This week has been something else. Last week bulldozed into this one, piling debris on that I am now attempting to brush off my mood.
My husband had four wisdom teeth pulled last Friday, but he wanted to go to 9am Mass on Sunday nevertheless. During the consecration Matthew's head turned towards me with a very weird expression on his face. My husband then promptly passed out as he was kneeling, eyes still wide open as he slumped against the pew in front. My arms stretched out to brace him, and I attempted to revive him with urgent words, but he was unresponsive for many moments. Others gathered around as Mass went on.
It's the ushers' responsibility to deal with medical emergencies, and our usher did indeed come to assist. Matthew revived, and immediately, fear passing, I burst into tears. A doctor attending Mass came into our pew, explaining that he was a medical professional. Someone asked Matthew if he knew where he was. He replied, "In church." Another woman a couple pews back called 9-1-1, and the doctor made Matthew lie down while an elderly woman propped his legs on her lap to chafe them. Other people brought wet paper towels and cups of water or aspirin, none of which were used by the doctor's orders. It was chaos, and people had to wind around us to get to Communion. I apologized for blocking one gentleman's way, and he hugged me tightly. Then a friend who heads Children's Liturgy of the Word took my youngest two. Poor Ella had been crying over "Daddy". (She's the only one who doesn't call him Papa.) Daniel had been stranded on the other side of the Doc, a pliable, bewildered, but stoic expression on his face. I felt badly for Ana and Berto; they were altar serving and could not come to us. I only found out later that they didn't even know who it was that had passed out.
Eventually the firemen came, and we followed them to the long music room. Matthew became very nauseous in there, and so they recommended having an ambulance take him to the hospital. Many tests were performed, but nothing serious was found. Meanwhile, two very compassionate friends, Diane and Geraldine, took care of our children by feeding them donuts and lunch, playing games with them and then taking them to the park. There were also many other people in our parish who were very kind to our family. It was an adventurous day for us all, but not my kind of adventure.
Of course, in the days since - what a joy to be obsessive! - I have seen Matthew's wide-eyed face as he slumped against the pew play over and over in my mind. I'm afraid I have fussed over him much more than he would like, refusing to let him drive or go to work on Monday. He is never, ever allowed to scare me so terribly again! That was a very helpless and horrible feeling I had at Mass. I guess we should not have gone, though many of our church family said there could be no better place to faint; everyone can pray for you at once and receive Communion.
At any rate, not only have I been very worried about my man, but I have felt guilty about not taking care of him as I should have after his oral surgery. I made and fed him pudding, jello and watery mashed potatoes, and he was drinking a decent amount of water with his medication, but I feel that I should have been giving him better nutrition and shoving glass upon glass of fluids at him, just as my mother used to do for me when I was ill. He probably was dehydrated or, accustomed as he is to heavy-duty protein from red meat and such, malnourished. I have never been a good nursemaid, I'm afraid, though I really did try to serve his needs.
However, I am, in light of everything, grateful that I did not leave Matthew home alone on Sunday as I had planned to do originally. He is well, thank God, but I warn you, my friends: oral surgery is no laughing matter.
Showing posts with label Mass. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mass. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Sunlight on the Forest Floor: Preparation and Celebration, Old and New
There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens. A time to give birth, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant. A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to tear down, and a time to build. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. Ecclesiastes 3:1-4 (NAB)
As it is written in Isaiah the prophet:
Behold I am sending my messenger ahead of you;
he will prepare your way. A voice of one crying out in the desert:
"Prepare the way of the Lord,
Make straight his paths."
John the Baptist appeared in the desert proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. People of the whole Judean countryside and all the inhabitants of Jerusalem were going out to him and were being baptized by him in the Jordan River as they acknowledged their sins. (Mark 1:2-5)
And this is what he proclaimed: One mightier than I is coming after me. I am not worthy to stoop and loosen the thongs of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit."(Mark 1:7-8)
The huge, beautiful wreath is on the altar steps at my parish. Two Sundays have come in with that Advent wreath. Two of its purple candles have been lit; a pink and purple one remain.
How I love Advent, that time of reflection and preparation for the second coming of Christ and for the celebration of His first, His birth. I am grateful for Advent. Instead of hustle and bustle through malls, guided by lists, it is about contemplation and watchfulness in our lives, guided by Scripture.
Church is the place, the most serene place, where I can go to prepare my heart and soul for Christmas, though I do a very imperfect job of it. But without that spiritual haven I fear I would be a very stressed-out Scrooge, lost in a sea of consumerism.
My parents always made sure that Jesus was foremost in our home, but for most of my life Christmas was a day out of the year. It showed up on the 25th of December, and what came before was mostly a bunch of wishing and hoping and scrambling. If there was a season leading to it, it was a season of worrying about gifts, cleaning house, decorating, preparing food, and listening to holiday tunes. After December 25th passed I did not know the Christmas season continued through the celebration of the Feast of the Epiphany, that feast commemorating the Three Kings, representative of all gentiles, bringing gifts to our Lord: Prophet, Priest and King. I didn't know that for many the Christmas season only ended after the celebration of the Baptism of Jesus on a Sunday in January. I didn't know, because I wasn't Catholic.
I never grasped the joy and depth and spiritual variety there was to be found in a year - not even the joy to be found in Christmas and especially Easter - until I understood the times of preparation in the Catholic liturgical calendar. Then something strange occurred; as I contemplated that calendar, I began to make a deeper connection between the Old and the New Testament. Before - undoubtedly through my own fault - there was a big disconnect.
As Christians we know that God told the Israelites to observe certain fasts and feasts every year. Passover was to be ...a memorial feast for you, which all your generations shall celebrate with pilgrimage to the Lord, as a perpetual institution. (Exodus 12) God also commanded, Three times a year you shall celebrate a pilgrim feast to me. (Exodus 23:14) Many times the Israelites were to abstain from leavened bread and make designated offerings to God. Now, because we have received the spirit of adoption, all our feasts and fasts - Pentecost and the Mass of the Lord's Supper, for example - revolve around Christ, and we believe that those Old Testament observances were a prefigurement of the New Covenant Jesus established. He was the fulfillment.
So when we fast and give alms for the forty days of Lent before Easter - in solidarity with our brothers and sisters who are truly suffering in this world - we are imitating Christ's fast in the desert (and the wondering of the Israelites before entering the Promised Land) and thus preparing ourselves to celebrate Easter in a more profound way. For we believe Easter, like Christmas, is not just a day that shows up out of the blue. Before we welcome it, our hope is to deepen our relationship with God by truly examining ourselves and our sins and picking up our cross and following Jesus. A week before Easter we attend Palm Sunday Mass, carrying palm branches and singing, "Hosanna in the highest! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!" and reading Jesus' Passion aloud. During the Triduum we celebrate the Evening Mass of the Lord's Supper when we read the account of the First Passover and the Last Supper, and the priest washes the feet of twelve people - men, women and children - in imitation of Christ. The next night we attend Good Friday Mass, and parishioners carry in a wooden cross, pausing three times, in imitation of the one our Savior carried. Then comes Holy Saturday Night when we trace salvation history through multiple Scripture readings from Genesis to the Gospel, and finally dawns Easter morning, and again we rejoice and sing at Mass, Alleluia!
Advent and Lent are our spiritual journeys - following Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem, walking and fasting with Christ in the desert - to the holiest days of the year: Christmas and Easter. The purpose is always the same in these seasons of our year of faith: to remind us of important events in our salvation history and to prepare us to welcome more fully the bountiful blessings and grace we receive from our Maker.
Our liturgical year began anew the first Sunday of Advent, and again we will try, yes - try - to prepare ourselves for Christ. Not by making lists and checking them twice, not by cooking mounds of cookies, not by worrying about whether we're spending enough or too much on gifts, and not by sending Christmas cards will we ready ourselves. Instead, we will prepare ourselves by coming to Mass and lighting the wreath to remind us of the Light of the World. We will hopefully ponder how we can reflect more of that Light as we kneel and pray and receive communion and, along with thousands of our brothers and sisters in Christian churches around the world, sing:
And ransom captive Israel
And Jesus will be our Lord of the Dance throughout the liturgical year.
As it is written in Isaiah the prophet:
Behold I am sending my messenger ahead of you;
he will prepare your way. A voice of one crying out in the desert:
"Prepare the way of the Lord,
Make straight his paths."
John the Baptist appeared in the desert proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. People of the whole Judean countryside and all the inhabitants of Jerusalem were going out to him and were being baptized by him in the Jordan River as they acknowledged their sins. (Mark 1:2-5)
And this is what he proclaimed: One mightier than I is coming after me. I am not worthy to stoop and loosen the thongs of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit."(Mark 1:7-8)
The huge, beautiful wreath is on the altar steps at my parish. Two Sundays have come in with that Advent wreath. Two of its purple candles have been lit; a pink and purple one remain.
How I love Advent, that time of reflection and preparation for the second coming of Christ and for the celebration of His first, His birth. I am grateful for Advent. Instead of hustle and bustle through malls, guided by lists, it is about contemplation and watchfulness in our lives, guided by Scripture.
Church is the place, the most serene place, where I can go to prepare my heart and soul for Christmas, though I do a very imperfect job of it. But without that spiritual haven I fear I would be a very stressed-out Scrooge, lost in a sea of consumerism.
My parents always made sure that Jesus was foremost in our home, but for most of my life Christmas was a day out of the year. It showed up on the 25th of December, and what came before was mostly a bunch of wishing and hoping and scrambling. If there was a season leading to it, it was a season of worrying about gifts, cleaning house, decorating, preparing food, and listening to holiday tunes. After December 25th passed I did not know the Christmas season continued through the celebration of the Feast of the Epiphany, that feast commemorating the Three Kings, representative of all gentiles, bringing gifts to our Lord: Prophet, Priest and King. I didn't know that for many the Christmas season only ended after the celebration of the Baptism of Jesus on a Sunday in January. I didn't know, because I wasn't Catholic.
I never grasped the joy and depth and spiritual variety there was to be found in a year - not even the joy to be found in Christmas and especially Easter - until I understood the times of preparation in the Catholic liturgical calendar. Then something strange occurred; as I contemplated that calendar, I began to make a deeper connection between the Old and the New Testament. Before - undoubtedly through my own fault - there was a big disconnect.
As Christians we know that God told the Israelites to observe certain fasts and feasts every year. Passover was to be ...a memorial feast for you, which all your generations shall celebrate with pilgrimage to the Lord, as a perpetual institution. (Exodus 12) God also commanded, Three times a year you shall celebrate a pilgrim feast to me. (Exodus 23:14) Many times the Israelites were to abstain from leavened bread and make designated offerings to God. Now, because we have received the spirit of adoption, all our feasts and fasts - Pentecost and the Mass of the Lord's Supper, for example - revolve around Christ, and we believe that those Old Testament observances were a prefigurement of the New Covenant Jesus established. He was the fulfillment.
So when we fast and give alms for the forty days of Lent before Easter - in solidarity with our brothers and sisters who are truly suffering in this world - we are imitating Christ's fast in the desert (and the wondering of the Israelites before entering the Promised Land) and thus preparing ourselves to celebrate Easter in a more profound way. For we believe Easter, like Christmas, is not just a day that shows up out of the blue. Before we welcome it, our hope is to deepen our relationship with God by truly examining ourselves and our sins and picking up our cross and following Jesus. A week before Easter we attend Palm Sunday Mass, carrying palm branches and singing, "Hosanna in the highest! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!" and reading Jesus' Passion aloud. During the Triduum we celebrate the Evening Mass of the Lord's Supper when we read the account of the First Passover and the Last Supper, and the priest washes the feet of twelve people - men, women and children - in imitation of Christ. The next night we attend Good Friday Mass, and parishioners carry in a wooden cross, pausing three times, in imitation of the one our Savior carried. Then comes Holy Saturday Night when we trace salvation history through multiple Scripture readings from Genesis to the Gospel, and finally dawns Easter morning, and again we rejoice and sing at Mass, Alleluia!
Advent and Lent are our spiritual journeys - following Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem, walking and fasting with Christ in the desert - to the holiest days of the year: Christmas and Easter. The purpose is always the same in these seasons of our year of faith: to remind us of important events in our salvation history and to prepare us to welcome more fully the bountiful blessings and grace we receive from our Maker.
Our liturgical year began anew the first Sunday of Advent, and again we will try, yes - try - to prepare ourselves for Christ. Not by making lists and checking them twice, not by cooking mounds of cookies, not by worrying about whether we're spending enough or too much on gifts, and not by sending Christmas cards will we ready ourselves. Instead, we will prepare ourselves by coming to Mass and lighting the wreath to remind us of the Light of the World. We will hopefully ponder how we can reflect more of that Light as we kneel and pray and receive communion and, along with thousands of our brothers and sisters in Christian churches around the world, sing:
O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel
Shall come to you,
O Israel
O Israel
And Jesus will be our Lord of the Dance throughout the liturgical year.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Sunlight on the Forest Floor: A Personal Encounter with Christ
I was going to write a post about the theology of the Eucharist this week - can you believe the audacity of that? I was going to dive into the heart of this mystery of faith, because this past Sunday was the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ.
Our deacon in his homily at Mass said a high school student once challenged a pastor, "Why are you Catholic?"
The pastor at first responded, "Because of the resurrection."
The student wasn't having it.
"No, that is why you are Christian, but why are you Catholic?"
After thinking a bit the pastor replied, "The Eucharist."
Yes, it is certainly not because we have livelier music or more dynamic preachers or a more "progressive", hipper congregation (for truth is truth and cannot be altered by the mere passage of time; it is not an ever-shifting target, for then it could not be truth). It is the Eucharist, and most truly engaged Catholics would tell you so.
So I prepared to write a post, and I went to read again John 6:32-69. I reflected on Christ's words, Amen, Amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you, and how Catholic theologians have pointed out that Jesus would not have lost that day, by His Bread of Life discourse, many disciples if they had understood him to mean by flesh and blood simply the words which he spoke. Some protest perhaps that Christ said hard things simply to weed out fickle disciples as his passion approached. This opens up the negation of all his teachings which we dislike. No, Christ was truth; he spoke truth. His words were not gimmicks meant to manipulate people. You either accepted them or you moved on, as he said, Whoever has ears ought to hear. He was either the Son of God or a lunatic. I have faith in the Truth of His Words, and he has promised that they will set me free.
Yet I found I couldn't write about what I grasp with my heart but cannot wrap my head around at all. I am not going to explain why I agree with the Catholic interpretation of John Chapter 6, Corinthians 10:14-17, and Corinthians 11:23-32 (a rather scary one that warns us about eating the bread or drinking the cup of the Lord unworthily, something which has applied to me personally and which in itself cements that this is a vital matter of our faith). If anyone wishes, they can also go here, http://www.catholic.com/tracts/the-real-presence, to read what some of the earliest Christians from the 2nd, 3rd, 4th centuries believed and stated.
There I stop with theology. I realized as I struggled along in my research for this post, becoming frustrated with my poor understanding and disheartened by all the Christian quarreling and disparate interpretations of the very same Scripture - that I am neither clever nor conceited enough (for one possessing so little understanding and knowledge) to even attempt a full explanation about why I believe in The Real Presence. What then can I give?
Just my witness.
For a decade or so I took communion without proper instruction and preparation. This will shock my fellow Catholics rather badly, I'm afraid. I was not part of any church - my dad baptized me in a creek - not even the one, holy, catholic (derived from a Greek word meaning universal), apostolic church whose Mass I attended and loved and whose communion I accepted. I loved the Eucharist, but I did not grasp what I should have grasped of its meaning in my receiving it. I cherished my ignorance. My devout sister-in-law told me bluntly I should not be taking it, but she did not explain why. I retorted it was my right as a disciple of Christ to accept what he had prescribed for his followers at the Last Supper. Later, a nun told me I should pray very hard about taking it - that it seemed like I knew what I was receiving but I should really discern through prayer if I was right. I prayed half-heartedly for a few days before giving it up. Of course I was right! Jesus would want me to receive Him - I just knew it. But a few years later when my newly confirmed Catholic sister told me I shouldn't be receiving it, I had a momentary quite painful pang of concern. Perhaps she was right. If I was wrong that was a very serious concern for my spiritual well-being.
It pains me to say that I continued in my ignorance after that rebuke from someone I trusted, but I did. It was only when I entered RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) as a mere matter of course in order to be confirmed before my oldest son that I got my wake-up call.
(I'll talk more about the meaning of the sacrament of Confirmation and its Biblical roots later. Suffice it to say my Protestant pride had deemed it something unnecessary, a matter of form. I cannot tell you how wrong I was except to say that once I was confirmed I began to understand some pretty important things, began to realize just how much I did not understand, and began to be ravenous for greater understanding.)
I abstained from communion during RCIA - again as a matter of form and also respect for the beliefs of the Catholic Church, those beliefs that I had not bothered to learn about - but yet I may never have come to a realization of my prideful error in receiving communion were it not for the grace of Christ by which I stand and receive Him more fully now. Just a few weeks before I was to be confirmed, having gone through the classes with the same fog of ignorance with which I approached too many things, a new priest took over our instruction and jolted me awake with his spirit. Because of his influence I truly read for the first time the RCIA book that explained why Catholics believe what we do and stumbled onto a pertinent section on communion, how by partaking of it we symbolize our unity in the One Body of Christ, as St Paul said:
Because the loaf of bread is one, we, though many, are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf. Corinthians 10:17
To take it without professing unity would be a lie. To take it without believing in the Real Presence would be a lie. To take it without confessing serious sin would be judgment.
I was in a bad way. Immediately I poured my heart out to that priest in a long, long email, telling him of most of my mistakes and how I arrived at them. Miraculously, he did not express to me his horror, if he felt any - which I am quite certain he must have. He did not expel me from class, telling me I was hopeless in my ignorance. But he did not respond except by inviting me to the next class. I understand why he did not respond now. How could he?
After I wrote that email to the parish priest, I remember sitting in my rocking chair with my littlest boy asleep in my arms, tears streaming down my face as I said to Jesus over and over and over again, "I'm sorry." That was where Christ brought me. I do believe it was what Catholics would call a perfect act of contrition. I was not sorry simply because I feared consequences. I was not sorry merely for not educating myself on Catholic doctrine, thereby offending my now fellow Catholics. I was sorry for offending my Lord Jesus through my foolish pride, the One has given me so many wonderful things and so great a foundation through my parents. When I sobbed I felt I was looking up into His face, offering up all my regret over my many mistakes.
So where can this sad story about a pitiful, ignorant girl end? Why, at immeasurable joy and comfort.
I truly received the Eucharist for the first time at Easter Vigil. This is what I wrote about the experience soon after my confirmation:
But what I will always remember most about that night is Communion. I have told you that I was seated in the very first pew. The catechumens and the candidates were to receive the Sacrament first. When the priest came down from the altar, I looked across the aisle to the catechumens, not wanting to jump before others. They hesitated, because many of them were young kids, and Father hastily motioned me forward. In that moment, my lovely sponsor stepped out of the way to let me proceed, and I realized I would be the first in my parish to receive the Eucharist at Easter Vigil. It didn't strike me fully until after I had received it and returned to the kneeler. Then moisture leaked from my eyes, and unfortunately my nose as well, in a flood. I offered up a spontaneous prayer of thanksgiving, God is merciful. His Mercy endures forever. Thank you, thank you for Your mercy. While doing so I glanced up to see my little children, who had behaved so well at such a late service, receive a blessing from the priest and watched my husband receive Communion, and my gratitude increased. (My eldest son would himself be confirmed in another month. I had for some time held the hope that we could be confirmed in the same year.)
Things got too moist and messy, and not knowing how else to battle my wet face without lifting up my skirt, I begged several tissues from my friend and sponsor. I felt embarrassed; I was the only one who seemed to be reacting in such a powerful and obvious way for others to see. Still, more than embarrassment at having my emotion exposed, I felt God had conferred on me a special blessing that night. In that holy gift of His Son, He was telling me my mistake no longer mattered, His love for me was boundless, and His mercy truly does endure forever.
That was the night when I felt Jesus washing it all away. I was assured of His mercy and was completely overcome. I felt His Love in so powerful a way that it will always be a bolstering memory and a moment too profound to describe. I felt His meekness and humility and was completely humbled by it.
That is why I believe in the Real Presence of my Lord in the Eucharist. It is a beautiful, personal encounter with Christ. It is the Body of Christ.
Amen.
Our deacon in his homily at Mass said a high school student once challenged a pastor, "Why are you Catholic?"
The pastor at first responded, "Because of the resurrection."
The student wasn't having it.
"No, that is why you are Christian, but why are you Catholic?"
After thinking a bit the pastor replied, "The Eucharist."
Yes, it is certainly not because we have livelier music or more dynamic preachers or a more "progressive", hipper congregation (for truth is truth and cannot be altered by the mere passage of time; it is not an ever-shifting target, for then it could not be truth). It is the Eucharist, and most truly engaged Catholics would tell you so.
So I prepared to write a post, and I went to read again John 6:32-69. I reflected on Christ's words, Amen, Amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you, and how Catholic theologians have pointed out that Jesus would not have lost that day, by His Bread of Life discourse, many disciples if they had understood him to mean by flesh and blood simply the words which he spoke. Some protest perhaps that Christ said hard things simply to weed out fickle disciples as his passion approached. This opens up the negation of all his teachings which we dislike. No, Christ was truth; he spoke truth. His words were not gimmicks meant to manipulate people. You either accepted them or you moved on, as he said, Whoever has ears ought to hear. He was either the Son of God or a lunatic. I have faith in the Truth of His Words, and he has promised that they will set me free.
Yet I found I couldn't write about what I grasp with my heart but cannot wrap my head around at all. I am not going to explain why I agree with the Catholic interpretation of John Chapter 6, Corinthians 10:14-17, and Corinthians 11:23-32 (a rather scary one that warns us about eating the bread or drinking the cup of the Lord unworthily, something which has applied to me personally and which in itself cements that this is a vital matter of our faith). If anyone wishes, they can also go here, http://www.catholic.com/tracts/the-real-presence, to read what some of the earliest Christians from the 2nd, 3rd, 4th centuries believed and stated.
There I stop with theology. I realized as I struggled along in my research for this post, becoming frustrated with my poor understanding and disheartened by all the Christian quarreling and disparate interpretations of the very same Scripture - that I am neither clever nor conceited enough (for one possessing so little understanding and knowledge) to even attempt a full explanation about why I believe in The Real Presence. What then can I give?
Just my witness.
For a decade or so I took communion without proper instruction and preparation. This will shock my fellow Catholics rather badly, I'm afraid. I was not part of any church - my dad baptized me in a creek - not even the one, holy, catholic (derived from a Greek word meaning universal), apostolic church whose Mass I attended and loved and whose communion I accepted. I loved the Eucharist, but I did not grasp what I should have grasped of its meaning in my receiving it. I cherished my ignorance. My devout sister-in-law told me bluntly I should not be taking it, but she did not explain why. I retorted it was my right as a disciple of Christ to accept what he had prescribed for his followers at the Last Supper. Later, a nun told me I should pray very hard about taking it - that it seemed like I knew what I was receiving but I should really discern through prayer if I was right. I prayed half-heartedly for a few days before giving it up. Of course I was right! Jesus would want me to receive Him - I just knew it. But a few years later when my newly confirmed Catholic sister told me I shouldn't be receiving it, I had a momentary quite painful pang of concern. Perhaps she was right. If I was wrong that was a very serious concern for my spiritual well-being.
It pains me to say that I continued in my ignorance after that rebuke from someone I trusted, but I did. It was only when I entered RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) as a mere matter of course in order to be confirmed before my oldest son that I got my wake-up call.
(I'll talk more about the meaning of the sacrament of Confirmation and its Biblical roots later. Suffice it to say my Protestant pride had deemed it something unnecessary, a matter of form. I cannot tell you how wrong I was except to say that once I was confirmed I began to understand some pretty important things, began to realize just how much I did not understand, and began to be ravenous for greater understanding.)
I abstained from communion during RCIA - again as a matter of form and also respect for the beliefs of the Catholic Church, those beliefs that I had not bothered to learn about - but yet I may never have come to a realization of my prideful error in receiving communion were it not for the grace of Christ by which I stand and receive Him more fully now. Just a few weeks before I was to be confirmed, having gone through the classes with the same fog of ignorance with which I approached too many things, a new priest took over our instruction and jolted me awake with his spirit. Because of his influence I truly read for the first time the RCIA book that explained why Catholics believe what we do and stumbled onto a pertinent section on communion, how by partaking of it we symbolize our unity in the One Body of Christ, as St Paul said:
Because the loaf of bread is one, we, though many, are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf. Corinthians 10:17
To take it without professing unity would be a lie. To take it without believing in the Real Presence would be a lie. To take it without confessing serious sin would be judgment.
I was in a bad way. Immediately I poured my heart out to that priest in a long, long email, telling him of most of my mistakes and how I arrived at them. Miraculously, he did not express to me his horror, if he felt any - which I am quite certain he must have. He did not expel me from class, telling me I was hopeless in my ignorance. But he did not respond except by inviting me to the next class. I understand why he did not respond now. How could he?
After I wrote that email to the parish priest, I remember sitting in my rocking chair with my littlest boy asleep in my arms, tears streaming down my face as I said to Jesus over and over and over again, "I'm sorry." That was where Christ brought me. I do believe it was what Catholics would call a perfect act of contrition. I was not sorry simply because I feared consequences. I was not sorry merely for not educating myself on Catholic doctrine, thereby offending my now fellow Catholics. I was sorry for offending my Lord Jesus through my foolish pride, the One has given me so many wonderful things and so great a foundation through my parents. When I sobbed I felt I was looking up into His face, offering up all my regret over my many mistakes.
So where can this sad story about a pitiful, ignorant girl end? Why, at immeasurable joy and comfort.
I truly received the Eucharist for the first time at Easter Vigil. This is what I wrote about the experience soon after my confirmation:
But what I will always remember most about that night is Communion. I have told you that I was seated in the very first pew. The catechumens and the candidates were to receive the Sacrament first. When the priest came down from the altar, I looked across the aisle to the catechumens, not wanting to jump before others. They hesitated, because many of them were young kids, and Father hastily motioned me forward. In that moment, my lovely sponsor stepped out of the way to let me proceed, and I realized I would be the first in my parish to receive the Eucharist at Easter Vigil. It didn't strike me fully until after I had received it and returned to the kneeler. Then moisture leaked from my eyes, and unfortunately my nose as well, in a flood. I offered up a spontaneous prayer of thanksgiving, God is merciful. His Mercy endures forever. Thank you, thank you for Your mercy. While doing so I glanced up to see my little children, who had behaved so well at such a late service, receive a blessing from the priest and watched my husband receive Communion, and my gratitude increased. (My eldest son would himself be confirmed in another month. I had for some time held the hope that we could be confirmed in the same year.)
Things got too moist and messy, and not knowing how else to battle my wet face without lifting up my skirt, I begged several tissues from my friend and sponsor. I felt embarrassed; I was the only one who seemed to be reacting in such a powerful and obvious way for others to see. Still, more than embarrassment at having my emotion exposed, I felt God had conferred on me a special blessing that night. In that holy gift of His Son, He was telling me my mistake no longer mattered, His love for me was boundless, and His mercy truly does endure forever.
That was the night when I felt Jesus washing it all away. I was assured of His mercy and was completely overcome. I felt His Love in so powerful a way that it will always be a bolstering memory and a moment too profound to describe. I felt His meekness and humility and was completely humbled by it.
That is why I believe in the Real Presence of my Lord in the Eucharist. It is a beautiful, personal encounter with Christ. It is the Body of Christ.
Amen.
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Sunlight on the Forest Floor: Mass and Liturgy
My husband Matthew, recently confirmed, invited me to Mass one Sunday when we were dating. With the decision to join him, I embarked on a sort of odyssey, but it would be years before I reached any kind of shore.
I had this notion that Catholic Mass was very rigid, probably boring, and I had heard many people say that it left no room for the movement of the Holy Spirit; it was too scripted.
Mass is indeed scripted according to the words of the most awesome Author; it follows Scripture. That was what struck me that first Sunday.
I heard the most basic, scriptural teaching of our faith in the Nicene Creed, and the line that struck me most forcibly that first time was, He will come again to judge the living and the dead/ And his kingdom will have no end (Acts 10:42-43, Isaiah 9:6-7). I held hands with others as we prayed the Lord's Prayer just as Christ had taught when the apostles asked of Him, "Lord, teach us to pray just as John taught his disciples." (Luke 11:1-4). Then came the exchange of, "Peace be with you," in imitation of Jesus' greeting to his disciples after the resurrection, followed by the response, "And with your spirit." (John 20:19, John 14:27, 2 Corinthians 13:13, Ephesians 6:23) And we proclaimed with those in Jerusalem who watched Jesus pass on a humble colt as the Lord entered the city before his passion, "Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord." (Mark 11:7-9, Psalm 118:26)
All that still may not have been enough to make me fall in love with this strange Mass. Then....I heard the words of Christ at the Last Supper pronounced by the priest at the consecration, and I fell. I was in awe. The priest used the exact words of Christ Himself; he cannot add or omit anything. Nor did he begin or conclude, as I have so often heard elsewhere, "Now, this is merely symbolic..." I had never seen communion treated with such reverence anywhere. I have been in a few churches where tiny plastic containers holding wafers and grape juice were passed out. To me that was not communion. Who could put Christ, or something they believe is symbolic of Him, in a plastic tube with a peel-off wrapper?
So with the consecration I began to get somewhere through the grace of God, but more amazing is that it continues these nearly twelve years later. The more I attend and listen at Mass the deeper I delve into the mystery of Scripture. For instance, I have never been a lover of the Psalms, despite the fact that I have listened to them sung at every Mass for years. Recently, however, I have found myself paying far greater attention to them, because it was pointed out to me that these songs were prayed by Jesus, too, in the Jewish synagogue. Through studying them more openly, I have learned that these songs of David are wonderful inspiration for prayer at diverse moments in our life. In Psalm 51:11-14 we find a poignant plea for mercy to guide all repentant hearts and in 118:19-25 a joyous prayer of thanksgiving and praise.
But I have not only discovered the Psalms. Just a mere two years or so ago on this journey, I also began to truly listen to and appreciate the words we pray right before receiving the Eucharist:
Lord I am not worthy
that you should enter under my roof
but only say the word
and my soul shall be healed
Here we echo Matthew 8:5-8 in the words of the centurion, the man of whom Jesus said, "Amen, I say to you, in no one in Israel have I found such faith." We do this every Mass. Every Mass we declare Jesus Christ is Lord and join in faith with that faith-filled centurion who professed that he was not worthy for Christ to enter his home but believed Jesus could heal his paralyzed servant simply by saying the words. And He did. And so we believe he can heal our souls in the same way. That is beautiful.
I leave here now with this thought:
Is it even possible that this liturgy, overflowing as it is with the Word, could fail to invite the Holy Spirit to move among the hearts of the faithful? Yes, I have been in a Protestant church and felt the exhilarating presence of God's Spirit, because God was there - that does not surprise me. But I have also felt Him surrounding me as I listened to the communion hymn sung by the Christian family in my parish, my head bowed over a kneeler in silent Thanksgiving.
From One Bread, One Body, music composed by John Foley and words based on 1 Corinthians 10:16-17, Galatians3:28, Ephesians 4:4-6
I had this notion that Catholic Mass was very rigid, probably boring, and I had heard many people say that it left no room for the movement of the Holy Spirit; it was too scripted.
Mass is indeed scripted according to the words of the most awesome Author; it follows Scripture. That was what struck me that first Sunday.
I heard the most basic, scriptural teaching of our faith in the Nicene Creed, and the line that struck me most forcibly that first time was, He will come again to judge the living and the dead/ And his kingdom will have no end (Acts 10:42-43, Isaiah 9:6-7). I held hands with others as we prayed the Lord's Prayer just as Christ had taught when the apostles asked of Him, "Lord, teach us to pray just as John taught his disciples." (Luke 11:1-4). Then came the exchange of, "Peace be with you," in imitation of Jesus' greeting to his disciples after the resurrection, followed by the response, "And with your spirit." (John 20:19, John 14:27, 2 Corinthians 13:13, Ephesians 6:23) And we proclaimed with those in Jerusalem who watched Jesus pass on a humble colt as the Lord entered the city before his passion, "Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord." (Mark 11:7-9, Psalm 118:26)
All that still may not have been enough to make me fall in love with this strange Mass. Then....I heard the words of Christ at the Last Supper pronounced by the priest at the consecration, and I fell. I was in awe. The priest used the exact words of Christ Himself; he cannot add or omit anything. Nor did he begin or conclude, as I have so often heard elsewhere, "Now, this is merely symbolic..." I had never seen communion treated with such reverence anywhere. I have been in a few churches where tiny plastic containers holding wafers and grape juice were passed out. To me that was not communion. Who could put Christ, or something they believe is symbolic of Him, in a plastic tube with a peel-off wrapper?
So with the consecration I began to get somewhere through the grace of God, but more amazing is that it continues these nearly twelve years later. The more I attend and listen at Mass the deeper I delve into the mystery of Scripture. For instance, I have never been a lover of the Psalms, despite the fact that I have listened to them sung at every Mass for years. Recently, however, I have found myself paying far greater attention to them, because it was pointed out to me that these songs were prayed by Jesus, too, in the Jewish synagogue. Through studying them more openly, I have learned that these songs of David are wonderful inspiration for prayer at diverse moments in our life. In Psalm 51:11-14 we find a poignant plea for mercy to guide all repentant hearts and in 118:19-25 a joyous prayer of thanksgiving and praise.
But I have not only discovered the Psalms. Just a mere two years or so ago on this journey, I also began to truly listen to and appreciate the words we pray right before receiving the Eucharist:
Lord I am not worthy
that you should enter under my roof
but only say the word
and my soul shall be healed
Here we echo Matthew 8:5-8 in the words of the centurion, the man of whom Jesus said, "Amen, I say to you, in no one in Israel have I found such faith." We do this every Mass. Every Mass we declare Jesus Christ is Lord and join in faith with that faith-filled centurion who professed that he was not worthy for Christ to enter his home but believed Jesus could heal his paralyzed servant simply by saying the words. And He did. And so we believe he can heal our souls in the same way. That is beautiful.
I leave here now with this thought:
Is it even possible that this liturgy, overflowing as it is with the Word, could fail to invite the Holy Spirit to move among the hearts of the faithful? Yes, I have been in a Protestant church and felt the exhilarating presence of God's Spirit, because God was there - that does not surprise me. But I have also felt Him surrounding me as I listened to the communion hymn sung by the Christian family in my parish, my head bowed over a kneeler in silent Thanksgiving.
One Bread, one body, one Lord of all
One cup of blessing which we bless
And we, though many, throughout the earth
We are one body in this one Lord
From One Bread, One Body, music composed by John Foley and words based on 1 Corinthians 10:16-17, Galatians3:28, Ephesians 4:4-6
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