identity.  It was also expressed by the way he lived his life.  Archbishop J. Peter Sartain, who preached the funeral homily for Cardinal George, drew upon this theme of oblation, concluding with the following words about the late Cardinal:

From his heart’s abundance flowed not only his words, but also his very life’s oblation. What did Cardinal George offer to the Lord? What did he give away? He offered a life joined to the cross of Christ; a life of faith, hope, conviction and courage; a soul devoted to prayer; a brilliant mind in love with God; a vision of the New Jerusalem. Because he gave these things — and more — away, he took them with him to meet the Lord.

This is the type of oblation we are invited to offer when we come to Mass, and we are grateful for many who have gone before us leaving us examples of what that total offering can look like.  In that regard, we can also turn to the example of those figures in the Scriptures who help us in praying the Mass better.  We have heard several times throughout these reflections from A Biblical Way of Praying the Mass:  The Eucharistic Wisdom of Venerable Bruno Lanteri, by Father Timothy Gallagher, O.M.V., and on this topic of oblation, we have another helpful suggestion.  Lanteri invites us to take on the heart and sentiments of not just any biblical figure, but the central figure of the Scriptures, Jesus Christ Himself.  Father Gallagher writes:

Venerable Bruno writes: “At the Consecration, I will seek the sentiments of the heart of Christ.”  Let your heart be stilled.  Let it reach the deep point.  Let an awareness of Jesus’s self-offering arise in your heart.  United your heart with Jesus’s, offering him your life, yourself, to the Father.

(Kindle edition, p. 62)

One of the ways I have tried to foster this sense of oblation to the Lord during the Eucharistic Prayer happens as I raise the newly consecrated host.  In silent prayer, I repeat the words of St. Thomas the Apostle: “My Lord, and my God”, and I sometimes add the concluding petition of the Litany of the Sacred Heart: “Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto thine.”  I know that what I offer with my heart at Mass is far from perfect, but by uniting my heart to His Sacred Heart, I have faith that the burning love of His heart will purify my heart so as to make it a more acceptable offering to Him, not just in this intimate moment of the Mass, but with my whole life.

Father Alford     

During the past couple of years, as we have been journeying through this time of Eucharistic Revival, it is not uncommon to see pictures on the Internet, in magazines, and on social media of a priest elevating the Sacred Host or Chalice at the Consecration during Mass.  These are indeed inspiring pictures, especially as you see the eyes of the priest gazing in loving adoration at the Word become flesh in the Eucharist.  In that regard, one of my favorite pictures from the Eucharistic Congress is a picture that was taken as Bishop Paprocki elevated the Host during the Consecration at the Mass. 

Although always inspiring, there are times when I see a picture of that sacred moment of the Mass when I become a little distracted, and that is when I notice a priest wearing a watch on his wrist!  This is not meant to be a criticism on any of those priests, but it is something on which I have often reflected.  When we enter into the Mass, we step outside of time, to some extent.  Personally, I find having a watch on distracts me from being aware of entering this aspect of this mystery.  Of course, time does not physically stop, but through our participation in the Sacred Mysteries, we are brought into a mystery that transcends time.  This is brought to our attention in the Eucharistic Prayer immediately after the sacred species are consecrated in what is known as the anamnesis.  This is a Greek word which basically means “remembrance” and it comes from Jesus’s command at the Last Supper: “do this is memory (anemnesin) of me.” (Lk 22:19)

What we are remembering is not just the Last Supper, but the entire Paschal Mystery, which includes His Passion, Resurrection and Ascension.  The anamnesis is the fifth element of the Eucharistic Prayer as described in the General Instruction of the Roman Missal:

The anamnesis, by which the Church, fulfilling the command that she received from Christ the Lord through the Apostles, celebrates the memorial of Christ, recalling especially his blessed Passion, glorious Resurrection, and Ascension into heaven.

(GIRM, 80e)

This remembrance is more than just remembering something in the past, but it is our being brought into the very events themselves, stepping outside of space and time to some extent.  This is the same way that the Jewish people understood their yearly participation in the Passover.  It was not just a remembering a past event, but a calling to mind their actual participation in that saving mystery through their observance of the Passover.

This is not the easiest concept to grasp, but it is absolutely necessary to our appreciating the power of the celebration of each and every Mass.  For the Jewish people, the Passover happens once a year and it is observed with great attention and solemnity.  The Church celebrates the New Passover every day and perhaps because of how familiar we are with it, we can become a little lax in the attention we give to our participating in this great mystery.  If we took some time to prayerfully ponder the remarkable gift of entering into the very mystery of the Lord’s Passion, Resurrection and Ascension at each Mass, how much more fruit will we draw from our experience of going to Mass!

So, the next time you are at Mass, you might want to think about taking your watch off and to avoid looking at any clock.  Although we know that time continues to advance around us, we also believe that for those brief moments, we are being drawn into a mystery outside of space and time, something we should not want to rush through, for this is a foretaste of what we shall experience in Heaven.  

Father Alford     

Feast Day: January 7^th 

Fr. Aldric when ordained at the youthful age of 21 was at first assigned as a canon at the Cathedral of St. Stephen’s in Metz, France, a grand and historic location given that it had been first established at least 400 years before and, according to the historian St. Gregory of Tours, been the only building to survive a sack of the city by Attila and his Huns in 451 (that being one year before Attila turned back from sacking Rome after meeting Pope St. Leo I.) However, a few years into his priesthood, Aldric was named chaplain to King Louis the Pious and came to live at the royal residence at Aix-la-Chapelle, in Germany. Aldric, in fact, had grown up with Louis there, the son and heir of Charlamagne, but had left behind the grandeur of courtly life to become a priest, now, surprisingly, he was back. 

The priest already had a reputation for holiness and prudence, characteristics appreciated by the devout young king who had inherited the vast Carolingian empire from his father. But, before the priest, or emperor, had much of a chance to resume their friendship, Aldric was named a bishop and sent hundreds of miles Southwest to the diocese of Le Mans. 200 years from then this city would be known for being the launching point of William the Conqueror’s successful invasion of England (though soon thereafter the region would revolt and expel the rest of the Normans). And, 1200 years after Aldric, that city would become known for its 24-hour automobile race held every summer. 

But when Bp. Aldric arrived, just a few days before Christmas in 830, he was instead coming to a little city with a population of a few thousand on the banks of the Sarthe river. Fishing, hunting, lumber, and a bit of agriculture probably kept the place fed and busy, and at that time it would have been still known by its Roman name of Cenomanus with substantial Roman walls and even some of its ancient amphitheater still visible then (and now). The current name, “Le Mans” descends from that Latin one, with “Cenomanus” eventually shortening to “Celmans”, and then the French “Le” [“the”] replacing the (Vulgar) Latin “Cel” [“this”]. 

Now, we have a lengthy document written by one of the canons of Bp. Aleric’s Cathedral, Actus Pontificum Cenomannis in Urbe Degentium, which chronicles most of the bishops and major happenings from St. Julian to St. Aldric, but much of it is at best an embellishment of the facts, and quite possibly good chunks of it were entirely fabricated. It seems that the purpose of the document was less to give us a record of the history of things as it was to defend the right of a bishop to control the monasteries in his diocese, and the squabbles between various bishops and abbots and property and power. Sadly, if you were to go deep down an internet rabbit-hole and start analyzing the acts of the Synod of Paris of 846, which Bp. Aleric was present at (to give another bit of context, the synod was relocated to another city because the Vikings sailed down the Seine and besieged Paris!), you’d probably find yourself similarly disappointed by the infighting and disheartened by the immorality all around. Not too different than Church happenings in our own day I’m afraid.

BUT, if we step back from the documents and synods and violence … all the headlines of that era (and ours) we find a more hopeful, Godly, picture. Cenomanus/Le Mans was enormously proud of its Basilica, built or at least established by St. Julian some 400 years before and dedicated to Our Lady and St. Peter. Unfortunately, though it may have been splendid when first constructed, it was now in a sorry state and Aldric found it his responsibility to rebuild it. He must have worked fast, or perhaps inherited a project already begun, because in 834 he consecrated the new cathedral. And there, in that little town, for the first time in the history of the world, out from apse at the back of the Church radiated smaller side-chapels. 

The apse, the semi-circular recess topped by a dome and arching over the main altar of so many Christian churches, had been the result of combining the architecture of Roman Temples (circular/domed, for worship) with Basilicas (rectangular, for meeting with the King), an appropriate floor-plan for Christian Churches where Jesus was adored, but also people could talk with Him. Bp. Aldric though was the first to add chapels busting out of the sides of that apse. What he did here, hundreds of years later, would be termed “chavet-style”, and you can find it in the pointed arches and ribbed-vaulting of a glorious Gothic Cathedrals like Chartes, but also in the countless side altars in a Renaissance Basilica like St. Peter’s in Rome, and even in the subline windows and intertwined pillars the Sagrada Família in Barcelona, still being built today! 

And, Bp. Aleric didn’t just give the Church beautiful architectural patrimony, he also gave us, in stone, a symbol of what happens after we adore, and converse, with Our Savior: the love exchanged explodes outward, busting out of the walls of our churches, and our hearts, to overflow into our world (that happens to be just as messy as Bp. Aleric’s).

– Fr. Dominic couldn’t fit in all of Bp. Alderic’s story. There are always so many pieces and poverties and politics of any of our lives. Only God, in the end, can make all of it beautiful and holy.