The Liturgy of the Word concludes (generally) with the Universal Prayer, also called the Prayer of the Faithful, or even the General Intercessions.  The General Instruction of the Roman Missal offers the following brief explanation on the meaning of this part of the Mass:

In the Universal Prayer or Prayer of the Faithful, the people respond in some sense to the Word of God which they have received in faith and, exercising the office of their baptismal Priesthood, offer prayers to God for the salvation of all.

(GIRM, 69)

We will return to this concept of the baptismal priesthood when we consider the Liturgy of the Eucharist, but I think it is worth noting its mention at this point of the Mass.  As Christians, our Baptism unites us with Christ the Head in a special way, but it also unites us with His Body, the Church.  As a result of that, prayer as a Christan encompasses both dimensions – vertical with God and horizontal with our brothers and sisters.  In the Universal Prayer, we show a special concern for the needs of the entire Body of Christ.

The GIRM lays out the basic schema for how these prayers should be directed:  a) for the needs of the Church; b) for public authorities and the salvation of the whole world; c) for those burdened by any kind of difficulty; d) for the local community. (GIRM, 70)

I have sometimes wondered how much attention the faithful pay to this part of the Mass, but I have had several experiences over the years that demonstrate that many are indeed aware.  On a few occasions, I have received feedback of disappointment that a certain petition was not included in the Universal Prayer.  For example, when there is a tragedy that happens in our world, and it is not mentioned, I have been criticized for not taking that tragedy seriously.  Another example is displeasure expressed about certain prayers that touch on controversial topics, such as abortion or upholding the Christan view of marriage, seeing such prayers to be too “political.”  Finally, I have heard people complain about having the name of the person remembered at that Mass pronounced incorrectly.

In response to all of those concerns, and others, let me suggest two words to consider before we let ourselves be offended with this part of the Mass:  assume grace.  As human beings, we can be very quick to assume motives for other people, drawing conclusions based on how we may feel or have been impacted by something.  We certainly do not like when others do that to us, so why are we so quick to do so to others?  If a prayer you had wanted to be heard is not included, what is preventing you from offering up that prayer at this point?  Your baptismal priesthood gives you the authority and responsibility to do so.  When united with the prayer of our brothers and sisters, whether spoken or not, the Lord hears those prayers, so they are not in any way ignored by Him.  And if a particular petition makes you feel a little uncomfortable, perhaps that is an invitation from the Lord for healing and conversion in your heart.

Remember, one of the devil’s primary tactics is to divide, and he will not miss any opportunity to do so, especially as we are united with one another during the most sacred celebration of the Mass.

Feast Day: November 1^st | Patronage: everything under the sun| Iconography: every possible human characteristic

A question that has been bumping around my mind as we approach All Saints Day: What is the common denominator among the Communion of Saints? What does every saint have in common? 

On the one hand, every saint is so different! Some lived during times of persecution and had to persevere through martyrdom, or just the pressure of a culture that had no room for Christ.  Some were acclaimed and praised for their Christian witness – and had to battle the pride that comes with accomplishments – and others were unappreciated or unknown – and had to carry the daily cross of littleness. Among that Communion you have lecturers and leaders, scientists and singers, helpers and healers, martyrs and mystics, and some who traveled the world, and some who were limited to the smallest of abodes.

At every Mass, no matter the other saints mentioned or not during the Eucharistic prayer, at some point we always ask the intercession and communion of all the saints, but what exactly joins us all together? I found myself a bit confused by it all. We’re called to join, and emulate, and befriend the saints, but they are not only different from each other, but different from us! Not only are we led to ask what St. Joseph and St. John the Baptist have in common? Or what is the same between St. Lucy and St. Linus? But also: what can I emulate about St. Matthew and St. Maximilian Kolbe? How do I live a life like St. Paschal Baylon, St. Philip Neri, and Ss. Peter and Paul? 

And the question gets harder when we consider the entire Communion of Saints, which includes not only those in glory with the Lord, and those of us still pilgrims on earth, but also those being purified in purgatory (CCC954)? What is the same between me, St. Barnabas, and one of the holy souls? St. Barnabas was a great apostle to the Gentiles with St. Paul. Me, not so much. And, the holy souls are no longer able to preach or produce at all; they can hardly be said to even pray, for they are primarily receiving and being cleansed by God’s Love alone.

Now, hopefully it didn’t take you as long as I to see where this was heading. The only thing that is held in common by all those in heaven, purgatory, and us here below – between every saint and saint-in-the-making; that is, everyone who is united to Christ – is participation in the Love of God. It’s not great courage, nor eloquence, nor optimism. It isn’t found in what they do, say, or accomplish. Not even how much time they spend praying, or fasting, or begging, or giving themselves away. Each of these things are just different manifestations of God’s Love at work in different hearts.

But how do I apply that to myself? “Be more loving!” is not only somewhat unclear, or apt for misinterpretation, or vague, but because my understanding of “love” is limited, this sort of goal ends up forgetting about the examples of the mystics, the holy souls, the contemplatives, the shut-ins, the comatose. Are they not able to be saints?? Of course not! I need to go back to the Lord to learn about Love again.

Here’s where I’m at for now: the saints weren’t just good at giving love, they were also good at receiving love. I think this better incorporates the examples of those simplest, littlest, or contemplative saints. But there’s more to it than that: the saints didn’t just have any kind of love – they weren’t just nice, or charitable, or generous, or patient, or compassionate, or protective, or bold, or secure, or intelligent, or capable – they may have been any of those things, or none of them, yet there was always a fire of Love within them that wasn’t of their own making. They had God’s Love moving them and engaging in them every different person or situation that came their way. They didn’t see the world like an ordinary person, they saw it in terms of Divine Love. They perceived the world; they engaged everything around them; they responded to every person or situation (including themselves) somehow like God Himself does. They understood everything through a lens of Love: In this situation, where is God’s Love at work? As I look on this scene, what does God love about it? In this person, how is God’s Love alive in their heart? Throughout this day, this task, this occasion, when has God bestowed His Love on me?

So then, how do we emulate all the saints? We need merely, yet entirely; simply, if absolutely, become people of Love. How do we do that? Let’s start by taking Jesus’ words to heart: “Love one another as I have loved you” and begin by noticing one way today that God has loved me.

– Fr. Dominic will begin with today: Today I spent the morning with Fr. Michael Meinhart: we talked over different things, enjoyed the crisp autumn morning, had some scrambled eggs, and prayed the breviary with each other. And, in that simplest of ways, God was good to me.

Many might think that with the homily finished, the Liturgy of the Word has come to it’s conclusion.  But the Creed and the Universal Prayer (or General Intercessions) are to be included as the final liturgical actions for the Liturgy of the Word.  We will focus on the Creed this week, and the Universal Prayer next week.

The General Instruction of the Roman Missal gives a good description of why it is we include the Creed in the Liturgy of the Word:

The purpose of the Creed or Profession of Faith is that the whole gathered people may respond to the Word of God proclaimed in the readings taken from Sacred Scripture and explained in the Homily and that they may also honor and confess the great mysteries of the faith by pronouncing the rule of faith in a formula approved for liturgical use and before the celebration of these mysteries in the Eucharist begins.

(GIRM, 67)

What strikes me sometimes when I am professing the Creed is all that has gone into the formulation of this great summary of our faith.  The Creed which we profess every Sunday is the fruit of the first two Ecumenical Councils of the Church, held in Nicaea and Constantinople.  A lot of discussions, disagreements, and debates took place in order to come to an accurate articulation of what we believe.  For example, when we profess that Jesus Christ is “consubstantial” with the Father, I am reminded of the very in-depth description in seminary of how the Council Fathers labored intensely in order to come to agree on that single word to express that great mystery.  When the Church introduced a new English translation of the Roman Missal in 2011, I remember some people sort of dismissing the need to use this complicated, technical term in the Creed.  But I think using it is a nod of appreciation for the very hard work done by those Council Fathers to help us come to be able to better explain what we believe, an effort that we can easily overlook.

Another helpful way of praying the Creed comes from a suggestion offered by Venerable Bruno Lanteri, whom we have encountered a few times in these reflections.  Recall that he invites us to “choose a biblical figured whose sentiments express those he desires in that part of the Mass.”  For the Creed, Venerable Bruno writes:

At the Profession of Faith, I will seek the sentiments of the heart of the martyrs.  At Mass, when you say “I believe on one God…I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ…I believe in one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church, I look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come” profess this, proclaim this, affirm this, Venerable Bruno urges, with the sentiments and heart of a martyr. Say it as a martyr would, from your heart, with all your being, ready to lay your life on the line for the faith you express.

(Gallagher, A Biblical Way of Praying the Mass, p. 48 – Kindle version)

To those who died for the faith as martyrs, the Creed was more than a simple mechanical reciting of words.  Those words were the firm foundation upon which their lives were built, and they were unwilling to compromise on that faith, even if it cost them their lives.

Remember that when we profess the Creed, we are not limiting our profession strictly to the words of the Creed, but by extension, we believe and profess all that the holy Catholic Church believes, teaches and proclaims to be revealed by God.  So that means assenting to all that the Church teaches, and if we struggle with some of those teachings, perhaps we can remember the martyrs as we profess the Creed, asking for their intercession to accept and live these teachings, seeing them for what they truly are, the path to freedom, life and peace, not always in this life, but certainly in the life to come.  

Feast Day: October 28^th | Patronage: Simon: Curriers, Woodcutters, Tanners; Jude: Desperate Causes| Iconography: Simon: Saw of Martyrdom; Fish, Boat, or Oar (because he was a fisherman); Jude: Club of Martyrdom, Holding Image of Jesus (of Edessa), Carpenter’s Rule, or Scroll/Book from his writing the Epistle of St. Jude.

St. John Henry Newman helpfully sketches what we know of these two great Apostles: 

And hence we draw an important lesson for ourselves, which, however obvious, is continually forgotten by us in the actual business of life; viz. to do our duty without aiming at the world’s praise. Mankind knows nothing of St. Simon’s and St. Jude’s deeds and sufferings, though these were great; yet there is One who “knows their works, and labour, and patience, … and how they bore … and for His Name’s sake laboured, and fainted not.” [Revelation 2:3] Their deeds are blotted out from history, but not from the Lamb’s book of life; for “blessed are they who die in Him, … that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them.” [Revelation 14:13]

– St. John Henry Newman, Parochial and Plain Sermons, Volume 8, “Sermon 12, Vanity of Human Glory.”

Newman goes onto describe how these men, in fervently proclaiming the Gospel getting little or no earthly praise, remind all of us Christians to eradicate vanity from our hearts. The great (at this time still Anglican) preacher notes that it is sensible and proper to seek respect from those who know and love us. Friends and family, who know what we’re about, who have seen our virtue and received our generosity, can rightly honor us for those qualities. There is nothing wrong with receiving a true compliment. Someone who loves you should rightly acknowledge where God’s grace has made you good. True humility acknowledges one’s qualities and talents, and Who gave those gifts to us.

However, to crave the admiration of the wider world – a intermittent acquaintance, a superficial friend, one of a thousand Facebook contacts, or just the public eye in general – is to rest our hearts on shaky foundations, to build our houses on sand. We find ourselves flustered and busy, scrambling every which way to get a bit of praise to keep us going, and, worse than that, we have subtly abandoned our Christian confidence that God sees us, knows everything of who we are, and will never cease to love us. Pulling out our phone during an empty moment, popping between apps to see if anybody has engaged with us, isn’t just a distraction, it’s corroding our relationship with God. Newman calls us out:

This love of indiscriminate praise, then, is an odious, superfluous, wanton sin, and we should put it away with a manly hatred, as something irrational and degrading. Shall man, born for high ends, the servant and son of God, the redeemed of Christ, the heir of immortality, go out of his way to have his mere name praised by a vast populace, or by various people, of whom he knows nothing, and most of whom (if he saw them) he would himself be the first to condemn? It is odious; yet young persons of high minds and vigorous powers, are especially liable to be led captive by this snare of the devil. 

What has this to do with Ss. Simon and Jude? Well, we know these men had to give up those places where they sought worldly recognition – Simon would no longer find honor amongst the Zealots, Jude accepts being a “servant of Jesus Christ” [Jude 1:1] rather than leaning on his relatedness to Our Lord – but this is also vividly portrayed for us in their final resting place. Both are buried together under the central altar in the left (South) transept of St. Peter’s Basilica, and, until 1814 there was a lovely painting (by Agostino Ciampelli) depicting these two saints above their altar. However, in that year as mosaics replaced paintings throughout the basilica, Guido Reni’s “Crucifixion of Saint Peter” was moved from the sacristy out to their altar. Then, since 1961, because of Pope John XXIII’s tender love for St. Joseph, a mosaic instead of St. Joseph holding Jesus sits above their bones. 

I suspect each of these saints is not particularly bothered by any of this. Each of them have truly found all the praise and glory they need from their Heavenly Father.

– Fr. Dominic has recently discovered an simple way to wage war against vanity: keep holy the sabbath. When I instead use Sunday to catch up on little tasks or pack quiet moments with empty entertainment, I haven’t done anything wrong, I just looked for delight in things that won’t last. It’s like trying to make a meal out of cotton candy. It will satisfy me! My rule: Only do things that give God glory, and/or are truly restful on Sunday. Nothing else. And … the battle is real!

(Read the rest of Newman’s Sermon here!)

When people are “How was Mass?”, more often than not, they mention something about the homily.  Ideally, they will say that they really liked what the homilist preached about.  Though, if we are honest, sometimes the comments (though usually not made to the preacher) is that it was too long, or that it was boring, that it did not make sense, or something like that.  Interestingly, I don’t know that I’ve ever heard anybody say anything about a homily being too short…  Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate feedback about my preaching, as do many priests.  Even though it might be the most memorable thing we take away from Mass, the homily is not the most important part of the Mass.

With that said, the homily is still very important and my above statement is not meant to dimmish it’s integral role to the Mass.  Here is what the General Instruction of the Roman Missal has to say about the homily:

The Homily is part of the Liturgy and is highly recommended, for it is necessary for the nurturing of the Christian life. It should be an explanation of some aspect of the readings from Sacred Scripture or of another text from the Ordinary or the Proper of the Mass of the day and should take into account both the mystery being celebrated and the particular needs of the listeners.

(GIRM, 65)

First of all, note the phrase “highly recommended.”  Some might read this and think: “Why not omit the homily then?”  Two paragraphs later, the GIRM states that a homily is to be given on Sundays and Holy Days of Obligation and that “it may not be omitted without a grave reason.”  So don’t get your hopes up about not having a homily on Sundays or Holy Days!

The next thing to notice is that the homily is “necessary for nurturing the Christian life.”  Pope Benedict XVI expanded on this in his 2007 Apostolic Exhortation on the Eucharist, where he wrote:

Given the importance of the word of God, the quality of homilies needs to be improved. The homily is “part of the liturgical action”, and is meant to foster a deeper understanding of the word of God, so that it can bear fruit in the lives of the faithful. Hence ordained ministers must “prepare the homily carefully, based on an adequate knowledge of Sacred Scripture”. Generic and abstract homilies should be avoided. In particular, I ask these ministers to preach in such a way that the homily closely relates the proclamation of the word of God to the sacramental celebration and the life of the community, so that the word of God truly becomes the Church’s vital nourishment and support.

(Sacramentum caritatis, 46)

The homily helps us to understand how God’s Word is helping us to more faithfully follow the Lord and live as His disciples in our daily lives.  This is a tall task for a preacher, given the variety of ages, states in life, and circumstances of the people to whom he is preaching.  But I point this out as something to consider when we listen to a homily that might not “hit home” for us.  The chances are very good that somebody in the congregation that day needed to hear what was said.  And even if we ourselves were not particularly moved by the homily, we can nevertheless thank God for the hearts that were touched.  In either case, the homily should always strengthen our hunger for the Eucharist that we are preparing to receive.  In the case that we feel dissatisfied with the homily, that can serve to remind us: “Though I may feel disappointed with the homily, I will not be disappointed with the gift of Jesus I am about to receive.”  If we are moved to gratitude with the homily, we bring that thanksgiving with us into the Liturgy of the Eucharist, knowing that the good resolutions, affections, and inspirations received from the homily will only be strengthened by our reception of the Eucharist, thus guarding them in our hearts as we return to our daily lives.

Feast Day: October 9th | Patronage: Poets, Anglican Ordinariate, Converts, Theologians, Scholars | Iconography: Wearing Red Cassock (of Cardinal), or Black Cassock (as Oratorian), and Biretta (as Cleric) or Zucchetto (as Cardinal), sometimes holding Book (as Scholar)

Last time we got through Newman’s first conversion to Christianity, but his discovery (over a number of years) of the absolutely necessity for faith to be grounded on truth (and not the kind that can be interpreted however I want), as well as the reality that this truth didn’t always fit nicely between two poles; it wasn’t the nice, simple, sensible mean-between-extremes, sometimes God asks us to follow Him off the edge.

1845: Newman writes “An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine.” He began it as an even deeper dive into the Church Fathers to prove for himself once and for all that the doctrines, devotions, practices, and accretions of the Roman Catholic Church were aberrations from the original Christian beliefs and practices. And the more he studied the more he discovered that each and every quibble or complaint he could throw at the Roman Church could be traced back to fledgling ideas that the Church had always held. 

And so, in his little study at Littlemore, having stepped back from the Oxford Movement (really, his catholic-tendencies had caused him to be driven from it), Newman fell on his knees before the fiery little Passionist priest, Fr. Dominic Barberi, and was received into the Catholic Church. Rain streamed down outside, Newman’s friends and colleagues abandoned him, and perhaps his mind went back to Malta, where he was also wet and alone … but wasn’t this far worse? He had chosen Christ, and immediately gotten the cross. Wasn’t there supposed to be a honeymoon-period?

1846: Newman studied for the Catholic priesthood in Rome. He had to re-memorize the bible because they used a different translation… He felt rather silly among the youthful, naïve seminarians… He banged his head on Pope Pius IX’s knee when trying to bow before him. You get the picture, but he was ordained a priest, and returns to England founding an oratory (after the model of St. Philip Neri) of priests to live in community.

1854: He is tapped to be the rector of the new Catholic University of Ireland, a project that was befuddled by all sorts of disagreements, and candidly Newman was a poor leader amidst those challenges. He writes a tremendous essay that orients the whole project, “The Idea of a University”, proposing that such a place of education is not merely to impart knowledge but to fashion virtuous individuals … but it still kind of went up in flames and Newman goes back to his oratory in disgrace.

1859: He writes a famous piece “On Consulting the Faithful in Matters of Doctrine” to flesh out an idea he had floated in his magazine, the Rambler. He wasn’t claiming that the faithful defined, or dictated, the Church’s beliefs, but that one could take a read on what the faithful believed overall and discover the Church’s faith in that. Like one consults a watch, or a doctor consults the pulse of his patient, to discover what is already there. Just so, one could consider the entirety of the Church, especially her littlest and humblest members, even during the worst crises (think back to those years when Arianism ran rampant among the leadership of the Church) and find that they still had a sense of where the truth actually was. Of course, the idea ruffled feathers and raised eyebrows and Newman began to be sidelined by Catholics even more. 

1864: He responds to the sarcasm and scorn of Charles Kingsley, putting words on the reason for his conversion from Anglicanism to Catholicism. (I’ve tried to offer some of the bigger contours of this auto-biography in these articles.) This work actually restored his credibility in many ways in both Anglican and Catholic spheres. He lays bare his academic nature and quest for truth all through the history of the Church, and while whipped about by so many different controversies and challenges of his own day. 

1870: He writes “An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent”, a dense work, basically describing how the things that are most important to us – the love of a friend, the beauty of autumn, the presence of God – can never be scientifically proven, nor even described. No, all these sorts of things marvelously convince and captivate us by innumerable smaller considerations in their favor, not one bullet-proof argument.

1879: years later, when made a cardinal, he would describe this entire journey: “For thirty, forty, fifty years I have resisted to the best of my powers the spirit of liberalism in religion. … Liberalism in religion is the doctrine that there is no positive truth in religion, but that one creed is as good as another, and this is the teaching which is gaining substance and force daily. It is inconsistent with any recognition of any religion, as true. It teaches that all are to be tolerated, for all are matters of opinion. Revealed religion is not a truth, but a sentiment and a taste; not an objective fact, not miraculous; and it is the right of each individual to make it say just what strikes his fancy.” 

Sometimes our call is faithfulness. Not success, not comfort, not following the obvious road, but trudging after the Master as he takes the narrow-way. So it was for Newman, but there was grace enough on the way to carry him through!

– Fr. Dominic leaves you with another hymn that Newman wrote, this one an extract from a poem after his conversion, the “Dream of Gerontius” which follows a dying man as he makes his way through temptation, death, and purgatory and up to paradise with God. You’ve probably heard it before: Praise to the Holiest in the Height.