The first part of the Liturgy of the Eucharist is generally referred to as the Offertory.  There are several things that take place during this relatively short part of the Mass, but they are significant.

Let us start by considering the Preparation of the Gifts.  First and foremost, the gifts that are prepared are the bread and wine which will be transformed into Christ’s Body and Blood.   At many Sunday masses, it is the custom to have some of the faithful bring these gifts forward to the priest or deacon who will be preparing the altar.  The General Instruction of the Roman Missal describes this action in the following way:

The offerings are then brought forward. It is a praiseworthy practice for the bread and wine to be presented by the faithful. They are then accepted at an appropriate place by the Priest or the Deacon to be carried to the altar. Even though the faithful no longer bring from their own possessions the bread and wine intended for the liturgy as was once the case, nevertheless the rite of carrying up the offerings still keeps its spiritual efficacy and significance.

(GIRM, 73)

Note that there was a time when the faithful would bring their own bread and wine to be used for the celebration of the Mass.  No doubt that helped foster a sense that they were actively contributing to what was about to take place on the altar.  And even though this is no longer the case, we should see the presentation of these gifts as something we join in offering.  The action is not insignificant.

To help deepen our understanding of our participating actively in the offering of the gifts, it is also a common practice, especially on Sundays, to take up a collection of money, which gives the people in attendance an opportunity to offer something physical.  Though they are not directly at the service of bringing about the Body and Blood of Christ in the liturgy, they are at the service of providing for the Body of Christ, which is the Church.  With those offerings made from the abundance of God’s generosity to us, the Church makes use of these funds to continue the mission of the church on a parish level, on the diocesan level, and on a universal level.  Even if you are making your contribution by electronic means, why not also consider placing something in the basket as the collection is taken?  The physical offering, while important for the mission of the Church, is also important for our understanding of our identity at Mass.  We are all asked to offer ourselves at Mass.  To be sure, we can and should offer our hearts to the Lord, asking the Lord to accept them and transform them, but our offering is not spiritual alone.  We are human beings, made up of body and soul, so if all we are offering is just a spiritual sacrifice, are we not in some way only offering a partial sacrifice?

Let me pause there, lest you think I am trying to guilt you in to offering more money at the collection!  That is not my goal…and least not in this article!  I just want to invite us to consider our role in participating in the offering.  As Jesus offered Himself in sacrifice, He offered His entire self, body and soul.  He is asking nothing less from us.  And so we can prayerful examine whether, at this point in the Mass, we are willing to offer our entire selves to Him, body and soul?  Can this be do without putting money in the basket, absolutely!  But does it help us to better understand our offering when we offer something tangible and physical at this point, to go along with the offering of our spiritual selves?  Absolutely!

Feast Day: November 23^rd | Patronage: Mariners, Stone-Cutters| Iconography: Wearing Papal Vestments, Mariner’s Cross, Tied to Anchor, Palm of Martyrdom

So, I’m sitting in Caribou Coffee perusing Pope St. Clement letter to the Corinthians. “Photograph” by Ed Sheeran continues the mellow-pop playlist that has been filling the 72 degree air for the last hour. Off to my left I can see an inordinate variety of packaged snacks stretching out of sight, with the certainty that the Hy-Vee next door has an even more incredible quantity of food for the buying. A fall breeze whips leaves around as cars continue to refill with gas. Almost nothing that now surrounds me existed when Pope Clement led the church in its first century. The only physical commonality that I can find is the cement that makes up the parking lot in front of me. Cement was invented some thousands of years ago, but many consider the Romans to have perfected, with no greater example being the Pantheon which still stands in Rome having had its walls and dome poured into their forms almost 2000 years ago. (I doubt this Hy-Vee will be here in 200 years, much less 2000.) 

Just knowing two words about Clement: “pope” and “martyr” tell you most of what we know of his life. A few more descriptors tell you almost everything else: he is an apostolic father (knew the apostles), wrote a Letter to the Corinthians (he called them to repentance), and died under Diocletian (so, around 99 or 101 A.D.). But if he lived in a world so different from ours, what can we learn from him? More provocatively, is the story – the Gospel – that transformed his life and death still applicable to us? Does His Lord still reign? Does His Savior still save? Of course Christianity claims to have application to every era, political-climate, architecture-style, human culture, or culinary surroundings. Our faith stakes itself on the reality that the human heart faces the same chains that it always has, and needs (and desires) the same redemption that it always has. Fundamentally, Jesus still claims to be “the way, and the truth, and the life”.

Yet plenty of people have stopped believing it. 

25 years ago, only 5% of Americans would claim to have no religion. Now that number is around 25%. Said differently: when I was a kid and went to the grocery store, one in twenty people would have said they were not religious, now one in four would say that. But, here’s a further eye-opening fact: in the entire Roman Empire in the year 100 A.D., as Clement went to his martyrdom there were probably about 25,000 Christians (thus, using the reasonable estimate that the empire had a population around 60 million, that means 0.04% were Christian). 100 years later those that believed in Christ were up to about 218,000 (0.36%), and a further century on we had boomed up to 6.3 million (still only 10.5%). 

It would be several more decades before Christians became a majority of the empire, and though we’ve gotten used to a relatively Christian surroundings in our Western European-American culture, the fact is that the Church has spent a lot of her time as a small community within the larger world. This has been the case from Golgotha on through the early centuries, but also in every mission territory ever since. Rome wasn’t Christian when Clement got there. Ireland wasn’t when St. Patrick arrived. India wasn’t when St. Francis Xavier landed, nor when Mother Teresa came. We shouldn’t be shocked, nor discouraged, either when the Gospel can no longer be assumed as the common operating principle of our neighbors and coworkers. Only rarely has the Church ever been able to presume that, even if until recently we have gotten used to it.

Strangely though, I think that all of this means that as we look out on a world, spiritually (if not physically) it is more similar to the Rome of Clement’s day than we are to Paris of 1221, the Philadelphia of 1776, or even the New York of 2001. Our world today, like Clement’s, offers lots of idols, and demands that we place them above Christ. Our world today, like his, disposes of children and the elderly, and expects us to do the same. Our world today, like his, doesn’t know Jesus, and it’s up to all of us to worship, act, and speak in such a way that they might. When Pope Clement wrote to the Corinthians, he not only assumed to have spiritual authority over them (as the Bishop of Rome always has), but he also speaks to every Christian there to call them to repentance and to live a life directed by Jesus’ words through and through. The Church then, and our Church now, has no professional evangelizers, that’s all of our responsibility.

– Fr. Dominic has to mention another fascinating fact from Clement’s letter. He writes about the Apostle Paul: “Owing to envy, Paul also obtained the reward of patient endurance, after being seven times thrown into captivity, compelled to flee, and stoned. After preaching both in the east and west, he gained the illustrious reputation due to his faith, having taught righteousness to the whole world, and come to the extreme limit of the west, and suffered martyrdom under the prefects.” (“Letter to Corinthians”, Chapter 5). Now, it’s only a single reference, but from a man who knew Paul personally, that perhaps between the Apostle to the Gentiles, between his imprisonment and martyrdom in Rome, actually finally preached the Gospel to Spain. We’ll have to get the whole story from them when we are called before Christ ourselves!

As we now make the transition from the Liturgy of the Word to the Liturgy of the Eucharist, I want to pause our reflections in order to consider the great blessing of our Eucharistic Congress that took place this last Saturday at the BOS Center in Springfield.  At the conclusion of the Mass that closed the Eucharistic Congress, Bishop Paprocki said that he knows that he will always remember that day, and I have been reflecting on that as well.  In my nearly eleven-and-a-half years as a priest, I think that day ranks as one of the greatest highlights.  I have certainly been to bigger gatherings, with thousands more people at them, but there was something that made this day for more special.  

The talks were all amazing, and for those who you who had the chance to hear them, I hope you found them fruitful as well.  I was pleased to hear Father Chase Hilgenbrinck, whose friendship I have enjoyed for the past several years, talking about making Mass the priority in our lives.  In particular, I loved how he offered some very helpful and practical ways of preparing for and praying at Mass better, something I have enjoyed writing on in these bulletin articles.  One of the greatest joys of the day was sitting in the front row as Sister M. Karolyn Nunes, F.S.G.M. gave her talk.  I count Sister M. Karolyn as one of my very best friends, and to be there to hear her share such an inspiring talk brought me so much joy, first for the gift of what she shared and second for the gift of her friendship.  I am sure I will be processing many more of the graces from that day in the days and weeks to come, and for those of you who were able to be there, I hope you do the same.

Perhaps the greatest grace for me from that day was the experience of the closing Mass.  As I sat among my brother priests, looking out on the huge crowd of so many familiar faces, I kept thinking: “This is what Heaven is going to be like!”  In Heaven, we will all be united as brothers and sisters in the Lord, friends of one another who rejoice in the gift of those relationships.  In Heaven, we will be united with one another as we praise God, surrounded by the beautiful music of the choir of angels.  On Sunday, as we resumed our Sunday masses at the Cathedral, that thought continued to stay with me.  I caught myself thinking that same thing a few times during those masses: “This is what Heaven is going to be like.”  Of course, as amazing as our Masses may be here on Earth, gathered as brothers and sisters to praise God, these experiences are merely a morsel of what awaits us in Heaven.  But until we get to our final destination, what a gift it is for us to have the Mass to lift our hearts as we receive this foretaste of the Heavenly banquet that awaits us in the Kingdom.

Earlier this week, we celebrated All Saints Day, and the experience of the Mass at the Eucharistic Congress was the image that was in my mind and my heart.  The saints are experiencing the fullness of what we have only tasted, a fulness that will continue on for eternity.  As filled as my heart was from last Saturday, I know the Lord has more in store for me and for all of us.  From their place in Heaven, the saints are praying earnestly for us to persevere in our journey, so that we can one day join them in that experience of the fullness of joy, peace and friendship with one another as we gather together to worship the Lamb unceasingly.  

Feast Day: November 22^nd | Patronage: Hymns, Musicians, Poets, Organs and Organists| Iconography: Holding Musical Instruments: Flute, Violin, Harp, Harpsichord, Organ, or Musical Notation; With Songbirds; Singing; and as her body was found centuries after its martyrdom.

Who would you say were the two greatest theologians of the Church? Two greatest evangelists? Two saintliest parents? Or consecrated religious? Or martyrs? Of course, the saints themselves are (no longer) asking “who’s the greatest?”, but I think this sort of questioning forces us at the very least to consider which saints we most connect with and how we got to love them.

This week I began investigating the two greatest historians of the Church. Perhaps those who have collected and retold the stories of the past are less famous, renowned, or honored than the apostles and martyrs and mothers and fathers … but they are the ones who pass onto us the stories of the saints, who put us in touch with all these holy men and women who inspire, encourage, befriend, and intercede for us, so praise God for the humble work of historians. And the two greatest historians of the Church are Eusebius of Caesarea and Caesar Baronius (Bede the Venerable would be a runner up here; he’s the one who got the world dating things according to the “year of our Lord”, “A.D.”, and, it should be said, of these three, he’s the only one who is canonized.) 

Now Eusebius was born just a few decades after St. Cecilia had received the crown of martyrdom, but by mainly living and writing in Caesarea, far from the turmoil still engulfing Rome, he was blessed to not himself faced martyrdom there. He was the first to attempt a comprehensive Church History (handily, that is the title that he gave his magnum opus), and while many can critique the biases or limitations of his work, it is a phenomenal glimpse back into the early centuries of the Christian faith. To our tremendous benefit, he tells us of saints and martyrs and popes and characters from the first three centuries of our Church. Now, he sadly doesn’t include St. Cecilia’s story himself (which had just happened, and would not actually set down for 250 more years or so).  But, Eusebius was the first to take the honor and love that the Church always had for her saints, which had previously been mainly expressed in hymns, prayers, narrations, and sermons, and wrote down for us these epic accounts of God’s grace in human lives. His work was the concretization of the Church’s faith that the saints live forever, and that you and I can befriend Christians like Aquinas, Joseph, Maximilian, and Cecilia. 

Fast-forwarding 1200 years, Caesar Baronius did live amidst the hubbub of the Eternal City. He, a friend of St. Philip Neri and Cardinal of Pope Clement VIII, found that persecution in Rome of the 1500s was no longer from pagan but Christian emperors, who were constantly vying to control the Church and accrue power throughout Europe. Baronius, a great student first of law, then theology, and then Church History would not have been surprised by all of it, but certainly those squabbles purified his heart for the Lord. It seems likely that his vocation as an ordained member of Neri’s Oratorians, as well as a Church Historian, may have been inspired when, as a boy, he would have watched wide-eyed as the pylons and walls of the “new” St. Peters rose from the Vatican Hill to look out over Rome. The great colonnade, obelisk, and fountains in front of the Basilica would not be finished until several years after Baronius passed from this life, yet he was still involved in that, and other such, projects of his day. For instance, Pope Clement also worked to move the bodies of the saints into the Eternal City. Thus, on one day in 1599, Baronius, the greatest historian of the Church, stood next to one of the greatest sculptors of that age, Stefano Maderno (not to be confused with Carlo Maderno, possibly his brother, who would craft that first fountain in front of St. Peter’s). They were in Trastevere, the old Jewish Ghetto where St. Peter probably first lived when he got to Rome, and they were opening the tomb of the much beloved ancient martyr, Cecilia. 

The Acts of her martyrdom were legendary: her virginity promised to Christ, her husband converted by her ardent love for the Lord, her boldness before the Roman judge, and the distress of her executioner. Legends said her body was still incorrupt. The group reverently approached her place of rest, discovering the bodies of her husband and her fellow martyred converts nearby. Then, opening her tomb, before their eyes lay the beautifully, beatifically, preserved body of the youthful martyr. Lovingly attired, but with her wounds also visible, the historian found history proven true and the sculptor found a sublime image of the beauty of Christian fidelity. And we find a saintly friend.

– Fr. Dominic went far down the rabbit hole trying to translate Baronius’ magnificent Annales Ecclesiastici. His vivid account from the tomb of St. Cecilia can be found in the 9^th Tome/Volume if that immense work, in the section indicated by “Christus 821”. But, an even more vivid glimpse is found in Maderno’s sculpture of the scene that met their eyes that day:

The Liturgy of the Word concludes (generally) with the Universal Prayer, also called the Prayer of the Faithful, or even the General Intercessions.  The General Instruction of the Roman Missal offers the following brief explanation on the meaning of this part of the Mass:

In the Universal Prayer or Prayer of the Faithful, the people respond in some sense to the Word of God which they have received in faith and, exercising the office of their baptismal Priesthood, offer prayers to God for the salvation of all.

(GIRM, 69)

We will return to this concept of the baptismal priesthood when we consider the Liturgy of the Eucharist, but I think it is worth noting its mention at this point of the Mass.  As Christians, our Baptism unites us with Christ the Head in a special way, but it also unites us with His Body, the Church.  As a result of that, prayer as a Christan encompasses both dimensions – vertical with God and horizontal with our brothers and sisters.  In the Universal Prayer, we show a special concern for the needs of the entire Body of Christ.

The GIRM lays out the basic schema for how these prayers should be directed:  a) for the needs of the Church; b) for public authorities and the salvation of the whole world; c) for those burdened by any kind of difficulty; d) for the local community. (GIRM, 70)

I have sometimes wondered how much attention the faithful pay to this part of the Mass, but I have had several experiences over the years that demonstrate that many are indeed aware.  On a few occasions, I have received feedback of disappointment that a certain petition was not included in the Universal Prayer.  For example, when there is a tragedy that happens in our world, and it is not mentioned, I have been criticized for not taking that tragedy seriously.  Another example is displeasure expressed about certain prayers that touch on controversial topics, such as abortion or upholding the Christan view of marriage, seeing such prayers to be too “political.”  Finally, I have heard people complain about having the name of the person remembered at that Mass pronounced incorrectly.

In response to all of those concerns, and others, let me suggest two words to consider before we let ourselves be offended with this part of the Mass:  assume grace.  As human beings, we can be very quick to assume motives for other people, drawing conclusions based on how we may feel or have been impacted by something.  We certainly do not like when others do that to us, so why are we so quick to do so to others?  If a prayer you had wanted to be heard is not included, what is preventing you from offering up that prayer at this point?  Your baptismal priesthood gives you the authority and responsibility to do so.  When united with the prayer of our brothers and sisters, whether spoken or not, the Lord hears those prayers, so they are not in any way ignored by Him.  And if a particular petition makes you feel a little uncomfortable, perhaps that is an invitation from the Lord for healing and conversion in your heart.

Remember, one of the devil’s primary tactics is to divide, and he will not miss any opportunity to do so, especially as we are united with one another during the most sacred celebration of the Mass.

Feast Day: November 1^st | Patronage: everything under the sun| Iconography: every possible human characteristic

A question that has been bumping around my mind as we approach All Saints Day: What is the common denominator among the Communion of Saints? What does every saint have in common? 

On the one hand, every saint is so different! Some lived during times of persecution and had to persevere through martyrdom, or just the pressure of a culture that had no room for Christ.  Some were acclaimed and praised for their Christian witness – and had to battle the pride that comes with accomplishments – and others were unappreciated or unknown – and had to carry the daily cross of littleness. Among that Communion you have lecturers and leaders, scientists and singers, helpers and healers, martyrs and mystics, and some who traveled the world, and some who were limited to the smallest of abodes.

At every Mass, no matter the other saints mentioned or not during the Eucharistic prayer, at some point we always ask the intercession and communion of all the saints, but what exactly joins us all together? I found myself a bit confused by it all. We’re called to join, and emulate, and befriend the saints, but they are not only different from each other, but different from us! Not only are we led to ask what St. Joseph and St. John the Baptist have in common? Or what is the same between St. Lucy and St. Linus? But also: what can I emulate about St. Matthew and St. Maximilian Kolbe? How do I live a life like St. Paschal Baylon, St. Philip Neri, and Ss. Peter and Paul? 

And the question gets harder when we consider the entire Communion of Saints, which includes not only those in glory with the Lord, and those of us still pilgrims on earth, but also those being purified in purgatory (CCC954)? What is the same between me, St. Barnabas, and one of the holy souls? St. Barnabas was a great apostle to the Gentiles with St. Paul. Me, not so much. And, the holy souls are no longer able to preach or produce at all; they can hardly be said to even pray, for they are primarily receiving and being cleansed by God’s Love alone.

Now, hopefully it didn’t take you as long as I to see where this was heading. The only thing that is held in common by all those in heaven, purgatory, and us here below – between every saint and saint-in-the-making; that is, everyone who is united to Christ – is participation in the Love of God. It’s not great courage, nor eloquence, nor optimism. It isn’t found in what they do, say, or accomplish. Not even how much time they spend praying, or fasting, or begging, or giving themselves away. Each of these things are just different manifestations of God’s Love at work in different hearts.

But how do I apply that to myself? “Be more loving!” is not only somewhat unclear, or apt for misinterpretation, or vague, but because my understanding of “love” is limited, this sort of goal ends up forgetting about the examples of the mystics, the holy souls, the contemplatives, the shut-ins, the comatose. Are they not able to be saints?? Of course not! I need to go back to the Lord to learn about Love again.

Here’s where I’m at for now: the saints weren’t just good at giving love, they were also good at receiving love. I think this better incorporates the examples of those simplest, littlest, or contemplative saints. But there’s more to it than that: the saints didn’t just have any kind of love – they weren’t just nice, or charitable, or generous, or patient, or compassionate, or protective, or bold, or secure, or intelligent, or capable – they may have been any of those things, or none of them, yet there was always a fire of Love within them that wasn’t of their own making. They had God’s Love moving them and engaging in them every different person or situation that came their way. They didn’t see the world like an ordinary person, they saw it in terms of Divine Love. They perceived the world; they engaged everything around them; they responded to every person or situation (including themselves) somehow like God Himself does. They understood everything through a lens of Love: In this situation, where is God’s Love at work? As I look on this scene, what does God love about it? In this person, how is God’s Love alive in their heart? Throughout this day, this task, this occasion, when has God bestowed His Love on me?

So then, how do we emulate all the saints? We need merely, yet entirely; simply, if absolutely, become people of Love. How do we do that? Let’s start by taking Jesus’ words to heart: “Love one another as I have loved you” and begin by noticing one way today that God has loved me.

– Fr. Dominic will begin with today: Today I spent the morning with Fr. Michael Meinhart: we talked over different things, enjoyed the crisp autumn morning, had some scrambled eggs, and prayed the breviary with each other. And, in that simplest of ways, God was good to me.