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!

Last May, we lost a long-time parishioner who we affectionately considered one of our parish saints.  She tried to attend Mass every day, even though the weather might be bad, which was made all the more difficult by her being over 90 years old and needing the assistance of a walker to move around.  On many of the Sundays, she would come to Mass with her husband who was also slowed down by age as much as she was, if not more.  Whenever he would come forward for Holy Communion, the minister would say “The Body of Christ” to which he would respond, as we all do: “Amen.”  However, his Amen could be heard throughout the entire Church, even up in the choir loft!  I always found it somewhat inspiring to hear him proclaim what I have considered the Great Amen.

I share that story to introduce the final of the eight main elements of the Eucharistic Prayer outlined by the General Instruction of the Roman Missal.  We read the following about the conclusion of this central moment of the Mass:

The concluding doxology, by which the glorification of God is expressed and which is affirmed and concluded by the people’s acclamation Amen.

(GIRM, 79h)

The people’s acclamation after the concluding Doxology is sometimes referred to as the Great Amen.  Although I affectionately called the response of the elderly man above the Great Amen, this point of the Mass is properly called by this name.  But I think his example can still be a point of reflection for us.  No doubt this man’s Amen, which is sometimes translated as “I believe”, or “So bet it”, was a profession of faith that the Eucharist is indeed the Body of Christ (and His Blood, soul, and divinity).  It is no mere symbol that we received, but Jesus Himself.  So too at the end of the Eucharistic Prayer, we are giving assent to all that has happened during this key section of the celebration of the Mass.  We affirm that we have just encountered the most important part of the Mass, and that all that has been done in the Eucharistic Prayer is for God’s glory.

As we know, throughout the Eucharistic Prayer, it is the celebrant who is doing all of the verbal praying.  The rest of the faithful actively participate through listening and uniting your hearts to the sacrifice taking place.  It is really only at this point of the Eucharistic Prayer where everybody (except the priest, of course) is called to respond.  The Great Amen belongs to the congregation – it is your part of the Eucharistic Prayer!  We want to make our response count.  We want it to be a proclamation of faith and praise.  Sure, maybe we are not confident with our signing voice, but we should try to do our best to be intentional about our response here.  It is one single word, but how powerful that word can be when it is backed up by a deep faith in the person making that proclamation.

As we come to the conclusion on our reflections on the Eucharistic Prayer (though I may do a few more follow-up topics related to this part of the Mass), I invite us all to consider how intentionally we have been approaching this most important part of the celebration of the liturgy.  The entire Mass is important, to be sure, but the Eucharistic Prayer is the pinnacle of the Mass.  We stand to gain so much more from the Mass by our full, active, and conscious participation in the Eucharistic Prayer.  To the extent that we do this from the beginning of the prayer, we will be eager as it comes to a close to offer our part with a joyful and faithful expression of the Great Amen.

Father Alford