On Friday, a seminarian I know texted me a photo of a page from Ven. Archbishop Fulton Sheen’s A Priest Is Not His Own, and said beneath it, “I thought you’d like that.”
My God yes.
Sheen was describing to priests, as celebrants of the Mass, the meaning of the Offertory. The offering of gifts of bread, wine, and alms—“my sacrifice and yours.” How eloquently he expressed the mystery of a ritual action that is reduced, in most people’s minds, to fishing for money or dropping envelopes in the basket. Or maybe checking the watch to where we stand at halftime.
Do the faithful have any idea what they are really transacting in? Are saying “Amen” to? Giving over? Such ignorance profoundly weakens the Offering’s potential effect to change lives and transform the world. Literally. Annie Dillard captured my sentiments in a passage I seem to quote every other week:
Does any-one have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake some day and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.

It’s why I get concerned when I see programs or schemes that over-focus on what people should “get out of Mass” by reducing Massconsumption to emotional satisfaction or learning outcomes. By doing this, we strip liturgy of its vast, mysterious, transcendent, and terrifying power. The late Fr. Aidan Kavanagh makes this point: “Although the liturgy does indeed ‘teach,’ it teaches as any other ritual does—experientially, non-discursively, richly, ambiguously, and elementally. Liturgy, like the feast, exists not to educate but to seduce people into participating in common activity of the highest order, where one is freed to learn things which cannot be taught.”
Okay, so here’s a nutty stream-of-consciousness scenario that runs through my head as I write:
Jerry: “Hey, what did you get out of Mass today, Tom?” Tom: “Oh, well, hmm, let me think. Well, you know when they pass the collection plate around and then bring the gifts up?”
Jerry: “Sure, what about it? Did you realize you had an empty wallet when the basket came by?”
Tom: “Ha! No, well, it was a little different. I found myself handing over to God’s uncreated Fire my body and soul; all of my prayers, works, joys, and sufferings; my livelihood; my sins and failings; my marriage and family and friends, even strangers and enemies; the living and the dead; angels and demons; all of time and space. I mean, the whole freakin’ universe! But that was a little scary, because I realized I was giving absolutely everything back, handing it all over completely to God’s control and will. It was like saying, ‘Okay, it’s all yours now. All of it. Dispose of it wholly according to your will.’ I was unsettled at what I was agreeing to.
Jerry: “Yikes.”
Tom: “Yeah, well, and after I did all of that . . . oh, wait, I forgot. As I handed all this over, it all somehow got tangled up with everyone-from-everywhere else’s ‘stuff.’ I was like, ‘Wait, that’s my stuff, not theirs!’ But he wouldn’t listen.”
“Okay, so then all that stuff got loaded onto the altar, and then got totally wrecked into the bread and wine we’d brought up, by those words, ‘This is my . . . given up.’ Those are hard words to hear, but it was too late. Then the eternal Spirit fell down on all of it, like free-falling Fire, and burned it up into the Heart of the risen Body of Jesus. It was all like a raging furnace coming out of the now-ruined Bread and Wine. I could hardly breathe.
“Then Jesus, Master Craftsman that he is, started building, out of all of our tangled-up burning stuff, a whole new section of the new creation. Which, I heard said, never ever passes away. And it was amazing; he built it up in a way I never would have imagined doing. Incredibly beautiful, but very strangely new. Everything.
“Okay, then Jesus, after building all this at his altar on high, carried this whole new world he’d made back down toward us, borne on the music of the fiery Spirit. Then he, somehow in that ruined Bread and Wine, came wildly running over toward us out of the sanctuary. But here’s the wildest thing of all. He totally ruined me by commanding me: ‘Eat, drink.’ Eat, drink fire? Unworthy me? Terrifying! But he gave me courage. And now, my God . . . I have eternal life.
“I was undone. Speechless. Unable to move. It was all superintense, more Real than reality. And then I was totally overwhelmed with a gratitude I’ve never felt before. Ever before.
Jerry: “That’s all?”
Tom: “Oh no! There’s so much more. But that’s what comes to mind. Oh no, wait, I forgot! The priest said something at the end, like ‘Go! Be sent!’ But when I looked up at him, he wasn’t there, only Christ, but terrifying in Majesty. He was commanding me: ‘Go! But this time, to ruin our ruined world,’ just like I’d seen done at Mass. And then he said, ‘Bring those ruined ruins back to me, to do this all again next week.’
“I mean, what?
Oh man, I ran! I’ve been running ever since. I just can’t stop. It’s why I’m totally out of breath now and stammering . . .”
Jerry: “Whoa.”
Tom: “Yeah, I know. Who knew? . . .”
Dr. Tom Neal presently serves as Academic Dean and Professor of Spiritual Theology at Notre Dame Seminary in New Orleans, Louisiana. He has worked for twenty years in adult catechesis, retreat ministry and teaching theology in various contexts trying to make present for others the “Word made fresh.” Tom received a Masters in Systematic Theology from Mount St. Mary’s University and a PhD in Religion at Florida State University.
I often lead group prayer with similar words: “Give us the wisdom to know Your will for our lives and the courage to follow it as we seek to make our community a clearer reflection of the Kingdom of God.” The words acknowledge that we need to be about God’s will, not our own, and in that journey, we will bear greater witness to the transforming power of Jesus Christ.
The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary.
“Jesus answered and said to her, ‘Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again; but whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst; the water I shall give will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.’ The woman said to him, ‘Sir, give me this water, so that I may not be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.’ – John 4:13-15
How will we respond at Cathedral? How about being part of the Alpha ministry? Alpha is a perfect place to get acquainted with others in and outside of the parish around a shared meal and discussion. The ministry is one tool we are using to move our parish from maintenance to Mission. Alpha transmits the faith through initial proclamation, in language any person, even unchurched, can understand and encourages us to go off the church campus to invite others to consider Christianity.
The quote famously attributed to Saint Francis goes, “Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words if necessary.” These days, when so much of our communication takes place on keyboards and screens, words truly are necessary for sharing our faith online. In my own social media presence, I’ve struggled to strike the right balance of piety and down-to-earth humor, inner peace and occasional doubt that will make my Catholic faith relatable to my friends and followers who aren’t believers. So, how do we choose what to say in our posts, comments, and updates that attracts others to the Gospel? Here are a few do’s and don’ts I’ve learned along the way.
As Christians, we can find ourselves hiding behind our words. History, unfortunately, has shown us that our witness of action has not always been profound enough. The world will surely know whom it is we serve if we love like Jesus, we act like Jesus, and we serve others like Jesus. Our stewardship will bear witness to the transforming power of Jesus Christ, and we will bring others to him. Our love will be an instrument of our evangelization. Our words will become true, not because we said them enough, but because they are true.
In the early 1960s, following a visit to his spiritual director in France, and at his urging, Jean started visiting asylums in France In seeing the horror of the conditions that many lived in and the inhumanity that they were subjected to on a daily basis in inadequate and underfunded institutions, he felt called to act. In beginning his work with the mentally and physically disabled, Jean said that he found those he served to be a “source of life and truth, if we welcome them and put ourselves in their service.” What started in a broken down home in north-east France turned into what today is known as L’Arche International with 154 communities around the world in 38 countries in the service of men and women with physical and mental disabilities. The community’s name comes from the French word for “ark,” specifically Noah’s Ark, which served as a refuge for Noah and his family amidst the destruction of the world.
I’ve always been a sucker for some good slapstick humor (growing up on Ace Ventura and Wayne’s World), and Wreck-it Ralph has been a welcome addition to our children’s movie library.
Scripture contains this prayer of Mary’s joy and wonder at her role in the mystery of the Incarnation.
I find myself feeling guilty the last few years on Mother’s Day. I wake up in the morning, typically sleeping in because my husband got up with Gracey. I enjoy the hand-made gift or the meal that was cooked in the kitchen by my daughter. I am offered to, “go get your nails done” or “go take a nap.’ In both circumstances I feel “mom guilt” that I should be playing with the kids, cleaning diapers, picking up small Barbie shoes or wiping off snotty noses. You can’t step away from motherhood. It is a full-time job, not like “40 hours a week”, but every minute of the day. It is something we find very hard to take a break from because when one child gives you a break, the other is tugging on your dress. My mother exemplifies this role of motherhood. Her phrase is often, “ATM: Any Time Mom.”