Last May, we lost a long-time parishioner who we affectionately considered one of our parish saints.  She tried to attend Mass every day, even though the weather might be bad, which was made all the more difficult by her being over 90 years old and needing the assistance of a walker to move around.  On many of the Sundays, she would come to Mass with her husband who was also slowed down by age as much as she was, if not more.  Whenever he would come forward for Holy Communion, the minister would say “The Body of Christ” to which he would respond, as we all do: “Amen.”  However, his Amen could be heard throughout the entire Church, even up in the choir loft!  I always found it somewhat inspiring to hear him proclaim what I have considered the Great Amen.

I share that story to introduce the final of the eight main elements of the Eucharistic Prayer outlined by the General Instruction of the Roman Missal.  We read the following about the conclusion of this central moment of the Mass:

The concluding doxology, by which the glorification of God is expressed and which is affirmed and concluded by the people’s acclamation Amen.

(GIRM, 79h)

The people’s acclamation after the concluding Doxology is sometimes referred to as the Great Amen.  Although I affectionately called the response of the elderly man above the Great Amen, this point of the Mass is properly called by this name.  But I think his example can still be a point of reflection for us.  No doubt this man’s Amen, which is sometimes translated as “I believe”, or “So bet it”, was a profession of faith that the Eucharist is indeed the Body of Christ (and His Blood, soul, and divinity).  It is no mere symbol that we received, but Jesus Himself.  So too at the end of the Eucharistic Prayer, we are giving assent to all that has happened during this key section of the celebration of the Mass.  We affirm that we have just encountered the most important part of the Mass, and that all that has been done in the Eucharistic Prayer is for God’s glory.

As we know, throughout the Eucharistic Prayer, it is the celebrant who is doing all of the verbal praying.  The rest of the faithful actively participate through listening and uniting your hearts to the sacrifice taking place.  It is really only at this point of the Eucharistic Prayer where everybody (except the priest, of course) is called to respond.  The Great Amen belongs to the congregation – it is your part of the Eucharistic Prayer!  We want to make our response count.  We want it to be a proclamation of faith and praise.  Sure, maybe we are not confident with our signing voice, but we should try to do our best to be intentional about our response here.  It is one single word, but how powerful that word can be when it is backed up by a deep faith in the person making that proclamation.

As we come to the conclusion on our reflections on the Eucharistic Prayer (though I may do a few more follow-up topics related to this part of the Mass), I invite us all to consider how intentionally we have been approaching this most important part of the celebration of the liturgy.  The entire Mass is important, to be sure, but the Eucharistic Prayer is the pinnacle of the Mass.  We stand to gain so much more from the Mass by our full, active, and conscious participation in the Eucharistic Prayer.  To the extent that we do this from the beginning of the prayer, we will be eager as it comes to a close to offer our part with a joyful and faithful expression of the Great Amen.

Father Alford     

Feast Day: January 28^th 

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

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

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

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

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

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