As we continue to consider the Liturgy of the Word, I would like to focus our attention this week on the Responsorial Psalm.  While it can be difficult to stay focused during any part of the Liturgy of the Word, I think it can be particularly difficult to feel connected to the Responsorial Psalm.

I find this interesting for a couple of reasons.  First of all, the Responsorial Psalm demands more attention from the congregation as we are expected to respond, either with signing or speaking, depending on the Mass.  Second, the Psalms constitute the most sacred and ancient prayers of the Church.  Christ Himself prayed the Psalms, and the Psalms have been at the heart of the Church’s liturgical worship, both at Mass and in the Liturgy of the Hours.  But for some reason, we find it hard to pray the Psalms well.

When I was in seminary, I took a class on the Psalms as Christian Prayer.  In that class, we read a variety of sources that dealt with the Psalms, from a general overview of the Psalms to commentaries on various individual Psalms.  There is one particular reading that I still recall fondly as it really opened my mind and heart to a greater appreciation of the Psalms.  It comes from a letter written by St. Athanasius to Marcellinus on the Interpretation of the Psalms.  A few passages will suffice to show how we can all experience the Psalms in a more significant way:

All Scripture of ours, my son both ancient and new is inspired by God and profitable for teaching, as it is written. But the Book of Psalms possesses a certain winning exactitude for those who are prayerful. Each sacred book supplies and announces its own promise. Yet the Book of Psalms is like a garden containing things of all these kinds, and it sets them to music, but also exhibits things of its own that it gives in song along with them.

And it seems to me that these words become like a mirror to the person singing them, so that he might perceive himself and the emotions of his soul, and thus affected, he might recite them. For in fact he who hears the one reading receives the song that is recited as being about him, and either, when he is convicted by his conscience, being pierced, he will repent, or hearing of the hope that resides in God, and of the support available to believers – how this kind of grace exists for him- he exults and begins to give thanks to God.

Another helpful resource comes from the Anglican theologian N.T. Wright who has a beautiful book on the Psalms, titled The Case for the Psalms.  In words similar to those of St. Athanasius, he writes:

Those who pray the Psalms day by day…are putting themselves in the position where, when faced with a sudden crisis, they will discover close at hand a line or two of a psalm that is already etched into the heart and mind and says just what they want to say, only most likely better than they could say it themselves in the heat of the moment.

(Kindle edition, page 25)

On this point, I can say that this is absolutely true for me.  As one who is exposed to the Psalms each day, both at Mass and in my praying of the Liturgy of the Hours, there are so many lines from the Psalms that are close at hand when I need a phrase to latch onto in turning to God in prayer throughout my daily life.

This is therefore an encouragement to try to pay close attention to the Responsorial Psalm at Mass in particular and the Book of Psalms in general and see how, waiting there for us, is a prized gift of God’s Word capable of speaking to every emotion and responding to every need we have.

Feast Day: September 27^th | Patronage: Pharmacists, Physicians, Surgeons, and Twins | Iconography: Wearing Turbans (because they’re from Arabia), Carrying Scrolls or Instruments of Medicine, Standing Side by Side (as Twins), Holding Palms or Crosses, or Shown as Beheaded (for their Martyrdom)

Saints Cosmas and Damian are primarily known for giving away their services as physicians (and pharmacy) for free, a spectacular act of generosity that brought many of those they treated to Christ. And, it also brought down on them the ire of the governor of Cilicia (modern day Turkey), who was seeking victims during the persecution of Diocletian in 287 AD. They were so well known, and loved for their flagrant charity that they received the nickname anargyroi, “the silverless”, or even “the holy unmercenaries” during their lives. After their deaths they became even more well known, when the stories of the heroic courage of Cosmas, Damian, and their younger brothers in the face of torture spread around the continent. Churches dedicated to their honor were built in Jerusalem, Egypt, Mesopotamia, as well as in Constantinople, Syria and even as far as England. I should mention that the Eastern Churches not only have multiple feast days for Cosmas and Damian, but actually reverence an entire class of saints called the “anargyroi”, those who did works of charity without asking for any recompence.

I think we can learn much from the saints of this sort: their other-worldly generosity that not only is unattached to the pleasures and goods of the world, but goes out of their way to put complete confidence in God to provide for them because they’re not looking to provide for themselves. I love that title “the holy unmercenaries”, because it just emphasizes how these men and women operated completely opposite my own inclinations. How often do I engage in some work, project, effort, or event because I think I’ll get something out of it? Or, at least, does that make up part of my motivation? We often repeat, and live by, the idea that: “God helps those who help themselves”, but saints like this show us that God’s generosity isn’t dependent on our efforts, success, profitability, or paycheck. There’s something challenging to me in this: what if I were absurdly, irresponsibly, unthinkingly generous? What would happen?

I don’t think all of us are called to this kind of radical charity or poverty. Jesus asks the rich young man to “sell everything, give to the poor, and come and follow Me.” But He didn’t ask that of the women who provided for Him out of their means, or from Ss. Louis and Zellie Martin who raised their holy children (including St. Thérèse the Little Flower) very comfortably. But does that give us all a pass so that we don’t have to take seriously the countless saints who did live radical generosity? How do we discern between these different examples of holiness? How do we know what God is asking of us?

First, we pray. We ask God: “Are you asking me to be more generous?” Perhaps we extend ourselves slightly more in giving away our time, attention, love, money, or possessions, and then we see what happens! Does love grow in my heart? Does God’s peace abide more firmly inside of me? Do I find faith or hope or courage or self-sacrifice growing within me? Do I have a clearer idea of God, a better sense of His presence, a greater trust in His closeness? If those things are growing it means that God is at work and we should take seriously how we might be more generous.

But there’s a second part of this too.  What if saints weren’t primarily people who were really good at giving? What if they were really good at receiving? What I mean is that every saint who strikes us by their radical charity, first knew they were the beneficiaries of the radical love of God! Have we opened our hearts to God’s kindness? His mercy? His compassion, presence, joy, or courage? I think an awful lot of us make our way through life not much loving like God because we haven’t much opened ourselves to His love. So, we live mostly human lives with only a sprinkling of grace and gratuity, just enough to be nice, and polite, and practical, but not exactly divine… Ss. Cosmas and Damian show us the freedom and abundance that reign instead in the heart that has first drank deeply of God’s love.

– Fr. Dominic just last week was impressed by God’s generosity when he had several talks to give for a retreat, and again and again found the Lord providing exactly the idea or story or passage that was needed to continue forward. The minute I thanked Him for those gifts, somewhere in the back of my head was the thought: “oh, I shouldn’t have been so needy there, I won’t bother God the next time…” BUT, since when did God say He was bothered my request? When did He ask me to figure things out on my own because He’s too busy right now??!  (He didn’t! But now I have a line of thinking that I know to reject next time!)

A few weeks ago, I introduced a resource that I have personally found very helpful in praying the Mass more intentionally.  That resource is A Biblical Way of Praying the Mass: The Eucharistic Wisdom of Venerable Bruno Lanteri, written by Father Timothy Gallagher, O.M.V.  Venerable Bruno invites us to “seek the sentiments and the heart” of various biblical figures at the various parts of the Mass.

When addressing the Liturgy of the Word, Father Gallagher writes:

At the Readings and Gospel, I will seek the sentiments and the heart of a disciple.” When the First Reading, the Second, and the Gospel are proclaimed, ask for a heart like those of the disciples who heard Jesus on the mountain, by the lakeshore, and in the Temple. Listen as they did, with the same deep attention, undivided heart, and receptivity: when his Word is read at Mass, Jesus speaks to you just as he did to them.

(p. 45 of Kindle version of book)

Last Sunday, we resumed our watching of The Chosen with Episode 1 of Season 3.  The beginning of that episode has Jesus preaching the Sermon on the Mount.  As He preaches words that are so familiar to us, the camera shows the faces of those listening to this great sermon.  They are rapt in attention as they hear these words for the first time, and you can tell that the Word is really hitting home.

So many of us struggle with trying to listen attentively to the Word of God as it is proclaimed at Mass.  Sometimes we struggle because we cannot really hear all that well physically, either due to hearing impairment or the less-than-stellar sound system that a church may have.  Sometimes we might have the attitude that these readings (especially from the Old Testament) do not have much direct bearing on us now.  Sometimes, we are so familiar with the passages that we tune out thinking: “I’ve heard this before, I know how it goes, I know how it ends.”  Sometimes it is just our not being good at keeping focus and paying attention, something we seem to be getting worse and worse at as a society.

One of the recommendations that I have received in this regard, and one that I have also put into practice, is to read the readings ahead of time.  That way, the Word has been given a chance to be planted.  When the Word is proclaimed again at Mass, it’s not unexpected, but received with greater familiarity.  One might object that having read the readings ahead of time may contribute to our just tuning the reading out because we know how the reading goes.  While that could happen, I do not think that reading ahead of time causes that zoning out, but rather prepares the soil of our hearts to be more attentive to what the Lord wants to communicate to us as we listen attentively to Him speaking to us just as He did to His disciples.

Perhaps I could offer another practical suggestion regarding our paying more attention to the Scriptures at Mass.  Once we sit after the opening Collect, there is always a brief pause as we wait for the lector to approach the ambo and begin the reading.  There is also a pause before the other readings as well.  Those brief periods of time could be a good opportunity for us to say a short prayer, asking the Lord to help us listen to Him with the heart of a disciple who is hearing His Word for the first time and to be open to the specific Word or phrase that He has reserved for each of us individually here and now.

Feast Day: September 23^rd | Patronage: Popes, Various Schools and Parishes that have taken him as their saint | Iconography: Papal Tiara or Pallium, Holding Book as Preacher, Balding because even saints grow old.

Linus was the first successor of St. Peter as Bishop of Rome. As early as St. Irenaeus (AD 180), we find him described as entrusted by St. Peter (and St. Paul): “the blessed apostles, then, having founded and built up the Church, committed into the hands of Linus the office of the episcopate.” [St. Irenaeus, Against Heresies, 3:3.3.] Eusebius, the bishop and historian in the 300s, follows suit in saying that Linus was “the first to receive the episcopate of the church at Rome, after the martyrdom of Paul and Peter” [Eusebius, Church History 3.2.] and St. Jerome agrees with him. Now, there are a few (later) accounts that claim that it was Clement who actually St. Peter, with Linus and Cletus being something more akin to auxiliary bishops, assisting but not entrusted with the full office of Peter. Still, the weight of evidence tends towards Linus being the first successor of St. Peter, then Cletus, then Clement. He would have been martyred around the year 78 or 80 and was buried, along with many Christians who loved their first Holy Father, near to St. Peter’s grave on the Vatican Hill.

One fascinating insight into this early saint and leader of the Church is actually found in St. Paul’s second letter to Timothy. At the end of that letter, as Paul concludes his words to that beloved coworker of his, he mentions several people to pass his greetings onto, and several that send their greetings with his. One of the latter is Linus!:

Greet Prisca and Aquila, and the household of Onesiphorus. Erastus remained at Corinth, and I left Trophimus, who was ill, at Miletus. Do your best to come before winter. Eubulus sends greetings to you, as do Pudens and Linus and Claudia and all the brothers. The Lord be with your spirit. Grace be with you. 

[2 Timothy 4:19-22]

Now, this letter would have been written towards the end of St. Paul’s life, probably when he had already come to Rome for his trial before the emperor and a decade or more after his many adventures with Timothy. I love the fact that here in Rome, under the most unlikely of circumstances, we have the great Apostle to the Gentiles not quite in chains but certainly hampered from his globe-trotting earlier days, happily stranded with St. Peter laying the foundation for the Church’s heart in the Eternal City. And there, somehow mixed into this fledgling Church is a young man named Linus, growing in his faith under the tutelage of the greatest of the Apostles. Here he is, perhaps some years into his work as a priest or bishop with the craziness of revolving emperors and sporadic persecution, and he stands by as St. Paul pens a final letter to his favorite sidekick. We don’t know if Linus ever met Timothy (though Paul certainly hopes that he would come to Rome!), but somehow they seem like kindred spirits. Separated far from one another in shepherding different parts of the Church, both young bishops got a front row seat to the astonishing work of the Holy Spirit in the early Church, and both also were faced by the same overwhelming uncertainties of guiding and guarding those earliest communities of disciples. 

Thing is, the Holy Spirit hasn’t stopped working, nor has the Lord ceased to connect saints-in-the-making to one another to inspire and encourage one another.

– Fr. Dominic was recently with a handful of the priests and seminarians of the diocese down in the Alton deanery for an informal evening with young men considering how to follow the Lord wherever He is calling them. I cannot help but consider the parallels between our brotherhood – often spread from one another, but working in the same vineyard – to those leaders in the early church. Each of us was inspired by others before us, and each of us also passes that torch onto other men to step into the same spiritual fatherhood. It’s daunting, truly, but we also come to realize that Christ is the one who guarantees that the torch won’t go out.

In 2019, Pope Francis declared that the 3^rd Sunday of Ordinary Time each year should be designated as the Sunday of the Word of God.  In his decree announcing this annual celebration, the Holy Father made reference to the importance that the Word of God has in the context of the celebration of the Eucharist, citing the Second Vatican Council:

the Church has always venerated the divine Scriptures as she has venerated the Lord’s body, in that she never ceases, above all in the sacred liturgy, to partake of the bread of life and to offer it to the faithful from the one table of the word of God and the body of Christ.

(Dei Verbum, 21)

Paying attention to how Christ is present to us in the Scriptures proclaimed at Mass is one of the key ways of getting more out of our experience of this greatest of prayers.  It can be a common lament of people that when they pray, they do not hear God speaking to them.  With reverence for the pain that we can feel when it seems as though He is silent, I ask the person when they last heard or read from the Scriptures.  I tell them that when they did so, God was indeed speaking to them, loud and clear!  Again, with all reverence for the struggle of trying to hear God speak to us, it is helpful to acknowledge this truth, that when we encounter the Word of God, we encounter God Himself.  We may not understand what He is saying, or feel as though He is speaking to us, but He is!  What is lacking is never the Word of God.  Being aware that God is really speaking to us here and now in the readings at Mass will only serve to deepen the quality of our prayer at Mass and increase our hunger for Him in the Eucharist.

In my bulletin article from the Sunday of the Word of God in 2021, I shared a powerful quote from Pope Benedict XVI to drive this connection home more explicitly.  I think it is worth repeating here as we begin to consider this section of the Mass:

The sacramentality of the word can thus be understood by analogy with the real presence of Christ under the appearances of the consecrated bread and wine. By approaching the altar and partaking in the Eucharistic banquet we truly share in the body and blood of Christ. The proclamation of God’s word at the celebration entails an acknowledgment that Christ himself is present, that he speaks to us, and that he wishes to be heard. Saint Jerome speaks of the way we ought to approach both the Eucharist and the word of God: “We are reading the sacred Scriptures. For me, the Gospel is the Body of Christ; for me, the holy Scriptures are his teaching. And when he says: whoever does not eat my flesh and drink my blood (Jn 6:53), even though these words can also be understood of the [Eucharistic] Mystery, Christ’s body and blood are really the word of Scripture, God’s teaching. When we approach the [Eucharistic] Mystery, if a crumb falls to the ground we are troubled. Yet when we are listening to the word of God, and God’s Word and Christ’s flesh and blood are being poured into our ears yet we pay no heed, what great peril should we not feel?” Christ, truly present under the species of bread and wine, is analogously present in the word proclaimed in the liturgy. A deeper understanding of the sacramentality of God’s word can thus lead us to a more unified understanding of the mystery of revelation, which takes place through “deeds and words intimately connected”; an appreciation of this can only benefit the spiritual life of the faithful and the Church’s pastoral activity. 

(Verbum Domini, 56)