Feast Day: February 11^th 

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

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

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

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

[Exodus 3:13-15]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Father Alford     

Feast Day: February 4^th 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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     

Feast Day: January 28^th 

He was a simple diocesan priest. 23 years old, in his first assignment in a small town not far from his home, speaking the beloved Ladin language of his region of Tyrol, then part of the Austrian Empire, now in the north-eastern tip of Italy. 

But there was a tug on his heart to become a missionary. On one of the Good Friday’s during his time in seminary, a single line from one of the chanted offices had begun to echo in his mind: “The babes cry for food, but there is no one to give it to them.” [Lamentations 4:4] Of course he gave his heart to the people of St. Martin, collecting quotations from the saints to give out to penitents in Confession, and from all accounts he was happy there … but that unavoidable Voice within kept nudging him. It wasn’t the voice of vanity or self-seeking; it wasn’t a voice of fear or inadequacy; it was a voice that was asking him to choose love, to risk love in a faraway land where children went without the Eucharist.

He obediently contacted his bishop asking for permission to enter the fledgling Society of the Divine Word. Begun just a few years before by Fr. Arnold Janssen in the Netherlands, Fr. Joseph and another priest, Fr. Johann Baptist von Anzer (from Bavaria), would be the first two missionaries of this order to go to China. On what would you lean if the Lord asked you to leave behind home, family, nation, language, food, climate … everything! … to preach the Gospel? Fr. Joseph recalled years later that they turned to the only One who would never leave their side: “”Kneeling before the tabernacle, we offered ourselves wholly to God…Then the hidden God in the tabernacle called out his parting words: ‘I have chosen you, that you should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain.’” Hong Kong was their first stop after 5 weeks on a steamer (it could be that they went through the recently opened Suez Canal) and became their home base from 1879 until 1881. During that time Fr. Joseph learned the language and culture as best he could, living and dressing like those he served. From there they were sent south, taking an iconic Chinese junk up the Yellow River to the Province of Shandong. Population in 1881: 12,000,000. Catholic population: 158.

Now, here’s your crazy historical detail: this route would have been impossible for them just 30 years before. The 1852 flood of the Yellow River not only instigated the Nien and Taiping Rebellions, but shifted that river so far to the north that it actually took over the bed of the Ji River. So, the city that the two priests got to, the capital of Shandong, “Jinan”, though named “South of the Ji” was in fact now south of the Yellow River, a happy help for the weary travelers. (This was also the See city for the bishop of that region, though it was not then a diocese but a Vicariate Apostolic). Adding to your and my confusion: sometimes “Jinan” is romanized as “Tsinan” or “Chi-nan” because before the 1970s the first syllable was pronounced with the fourth tone instead of the third tone… In any case, Fr. Freinademetz and Fr. Von Anzer got permission to continue onto Puoli, where they knew a few Catholics already lived, and having purchased everything they would need to celebrate Mass and catechize the locals, they began the long walk there with everything piled in wheelbarrows.

Fr. Joseph would spend the next 26 years traveling around China, directing seminaries and training catechists, enduring attacks and beatings, rebellions and pursuits, laryngitis and tuberculosis (eventually dying from his incessant caring for those suffering a Typhoid Epidemic), but I want to leave us with that image of him walking up to Puoli with all his Mass stuff piled on a wheelbarrow. The locals greeted them warily so the good priest turned to the children who were more than curious enough to investigate the man from the other side of the world. He pulled out his pocket watch, allowing the wide-eyed youngsters to check it out, enthralling them with its intricacies and his ability to know the time down to the minute. Then he carefully explained that someone had made the watch, and so also someone had made all things, and each of them. So he went from village to village, often traveling more than a week on an oxcart, and only getting back to another priest to whom he could make his confession every several months. Just when he had made progress in one place the bishop would uproot him and send him elsewhere. But that Word that propelled him into this mission also sustained him. He held as his personal motto “The language that all people understand is that of love.”

– Fr. Dominic once left his breviary behind when transferring from one plane to another in Minneapolis St. Paul. Fr. Freinademetz also once thought he had lost his when he, his catechist, and his horse, fell into a water-filled cavern during one of his many travels. I was not allowed back on the plane … and mine was lost. He held onto a branch until locals could come and rescue him … and his breviary was not lost, happily having (somehow?!) lodged in his sleeve.

When we hear the phrase: “The Body of Christ”, we immediately think of the words that that are said to us by the priest or other minister just before receiving Holy Communion at Mass.  But the term “Body of Christ” is more than just the Eucharist.  In fact, this past Sunday we heard the following words in our Second Reading from St. Paul: “Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ? But whoever is joined to the Lord becomes one Spirit with Him.” (1 Cor 15a, 17)

From this and other passages comes our understanding that the Church is the Mystical Body of Christ, and that because of our being united with Him through Baptism, we are united with all who share in that relationship with Him, both the living and the dead.  When we come to Mass, we pray as the Body of Christ across space and time, and we pray for the Body of Christ across space and time.  The seventh of the main elements of the Eucharistic Prayer detailed in the GRIM articulates this reality of our praying for the entire Church in each Eucharistic Prayer:

The intercessions, by which expression is given to the fact that the Eucharist is celebrated in communion with the whole Church, of both heaven and of earth, and that the oblation is made for her and for all her members, living and dead, who are called to participate in the redemption and salvation purchased by the Body and Blood of Christ.

(GIRM, 79g)

In this regard, I recall a line that I read very early on in my priesthood that has stuck with me.  It comes from a book titled Dignity and Duties of the Priest by St. Alphonsus Ligouri.  He reminds priests of the grave importance of celebrating Mass each day:

A priest who without an important reason omits to say Mass robs the Blessed Trinity of glory, the angels of joy, sinners of pardon, the just of divine assistance, the souls in purgatory of refreshment, the Church of a benefit, and himself of a medicine.

Thanks be to God, I can count on a single hand the very few occasions when I was not able to celebrate Mass when I could have in my nearly thirteen years as a priest (twice due to illness and once due to an unforeseen travel complication).  Even when I am on vacation or have a day off without a scheduled Mass and the temptation might be to take a day off from celebrating Mass, this passage comes to mind and I am motivated by charity to celebrate Mass, believing with a firm faith that that Mass will have a positive impact on the Body of Christ, and my not celebrating Mass would deprive the Church of these benefits.

I think this can extend to all of us when it comes to our praying at Mass.  We can sometimes think that skipping Mass may only affect one person.  But our failing to go to Mass and actively participate in praying for and with the Body of Christ deprives her of what we alone can offer.  We may reason that one person cannot make that much of a difference.  But remember the words of the Lord in the Prophet Isaiah, words which we apply to that view of ourselves and how much greater God’s view is of us and the impact our prayers at Mass: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, my thoughts higher than your thoughts.” (Is 55:8-9)

Only in Heaven will we come to fully realize how God has used our prayers at Mass to benefit the Body of Christ.  Perhaps on a day when we struggled to come to Mass was the day when a soul in Purgatory was finally released and brought into the presence of God in Heaven.  Perhaps our prayer at Mass one day, even though we were distracted, prompted somebody who had given up on life to turn to God and find new hope in life.  This is what is on the line when we come to pray at Mass.  How can we ever deprive the Body of Christ of this assistance?

Father Alford     

Feast Day: January 21^st 

St. Benedict gives four different kinds of monks in his famous Rule. The first, and most familiar, are the cenobites, the monks who live in community, obedient to their abbot as well as the rule of their order. The second class or kind of monk are the anchorites, or hermits, those who have lived in a monastery, faithful to its life as described above, having grown to a preeminent love of God and virtue towards their brothers, to such an extent that now they depart from that community to live alone, relying only on God in their continued fight against vices of mind and body. The third kind, the sarabaites, live in a monastery, but don’t abide its rules or superior, they still live according to the world, doing what they like, untested, unpurified, in the sturdy language of St. Benedict: lying to God by their tonsure.  And finally, the gyrovagues, who drift from place to place, receiving the hospitality of monasteries for a few days, but always thinking the grass is greener elsewhere, slaves still to their appetites and whims.

St. Meinrad entered the world in Germany, around 800 A.D., born into the family of the Counts of Hohenzollern, though that family would not really enter the annals of history for another two or three hundred years (eventually becoming one of the most important dynasties in Europe, later descendants becoming electors to the Holy Roman Empire, then Kings of Prussia, and eventually Emperors of Germany itself, with the empire only ending after WWI). Meinrad, of course, came almost a thousand years before all that, and he just wanted to be a monk. Some relatives of his were Abbots of the monastery of Reichenau, on an island in Lake Constance, where Meinrad received his education, and eventually joined that monastery. Spending time in that Abbey, as well as a Priory dependent upon it at Bollingen, on lake Zurich, he was finally ready, and willing, to enter the eremitical life and settled into his simple hermitage on the slopes of Mt. Etzel.

All he had with him was a statue of Our Lady, from which miracles had happened, and the simple requisites of his life as a hermit. And, a heart formed by those years under the benedictine rule, wise, prayerful, quiet, generous, and gentle. So many people came to know of his holiness that they came in droves to receive his advice and intercession, so several years later (it is not about 835), he retreated further into the forest, to what would later become the grand Abbey of Einsiedeln (from which, in 1854, monks would be sent to Indiana, establishing the Archabbey of St. Meinrad, and eventually a seminary where many of the priests of our diocese received their formation to the priesthood). 

But Meinrad didn’t himself found Einsiedeln because in 861 two men came to his hermitage seeking to rob him of the many gifts that he received from those who were still visiting him. He didn’t have what they wanted: every gift, no matter how precious, was immediately given away to the poor, and though he knew their intentions, the hermit would not let mere murderous intentions impede his extending them hospitality, so he sat the two men down, cooked them a good dinner, and was then murdered by them when he was unable to give them the riches they sought. And so, the Church now has a “Martyr of Hospitality”, perhaps an inspiration and intercessor for all of us as we sacrifice ourselves to welcome, care for, invite, and provide for those who come to us. As with all the martyrs, their losing their life actually inspires many to follow in their footsteps, and so hermit after hermit returned to that same hermitage, eventually founding their the splendid abbey that stands there to this day.

– Fr. Dominic got to visit the Abbey of Einsiedeln in 2017, several months before he was ordained a deacon and a year before being ordained a priest. The Monks, after St. Meinrad’s example, were immensely hospitable, allowing us to join them for meals and prayer, showing us around the splendid place where they have prayed and worked for all the centuries since (with a brief hiatus only during World War II if I remember correctly), as well as the wonderful library they care for with 230,000 books, thousands of manuscripts, some of them from over a thousand years ago when it was founded.

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.