After praying to be delivered from all evil, we now pray more specifically for the grace of peace and unity to be granted to the Church as the celebrant says:

Lord Jesus Christ, who said to your Apostles: Peace I leave you, my peace I give you; look not on our sins, but on the faith of your Church, and graciously grant her peace and unity in accordance with your will.

The beginning of this prayer is taken directly from Jesus’s Last Supper Discourse, as He speaks about the coming of the Advocate, the Holy Spirit.  There is an important line that Jesus says immediately after the promise of His peace, where He says: “Not as the world gives do I give it to you.” (Jn 14:27)

What do we do when our peace is disturbed?  When we feel the burden of our sins, the consequences of things that we have done or have had done to us, or the unease of feeling out of sorts, where do we turn?  We often start with the many worldly outlets in order to try to reclaim peace.  We might get up and step outside for a walk or get some exercise of some sort.  We might call a friend to take our mind off of our current troubles.  More dangerously, we may turn to things that work to distract us, such as food or drink.  These days, more often than not, we pull out our phone and start scrolling mindlessly.  We do anything to avoid that uncomfortable feeling of a lack of peace.  Only after we have run out of options do we turn to God as though He is a last resort.

But the Lord is inviting us to turn to Him first for peace, and His peace is wholly different from what all of these worldly things promise.  Sure, they may give us some relief and produce calm, but simply feeling peace is not the peace that the Lord wants to give to us.  His peace is much deeper than just a feeling.  The peace He gives is the assurance that He is indeed with us, that despite the chaos that surrounds us, He is there with His loving presence to strengthen us and guide us.

One of the greatest ways in which the Lord restores our peace is through the Sacrament of Penance.  I was struck a few years ago with the words that the priest says in the words of absolution, just before the essential words.  He prays that the Lord will grant the penitent “pardon and peace.”  When people come to confession, they feel a lack of peace due to their sins, and it can be difficult to confess their faults.  But after their sins have been wiped away, a remarkable change takes place.  Peace is restored, and the peace is often very tangible as they leave the confessional.  Sure they may feel more peaceful, but the Lord has given them an even more profound peace by drawing them into deeper intimacy with the Trinity, where the love of God guards the peace of His presence.

As we prepare for our reception of Holy Communion in just a few moments, Jesus is promising to give us this same gift of peace.  He comes to dwell in us through the Eucharist and He brings His peace, a peace that reminds us that whatever burdens we may be feeling in our lives at that moment, the Lord is there.  He wants to strengthen us with His grace to face those challenges with the peace of knowing we do not have to solve those problems alone.  We might say that with the Eucharist, the Lord is granting us “nourishment and peace.”  Just because we may not feel that peace in the same way as after going to confession does not mean that that same peace is not there, and for that, we should be most grateful.

Here is a challenge that I would like offer to you this week.  Try to notice how often you turn to worldly things to try to combat the lack of peace in your daily life.  Instead of turning first to your phone or some other distraction, turn to the Lord.  Let yourself hear Jesus making the same promise He made to His Apostles at the Last Supper: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.” (Jn 14:27)

Father Alford     

Feast Day: March 3^rd 

Last week we accompanied Katherine Drexel up to the point when in a dramatic conversation with Pope Leo XIII, she found her desire to help the poor in America utterly redirected from philanthropic proposals, to a radical giving up of her fortune and dedicating her own life to loving them.  

She conversed with a long-time family friend, Fr. James O’Connor (by this time Bp. O’Connor, a wonderful priest, now given the spectacular title “Vicar Apostolic of Nebraska”), thinking perhaps to become a contemplative nun, uncertain with this idea of becoming a missionary. “I know the privations, the trials, the temptations, and I ask myself, could I go through all these things in a manner suitable for edifying the religious of my order?” His response was unequivocal, “I was never so sure of any vocation, not even my own, as I am of yours. If you do not establish the order in question, you will allow to pass an opportunity of doing immense service to the Church which may not occur again. … Even as a foundress, you will have your faults, but God not you will do the work. He often makes use of very weak instruments. The question is not will you be all you should be, but does God will you to be his instrument.…”

Bp. O’Connor, perhaps unbeknownst to Catherine, had actually traveled to Chicago to speak about the matter with another leading churchman of the day, Archbishop John Ireland (he, fittingly, had been born in the Emerald Isle, making the arduous journey to America with his 8 siblings and mother after the Irish potato famine. From there he would become a priest in the Midwest, chaplain during the Civil war, and by the time of this conversation, a leading and patriotic Archbishop in Minneapolis). Ireland’s thoughts were just as emphatic: “Miss Drexel is just the person to do it, and if she does not undertake it, it will remain undone.” Miss Drexel, meanwhile, decided to go on a retreat, and on March 19, 1889, finally received the grace of docility to the Lord’s plans. She wrote Bp. O’Connor with joy and peace “that I could promise Our Lord to please Him by entering fully into your plan of founding an order. As long as I look on self, I cannot. Our Lord gives and will give me the grace always to look at Him.” For the rest of her life, she would always recount that “The feast of St. Joseph brought me the grace to give the remainder of my life to the Indians and the Colored.” 

And so, in 1889, one of the richest women in the world, gave it all away to become a nun. She first begun her postulancy with the Sisters of Mercy in 1889, then made her first vows on February 12, 1891, thereby establishing under her leadership the religious congregation of the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament for Indians and Colored. 

I, Katherine Drexel, called in religion Sister Mary Katharine . . . do vow and promise to God . . . Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience, and to be the Mother and Servant of the Indian and Negro Races . . . nor shall I undertake any work which may lead to the neglect and abandonment of the Indian and Colored Races.

She would lead that congregation for decades, only slowing down when a massive heart attack in the 1930s left her bedridden for the final twenty years of her life. She would devote immense funds and energy to educate, clothe, feed, and fight for the innate dignity of all oppressed throughout the United States. She traveled all over the country, establishing schools and homes for minorities and oppressed of all sorts, suffering not just the troubles of traveling and accepting the same poverty of those she loved, but also threats and violence from incredible vitriol that her charity stirred up. A bombing was threatened as she opened one convent, St. Elizabeth’s House, thankfully not carried out as she undoubtedly laid the cornerstone. Various of her schools and other buildings were burned down from the backlash her work received. The Ku Klux Klan nailed this notice to one of her schools in Texas: “We give you one week to suppress [services at the parish] or a flogging and tar and feathering will follow.” The week slowly passed, her sisters and their school children living under that horrible threat, but Sr. Katherine did not flinch, and before the week concluded a tornado ripped through the area, demolishing two of the Klan’s strongholds outside of the town. The school remained open.

Mother Katherine faced down ridicule from all sides, and stood against bigotry of every kind, but hers was never a staunch or stoic sanctity. Joy radiated from her, especially amidst the hardships of her call. Even during the last two decades of her life, bedridden, an utterly different cross from the ones she had carried for so many years, but it allowed her to spend her last years with Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, simply praying for her sisters and the poor they sought to love and protect. 

– Fr. Dominic finds in some of St. Katherine’s words, a timely word of encouragement: “If we wish to serve God and love our neighbor well, we must manifest our joy in the service we render to Him and them. Let us open wide our hearts. It is joy which invites us. Press forward and fear nothing.”

The final petition of the Lord’s Prayer asks the Father to “deliver us from evil.”  It is interesting how the next line that the celebrant prays is: “Deliver us, Lord, we pray, from every evil.”  The work of the evil one is to try to divide us from the Lord and from one another, and so it is indeed fitting that we are praying to be delivered from evil at this point of the Mass.  We have just prayed together to our Father, asking Him to give us our daily bread, to forgive us our trespasses, to not allow us to be led into temptation, and to deliver us from evil.  In just a few moments, we will be receiving Holy Communion, a word which signifies union with the Lord and one another, strengthened by the Sacrament of Unity, the Eucharist.

On the night after the Last Supper, when Jesus was praying to the Father, He stressed His deepest desire for unity in His Church: 

“I do not pray for these only, but also for those who believe in me through their word, that they may all be one; even as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory which you have given me I have given to them, that they may be one even as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.

(Jn 17:20–23)

The Church often refers to this passage when reflecting on the divisions that exist within Christianity, with the various denominations believing a worshipping in a variety of ways.  And while in a general sense we can say that this division has the fingerprints of the evil one, I think for the purposes of our reflection, we want to consider how we within the Church are divided through the influence of the evil one and our own weaknesses.  In my article three weeks ago, I referenced Matthew’s Gospel, where Jesus says that “a house divided against itself will not stand.” (Mt. 12:25)  Unfortunately, when I typed out that line a few weeks ago I forgot a very important word – NOT.  Thanks to the careful attention of one of the readers of the column, I was made aware of my mistake, for which I apologize.  Back to the point – it would be helpful for us at this point of the Mass to pray with earnestness to the Lord to deliver us from the evils within ourselves and among the members of our congregation that seek to keep us divided.

In particular, I think it can be good to be attentive to anything within us that may be causing us distress (which we also pray to be kept free from in this prayer) as it relates to our experience at this Mass.  Perhaps you notice somebody who you do not think is dressed all that appropriately.  We can stew on the thought of how disrespectful they are being, and we can find ourselves getting agitated as the Mass goes on.  There may be cause for concern, and I am not doing to poke that hornet’s nest now, but notice how quickly we can allow something that offends us to be turned into something not from God.  We start making judgments about the other person, thinking what we would tell them if we had the chance, or what we are going to tell the pastor so that he can tell them.  We get caught in that cycle and our hearts are far from the unity Christ desires for us.  Other examples abound, such as somebody who is always a half sentence behind or ahead in the prayers, somebody whose singing is not the best, the homily we heard that we did not agree with, the unacceptable temperature of the church, etc.  It might even be a situation not present at Mass, but which is weighing heavily on us as we try to pray at Mass.

Let us be mindful of those things and ask the Lord for His grace to deliver us from the evil of judgment and lack of charity that we sometimes are stuck in during Mass.  This is not to dismiss the need for conversion that might be present in ourselves or in others, but it does mean asking the Lord to free us from any of the shackles that are clearly not from the Lord so that we can better realize His desire for us to all be one.

My challenge for this week is a brief one: spend some time thinking about someone that really gets under your skin.  Instead of gossiping about them to family, friends, or co-workers, talk about them to the Lord.  Tell Him what bothers you about them, pray for their conversion, but just as importantly, pray for your conversion, that you might not be handcuffed by the division in your heart that exists toward them.  Then bring that person to prayer by once again praying the Lord’s Prayer.

Father Alford     

 Feast Day: March 3^rd 

I recently came across an article that included several pictures of saints when they were kids. It had the famous pictures of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, curly hair and impish grin smiling back at us, and the shepherd children of Fatima, Jacinta scowling at the camera with her hand on hip. You will find it well worth your while to check out the other less famous but just as delightful photos at https://www.churchpop.com/photos-12-saints-children/ (or hit the qr code).

But I would like to focus on one particular photo this week, of St. Katherine Drexel at the age of 7. It was probably taken in the summer of 1866, with Catherine’s older sister, Elizabeth, being a few years older than her and her younger (half) sister Louise being only 3. Catherine (her birth name, it would change to Katherine when she took her religious name), was the second girl of her parents Francis and Hannah, but her mother would pass away just 5 weeks after she was born. Her father remarried Emma Bouvier, a Catholic, in 1860, and they lived a pious, if privileged life. Kittie, as she was called, enjoyed the best schools and countless trips around America and Europe and was widely thought to be the prettiest of the girls, each of them set to inherit the millions that their father, a Philadelphia banker, had amassed (equivalent to hundreds of millions of dollars today, the fortune begun when Catherine’s grandfather had entered into a partnership with John Pierpoint [J.P.] Morgan). 

But their family would also give tremendous amounts of money to the poor, Emma being widely known around Philadelphia as “lady bountiful”, taking her girls out on walks around the city to find those who were too timid to come asking for help. Francis was of the same mind – helping his wife distribute food, clothing, and rent-assistance to all who needed it – and would leave a tenth of his fortune to charities upon his death in 1885, with the rest of it going to provide for his daughters and their children, and reverting to charitable institutions if they did not use it. He would pray for 30 minutes every evening, leaving an indelible mark of prayerfulness and godliness on his daughters.

But those were the remote influences on Catherine’s vocation. It was one of those family-trips, this time out west, that was the occasion for an utterly unexpected call from God. It was one year before her father would die, and the 20-something year old Catherine was moved by the plight of the Native Americans she saw there. All those moments aiding the poor around Philadelphia, and the poverty of so many different minorities she had seen in their travels all came back to her mind. The Lord was calling her to do something for them. After the death of her father, Catherine and her sisters gave a large donation to the St. Francis Mission of South Dakota’s Rosebud Reservation, but the nagging thought that she should do more for them remained in her heart. Again, the extraordinary prosperity of her family ended up opening another door on the path God had in mind for her: the girls went on a trip to Europe in 1887 and met with Pope St. Leo XIII, author of the magnificent encyclical, Rerum Novarum, in which he lambasted the conditions in factories of the industrial revolution, calling Christians everywhere to uphold the dignity of their workers and grant a wage sufficient for their families. 

Now, our wealthy Catherine approaches him, and asks the wizened Pope to send missionaries to these suffering poor in America. Presumably she could finance the entire operation, and possibly it was this idea that she proposed to the Holy Father, but instead he looked at her and said “Why not, my child, yourself become a missionary?” Why not, indeed!? Katherine tried to entertain the idea, but wrote in her journal “I do not know how I could bear the privations of poverty of the religious life. I have never been deprived of luxuries.” It was not necessarily a selfish thought, but a practical one. Could she commit to such a hard life, living it with joy, despite having never experienced anything of the sort? Could she give up not just the fortune, but all the comforts that she had always had to follow this call? Would she?

– Fr. Dominic will return to Katherine’s story, her discernment to come, and the glories accomplished through her, next week. In the meantime, perhaps all of us would find it a powerful prayer to look back on a picture of ourselves as a child of 7, recalling the graces that God has given to us in the years since. Think of the ways you have followed His plan, but also ways that you haven’t followed Him fully. Consider how much love God had for you as a kid, and has for you now, and has given to you every single year between then and now. God has never been annoyed with you, no matter where on life’s journey you were at. He only ever showers us with love and affection, though always calls us to more faithfully follow after Him. 

When opening our bulletin each week, I think it is safe to say that most people first focus on the page that begins with the Rector’s Column.  I say that not in a prideful way, as I am certain people skip right over that page as well, perhaps maybe pausing to look at the Mass intentions for the week, before looking at the rest of the bulletin.  The page to the left, which lists the clergy, staff, and service times at the Cathedral, is often passed over, as this page will remain the same week in and week out, so why even give it a look?  This week, though, there is a significant change that I want to make sure does not go unnoticed.  A name that has been a part of the bulletins for more than three decades is sadly missing.  Bill Vogt, the who had the official title of “Office and Plant Manager” passed away on Saturday, February 17.  That title hardly does justice to all that Bill has done over the years here at the Cathedral.  He was the institutional knowledge of this place, having worked under three bishops, five rectors, and many other clergy and staff who have been a part of this place he loved.  Bill was the thread that maintained continuity over all of those years.  Anytime there was a question about where something was, he would pause and say: “Let me think about it”, and before long, he would have an answer.

I am usually the first to get up every morning and I will normally head down to the church around 5 AM to pray.  There were many mornings when, as I was descending the steps, looking out on the parking lot, I would see Bill rolling in to start the day.  When he would prepare dinner for the house, there were times when he wouldn’t leave until close to 7 PM.  To say that Bill was dedicated to this parish would be an understatement, to say the least.  As much as he was dedicated to the operations of the parish, he was especially dedicated to the bishops and priests who have lived here over the years.  When I first came to the Cathedral as Bishop’s Priest Secretary and Master of Ceremonies in 2013, Bill and I quickly became friends.  While I was praying in the church each morning, he would come in with his cart to work on replacing the candles in the votive shrines.  As he walked down the aisle, I would look up at him, and he would give me his familiar two-finger wave.  Over the past year or more, as he has slowed down, he’s not been doing those candles, even though he was still coming in early each morning.  And as I recall now that greeting we would share each morning, even though it’s been a while since it last happened, my heart is heavy.  This is just one of the many memories I will forever cherish about my relationship with Bill.

There is so much that can be said about Bill and all that he meant to me personally and to so many of us, but I am at a loss for words to write much more.  Bill was truly a friend to many and our hearts are broken at our loss.  But as Christians, we always have hope in the Resurrection, for ourselves and for our loved ones who have passed away.  Since I have been reflecting on the Eucharistic Prayer recently in these articles, I would like to conclude with the prayers added to the Third Eucharistic Prayer for Masses for the Dead, words which I always find powerful and comforting.  May they be a source of comfort and hope for us who have known and loved Bill and now commend him to God’s mercy.

Remember your servant William whom you have called from this world to yourself.  Grant that he who was united with your Son in a death like his, may also be one with him in his Resurrection, when from the earth he will raise up in the flesh those who have died, and transform our lowly body after the pattern of his own glorious body.  To our departed brothers and sisters, too, and to all who were pleasing to you at their passing from this life, give kind admittance to your kingdom.  There we hope to enjoy for ever the fullness of your glory, when you will wipe away every tear from our eyes.  For seeing you, our God, as you are, we shall be like you for all the ages and praise you without end, through Christ our Lord, through whom you bestow on the world all that is good.

Father Alford     

Feast Day: February 25^th 

Fr. Dominic Vahling made the happy connection between last week’s St. Kuriakose, who’s name (derived from the Greek word “Kyrie”) means “of the Lord” and the name “Dominic”, which means the same thing (derived from the Latin word “Dominus”). So, I figured we should keep up that “Lordly” theme, and get to know Blessed Domenico Lentini this week.

Domenico was born on November 20^th, 1770, in the Kingdom of Naples Italy, the youngest of five siblings, the son of a cordwainer (I must clarify that in researching his life I discovered that his father, a shoemaker, would not, technically, be called a cobbler. Cobblers “cobbled” things together, as in they only worked with old shoes: repairing, replacing broken bits, reinforcing, etc. Cordwainers, instead, fashioned new shoes out of leather, the term derived from “cordovan”, a leather from Cordoba, Spain. Needless to say, cordwainers don’t take kindly to being called mere cobblers, though hopefully Macario, Domenico’s dad, wouldn’t take too much affront to it.)

In any case, Domenico, along with his older siblings Dominique, Rosa, Nicholas, and Antoinette, grew up with few material comforts other than good shoes. Famines struck Italy throughout the 1760s, stretching and breaking previous political arrangements, all further upended as revolutions swept through America, then France, and Napoleon began his rampage around Europe. Still, this family lived a simple and faithful life as that hectic 18^th century drew to its close. Dominic’s mother, before she died, consecrated the little Dominic to the Lord, a grace that was evident in his childlike piety, though he was also a very ordinary boy, taking delight in climbing trees, often in pursuit of terrified birds (he did repent of the harm caused them later on). At the age of 14 he received the call to be a priest. Perhaps inspired by an uncle who was already a priest, and a classmate who had entered the seminary just before him, the young man discovered a deeper delight than his boyhood shenanigans in studying to be a priest. That said, his path through seminary was also not without hurdles. The cost of the seminary which he started at was far too high for his family to pay, so he actually did much of his formation in his hometown where he received formation from his local priests. His father the shoemaker actually pawned off their home in order to pay for his schooling, a debt that Dominic would repay after his ordination, but also an indication of how much he was willing to help his son follow God’s call.

In 1793, Domenico was ordained deacon in Mormanno, and on the feast of Pentecost, June 8, 1794, was ordained a priest in the Cathedral of Marsiconuovo. He held fast to priestly holiness in the simplest manner: hearing confessions with generosity, offering the Mass with as much devotion as he could muster, teaching his flock theology and philosophy, preaching with integrity and humility (his parishioners especially recall his moving homilies during Lent), living a frugal and charitable life. He was said to have the gift of prophecy – not so much in predicting the future as helping his hurting or fearful parishioners hold fast to God’s healing Love. And so Fr. Dominic Lentini passed 36 years of priestly ministry, receiving the last sacraments three days before he died from that same priest-friend who had preceded him into seminary, Fr. Joseph Ielpo, one of his closest friends through all those years.

– Fr. Dominic can’t help but notice that Fr. Domenico became a saint by simply doing what a priest is supposed to do. Nothing fancy, no spectacular homilies, no amazing foundations or ministries, no surge of conversions or incredible miracles. He just offered the sacraments as best he could and kept the Love of God alive in his, and others’ souls. THIS ISN’T EASY! One cannot passively “do little things with great love”: our love wanes, our desire for God gets distracted, our zeal gets hijacked by worldly things … we must constantly recommit ourselves to loving the first things first, to prioritizing the pearl of great price, to being faithful to our duties (and not our distractions). Bl. Domenico Lentini challenges all of us to persevere in this, and perhaps Lent is a gift insofar as it always invites us back to receiving and giving God’s Love in the simple ways He asks us to.