“YOU ARE DUST!”  Those words still ring in my memory!  They were the first three words a priest used in a Day of Recollection conference on Ash Wednesday my first year in the seminary.  The enthusiasm with which he yelled those words were startling, to say the least.  I honestly cannot remember anything else he had to say during his talk, but I will never forget those first three words.

These are the words that the Church’s ministers will be speaking (hopefully in a less startling way) this coming Wednesday as we begin our Lenten journey of 40 days toward Easter.  To be exact, the words the Church gives us are these: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  It is a sobering reminder to one who receives the ashes, and I can tell you that it is likewise humbling to speak those words to others as I sign them with the ashes, an outward sign of our inner resolution to repentance.

This year, however, will be different from our experience of Ash Wednesdays in the past.  We have grown accustomed to adapting certain aspects of our liturgies in the midst of a global pandemic, and Ash Wednesday is no exception.  The Holy See has instructed that instead of saying the words for each person, the priest celebrant will say the words only once as he speaks to the entire congregation present.  Then, after sanitizing his hands and donning a mask, he will distribute ashes to the faithful.  Even that will take on a form unfamiliar to most of us.  Instead of marking the forehead of each individual, the instruction is to impose ashes on the top of the head by sprinkling, which requires no touching of the person.

The fact of the matter is that this is actually how ashes have been traditionally imposed, and much of the world still imposes ashes through sprinkling.  There is no outward sign that you have attended Mass, as those ashes are hidden from the view of others.  After all, does not the Gospel for Ash Wednesday seem to support this:

But when you fast, anoint your head so that you may not appear to others to be fasting, except to your Father who is hidden. And your Father who sees what is hidden will repay you.

(Matthew 6:17-18)

So instead of seeing this as a negative change, let us see it as an invitation to purify our motives when it comes to the beginning of our Lenten journey.  The ashes we receive (and in fact everything we do during Lent) are not for others to see.  Sure, Lent is a time for us to commit to living lives of more intentional charity toward others.  But Lent is first and foremost about our relationship with the Lord, and our need to turn back to Him.  We should be far more concerned about our hearts being open to receiving His healing mercy, a healing that takes place in the hidden relationship we have with Him.  When the Father alone sees that hidden desire, He will bless us with the reward of His grace, a grace that will overflow in mercy toward others.

Father Alford     

As we try to grow in holiness through the reception of the Sacrament of Penance, it is helpful to know what we are confessing. There are two types of sins that we can commit: mortal and venial. While some may think that this language is too old-fashioned, it actually comes straight from scripture and is relevant to our spiritual life. Let’s take a look at what the Apostle John wrote about mortal and venial sin.

“If anyone sees his brother sinning, if the sin is not deadly, he should pray to God and he will give him life. This is only for those whose sin is not deadly. There is such a thing as deadly sin, about which I do not say that you should pray. All wrongdoing is sin, but there is sin that is not deadly” (1 John 5:16-17).

The words “mortal” and “deadly” are synonyms. There are certain sins that we can commit that are deadly for our spiritual life. This means that when we commit a mortal sin, the divine life of God which was ignited in our soul through baptism is extinguished. The Church teaches that someone who dies in the state of mortal sin, that is, without ever repenting of that sin, has chosen to go to hell through their own free will. Most of the sins that we commit are considered “venial,” which means small or slight. 

To commit a mortal sin, three conditions must be fulfilled. First, the action done must be objectively very bad. It’s impossible to compile an exact list of mortal sins, but it’s commonly understood that the Ten Commandments are examples of grave or serious sins. St. Paul often lists sins in his letters, such as in his letter to the Galatians. “Now the works of the flesh are plain: fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, anger, selfishness, dissension, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and the like. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things shall not inherit the Kingdom of God” (Galatians 5:19-21.) While some mortal sins are obvious, like murder and adultery, some are actually not universally known. One example of this is that missing Mass on Sunday is a very serious sin for Catholics which could exclude them from the Kingdom of Heaven. Of course, during Covid time, most bishops have lifted the obligation to attend Mass. However, without a good reason such as sickness, Catholics are normally obligated to attend Mass on Sundays and Holy Days of Obligation. To miss Mass on Sunday is to directly disobey the Third Commandment: Keep holy the Lord’s Day. 

The second condition for something to be a mortal sin is that the person must have knowledge that the sin is serious. There are many things that we should know are wrong because of our instinct as human beings. However, some things are not so clearly understood or universally known. The example I used in the above paragraph is once again applicable. The unfortunate fact is that some Catholics do not know that they are required to attend Mass on Sunday. If someone truly does not understand this, through no fault of their own, then missing Mass would not be a mortal sin. 

The third condition for an action to be a mortal sin is that it be completed with the full consent of someone’s will. Sometimes through addictions or other outside influences, someone’s ability to consent to an action can be substantially lessened, and thus would not be a mortal sin. 

The only regular way for mortal sins to be forgiven is through the reception of the Sacrament of Penance. If we have committed a mortal sin, we should never receive Communion without first confessing this sin in the sacrament of Penance. This is to ensure that we receive the Eucharist worthily and avoid causing more spiritual harm to ourselves. 

We should never despair of God’s mercy, no matter how often we may fall into sin. He desires so much to have us reconciled to him. The point of discussing the reality of sin is not to make us despair or be discouraged but to help us to grow more intentionally in the spiritual life. Let us run into the Father’s open arms of love and return to him with our whole hearts through the sacrament of Penance! 

Feast Day: February 17^th (in 2021, Ash Wednesday trumps their celebration)

Florence, in the 1200s, is quickly becoming the richest and most powerful city on the Italic peninsula.  It has begun minting its own currency, the Florin, which would dominate European markets for a century.  But, the city is also divided.  The city’s most famous inhabitant, the poet Dante, would be exiled from his beloved city at the end of this century for his membership in the losing sect of the white-Guelphs.  It would take centuries of street fighting, then bull-fighting, and now horse racing (the bi-annual palio still sends 10 horses careening around the central piazza of the city every year) to keep all the various sections of the city civil with each other.

But, we’re here to meet seven gentlemen: Alexis, Amadeus, Hugh, Benedetto, Gherardino, Boufiglio, and Giovanni.  If you did not know Florence was in Italy, their names might seal the deal!  They are middle-aged merchants in Florence: two with families, two already widowers, the rest still leaving behind (or perhaps very content staying in) their well-to-do youth.  They are Christians from their Italian heritage, but living during the morally troubled, heresy ridden, mid-1200s (probably a heresy you haven’t heard much about: Catharism – basically saying that our bodies are bad.  This comes around under different forms every century or two, and has been very wrong ever since … oh, when God created us “very good”…).  They are members of a guild of cloth merchants, which has made them friends, and made them traders of the wool fabric Florence was famous for.   

They could have just as well become renowned and rich like another cloth merchant, Francesco Bernardone, almost did in Assisi just 50 years before.  But, as the Magna Carta becomes the law of the land in England (1215); as the Mongols sweep in from Asia, defeating cities across Russia (1223), demolish Hungary and Poland (1241), capture Baghdad (1258), and threaten all of Europe; and, as Thomas Aquinas writes his Summa Theologicae (1265), our Lady chose these men for a very different path.

They decided to join a spiritual guild, the Confraternity of the Blessed Virgin – what we might now call a men’s-group – joining their friendship by religious, not merely mercantile, bonds.  They were guided by a holy priest, (maybe a Dominican priest, Pietro of Verona, who would later be martyred by those heretical Cathari) in any case his role was quickly overshadowed by advice from someone rather closer to God: our Mother Mary.  She appeared to these seven normal, working, but praying men, and called them to the same thing she knows is essential for all of us: prayer, penance, perseverance in the faith.  

They could have done that as merchants, maybe.  But as they drew closer to God, and meditated more and more on the 7 sorrows of Mary, they found Florence to be louder, and less wholesome, and less rich than it seemed before.  Piles of florins do not seem nearly as glamorous when God offers you heavenly treasure; business relationships seem pretty shallow when the Lord offers you His mother; and the busy-ness and delights of 13^th century Florence paled in comparison to the offer of doing God’s work.  

And so, they began a penitential life.  They provided for their families – however much that entailed – and then eventually formed a community and built a hermitage out in the mountains outside the city.  They took up the black habit, the rule of St. Augustine, and became the Servites.

They also became saints.  

– Fr. Dominic Rankin has been entrusted with the work of chaplain of our diocesan men’s group, the Legion of Valor now for almost 2 years.  It is such awesome work to care, and lead, and pray with dozens of great men and fathers from around the diocese. We pray morning prayer together every morning.  Many of the men see each other regularly in small-groups around the diocese.  And we all join together in brotherhood and formation at least quarterly.  That all sounds ordinary, but the same things made the seven-holy-servite-founders saints.  Interested?: https://valor.dio.org/

In this month of February, we will be turning our attention to many people’s least favorite sacrament: the Sacrament of Penance. This sacrament is also known as Reconciliation or Confession. Each title for this sacrament emphasizes a different aspect of the sacrament itself. However, in the official books, the sacrament is called “Penance.” I describe Penance as many people’s least favorite because of the hesitation and anxiety that can accompany the confession of one’s sins to Jesus through the priest. Sin is a dark and shameful thing, but it is good to bring it to the light so that Jesus can heal it. While challenging at times, this sacrament is a part of Jesus’ plan for his Church which we can see in the Scriptures. 

We believe that Jesus began the Sacrament of Penance on the evening of Easter Sunday. Here is the passage found in John 20:19-23.

On the evening of that first day of the week, when the doors were locked, where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in their midst and said to them, “Peace be with you.” When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side. The disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained.” 

Isn’t it amazing that the sacrament of Penance is a gift that Jesus gave to his Church on Easter Sunday? This was not an accident. Jesus solemnly declares to his disciples that when they forgive sins, they are truly forgiven. This was the first encounter that Jesus had with his disciples after his Resurrection. While I’m sure they were bewildered at seeing Jesus alive (they had already heard from Mary Magdalene that Jesus was alive, and Peter and John had seen the empty tomb), there must have been some shame and fear in their hearts too. The last time they saw Jesus alive was when he was arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane, and while he hung dying on the cross, only John was by his side. In Jesus’ moment of need, his friends had given in to fear and abandoned him. However, Jesus brought forgiveness on Easter Sunday, not only for his closest friends, but for the entire Church! 

There are a few other references to Penance in the Bible, though not as explicit as the first reference. In the letter of James, he wrote, “Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed” (James 5:16). Jesus also gave authority to the Apostles when he said, “Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven (Matthew 18:18). Confessing our sins is a normal part of the Christian life. Our Christian tradition understands this to mean that we confess our sins to an ordained priest. While we are always fighting against temptation and sin, God has mercifully given us a way to be reconciled to him even when we sin after baptism. 

The Gospel passage from John 20 quoted above is the gospel reading proclaimed at Mass on Divine Mercy Sunday, one week after Easter Sunday. The sacrament of Penance is one of the main ways that Jesus’ mercy is communicated to his Church, and it is part of Jesus’ plan for our salvation. 

“Be not afraid.”  These are words that we hear spoken by the Lord in various ways and on several occasions through the Scriptures.  Fear can be paralyzing, and we can miss out of many things in life because our fear prevents us from moving forward.  In response to this phenomenon, our diocese has been working on an effort to address the fears we often face in life, confronting those fears through the eyes of our Catholic faith.  If you would like to explore some of the topics, check out the website:  https://benotafraid.dio.org/ 

As the team was preparing content, I was asked to do a video on the topic of the fear that many people face when it comes to going to Confession.  I consider myself to be uniquely equipped to answer this topic for two reasons.  First of all, I have the privilege of hearing many confessions here at the Cathedral.  Second, I know what it is like to be afraid to go to confession.  I remember vividly the fear that I had when I returned to the sacrament after having been away from it for a long time, maybe as many as ten years, if not more!  I was so terrified to go, but I pushed through the fear and went, and it truly was once of the best moments of my life.  It marked a new beginning in my life with Christ and His Church and I have no doubt that it was the beginning of my discernment of my vocation to the priesthood.

In the video, I started by saying that one of the biggest fears that we have when it comes to going to confession is the fear of admitting that we actually need to go to confession.  In other words, we are afraid to admit that we are sinners.  We might acknowledge that we are wounded, that we are broken, that we are in need of healing, but it is easier for us to point to other people as the cause for our brokenness.  And while we cannot downplay what others have done to hurt us, we as Christians are called to humbly admit the brokenness and woundedness that we introduce into our lives because of the decisions that we make.  This is what sin is – our freely choosing to hurt ourselves, though our intention may not always be so explicit when we do those things, but we know it to be true as we suffer the consequences.

Jesus knew how we would struggle with sin in our lives.  Wanting us to be free, to be at peace, He left the Church a great gift in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, by which the Lord heals our wounds and makes us whole again through the gift of this mercy.  He waits eagerly to give us this gift, and if we could see the look on His face as we enter the confessional, and the delight He has in granting us forgiveness, all our fears would melt as we are overcome by the power of His love for us, His children.  So the next time you experience that fear when you think about going to confession, the fear of admitting that you are a sinner, take a moment and close your eyes, picture Jesus looking at you with the most loving gaze you can imagine.  Then, run to His arms as He waits to embrace you in the confessional.  Your being there will bring Him great joy, and you will set off a great celebration in Heaven, for He Himself tells us: “there will be more joy in Heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance.” (Luke 15:7) 

Father Alford     

Feast Day: February 8^th  

In fourteen-hundred-ninety-two – you all know the phrase – Columbus sailed the Ocean Blue.  As that news made its way around Europe, surely it must have created waves in the city of Venice.  For centuries, the Italian power had held mastery of the sea.  Its galleys, sailors, captains, and system of ports had given it a powerful trade network crisscrossing the Mediterranean and beyond, but never into the unknown of the Atlantic Ocean.  Now, someone had, and the Venetian lion was not unfurled atop the Niño, Pinto, and Santa María. 

I spent far too much time trying to find whichflag did … maybe it was Portuguese, with its shields and castles?  But Columbus was financed by Spain!  Maybe the Spanish lion and castle?  But Spain was not yet united, so that flag was probably years in the future.  So maybe it was the royal, white flag of Ferdinand and Isabella, with its green cross?  That flew at least when he landed upon San Salvador.  …  perhaps this digression reveals the chaos of those days … but, regardless, it was not the flag of Venice!  And so, an eleven year old boy in that great maritime city, Gerolomo Emiliani, must have felt both exhilaration, and dread at the news of the new world, as would have everyone in the city, who depended for their security, and sustenance, upon their command of the sea, well, now, the seas.  

And that was not the only crisis sailing over the horizon.  

It is useful, and offers us a bit of perspective and wisdom, to every so often glance back in history and realize that things are not as bad today as they have been in the past.  Not only were their days controlling the seas dwindling fast, Venice was soon engulfed in what might as well be remembered as the World War of the 1500s.  Technically the “War of the League of Cambrai” or the “War of the Holy League”, this decade of battling across Italy, though primarily between France, the Papal States, and Venice, ended up with every other power in Europe at the time – Spain, the Holy Roman Empire, England, Milan, Florence, Ferrara, and Switzerland – jumping into the fray, making various alliances (and switching alliances), and destroying a lot of cities, and lives, in the process.  But, to make it all worse, there is the Pope (perhaps first Alexander VI, but then, of course, Julius II) in the middle of everything, scheming, battling, and back-stabbing like the best of them.  And, our young Gerolomo, loses his father, runs off to the army at 15, eventually rises to become a captain of a fortress in the mountains of Treviso, but disaster continues to follow him: the fortress is captured, and he is imprisoned and shackled.  

In the midst of the ugliness, pain, and horrors of his day; in the face of his own helplessness, failure, and grief, he finally prays – everybody wasn’t pious in the 1500s either – and finds himself miraculously able to escape.  He gives his chains, literally, to Our Blessed Mother, returns to Venice in 1518, becomes a priest despite the horrific leadership and politicking in the Church, and as the horrors of the black plague envelop Europe (it only gets worse!), he becomes a saint.  He nurses the sick and dying, builds hospitals, cares for the orphans, gives a new life to the prostitutes, and founds a congregation to join his charitable labors.  He poured his life out for the plague victims, and succumbed to it himself in 1537.   

The chains, chaos, and corruption of our own day need not control us.  Can we surrender to God our dreams, and chains?  Can we repent of our sins, finding freedom in Confession?  Can we give our lives to charity?  Can we face the storms, and yet remain calm?  Saints can.  So can we.

– Fr. Dominic Rankin has not defended fortresses from rampaging Papal armies, and prays that he will never have to.  He has tried to care for plague victims, with little success given current hospital protocols, and has contracted said disease, with nothing like the terrible consequences faced by most in our own day, or certainly by Fr. Jerome Emiliani.  But, if in all those ways he cannot follow in Jerome’s footsteps, he can, at least, surrender his chains to Mary, and his life to Love.  Pray for him.  He prays for you.

For the past month, our 10 am Sunday Mass has been celebrated ad orientem, which means “toward the East.”  In his column for the December 13, 2020 edition of the Catholic Times, Bishop Paprocki did a great job of explaining the theology of symbolism of celebrating Mass this way.  I want to highlight one line from his column that will be important for my reflection today.  Bishop Paprocki wrote:

While celebrating Mass facing the people became popular after the Second Vatican Council, there is actually no document from the Second Vatican Council that calls for Mass to be celebrated facing the people.

This point highlights a device that is often employed to justify changes in recent decades.  People point to the Second Vatican Council as making changes that it did not actually call for.  For example, you may hear people saying that the Council did away with meatless Fridays outside of Lent.  The fact of the matter is, that still remains the expectation in the Universal Church, though here in the United States, permission has been granted to replace abstinence from meat on Friday with some other penitential practice.  

Another discipline that people sometimes credit the Council for removing is the fast required before receiving the Eucharist.  I have heard countless stories of people who acknowledged how difficult it was to fast from midnight on before receiving Holy Communion the following morning.  In 1957, the fast was shortened to three hours, and in 1964, Pope St. Paul VI shortened the fast further to be just one hour, and now we have the following that remains the current law: “One who is to receive the Most Holy Eucharist is to abstain from any food or drink, with the exception of water and medicine, for at least the period of one hour before Holy Communion.” (Code of Canon Law, can. 919)

I find it a little surprising that many people are unaware of the Eucharistic fast, either having never heard that it ever existed, or that it is a practice that has been abandoned, done away with by the Second Vatican Council.  In one of his writings early in his pontificate, Pope St. John Paul II reflected on how the faithful can become lax in their being properly disposed to receive the Eucharist, which includes observing the Eucharistic fast.  He writes the following:

In fact, what one finds most often is not so much a feeling of unworthiness as a certain lack of interior willingness, if one may use this expression, a lack of Eucharistic ‘hunger’ and ‘thirst,’ which is also a sign of lack of adequate sensitivity towards the great sacrament of love and a lack of understanding of its nature.

May we all take this opportunity to examine how much we hunger and thirst for the Eucharist, expressed very tangibly in how we observe the Eucharistic fast, short as it may be, but necessary for our worthy and fruitful reception of this great gift.

Father Alford     

Feast Day: January 31^st  

The words that follow are not my own, but from the saint we celebrate this week, Fr. Don Bosco, on May 30^th, 1862, who told the following to his beloved sons in the Salesian Order (which he had founded):

I want to tell you a dream. It is true that he who is dreaming is not reasoning, anyway I—who would even tell you my sins if I were not afraid that they would make you all run away and make the house tumble down—will tell you this for your spiritual profit. I had the dream some days ago.

Imagine yourselves to be with me on the seashore, or bet­ter, on an isolated rock and not to see any patch of land other than what is under your feet. On the whole of that vast sheet of water you see an innumerable fleet of ships in battle array. The prows of the ships are formed into sharp, spearlike points so that wherever they are thrust they pierce and completely destroy. These ships are armed with cannons, with lots of rifles, with incendiary materials, with other arms of all kinds, and also with books, and they advance against a ship very much bigger and higher than themselves and try to dash against it with the prows or to burn it or in some way to do it every possible harm.

As escorts to that majestic fully equipped ship, there are many smaller ships, which receive commands by signal from it and carry out movements to defend themselves from the opposing fleet.  In the midst of the immense expanse of sea, two mighty columns of great height arise a little distance, the one from the other. On the top of one, there is the statue of the Immaculate Virgin, from whose feet hangs a large placard with this inscription: Auxilium Christianorum – “Help of Christians”, on the other, which is much higher and bigger, stands a Host of great size proportionate to the column and beneath is another placard with the words: Salus Credentium – “Salvation of the Faithful.”

The supreme commander on the big ship is the Sovereign Pontiff. He, on seeing the fury of the enemies and the evils among which his faithful find themselves, determines to summon around himself the captains of the smaller ships to hold a council and decide on what is to be done.  All the captains come aboard and gather around the Pope. They hold a meeting, but meanwhile the wind and the waves gather in storm, so they are sent back to control their own ships.  There comes a short lull. For a second time the Pope gathers the captains together around him, while the flagship goes on its course. But the frightful storm returns.  The Pope stands at the helm and all his energies are directed to steering the ship towards those two columns, from the top of which and from every side of which are hanging numer­ous anchors and big hooks, fastened to chains.  All the enemy ships move to attack it, and they try in every way to stop it and to sink it. Some with writings or books or inflammable materials, of which they are full, others with guns, with rifles and with rams. The battle rages ever more relentlessly.

The enemy prows (battering rams on the front of the ships) thrust violently, but their efforts and impact prove useless. They make attempts in vain and waste all their labor and ammunition, the big ship goes safely and smoothly on its way. Sometimes it happens that, struck by formidable blows, it gets large, deep gaps in its sides, but no sooner is the harm done than a gentle breeze blows from the two columns and the cracks close up and the gaps are stopped immediately.  Meanwhile, the guns of the assailants are blown up, the rifles and other arms and prows are broken, many ships are shattered and sink into the sea. Then, the frenzied enemies strive to fight hand to hand, with fists, with blows, with blas­phemy and with curses.

All at once, the Pope falls gravely wounded. Immediately, those who are with him run to help him and they lift him up. A second time the Pope is struck, he falls again and dies. A shout of victory and of joy rings out amongst the enemies, from their ships an unspeakable mockery arises.  But hardly is the Pontiff dead than another Pope takes his place. The pilots, having met together, have elected the Pope so promptly that the news of the death of the Pope coincides with the news of the election of the successor. The adver­saries begin to lose courage.  The new Pope, putting the enemy to rout and overcoming every obstacle, guides the ship right up to the two columns and comes to rest between them. He makes it fast with a light chain that hangs from the bow to an anchor of the column on which stands the Host, and with another light chain which hangs from the stern, he fastens it at the opposite end to another anchor hanging from the column on which stands the Immaculate Virgin.

Then a great convulsion takes place. All the ships that until then had fought against the Pope’s ship are scattered, they flee away, collide and break to pieces one against another. Some sink and try to sink others. Several small ships that had fought gallantly for the Pope race to be the first to bind themselves to those two columns.  Many other ships, having retreated through fear of the battle, cautiously watch from far away the wrecks of the bro­ken ships having been scattered in the whirlpools of the sea, they in their turn sail in good earnest to those two columns, and, having reached them, they make themselves fast to the hooks hanging down from them and there they remain safe, together with the principal ship, on which is the Pope. Over the sea there reigns a great calm.

Fr. Bosco asked Don Rua, “What do you think of the story?” and the other priest offered this evaluation: “It seems to me that the Pope’s ship might mean the Church, of which he is the head. The ships, men, the sea, this world. Those who defend the big ship are the good, lovingly attached to the Holy See. The others are her enemies, who try with every kind of weapon to annihilate her. The two columns of salvation seem to be devotion to Mary Most Holy and to the Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist.”

“You are right!” our saint replied, “Only I ought to correct one expression. The enemy ships are persecutions. The most serious trials for the Church are near at hand. That which has been so far is almost nothing in the face of that which must befall. Her enemies are represented by the ships that tried to sink the principal ship if they could.  Only two means are left to save her amidst so much confusion: DEVOTION TO MARY MOST HOLY and FREQUENT COMMUNION, making use of every means and doing our best to practice them and having them practiced everywhere and by everybody.”

– Fr. Dominic Rankin has often seen a minor version of the Eucharistic miracle given to Don Bosco.  The saint was offering Mass for 360 boys in 1848 and realized that he only had 8 consecrated hosts in the tabernacle (rather than the hundreds they had expected).  He calmly took the ciborium, began to distribute Jesus to all, and never fell short!  His server, Guiseppe Buzzetti, testified to the miracle.  I have never had that much of a shortfall, but it is uncommonly often that it appears that we will never have enough hosts at Mass, and yet there is always enough.  Praise God!