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.

Feast Day: December 31^st

How would you go about building the Kingdom of God in the heart of ancient Rome? As in, if Jesus entrusted to you the task of bringing the Gospel to a place where most still rejected it, what would be your strategy? Would you start by preaching in the synagogue, as did St. Paul? Would you concentrate on works of charity, protecting those who were vulnerable, unwanted, and discarded by that society, with St. Lawrence as your exemplar? Would you seek to convert the Emperor and work from the top down, as did Constantine’s mother St. Helena? How about engaging in apologetic debates with the leaders and philosophers of the day, as did St. Justin Martyr? Obviously, the evangelists of the early church did all of these things (and more!) to proclaim a different “Son of God” and different “Good News” to the Eternal City which had plenty of emperors already claiming that title, and the definitive accomplishment of world peace.

One saintly woman took a different tack. The Caelian Hill, though the smallest of Rome’s 7 Hills, and not the center of government or commerce or empire (much of that took place on and between the Palatine and Capitoline Hills), for many centuries was the coveted place for people of power and wealth to build ever more opulent villas. One of the richest of these families, the Valerii Publicolae, traced their ancestry back to Publius Valerius Poplicola, the legendary character who helped overturn the Etruscan kings and turn Rome into a Republic. Consuls, generals, orators, and wealthy patrons continue down the line from 500 BC to 500 AD … oh, and their house took up most of the Eastern slope of the “Caelius Mons”! 

As this family was at the zenith of their wealth, popularity, and power, around 100 BC, at the bottom of ‘their hill’, between the Caelian and Palatine Hills, connecting the Capitoline Temple of Jupiter to the densely populated Subura district, and intersecting the main thoroughfare stretching between the Forum and the Colosseum, was built the famous “Clivus Scauri” road. Painstakingly, impossibly, unnecessarily, paved with perfectly fitted blocks of tufa stone – “opus quadratum” as the architects called it – it gently curved up their hill with drainage and decoration and beautiful arches all along the way. On this road Julius Caesar triumphantly returned after defeating Pompey. Along it the vestral virgins would have processed. Beside it, countless throngs would have watched as the ashes of the newly deified Augustus were carried to his immense mausoleum. From it, throngs could see the gladiatorial games in the Colosseum. Upon it, thousands would have tried to flee the Great Fire. This was Abbey Road, Broadway, Wall Street, the Champs-Elysees, and the Las Vegas Strip all in one, and Meliana grew up on it, actually, basically, she would inherit it.

How would you bring the Gospel there, onto that hill, along that road? A hundred years before St. Felix would build a church on top of it, and two hundred years before Trasilla and Emiliana grew up along it, this was the task given to St. Melania (called “the Younger” because her grandmother, also Melania, is also a saint!) Newly married to Valerius Pinianus (just as important as his name sounds, one of the richest men in Rome), Melania was more and more distraught at the opulence and luxury of her life in her family’s palace on the Caelian Hill. Their two children died young, strengthening Melania’s argument that they needed to leave behind the worldly expectations their honorable name entitled (and enslaved) them to, and instead embrace Christian asceticism. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for this couple to discern what the Lord was calling them to! But eventually they agreed, choosing charity and poverty over than comfort and fame. Melania gave away her splendid garments to decorate churches, her country estates to house poor families, slaves, and pilgrims, and they began to travel the Christian world lavishly giving away their wealth, building Churches and monasteries around Africa including for St. Augustine, ransoming the inhabitants of Lipari from pirates, and establishing a convent near the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem. 

But this was only a fraction of their wealth. At Melania’s insistence, the Emperor Honorius enlisted the Provincial Governors across the empire to be responsible for the sale of the couple’s vast properties because their enormous value meant the possibility of catastrophic fraud, embezzlement, and intrigue. And that palace on the Caelian? Some, thinking the couple insane, tried to confiscate it through nefarious means (though revolts in the city stymied those conspiracies). But Melania and Pinianus couldn’t even find someone with the financial means to purchase it, and after the Goth invasion of 408 AD, they simply gave it away. And, on it, like on so many other parcels of land throughout the empire, they funded a monastery. Thus, in place of the elegance and opulence of the residences on the Caelian Hill, monks lived lives of fasting and prayer. And, instead of the barbarity of a vivarium holding wild animals before their release into the colosseum, now pilgrims made their way up the Clivus Scauri to pagan shrines turned into Christian churches.

– Fr. Dominic spent five years climbing the Caelian Hill to the Basilica of Ss. John and Paul, and never knew how this was one epicenter of the Christian transformation of that ancient city. All made possible by a lot of earthly riches entrusted to the purposes of God. 

In the Gospel account of the Annunciation in St. Luke’s Gospel, we hear that Mary will conceive Jesus in her womb in a wholly unique and miraculous way, by the power of the Holy Spirit.  The Archangel Gabriel explains this to Mary with the following words:

The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God. (Luke 1:35)

It is that same power of the Holy Spirit that shows up in a special way as we enter into the Eucharistic Prayer.  The next of the seven main elements of the Eucharistic Prayer is what is called the epiclesis.  Here is how the General Instruction of the Roman Missal describes this element:

The epiclesis, in which, by means of particular invocations, the Church implores the power of the Holy Spirit that the gifts offered by human hands be consecrated, that is, become Christ’s Body and Blood, and that the unblemished sacrificial Victim to be consumed in Communion may be for the salvation of those who will partake of it. (GIRM, 79c)

It will be by the power of the Holy Spirit that, in a similar way, the Word will become flesh and dwell among us, as He did in the Incarnation.  Of course, we know the Annunciation and following birth of Jesus at Christmas focuses on the mystery of God becoming man, taking on our human flesh to redeem us.  At the Last Supper, when Jesus said: “This is my Body…this is my Blood”, He made it possible for Him to be present any time the Mass is celebrated until He comes again in glory.

The primary mystery being remembered at the Mass in the Passion of Christ, but there is a very real and significant connection to the mystery of the Incarnation at every Mass as well.  After all, the Jesus that is present on the altar, whom we consume in the Eucharist, is the same Christ who was conceived in Mary’s womb, born in Bethlehem, who suffered, died, rose, and ascended into Heaven.  It is the same Christ, and pondering this should astound us!  Any attempt to fully grasp this reality will fall short, but we receive this mystery with gratitude and love.  

But let me invite us to something even more profound at work here.  What makes this mystery possible is the power of the Holy Spirit.  And where the Holy Spirit is, there also is the Father and the Son – always, from before time began.  The three persons of the Trinity are never separate, never divided, but always working together, even though we may speak specifically of what the Father, Son, or Holy Spirit does.  The Catechism explains it this way:

Inseparable in what they are, the divine persons are also inseparable in what they do. But within the single divine operation each shows forth what is proper to him in the Trinity, especially in the divine missions of the Son’s Incarnation and the gift of the Holy Spirit. (CCC 267)

If your head is spinning, that is understandable!  The Trinity is difficult to understand, but at the same time, the Trinity is the central mystery of our faith.  It’s at the center of the Incarnation which we celebrate during these days, and it’s at the center of the Eucharist which we celebrate each day.  

In closing, I’d like to share a quote I came across a few years ago from St. Josemaria Escriva regarding the Trinity, and I think it also applies beautifully to the Incarnation and the Eucharist:

When people tell you that they don’t understand the Trinity and Unity, you should reply: I don’t understand it either, but I love it and venerate it. If I understood God’s greatness, if God fit into this poor head of mine, my God would be very small. And yet, He does fit — He wants to fit — in my heart, in the immense depth of my soul, which is immortal.

Let us marvel that God has become “small” so that we could receive Him, first as a child in Bethlehem, and now under the form of bread and wine so that He can come and live in our hearts forever.

Father Alford     

Feast Day: December 24^th 

One of the first papyri to enter the collection of the British Museum when it was founded in 1753 is a page from the Breviary of Margaret of York. As you can see, it is a lovingly decorated page from a breviary, and it’s rather incredible that it is from the mid-1400s. BUT, here’s the crazy detail: the decorations around the page are from the 1400s, but the page itself is from the late 500s! The handwriting we see here dates this page – of the homilies of Gregory the Great on the Gospels – back to the time that Gregory was still alive!

How did it end up in England, you ask?! Well, Pope St. Gregory the Great, in 596 sent the famous expedition of St. Augustine of Canterbury to the Land of the Angles to preach the Gospel, and it may very well be that those intrepid missionaries took with them a copy of Gregory’s homilies on the Gospels from just a few years before. One of these sermons was from February 10^th, 592 A.D., then the Holy Father for about 2 years, ascended the steps of the Basilica of San Clemente in Rome. It had already stood for about 200 years, and that particular building would stand for 400 more, so it was a venerable and beloved place. His sermon was 7000 words long, probably about an hour of profound and challenging words on Jesus’ proclamation from Matthew 22 that “many are called but few are chosen.” Approaching his ending though, he chose to leave his hearers, and us, with a lesson learned from his three aunts, all consecrated to the Lord, but only two of whom persevered to the end in their calling:

“My father had three sisters, all three consecrated virgins. One was called Tarsilla, the other Gordiana, the third Æmiliana. All three, entered into religion with the same ardor and consecrated at the same time, had given themselves a very strict rule and led the common life in their own house. As they had been in this kind of life for a long time, Tarsilla and Æmiliana began to grow from day to day in the love of their Creator: only their bodies remained here below, while their souls passed each day a little more towards eternal goods. The soul of Gordiana, on the contrary, began to let the love of the inner life cool down from day to day, to return little by little to the love of this world. Tarsilla often said to her sister Æmiliana, crying a lot: “I see that our sister Gordiana does not live in harmony with us; I must admit that she lets herself go to things outside, and that her heart does not keep what she had proposed. “The two sisters took care to correct Gordiana every day with tender remonstrances, to make her to return from her lightness of manners to the gravity which suited her dress. The latter no doubt took on a serious face when she was reprimanded, but as soon as the hour of the reprimand passed, the virtue of gravity that we wanted to impose on her also passed, and Gordiana returned to the same lightness of speech. She enjoyed herself in the society of the young girls of the world, and the company of those who were not worldly weighed on her.

Better than her sisters, my aunt Tarsilla had risen to the honor of the highest sanctity by her continual prayer, her application to mortify herself, her unusual abstinence, and the gravity of her venerable life. Now, one night, as she herself said, my ancestor [Pope] Felix [III], who was bishop of this Church of Rome, appeared to her in a vision and showed her the abode of eternal light, saying, “Come because I will receive you in this light. ” 

Soon, seized by fever, she arrived on her last day. And when, when a noble woman or man dies, many people gather to comfort their loved ones, at the time of my aunt’s death, men and women flocked around her bed; my mother was there too. Tarsilla suddenly raised her eyes, and seeing Jesus coming, she began to shout to those around her, in a tone of sharp reproach: “Go! Go! Jesus is coming. “And while her gaze was drawn toward the one she saw, her holy soul left her body. Immediately was spread a perfume so wonderful that it appeared to everyone by this delicious smell that the Author of all delights had come there. … All these events took place before the Nativity of the Lord.”

Detail of a papyrus fragment surrounded by a border from the Breviary of Margaret of York, Cotton MS Titus C XV, f. 1r.

– Fr. Dominic ran the Rome Marathon twice, both times finishing near to one of its famous Seven Hills, the Caelian Hill, on which many of the richest and most powerful families of the city had their villas. These three sisters lived there, though after the sack of the city in 410 it was less opulent than it had been. We will return to this hill next week to meet another saint who began her life upon it. 

After joining the angels and saints in Heaven in joyfully singing the “Holy, Holy, Holy”, the faithful kneel down and the church falls silent as the lone voice of the priest continues with the Eucharistic Prayer.

At this point, for those who may be following along with the priest at Mass with some sort of worship aid, a question arises.  Which Eucharistic Prayer will the celebrant use?  Before the revision of the Roman Missal following the Second Vatican Council, this was never a question.  There was only one Eucharistic Prayer that was ever used, known as the Roman Canon.  The word “canon” means “fixed rule”, indicating that for this part of the Mass, the prayers are always the same, no matter the day of the year, with some slight inclusions on special occasions.

With the new Roman Missal that was promulgated after the Council, the celebrant was given some flexibility in choosing which Eucharistic Prayer to use.  There are four main Eucharistic Prayers from which to choose, though there are some additional ones provided for different occasions, but I will just focus on the main four for the sake of our reflections.

The Roman Canon, mentioned above, continues to be an option, and it is also known as Eucharistic Prayer I.  The General Instruction of the Roman Missal describes this prayer in the following way:

Eucharistic Prayer I, or the Roman Canon, which may always be used, is especially suited for use on days to which a proper text for the Communicantes (In communion with those whose memory we venerate) is assigned or in Masses endowed with a proper form of the Hanc igitur (Therefore, Lord, we pray) and also in the celebrations of the Apostles and of the Saints mentioned in the Prayer itself; likewise it is especially suited for use on Sundays, unless for pastoral reasons Eucharistic Prayer III is preferred. 

(GIRM, 365a)

Here at the Cathedral, you will hear us using this Eucharistic Prayer on more solemn Sundays and Solemnities, though there is no reason it cannot be used at any time.  A beautiful aspect of this prayer is that it helps to show the continuity in the liturgy of the Church throughout the ages.  Those who may not have a strong affinity for the Mass celebrated according to the Roman Missal of 1962 (which people sometimes call the Latin Mass) may think that using this prayer is going backward to a previous time when this was used.  And since it is longer, people might not like it as much.  But get used to hearing it as we approach Christmas, and listen well to how beautiful the words are.

Eucharistic Prayer II is another option, and according to the GIRM, is more appropriate for weekdays.  The GIRM states that for Eucharistic Prayer III, “[i]ts use should be preferred on Sundays and festive days.” (GIRM, 365c) And finally, Eucharistic Prayer IV, used less frequently, is described as follows:

Eucharistic Prayer IV has an invariable Preface and gives a fuller summary of salvation history. It may be used when a Mass has no Preface of its own and on Sundays in Ordinary Time.

(GIRM, 365d)

You will therefore never hear Eucharistic Prayer IV during the seasons of Advent, Christmas, Lent, or Easter, or on any day in which a solemnity, feast day, or memorial is observed.

Those are the general principles that a celebrant follows when choosing a Eucharistic Prayer, though note that there is a lot of freedom in the choice made.  Hopefully this clears up some of the questions that arises on why a certain Eucharistic Prayer is used and when it is used.

Father Alford     

Feast Day: December 17^th

This week, our story begins with the day’s page from the Roman Martyrology. On the one hand, this is simply an extensive (though not exhaustive) list of the Church’s saints, giving a miniature summation of their lives, depicting in short form why each is a saint we should emulate. Yet this simple document, as it lists the saints who have entered heaven on day after day after day sparkles with lives lived out of God’s grace. On the nondescript day of December 17^th, we discover countless men and women who have gone ahead of us into the Eternal Life offered to us as well.

At Eleutheropolis, in Palestine, the holy martyrs Florian, Calanicus and their fifty-eight companions, who were massacred by the Saracens for the faith of Christ, in the time of the emperor Heraclius. 

At Marseilles, in France, blessed Lazarus, bishop, who was raised from the dead by our Lord, as we read in the Gospel.

At Rome, St. John de Matha, founder of the Order of the Most Holy Trinity for the Redemption of Captives. His festival is observed on the 8th of February, according to the decree of Innocent XI.

In the monastery of Fulda, the holy abbot Sturmius, abbot and apostle of Saxony, who was ranked among the saints by Innocent II., in the second Council of Lateran.

At Bigarden, near Brussels, St. Vivina, virgin, whose eminent sanctity is attested by frequent miracles.

At Constantinople, St. Olympiades, widow.

At Andenne, at the Seven Churches, St. Begga, widow, sister of St. Gertrude. 

…

And elsewhere many other holy martyrs, confessors and holy virgins.

Thanks be to God.

Please spend a few moments contemplating these holy men and women. Perhaps you look up Eleutheropolis and discover that the city where those 60 Christians were martyred is now in the West Bank. Can those holy men and women offer hope to those killed, and suffering, on that same soil today? Can they pray for us to see, as they did, that eternal life is a far greater good than earthly life, yet both are gifts from God that we must protect?

Or, you notice Lazarus, and realize that this beloved friend of Jesus, raised from his grave, made his way carrying the Gospel all the way to Marseilles and there shepherded a fledgling community of Christians. When has God marvelously given you a new chance at life? And, have you used it to similarly proclaim His Salvation?

Can St. John de Matha, who founded the Trinitarian Order which we recalled a few weeks ago on the feast of St. Chrysogonus (they care for his relics), stir our hearts – as Our Lord asks – to consider where people around us remain captive, and work to free them from their shackles? Do we see them as Christ to such an extent that we would risk our own lives to bring them Christ’s Freedom?

St. Sturminus reminds us of the sanctity, and power, of remaining faithful to whatever responsibility God has given to us. Synods still debate, heresies still rage, Popes still reign, and pagans still need Jesus, but what if you and I today just took care of our inner monastery, our domestic Church, our little parcel of God’s vineyard?

Sweeping across continents, and across centuries, now we consider St. Vivina’s simplicity. Surely she had great hopes and dreams and plans and prayers, but the miracles and wonders we marvel at only happened after her death. Can we be content with being little saints? Can we be committed to being little saints? Can we be saints in little things?

Finally, looking at the double example of St. Olymbiades and St. Begga, known soley for their being widowed, and becoming saints. Do you mourn the loss, or expect to lose, someone near to you? Could St. Olymbiades, a humble saint from a big city, show you how to let Christ consecrate your grief? Can St. Begga, a sister and friend, show you how to keep loving through that pain?

– Fr. Dominic is struck not only by the fact that these saints show us holiness across all locations, and ages, of the Church, and not only in every different situation and walk of life, but that they also sanctify even the time that they occupied, especially the day on which they left this world for heaven. One of the days of the year will be my, and your, feast-day as well. What if ours was December 17^th too? Are we ready? Are we preparing? Are we looking forward to that day? 

In my previous article, I noted that the General Instruction of the Roman Missal identifies seven main elements of the Eucharistic Prayer.  We reflected last week on the first element of thanksgiving, which leads into the second element: acclamation.  Here is what we read in the GIRM:

The acclamation, by which the whole congregation, joining with the heavenly powers, sings the Sanctus (Holy, Holy, Holy). This acclamation, which constitutes part of the Eucharistic Prayer itself, is pronounced by all the people with the Priest. (GIRM, 79)

It has been a few articles since I referenced Venerable Bruno Lanteri’s beautiful reflections on praying the Mass by seeking the sentiments and the heart of some biblical figure who helps us to better pray those different moments in the liturgy.  So let us return to his thoughts as we begin the Eucharistic Prayer.  As the Preface is prayed and the Sanctus is sung, Lanteri proposes the following image: “At the Preface, I will seek the sentiments and the heart of the Heavenly Court.”  Father Timothy Gallagher, the author of the book from which these reflections come, writes:

When we pray, “Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of Hosts.  Heaven and earth are full of your glory,” we say this together with the Heavenly Court…when the priest prays the Preface, you join your heart to his words as you listen, and when you say or sing the Holy, Holy, Holy, you are praying with the angels, archangels, and all the heavenly host?  (A Biblical Way of Praying the Mass, p. 58 of Kindle version of book)

At this point of the Mass, I sometimes just close my eyes and picture the scene of being surrounded by saints and angels who are all gathered around the throne of the lamb to worship Him.  I find this especially helpful if the number of people at Mass might not be that many.  What we see with our human eyes may be somewhat disappointing, but what we see with our eyes of faith is extremely encouraging and consoling.  Though the angels are not taking up space, I imagine them standing in every place where there is a gap in the pews, lining all of the aisles, and filling up the sanctuary.

I go back to the reflection I wrote a few weeks ago of my experience of the closing Mass for our Eucharistic Congress.  Looking around the arena, the space was filled with people who were praising God together, a foretaste of what we await in the heavenly liturgy.  But even there, with nearly 5000 people in attendance, think of how much more impressive the sight was from Heaven, where that multitude beyond counting was present with us, singing Holy, Holy, Holy to the Lord of Hosts.

To the skeptic who lives only in this world and for this world, such a vision may seem ridiculous or childish, but for us who are called to be childlike when we approach the Lord, it makes perfect sense and we are filled with joy to be joining in this amazing prayer with the entire Church – those in Heaven and on earth, from every time – past present and future.  What a gift the Mass is for us who believe!

Father Alford