Ask Father: Since the State of Illinois officially promotes abortion, transgenderism, LGBT Pride and other immoral practices as a matter of policy, should Catholics avoid State employment or seek other employment if they currently work for the state?

Your question is one that is very timely, and one that will become more pressing as more government agencies and corporations officially promote practices that are contrary to our faith. Bear with me as I give a brief summary of moral theology. As the Catechism teaches, “Sin is a personal act. Moreover, we have a responsibility for the sins committed by others when we cooperate in them” (CCC 1868). Sounds simple, right? However, cooperating in sin can be quite a complicated process. There are different levels of cooperation in evil, some of which are unavoidable.

The first kind of cooperation in evil is called formal cooperation, and this is always immoral. Formal cooperation means that a person approves of an action, advises others to do an action, or praises an evil action. Even if the person is not involved in the action, this approval is an offense against God and our faith. The second category of cooperation is called material cooperation – when a person contributes something to a process, whether or not he intends the evil to happen. Material cooperation is sometimes sinful and sometimes allowable, based on how close this cooperation is to the event itself. To the extent that it is possible, we should do our best to contribute to good actions and not bad actions. However, society is a tangled web of cause and effect, and it is impossible to completely free ourselves from material cooperation in evil.

We pay taxes to federal, state, and local governments. As you said in your question, our government officially endorses and practices many things that are contrary to our faith. Thus, our tax dollars are sometimes being used for evil. However, that is something that is (mostly) out of our control. We can’t control when our government unjustly wastes billions of dollars or buys condoms or guns for groups around the world. Similarly, the workers at the local power plant can’t control the fact that the abortion facility runs on power that they produce. This is all material cooperation, but a cooperation that is unavoidable and not sinful for us as taxpayers, although it certainly is sinful for those with the authority make these spending decisions.

Now, there are also times when our cooperation in evil is avoidable and should be avoided, even at great personal cost. It can be helpful to ask the question, “How closely associated am I with this evil action?” and “how essential is my cooperation to this evil which is happening?” The closer one is (morally, not just geographically) to evil, the higher the chance that such participation becomes sinful.

Based on these principles, it is morally permissible for Catholics to be employed by the state in good conscience. In fact, the Church encourages her members to be involved with their governments as much as possible to help contribute to a just society. There are certain things that Catholics certainly cannot partake in. If a Catholic works for the state as an accountant, and they are assigned the task of processing all of the state-funded abortions, I would advise them to ask for another position and explain to their superior why they cannot do that job for the state. In this situation, the participation is closely tied to the evil action itself. A similar scenario could be imagined in a hospital that performs abortions or sterilizations. Good Catholics could work at that hospital and contribute to the common good, but they should not be involved in the immoral procedures themselves, and do their best to express their beliefs as to why they cannot partake in these operations. It would be better to lose one’s job than be a willing participant in an abortion or sterilization procedure.

In short, we need good Catholics to be a part of our government to help turn the tide. Some government actions are immoral, and Catholics cannot willingly participate in those actions. A well-formed conscience helps us to make these judgments based on the principles of our faith. Some situations are a grey area and require research and direction from the Church. Don’t be afraid to ask for guidance if you find yourself unable to determine what is right. Jesus said that we are the light of the world. If we do not stand up for what is right, then who will?

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.

Many might think that with the homily finished, the Liturgy of the Word has come to it’s conclusion.  But the Creed and the Universal Prayer (or General Intercessions) are to be included as the final liturgical actions for the Liturgy of the Word.  We will focus on the Creed this week, and the Universal Prayer next week.

The General Instruction of the Roman Missal gives a good description of why it is we include the Creed in the Liturgy of the Word:

The purpose of the Creed or Profession of Faith is that the whole gathered people may respond to the Word of God proclaimed in the readings taken from Sacred Scripture and explained in the Homily and that they may also honor and confess the great mysteries of the faith by pronouncing the rule of faith in a formula approved for liturgical use and before the celebration of these mysteries in the Eucharist begins.

(GIRM, 67)

What strikes me sometimes when I am professing the Creed is all that has gone into the formulation of this great summary of our faith.  The Creed which we profess every Sunday is the fruit of the first two Ecumenical Councils of the Church, held in Nicaea and Constantinople.  A lot of discussions, disagreements, and debates took place in order to come to an accurate articulation of what we believe.  For example, when we profess that Jesus Christ is “consubstantial” with the Father, I am reminded of the very in-depth description in seminary of how the Council Fathers labored intensely in order to come to agree on that single word to express that great mystery.  When the Church introduced a new English translation of the Roman Missal in 2011, I remember some people sort of dismissing the need to use this complicated, technical term in the Creed.  But I think using it is a nod of appreciation for the very hard work done by those Council Fathers to help us come to be able to better explain what we believe, an effort that we can easily overlook.

Another helpful way of praying the Creed comes from a suggestion offered by Venerable Bruno Lanteri, whom we have encountered a few times in these reflections.  Recall that he invites us to “choose a biblical figured whose sentiments express those he desires in that part of the Mass.”  For the Creed, Venerable Bruno writes:

At the Profession of Faith, I will seek the sentiments of the heart of the martyrs.  At Mass, when you say “I believe on one God…I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ…I believe in one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church, I look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come” profess this, proclaim this, affirm this, Venerable Bruno urges, with the sentiments and heart of a martyr. Say it as a martyr would, from your heart, with all your being, ready to lay your life on the line for the faith you express.

(Gallagher, A Biblical Way of Praying the Mass, p. 48 – Kindle version)

To those who died for the faith as martyrs, the Creed was more than a simple mechanical reciting of words.  Those words were the firm foundation upon which their lives were built, and they were unwilling to compromise on that faith, even if it cost them their lives.

Remember that when we profess the Creed, we are not limiting our profession strictly to the words of the Creed, but by extension, we believe and profess all that the holy Catholic Church believes, teaches and proclaims to be revealed by God.  So that means assenting to all that the Church teaches, and if we struggle with some of those teachings, perhaps we can remember the martyrs as we profess the Creed, asking for their intercession to accept and live these teachings, seeing them for what they truly are, the path to freedom, life and peace, not always in this life, but certainly in the life to come.  

Feast Day: October 28^th | Patronage: Simon: Curriers, Woodcutters, Tanners; Jude: Desperate Causes| Iconography: Simon: Saw of Martyrdom; Fish, Boat, or Oar (because he was a fisherman); Jude: Club of Martyrdom, Holding Image of Jesus (of Edessa), Carpenter’s Rule, or Scroll/Book from his writing the Epistle of St. Jude.

St. John Henry Newman helpfully sketches what we know of these two great Apostles: 

And hence we draw an important lesson for ourselves, which, however obvious, is continually forgotten by us in the actual business of life; viz. to do our duty without aiming at the world’s praise. Mankind knows nothing of St. Simon’s and St. Jude’s deeds and sufferings, though these were great; yet there is One who “knows their works, and labour, and patience, … and how they bore … and for His Name’s sake laboured, and fainted not.” [Revelation 2:3] Their deeds are blotted out from history, but not from the Lamb’s book of life; for “blessed are they who die in Him, … that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them.” [Revelation 14:13]

– St. John Henry Newman, Parochial and Plain Sermons, Volume 8, “Sermon 12, Vanity of Human Glory.”

Newman goes onto describe how these men, in fervently proclaiming the Gospel getting little or no earthly praise, remind all of us Christians to eradicate vanity from our hearts. The great (at this time still Anglican) preacher notes that it is sensible and proper to seek respect from those who know and love us. Friends and family, who know what we’re about, who have seen our virtue and received our generosity, can rightly honor us for those qualities. There is nothing wrong with receiving a true compliment. Someone who loves you should rightly acknowledge where God’s grace has made you good. True humility acknowledges one’s qualities and talents, and Who gave those gifts to us.

However, to crave the admiration of the wider world – a intermittent acquaintance, a superficial friend, one of a thousand Facebook contacts, or just the public eye in general – is to rest our hearts on shaky foundations, to build our houses on sand. We find ourselves flustered and busy, scrambling every which way to get a bit of praise to keep us going, and, worse than that, we have subtly abandoned our Christian confidence that God sees us, knows everything of who we are, and will never cease to love us. Pulling out our phone during an empty moment, popping between apps to see if anybody has engaged with us, isn’t just a distraction, it’s corroding our relationship with God. Newman calls us out:

This love of indiscriminate praise, then, is an odious, superfluous, wanton sin, and we should put it away with a manly hatred, as something irrational and degrading. Shall man, born for high ends, the servant and son of God, the redeemed of Christ, the heir of immortality, go out of his way to have his mere name praised by a vast populace, or by various people, of whom he knows nothing, and most of whom (if he saw them) he would himself be the first to condemn? It is odious; yet young persons of high minds and vigorous powers, are especially liable to be led captive by this snare of the devil. 

What has this to do with Ss. Simon and Jude? Well, we know these men had to give up those places where they sought worldly recognition – Simon would no longer find honor amongst the Zealots, Jude accepts being a “servant of Jesus Christ” [Jude 1:1] rather than leaning on his relatedness to Our Lord – but this is also vividly portrayed for us in their final resting place. Both are buried together under the central altar in the left (South) transept of St. Peter’s Basilica, and, until 1814 there was a lovely painting (by Agostino Ciampelli) depicting these two saints above their altar. However, in that year as mosaics replaced paintings throughout the basilica, Guido Reni’s “Crucifixion of Saint Peter” was moved from the sacristy out to their altar. Then, since 1961, because of Pope John XXIII’s tender love for St. Joseph, a mosaic instead of St. Joseph holding Jesus sits above their bones. 

I suspect each of these saints is not particularly bothered by any of this. Each of them have truly found all the praise and glory they need from their Heavenly Father.

– Fr. Dominic has recently discovered an simple way to wage war against vanity: keep holy the sabbath. When I instead use Sunday to catch up on little tasks or pack quiet moments with empty entertainment, I haven’t done anything wrong, I just looked for delight in things that won’t last. It’s like trying to make a meal out of cotton candy. It will satisfy me! My rule: Only do things that give God glory, and/or are truly restful on Sunday. Nothing else. And … the battle is real!

(Read the rest of Newman’s Sermon here!)

When people are “How was Mass?”, more often than not, they mention something about the homily.  Ideally, they will say that they really liked what the homilist preached about.  Though, if we are honest, sometimes the comments (though usually not made to the preacher) is that it was too long, or that it was boring, that it did not make sense, or something like that.  Interestingly, I don’t know that I’ve ever heard anybody say anything about a homily being too short…  Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate feedback about my preaching, as do many priests.  Even though it might be the most memorable thing we take away from Mass, the homily is not the most important part of the Mass.

With that said, the homily is still very important and my above statement is not meant to dimmish it’s integral role to the Mass.  Here is what the General Instruction of the Roman Missal has to say about the homily:

The Homily is part of the Liturgy and is highly recommended, for it is necessary for the nurturing of the Christian life. It should be an explanation of some aspect of the readings from Sacred Scripture or of another text from the Ordinary or the Proper of the Mass of the day and should take into account both the mystery being celebrated and the particular needs of the listeners.

(GIRM, 65)

First of all, note the phrase “highly recommended.”  Some might read this and think: “Why not omit the homily then?”  Two paragraphs later, the GIRM states that a homily is to be given on Sundays and Holy Days of Obligation and that “it may not be omitted without a grave reason.”  So don’t get your hopes up about not having a homily on Sundays or Holy Days!

The next thing to notice is that the homily is “necessary for nurturing the Christian life.”  Pope Benedict XVI expanded on this in his 2007 Apostolic Exhortation on the Eucharist, where he wrote:

Given the importance of the word of God, the quality of homilies needs to be improved. The homily is “part of the liturgical action”, and is meant to foster a deeper understanding of the word of God, so that it can bear fruit in the lives of the faithful. Hence ordained ministers must “prepare the homily carefully, based on an adequate knowledge of Sacred Scripture”. Generic and abstract homilies should be avoided. In particular, I ask these ministers to preach in such a way that the homily closely relates the proclamation of the word of God to the sacramental celebration and the life of the community, so that the word of God truly becomes the Church’s vital nourishment and support.

(Sacramentum caritatis, 46)

The homily helps us to understand how God’s Word is helping us to more faithfully follow the Lord and live as His disciples in our daily lives.  This is a tall task for a preacher, given the variety of ages, states in life, and circumstances of the people to whom he is preaching.  But I point this out as something to consider when we listen to a homily that might not “hit home” for us.  The chances are very good that somebody in the congregation that day needed to hear what was said.  And even if we ourselves were not particularly moved by the homily, we can nevertheless thank God for the hearts that were touched.  In either case, the homily should always strengthen our hunger for the Eucharist that we are preparing to receive.  In the case that we feel dissatisfied with the homily, that can serve to remind us: “Though I may feel disappointed with the homily, I will not be disappointed with the gift of Jesus I am about to receive.”  If we are moved to gratitude with the homily, we bring that thanksgiving with us into the Liturgy of the Eucharist, knowing that the good resolutions, affections, and inspirations received from the homily will only be strengthened by our reception of the Eucharist, thus guarding them in our hearts as we return to our daily lives.