Feast Day: December 10^th

The date was November 2^nd, 1591. William Shakespeare was at that time putting the finishing touches on his play, Henry VI, Part 1. Uncannily anticipating the Marvel Cinematic Universe by centuries, this play would eventually stand alongside seven further plays of the next several years, prequals and sequels enthralling thousands with their interconnected depiction of the heroes, heroines, and villains involved in the rise of the English Kings and War of the Roses. 

Mr. Swithun Wells – a poet, schoolmaster, European traveler, country gentleman, and revert to Catholicism – was the owner of a comfortable country home near Gray’s Inn, on the (then) outskirts of London, just across the Thames from where Shakespeare’s play would debut 6 months later. Swithun was, on that chilly morning, regretting that he wasn’t home because his wife, Margaret (or Alice) and three gentlemen, John Mason, Sidney Hodgson, and Brian Lacey, were participating in a Mass celebrated at the Wells home by Fr. Edmund Gennings. Two other priests, Fr. Eustace White (31) and Fr. Polydore Plasden (27) were also present, but must have offered the younger priest the privilege of celebrating Mass on the feast of All Souls.

Perhaps Fr. Edmund asked if he could. He had been ordained one year before and was only 24 years old. His nickname from seminary, turned his codename in the underground Catholic Church under Elizabethan England, was “Ironmonger.” (Hilariously, this is the name of a Marvel comic-book character who tries to takeover Tony Stark’s company and gain control of his Ironman technology). Fr. Edmund had lost all of his immediate family except for a brother while in seminary in France (a loss made all the more tragic by their previous rejection of him for his choice to remain Catholic, and become a Catholic priest). No doubt he offered some of those sorrows to God, and entrusted the souls of his estranged and fallen-away parents to the Lord, while celebrating Mass on that solemn feast. 

As the Consecration was concluding, heavy fists beat upon the door. Richard Topcliffe, the remorseless and vicious priest-hunter of Queen Elizabeth I had arrived. He was renowned for his tenacity in hunting down Catholics, especially priests, and torturing them to death in all sorts of horrible ways. Certainly, his reputation was known to those in the room as they held the door against Her Majesty’s forces while Fr. Edmund finished offering Mass. Swithun, hurrying back, having been arrested before, knew what to expect too, when he joined his wife, the three priests, and the other men as they were captured.

Topcliffe would torture each man over the coming weeks (Alice was pardoned for the moment) killing them all on December 10^th 1591. He hung Fr. White for eight hours in iron manacles. The priest’s only reply: “Lord, more pain if Thou pleases and more patience.” Also martyred at Tyburn, Fr. Polydore’s proclamation before being hung as a traitor was to acknowledge and pray for Elizabeth, but that he could not deny His Savior for her: “I am a Catholic priest, therefore I would never fight, nor counsel others to fight against my religion, for that were to deny my faith.” Looking up to heaven and kissing the rope on which he would hang, he continued, “O Christ, I will never deny Thee for a thousand lives.” The three laymen were likewise killed at Tyburn.

On the same day Swithun watched the gibbit rise near his home for his own execution. Fr. Gennings was hung (and drawn and quartered) first and, amid his tortures, only said “Saint Gregory, pray for me.” In a turn of phrase that could have just as easily been spoken by a comic-book villain, his executioner was said to have exclaimed “Zounds! See, his heart is in my hand, and yet Gregory is in his mouth. O egregious Papist.” The priest’s words, though, gave courage to Mr. Wells, who jested with Topcliffe’s insults as he mounted the scaffold, but then asked his torturer’s pardon for he needed to turn his mind to more important matters. Genning’s words would, unbeknownst to him, also bring about the conversion of his scornful brother, John, who would go on to be ordained a Franciscan priest:

 [John, writing this himself in the third-person] made long discourses concerning his religion and his brother’s, comparing the Catholic manner of living with his, and finding the one to embrace pain and mortification, and the other to seek pleasure. the one to live strictly, and the other licentiously; the one to fear sin, the other to run into all kinds of sin. Upon this, being struck with exceeding terror and remorse, he wept bitterly, desiring God, after his fashion, to illuminate his understanding that he might see and perceive the truth. Oh! what great joy and consolation did he feel at that instant; what reverence on the sudden did he begin to bear to the Blessed Virgin and to the Saints of God, which before he had never scarce heard tell of; what strange motions, as it were inspirations, with exceeding readiness of will to change his religion, took possession of his soul; and what a heavenly conceit had he now of his dear brother’s felicity! He imagined he saw him; he thought he heard him. In this ecstasy of mind, he made a vow upon the spot, as he lay prostrate on the ground, To forsake kindred and country to find out the true knowledge of his brother’s faith; which vow he soon after performed, and departed England without advertising any one of his friends, and went beyond the seas to execute his promise.

– Fr. Dominic invites you this week to join him in imagining yourself at that last Mass of Fr. Gennings. What would their thoughts be while receiving Holy Communion as Topcliffe battered the door? What are yours, and mine, as we receive Jesus ourselves?

Last week, I introduced the Eucharistic Prayer and quoted that important line in the General Instruction of the Roman Missal that this part of the Mass is “the center and high point of the entire celebration.” (GIRM, 78)

The GIRM explains that there are seven main elements of the Eucharistic Prayer, beginning fittingly with thanksgiving.  We read the following:

The thanksgiving (expressed especially in the Preface), in which the Priest, in the name of the whole of the holy people, glorifies God the Father and gives thanks to him for the whole work of salvation or for some particular aspect of it, according to the varying day, festivity, or time of year.

(GIRM, 79)

The invitation to thanksgiving begins with that powerful exchange between celebrant and congregation which begins every Preface:

Extending his hands, he says: The Lord be with you.
The people reply:  And with your spirit.
The Priest, raising his hands, continues: Lift up your hearts.
The people:  We lift them up to the Lord.
The Priest, with hands extended, adds: Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
The people: It is right and just.

Most prefaces then continue to emphasize thanksgiving with these or similar words:

It is truly right and just, our duty and our salvation,
always and everywhere to give you thanks,
Lord, holy Father, almighty and eternal God,
through Christ our Lord.

Since this dialog and the first words of the Preface are almost always identical, we know that this is another one of those places in the Mass where we can easily fall into our routine responses, given more out of muscle memory that out of true devotion and thanksgiving.

Think about how radical these words are, though.  In our hearts, we let the priest celebrant speak on our behalf that it is “right and just” for us to give thanks “always and everywhere.”  This echoes the sentiment of St. Paul who wrote: “Rejoice always.  Pray without ceasing.  In all circumstances give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

When we truly enter into this prayer, we acknowledge that all that we have is a gift, and for that we thank God for His abundant generosity.  But we also thank Him for those things in our lives which we do not consider blessings – such as sufferings, disappointments, and discouragements.  But we believe what St. Paul also tells us, “that all things work for the good for those who love God.” (Rom 8:28)  We may not always feel like giving thanks to God for these things, but as we pray, so we must believe, that it is ”truly right and just” for us to do so.  And if we are having trouble reconciling that tension of saying something we do not yet fully believe, we take comfort in trusting that the gifts offered on the altar are about to be transformed into the Body and Blood, soul and divinity of Jesus, so too may our half-hearted offering of thanks be transformed into a pleasing sacrifice of thanks to the Lord for everything. This includes all that He has given, and all that He has allowed in His Providence for us to experience.  For nothing is outside of the Lord’s awareness, and there is nothing He does not desire to heal and bless through His abundant generosity.  For that, we give thanks!

Father Alford     

Feast Day: November 30^th | Patronage: of Scotland, Barbados, Georgia, Ukraine, Russia, Greece, Cyprus, Romania, Patras, and Burgundy; for Fishermen, Fishmongers, Rope & Textile Makers, Singers, Butchers, Farm-Workers; Protects against Fever, Cough, Convulsions, Sore throats, and for Pregnant women | Iconography: Holding Book or Scroll (as Apostle), Leaning on Saltire (X/Diagonal Cross; from his martyrdom), With Fishing Net (as Fisherman), With Crazy White Hair (Because Making Disciples does that to you).

While walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon (who is called Peter) and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him.

– Matthew 4:18-20

If you will, put yourself in this scene, in the sandals of Simon and Andrew. They were fishermen, living in Capernaum, going out on the Sea of Galilee to catch fish and sell them to makes ends meet. Not a particularily prominent industry, but important. Simon has a Aramaic name, but his younger brother Andrew has a Greek name, which immediately brings to mind the mix of Jews and Greeks that lived up here, as well as the Roman governors who kept an eye on things, and levied a tax on the brothers every time they caught a fish.

Then they encountered John the Baptist and these were the kind of men who took the prophetic character seriously. Something about this man from the desert – calling out sin, calling for repentance, claiming the messiah was on his way – captured their solid, hardworking, but faithful hearts. Later in the Gospels Andrew’s being practical, pragmatic, and hardy is reinforced. He’s the guy who pointed out the kid with five loaves and two fish before the multiplication in Galilee (John 6:8-9). He is also the one when Jesus predicts the destruction of the Temple to push aside his horror and ask “when will this be?” (Mark 13:4) 

But it is also Andrew (with Philip, the two apostles with Greek names) who bring some Greeks who were in Jerusalem for the Passover to meet Jesus.  Now, this is right before His passion, so it displays that same pragmatic bent: “well, I don’t know what to say to them … and I know Jesus has things on His mind … but I’m just going to bring them to Him.”  BUT, this little scene brings out something else about Andrew: He invited people to meet Jesus. Here he does it with the Greeks, earlier he did it with Simon his own brother. 

And this is where I hope he can inspire and help all of us this week. He was just a fisherman, nothing special there. He had a certain practical, blue-collar, realistic approach to just about anything. Yet this does not slow him down from making disciples of those around him. He doesn’t give some glorious, convincing, engaging pitch. He doesn’t have the mind to win arguments or write epistles. He isn’t, at this beginning, working miracles or convicting sinners. He doesn’t even seem to have the closest relationship to Jesus (compared to Peter, James, or John) or have some sort of leg-up on the spiritual life. He just knows something about who Jesus is, how Jesus has called him, and he just extends the invitation to concrete people around him.

Our challenge this week: I want all of us to consider how we have come to follow Jesus, and then tell that story to one other person. Four steps (these are all from Acts 26, when St. Paul gives his testimony to Agrippa!):

1. My life before knowing Jesus intimately – What was I like socially, spiritually, emotionally before Christ impacted me? (Paul speaks about his devotion to Judaism, how it prepared, but also closed him off to Jesus.)
2. How I came to know Jesus, and His Church – What happened when I encountered Jesus (perhaps in a new, or gradual way)? Who or what brought me into deeper relationship with Jesus? (Paul talks about the road to Damascus.)
3. Life in Christ – How do I live now? What has changed inside my heart, in my actions, in my plans or dreams? (Paul tells of the dramatic conversion that happened in him and how he has now gone to preach the Gospel).
4. What next? – Speak on where Jesus continues to work in you – none of us are finished yet! But, also ask the other person for their response. What if Jesus entered their life? What if they said “yes” to Him? Where might He be inviting them?

– Fr. Dominic hasn’t got this figured out either! And neither did Andrew! But he went from just fishing, to following the messiah, to proclaiming that message to the whole world. But the key was just telling others the story of how he met the Lord. 

After preparing the altar with the gifts to be presented to the Lord, it is now time for us to enter into the Eucharistic Prayer, which the General Instruction of the Roman Missal describes as “the center and high point of the entire celebration.” (GIRM, 78) The GIRM goes on to summarize the Eucharistic Prayer in this way:

The Priest calls upon the people to lift up their hearts towards the Lord in prayer and thanksgiving; he associates the people with himself in the Prayer that he addresses in the name of the entire community to God the Father through Jesus Christ in the Holy Spirit. Furthermore, the meaning of this Prayer is that the whole congregation of the faithful joins with Christ in confessing the great deeds of God and in the offering of Sacrifice. The Eucharistic Prayer requires that everybody listens to it with reverence and in silence. (GIRM, 78)

The Eucharistic Prayer, though said by the celebrant of the Mass, involves the entire congregation.  Even though we are called to “listen to it with reverence in silence”, our hearts must be active in uniting ourselves to the prayer.  While the priest is exercising his ministerial priesthood, the rest of the faithful are exercising their common, baptismal priesthood at this point.  As a priest who celebrates Mass, I know that the Eucharist is a necessary gift for me to grow in holiness, but I also know that my worthy celebration of these sacred mysteries is at the service of the congregation present, and the entire Church, both on earth and in Purgatory.  When the faithful approach their participation at Mass with an understanding that they too are priests, the same dynamic is at play.  Though we each benefit individually from the Eucharist, the exercise of our priesthood in the Mass benefits the entire Church.  This is expressed beautifully in the faithful’s response to the invitation to prayer just before the Eucharistic Prayer begins: “May the Lord accept the sacrifice at your hands, for the praise and glory of His name, for our good and the good of all His holy Church.”  No pressure, but the Church is depending on you to fulfill your priesthood well, so let us not let her down!

Perhaps I can touch on a somewhat sensitive topic as I conclude this article.  You will notice, at certain masses, the priest is facing a different direction.  This is called ad orientem which translated means: “to the East.”  The east here is not necessarily true East, but what we would call liturgical East.  The directionality of this posture expresses in a visible way what is happening during the Eucharistic Prayer.  The priest along with the congregation are directing our prayers in the same direction – to God.  As a priest, during the Eucharistic Prayer, I am not addressing the people in the pews, nor are you simply watching and listening to me pray.  We are ALL praying to God, and when we are facing the same direction, that is what is being expressed.  Even when I am celebrating Mass facing the people, you may notice that I never really look at the congregation except when the prayer is directed that way.  Even though I may have many of the words memorized, I still keep my eyes focused on the Missal, on the crucifix on the altar, or the Eucharist in front of me, reminding me as the celebrant to whom I am directing my prayer.  Regardless of which way I am facing, my focus (and yours) should always be on God. 

I have heard it said that people do not like when the priest “turns his back on the people.”  Might I suggest that if that bothers you, perhaps you are focusing too much on the priest and not enough on God?  I do not mean to be insensitive with that comment, but I humbly ask you to consider what I have been trying to explain in this article and how it informs the option when a priest celebrates ad orientem.  Regardless of how you feel about it, let us all receive these words as an invitation to put our priesthood into practice more intentionally by uniting ourselves with the priest in offering all of our attention and our prayers to God.

Feast Day: November 24^th | Patronage: City of Zadar, Croatia| Iconography: Bearded, Arrayed as Roman Military Officer, Carrying emblems of Martyrdom

I want to take you on a tour today. If you walked up to the church of St. Chrysogonus in Rome, you’d see the stout, noble, façade jutting up behind the older 12^th century belltower. Stepping through the vestibule and atrium, you’ll see a classic example of a Baroque (16^th century) Roman Basilica. Ancient columns sedately separate the long nave from narrower aisles down each side of the Church and a coffered ceiling draws the eye upward while your feet are firmly planted on the exquisite comatose floor. Bl. Anna Maria Taigi’s tomb (and incorrupt body) is off to your left along with other monuments, and to the right are frescoes depicting saints and angels. If you walked forward, the ambo is perched on one of the ancient columns above a smattering of pews while the 900 year old altar is canopied by a 500 year old baldachino.

But, if you stepped into the sacristy, you’d find a staircase going down, and if you really want to see Rome, and really see this Church, you should continue down the dim and musty stairwell. As your eyes adjust, you find that you have taken several steps back in time. The City has somehow been built on top of itself over the centuries, so if you go 20 feet down, you also go 20 centuries back in time. You immediately see remnants of an earlier church which sits not quite directly under the current one. Built during the reign of Constantine, you are now standing in the first Christian Church in Rome! Before that Emperor constructed the first Cathedral on the Lateran hill, or the first Basilica over St. Peter’s bones, Christians had already built one here in this bustling section of Trestevere near to the Tiber River. It only had one big nave – no side aisles – but they did build a beautiful apse to arch over the sanctuary and decorated the walls with vivid frescoes (some still visible) over the five centuries they came to this Church. Off to the right side of this church were rooms where the priests would have vested and other things readied for the Sacred Liturgy, a sacristy in our terminology (they would have called it a “secretarium” in Latin or “pastophoria” in Greek). On the other side of the Church, we find a number of basins or pools that would have been adjacent to the body of the church. There, as the Church exploded in numbers during those first centuries, countless people would have received baptism and began to join the Christians in worship.

Two of the basins are, however, are older, even than this 3^rd century Church. They, along with two ancient sarcophagi and some of the crumbled walls, date to before Constantine, perhaps to the days when Rome was a Republic and certainly these were here when persecution raged outside. The extra basins were probably part of a fullonica, where cloth was dyed and cleaned, and the walls are those of a home standing here before the Church was built. Inside that home, Christians would have come to spend the Lord’s day together, celebrating the liturgy, eating and praying and reverencing those martyred. Probably someone would have shared the story of St. Chrysogonus, the Roman military officer who prized his service to Christ over his service to Diocletian, and was killed for it. Most of our stories about him indicate he lived up in northern Italy, though his being so celebrated here in Rome may indicate that he, or a similar martyr, actually lived nearby. Certainly, his story inspired many, because when this group decided to risk building the first Christian Church in a city where Christianity wasn’t yet legal, they entrusted it, and themselves, to his patronage.

He’s also a perfect patron for the Trinitarians who care for the Church today, a religious order that offered themselves in ransom for Christians captured by the Moors.

– Fr. Dominic went to visit this Church every year while he studied in Rome on Monday of the 5^th Week of Lent. Each day of Lent is dedicated to a different ancient Roman Church and people will go there for Mass on that day, so the Basilica of St. Chrysogonus was always our destination this last week before Holy Week. Though we don’t have 40 such Churches to do the same all throughout Lent, our practice of traveling to 7 different churches here in Springfield on the Evening of Holy Thursday to visit the altars of repose is a miniature version of this idea of practicing pilgrimage during the season of Lent (this “7 Church Walk” was an idea revived and made popular by St. Philip Neri.)

In 2011, when the new English translation of the Roman Missal, 3^rd Edition, was introduced, there were several changes to which the priests and people had to adjust.  Of all of the changes that I had to learn as a priest, one of my favorite changes came at the conclusion of the Presentation of the Gifts, just before the Prayer Over the Gifts.  The new words (which are now not so new) said by the priest are as follows:  “Pray, brothers and sisters, that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God, the almighty Father.”

The previous translation only mentioned “our sacrifice.”  There is clearly a difference in the sacrifice that I, as a priest, offer, and the sacrifice that you, as member of the congregation, offer.  But those two sacrifices are joined together into the one sacrifice that the priest offers on behalf of the congregation.  So the question that I pose to you is this:  what is your sacrifice?  To be sure, the physical offering that you offered at the collection is not insignificant, but in some ways, that sacrifice is ordered to the mission of the Church, which is generally done outside of the liturgy in providing for the needs of the poor and other activities at the service of the building of the Kingdom.  The sacrifice that I am accepting and offering on your behalf is for the here and now of the Mass.  So what should that sacrifice look like?  One of our priests recently offered a beautiful explanation of the sacrifice offered in union with the sacrifice of the priest:

Just as bread is formed from many grains of wheat and the wine is formed from many crushed grapes, the various aspects of our lives – our joys and sorrows, hopes and dreams, frustrations and contentment – can all be offered to God as the one offering of our lives.  In the quiet of our hearts we can offer these various aspects of our lives together with the bread and wine in such a way that they truly become our sacrifice.  We can, in a certain sense, place ourselves on the paten and in the chalice and offer ourselves to the Father, just as Christ Jesus offered himself to the Father.

I find this idea of consciously making a sacrifice of ourselves at Mass one of the keys to unlocking a deeper meaning to our participation in Mass.  So much of the Liturgy of the Word can feel passive, in that we are receiving nourishment from the Word of God.  At this point, we are invited to be active in making an offering of our sacrifice.  But so often, we tend to stay in that passive mode of participating.  Sure, we may make the responses to the various prayers, sitting, standing, and kneeling at the proper times, but if we are not consciously choosing to unite our hearts and indeed our very lives, our participation in the Mass can become superficial. 

In a previous article in this series, I had reflected on the comment that is sometimes made by people about the Mass, namely that they do not feel like they get anything out of the Mass, to which I often respond: “What are you putting into the Mass?”  Consider carefully again the words of the priest at this point: “Pray, brothers and sisters, that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God, the almighty Father.”  So I ask the question I raised earlier – what is your sacrifice?  Do not let another Mass go by without consciously offering that acceptable sacrifice of your entire self to the Lord.