The Quiet Corner,

a weekly meditation on the Sunday Gospel,

by the Reverend John A. Kiley,

as published in The Providence Visitor

since 1974.

Commencing January, 2006 and continuing through June, 2006.

   Faith & Culture       THE QUIET CORNER       by Father John A. Kiley       5 January 2006

        The recent Merry Christmas vs. Happy Holidays hoopla occasioned a thoughtful article in the Providence Journal by Charles C. Haynes who writes weekly on the First Amendment.  Invoking Rhode Island’s venerated founder, Roger Williams, Mr. Haynes cited the “wall of separation between the garden of the church and the wilderness of the world.”  The author accordingly argued that resorting to the civil courts, state legislatures or city councils to restore Christmas to its pristine sacredness involved demeaning interaction between church and state, ironically reducing the spiritual nature of the feast to a mere civic holiday.    The columnist further suggested that the modern, commercial celebration of Christmas was beyond redemption and that Christians should transfer the ancient feast to a neutral date in the springtime and begin again.  Thus, divorced from modern day materialism, Christmas could flourish once again as a holy day rather than as a holiday.  While this proposal might sound plausible, if highly impractical, it could also be just a further step in the privatization of religion. 

         The separation of church and state is one of the few remaining absolutes in modern America. Present-day America might tinker with the definition of marriage and argue about the origin of life, but prayer in public schools and mangers alone on city property are unthinkable violations of the American way.  Civil libertarians are quick to cite the Emperor Constantine’s embrace of Christianity as the downfall of authentic religion.  Church is of the heart and home, they argue; state is of the school and street.  The one is private; the other is public. Any union of throne and altar is clearly an abuse that courageous men like Roger Williams and Thomas Jefferson would finally correct. 

        The Roman Catholic Church has fared well in the United States.   Catholics are the nation’s largest religious body (63 million members).  Catholic schools, hospitals, universities and social agencies contribute greatly to American life.  American Catholics must not appear ungrateful.  Yet the uncritical acceptance of the separation of church and state as currently understood in the USA is sadly – and perhaps deliberately – leading to the separation of religion from culture.  The founding fathers were wise not to favor one Christian denomination over another.  Massachusetts had its Congregationalism and Virginia had Anglicanism.  But the federal government stayed clear of endorsing any one particular church body – the famous establishment clause.  But to be neutral regarding denomination or church body is not the same as being neutral toward religion.  The exclusion of religion from daily life was certainly not the Constitution’s intention.  In fact just the opposite was true.  By not embracing any one particular church, the founding fathers imagined that religion in general would be free to flourish – as indeed it has until quite lately.

        Catholics who appreciate the significance of the Incarnation can never ascribe to the privatization of religion.  When the Word became flesh he attached himself not just to some skin and bones but to all things human.  Religion, politics, education, science, family life -- all have a Christological dimension.   Where the Incarnation is taken seriously by believers, there is a mandate to permeate all of society with the truth, beauty and goodness found in Jesus Christ.  The divorce between faith and daily life, faith and society, faith and culture is one of the great tragedies of our time as Pope Paul VI warned.  And as Pope John Paul II wisely wrote:  A faith that does not become culture is a faith that is not accepted in its fullness, not thought out in its totality, not lived with fidelity. 

        The contemporary respect for the individual conscience and the modern appreciation for the truths found in other ecclesial communities must not become excuses for failing to preach the gospel of the Incarnate Christ.  As Benedict XVI well said: The Church by its nature is missionary; its primary task is evangelization.  Christians must respectfully but resolutely share the good news of salvation with every creature.  The separation of church and state might make good politics.  But the rupture of religion from culture makes a poor civilization.                                                                        COMPLETE

       The solemnity of Epiphany, with its now narrowed liturgical focus centered on the astrologers from the East, is truly a celebration of the universality of salvation.  Unlike the exclusive and constricted thinking prevalent in later Judaism where the notion of chosen people implied the “unchosenness” of everyone else, Christianity burst upon the world scene as an all-inclusive and worldwide religion intent on sharing the Gospel message with every creature.  The Magi, those sages from Israel’s often hated Gentile neighbors, were St. Matthew’s early indication that the revelation to be made known in Christ was intended for everyone – every soul, every nation, every corner of the world. 

       But extending the promise of salvation to the Gentiles is often popularly understood to mean that God’s promise, first made to Abraham and then renewed under Moses, was rescinded from the Jews.  The Gentile gain was the Jewish loss.  In a sense, by transferring the promise from the Jews to the Gentiles, God was not keeping his promise to the Jews.  He was failing the Jews.  He was letting the Jews down.  He was abandoning the Jews.  At least, that is the way it might appear. 

        If God could abandon the Jews – no matter how stiff-necked or stubborn they could be – then how do believers today know that God will not abandon them and take his graces elsewhere?  The fidelity of God to the Jews is the basis for believing in the fidelity of God to the later Gentiles.  The modern Church must understand that God never abandoned the Jews.  He did indeed keep his promises to them.  And therefore modern man can feel confident that God will fulfill the promises made to us in Jesus Christ.  God is not fickle, capricious or vacillating.  He made his promises and he will stick to them.  He might widen their scope and extend their breadth.  But he never breaks his word.   The fidelity of God is an often overlooked theme in St. Matthew’s infancy narratives and in the Gospels that follow the celebration of Epiphany.

       The commentators for the New American Bible point out that, in St. Matthew’s Gospel, comparisons between Jesus and Moses are obvious.  The slaughter of the innocence by Herod after Christ’s birth inevitably brings to mind the slaughter of the Hebrew boys by the Pharaoh in Moses’ day.  Jesus’ early years spent in Egypt recall the raising of Moses in the palace of the Egyptian king.  This comparison will be continued when Jesus speaks his Eight Beatitudes on the mountain revealing the nature of Christianity just as Moses received the Ten Commandments on the mountain setting the pace for Judaism.  But commentators are just as quick to point out that the dominant Old Testament type here is not Moses but the nation of Israel.  Jesus, Mary and Joseph flee to Egypt not to reproduce the experience of Moses but to relive the Exodus experience of Israel.  “Out of Egypt I called my son,” prophesied Hosea.  The nation of Israel, God's chosen son, was called out of Egypt at the time of the Exodus; Jesus, the much beloved Son of God, will similarly be called out of that land in a new exodus. The father-son relationship between God and his Jewish people, revealed in the Old Testament, is thus elevated to new heights.  Jesus is the new Son of God whom God will favor with unique gifts.  If God loved the old Israel, rescuing them from slavery and establishing them in the promised land, then certainly God is going to love Jesus, the new Israel, and all who embrace him, rescuing them from sin and establishing them in his new community, the Church.  Just as God was faithful in the Old Testament, so God will be faithful in the New Testament.

       The sad rejection of Jesus by many in Israel and his acceptance as Savior by many in the Gentile world are themes interwoven throughout the visit of the Magi and the flight into Egypt narratives.  Yet the infidelity and ingratitude of some men must not obscure the fidelity and graciousness of the good God.  God called Samuel, as today’s first reading narrates.  And God was faithful to Samuel.  God called Andrew and Peter, as today’s Gospel indicates.  And God was surely faithful to them.  Through the Church, God calls every believer.  His trust and support must never be doubted.                    COMPLETE

       When couples arrange for a baptism of their new offspring, a conference is usually held with the parish priest in which he outlines the ceremony and explains the significance of this initial sacrament.  The priest often informs the new parents that when he begins the celebration of the sacrament he will ask them a very simple, down-to-earth question.  He might ask hem to guess what that question might be.  Invariably the couple will suggest some mildly threatening inquiry like, “When is the last time you went to church?” or “Do you use the budget envelopes every week?” or even “Do you believe in God?”   The question, however, is not all intimidating.  The priest simply asks, “What name do you give this child?”

          Being called by name is a very significant gesture in the Christian religion.  A name singles a person out from the crowd.  A name distinguishes a person and gives him an identity.  A name makes one special.  To a call a person by name at the beginning of the Baptismal ceremony is a symbolic way of stating that this person is about to enter into a personal, eternal relationship with God.  God is calling this person by name to play a unique role in the Christian community and to take a place in the kingdom of heaven that is reserved for no one else.  This sacramental naming is a celebration of the uniqueness of each individual person. 

       God’s calling a person by name is a Scriptural device that reveals an distinctive role for that person in salvation history.  Last week’s Scriptural readings recalled God’s personal invitation to the sleeping Samuel to wake and heed his word.  Also recounted was the re-naming of Simon as Peter by Christ as a sign of the special role he would play in Church history.  This week’s Gospel highlights the individual call of Peter, Andrew, James and John from their fishing boats to the work of evangelization.  Remember also that John the Baptist and Jesus were given their names by God through the ministry of an angel.  Abram’s name was changed to Abraham; Jacob’s name was amended to Israel.  Both in the Scripture and in Church practice, to be called by name signifies a vocation, a ministry, a distinctive responsibility of the soul before God.

       There has been much talk lately of evolution.  Unfortunately the evolution of the material world is viewed in some circles as irreconcilable with God’s personal creation of the universe.  Roman Catholics happily seem to be able to maintain their belief in God’s Providence while at the same time recognizing the laws of nature.  The possible, but not inevitable, consequence of embracing the theory of evolution is that God may become impersonal.  The old Deist notion of God winding up the universe and then letting it tick away of its own accord does not square with the Biblical notion of God as Father nor with the equally Scriptural idea of a vocation, a call, a plan of God for each individual.  While certain aspects of creation might evolve, each human being is a personal act of God’s Providence.  Even the person born under the most challenging circumstances comes into this world through the direct will of God.  Every person on the face of the earth has been called by name by God himself. Mankind is not just the product of genes, or of chemistry, or of the environment.  Every man is a unique act of love on the part of God. 

       There are times in one’s life when one does not feel like a unique act of love on God’s part.  There are times when one may feel ignore, forgotten, rejected or even cursed by God.  “What did I do to deserve this?” many have asked themselves in difficult circumstances.   It is precisely at that moment that faith has to overrule feelings.  The Christian faith reminds all believers that man is not just the product of anonymous forces favoring the fittest and rejecting the frail.  Every man represents the personal benevolence of God, the personal call by God to “know, love and serve him in this world and be happy with him in the next.”  All creation is indeed a gift from God.  But human life is especially sacred.  Each man, each woman, each child, each pre-born baby, is the direct result of God’s intervention in history.  God has called every believer by name.  There is nothing impersonal about that. COMPLETE      

       The Christian world has just experienced the joy and exhilaration of the endearing Christmas season.  Worshippers participated in the eloquent prophecies pondered during Advent, the humble events at Bethlehem’s stable, the mystery of the Son of God becoming a son of man, the glory of the angelic choir, the unassuming shepherds gazing on the newborn child, the majestic sages from the East prostrate before the eternal king, the celebration of Mary’s motherhood and lately the call of Jesus’ first disciples and the beginning of his public life.  Although the nativity event was saddened by the slaughter of the innocence and the flight into Egypt, Advent and Christmas depict delightful and animated scenes from the early life of Christ which cheer any heart.  But now it is time for a reality check.

       In this coming Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus, newly entered into his public life of preaching and healing, encounters a man with an unclean spirit in the local synagogue at Capernaum.  The spirit is panic-stricken at the arrival of the “Holy One of God,” calling out to be spared an anticipated destruction.  Jesus expels the demon from the troubled man with an authority that stuns the crowd.   “What is this?  A new teaching with authority.  He commands even the unclean spirits and they obey him.”  

       Every exorcism in the New Testament is a microcosm of the cosmic struggle of good against evil that afflicts every era of human history.  Oddly there are no exorcisms in the Old Testament.  And there are none in the Gospel according to St. John.  St. John’s Jesus is already victorious over evil.  The battle is already won in the mind of the Fourth Evangelist.  Yet the Gospel of St. Mark makes reference to thirty-two demonic encounters between Jesus and powers of evil.  Here, St. Mark is merely being realistic.  While the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ are indeed accomplished facts and the redemption of the world is achieved, the graces won by the Paschal event have yet to be applied to every creature and, in some sad cases, are resisted by mankind.  So the day to day battle against evil continues.  But, happily, the victory of Christ over sin and evil continues as well.  Through the Church, mankind can lay hold of this victory and share in the redemption promised to every believer. 

       If, as St. John proudly teaches, the victory of Christ is assured and he is indeed the Lord of the universe, then why would St. Mark for his part highlight the struggle of Christ with the satanic and demonic forces of his day?  Why mention evil at all in the light of Christ’s glorious resurrection, ascension, and enthronement?  St. Mark wisely wants men and women this side of the grave to grasp the reality of evil and the horror of sin.  Complacency in the light of Christ’s resurrection is a danger to every generation of believers.  St. Mark does not want his readership to underrate the seductive power of evil; he does not want them to ignore the dreadfulness of wrongdoing; he does not want them to lose their sense of sin.  Every exorcism in St. Mark’s Gospel is a summons to the Christian community to be alert, to be prepared, to be cautious.  

       What St. Mark does by his exorcisms, the Catholic Church continues to do by the pre-eminence of the Cross in the Church’s liturgical life and devotion practice.   God in his providence knew that mankind would never appreciate the gravity of sin nor the intensity of God’s love unless that sin and love were graphically portrayed in an idiom that man could understand.  God chose suffering as the language of sin and love.  The agony of the Cross reminds all believers how despicable is human sin and yet how sincere is divine love.  The exorcisms in the New Testament convey a similar message.  Saints Matthew, Mark and Luke’s exorcism narratives remind the Christian that the work of the devil is no trifling matter.  The evil one, to use Pope Paul VI’s accurate label, is no metaphor.  Personal evil is not just a subjective matter found merely within the individual.  Evil exists apart from the believer.  Evil is a dynamic force that deceives and tests the Christian soul.  The spiritual life is genuinely a combat, a struggle, a war with Satanic forces.  But the New Testament exorcisms are equally a revelation of the power of Jesus Christ.  Jesus indeed casts out demons.  Jesus crushes the head of the serpent under his heal.  The crucified but risen Jesus is soundly victorious over death, sin and the devil himself.  The triumph of Christ in the New Testament’s exorcism is an anticipation of the triumph of each Christian over temptation, error and sin made possible through the continuing ministry of Jesus Christ and his Church.

COMPLETE

2/2/06

       The Old Testament name of Job has become synonymous with long-suffering, affliction and distress.  Job was tested, to put it mildly, by the loss of his wife, his children, his servants, his animals, his land.  The last line of this Sunday’s first reading well indicates Job’s frame of mind:  “I shall not see happiness again.”  Yet those who persevere to end of the lengthy Book of Job know that this ancient Jew was rewarded for his persistence and his enduring faith.  In spite of all his challenges, Job did not curse God.  He trusted God and his hopes were amply fulfilled:  “Thus the LORD blessed the latter days of Job more than his earlier ones. For he had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, a thousand yoke of oxen, and a thousand she-asses. And he had seven sons and three daughters…”   The Old Testament teaches that suffering is not mere vain frustration; it can be a deepening, maturing, ennobling experience as it was for Job.  Suffering as the “teachable moment” was a favorite theme of the Wisdom books in the Greek Scriptures. 

       This coming Sunday the Gospel passage from St. Mark treats the worshipper to three glimpses into the early public life of Christ and how Jesus deals with suffering.  Each tableaux presented for the congregation’s reflection has the common theme of suffering and healing.  The healing ministry of Jesus Christ is portrayed from three distinct points of view. 

       The poignant cure of Simon Peter’s mother-in-law, relieved from a fever by Jesus’ healing touch, depicts his ministry on the personal level.  Jesus warmly responds to the needs of a friend.  The transaction is private, modest, discreet.   It is not very difficult to see the administration of the future Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick in this individual encounter of Jesus and the ailing woman.  Parish priests and hospital chaplains minister regularly to individuals at their bedside.  The quiet dialogue, the sealed confession, the soothing of the senses, the comforting prayers all have their part to play in this quiet sacrament.  The Anointing of the Sick can be and truly is a visit from Jesus, God’s personal healer. 

       St. Mark also allows his readers to view Jesus during what now-a-days might be called a healing service.  Crowds gather from all about the countryside to be available to Jesus, the celebrated healer from Galilee.  He preaches to them and then he goes among the crowd restoring sight to the blind, and hearing to the deaf, and mobility to the crippled.  He casts out demons and challenges the evil spirits.  His fame spreads far and wide as the restorer of limbs and the thwarter of the devil.  Again, in our own day, parishes offer healing Masses and holy hours at which the ailing and the elderly and the infirm gather in their wheel chairs, on their walkers and with their canes praying for relief from ‘the burden of their years.”  The kindness and compassion of Jesus, witnessed by the crowds in the hillsides of Palestine, is once again made available through the ministry of the Church.

       The benevolence and concern of Jesus for the sick and the handicapped is evident on every page of the Scripture.  The healing ministry of Jesus was admirable and undeniable.  Yet in the final paragraph of St. Mark’s Gospel read at Mass today Jesus gives the worshipper an even deeper insight into the true nature of Jesus’ healing ministry.  Jesus’ popularity is so wide-spread, so extensive, that he has to steal away for a moment of prayer.  His disciples seek him out and inform him of the many opportunities to do good that await him through the hurting and the ailing at his doorstep.  Yet Jesus resists their invitation to heal mere legs, arms and skulls.  Jesus has come to heal souls:  "Let us go on to the nearby villages that I may preach there also. For this purpose have I come."  Jesus is not on this earth just to relieve the aches and pains that come with disease and infirmity.   Jesus is primarily here to unburden man from his sins, to heal man of his alienation from God, to preach the Gospel of eternal deliverance.  Compassion is important but salvation is essential.  Jesus’ priorities must be the Church’s priorities.  Preaching the Good News always took precedence in the ministry of Jesus.          COMPLETE

       The Providence Journal, reflecting on the recent protests in the Islamic world over the publication of religious cartoons, boldly stated: “Well, we dislike disparagement of religious figures, too.”  Excuse me?  For the past five years the Journal and every other American publication have disparaged every Catholic religious figure from Vatican officials through Cardinal Law to the humblest parish priest.  The sins of the few have been magnified and displayed for public ridicule in cartoon fashion so that even the illiterate could get in on the fun, nuance be damned!  The Journal, and no doubt other American publications, views the issuing of disparaging religious cartoons as their support of “the right of free expression.”  Even when political cartoons of a religious nature offend people, the Journal feels uneasy but nonetheless duty bound to print them.   Making a mockery of religion and the things of religion is justified under the banner of individual rights:  “We must continue to respect and defend the rights of the individual.”

       Militant Islamic fundamentalists, as the Journal labels them, have clearly resorted to violence and terror.  And sadly, some American Catholic priests have violently exploited a number of youths committed to their care.  But the sins of believers do not automatically nullify their beliefs.  In ridiculing the practitioners of a religion it is very difficult not to deride the religion itself.  As a Roman Catholic priest, I do not view Mohammedanism as the true faith.  Nonetheless, I have to admit the significant contribution that Islamic thinkers made to the Catholic philosophers and theologians of the Middle Ages.  Much of ancient Greek thought was preserved in the Arab world and introduced into Europe during the Crusades.  The interplay of Mohammedan and Christian culture at the beginning of the second millennium was most fruitful.  No doubt today there is much in Mid-Eastern and Western cultures that can be mutually enriching and rewarding.  Mocking Mohammed, just like mocking the Pope, obscures the cultural treasures and perennial wisdom found in both traditions. 

       The secular world, of which the Providence Journal and the American media at large are surely representative, sees no higher value than individual rights.  “We must continue to respect and defend the rights of the individual,” as the recent editorial stated.  Or again, as Rhode Island Senator Lincoln Chafee coldly asserted regarding Supreme Court Justice Alito,: “I am a pro-choice, pro-environment, pro-Bill of Rights Republican and I will be voting against this nomination.”   Once more, individual choice is upheld as the supreme law of the land. 

       Regrettably post-modern America is becoming a society in which blasphemy and sacrilege (along with abortion, suicide and sodomy) are constitutionally protected rights.  Living in a world where respected politicians, well-spoken newspersons, vocal celebrities, and prized publications take every opportunity to exalt individual choice, it is very challenging and difficult for the believing world to assert and defend any higher law.    How feeble in the face of these odds would a believing voice sound asserting the Second Commandment:  “Thou shalt not take the Name of the Lord, thy God, in vain.”   The Second Commandment has traditionally demanded respect for God, for his Name, and for the persons, places and things that represent God.  Such respect is a conscious and time-honored effort on the part of the believing world to point to a value beyond the earthly, beyond the material, and beyond the individual.  The Second Commandment is a reminder that there is a Supreme Being greater than man.  Many Mohammedans, many Jews, many Christians, and many other persons of good will recognize that humanity’s traditional and formerly universal appreciation of the supernatural is at stake in this modern culture war. 

       Islamic extremists and unchaste priests do not give a license to the secular media to vilify all religion, as sadly happens.  Against all odds, believers must resolutely and relentlessly defend God as man’s supreme value and the things of God as indicative of that value.                                COMPLETE

       Readers of the Scriptures know that Jesus Christ was a rascal as a youth – hiding out for three days in Jerusalem while his anguished parents searched for him in the alleys and bazaars of the ancient city.   But apparently the adult Jesus was not immune to a bit of shenanigans either.  Recall Jesus making that “whip of cords” and driving the conventional money changers from the temple.   The Jewish establishment could not have been too keen on that dramatic gesture.  An even more remarkable venture into destructive behavior on the part of Jesus was his permitting “Legion,” the cast out demon, to enter a herd of swine which then cascaded down a hillside and drowned in the sea.  The chagrined swineherds spread the news of Jesus’ surprising adventure to the nearby town which wisely invited the wandering troublemaker to leave their territory.  And in this coming Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus’ intriguing tendency toward wreckage is once again featured.   Although this time it might even be his own property with which he is playing fast and easy.

       St. Mark begins his narrative with an interesting scene:  “When Jesus returned to Capernaum after some days, it became known that he was at home.”   The reference to Jesus being “at home” is rather peculiar. Jesus was, after all, the Son of Man who had “nowhere to lay his head.”  Is it possible that he did have a “pied a terre” where he could relax and refresh while in Galilee as he did at the home of Martha, Mary and Lazarus when he was in Judea?  If Jesus did have a personal residence along the Sea of Galilee the rest of this miracle tale would make a lot more sense. 

       The basic story is happily familiar to all worshippers.  Jesus, the popular preacher, is embraced by his devoted clients to such an extent that the room in which he is teaching as well as the door, the entryway and the even the street outside are packed with eager patrons.  Well-meaning men arrive carrying an afflicted friend for whom they are seeking a cure.  St. Mark unapologetically observes, “Unable to get near Jesus because of the crowd, they opened up the roof above him.”  Then the evangelist continues, “After they had broken through, they let down the mat on which the paralytic was lying.  When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “Child, your sins are forgiven.” 

       Breaking through a roof to gain access to a house is highly unusual, to say the least.  And if Jesus was merely a guest in the house, the incident becomes even more remarkable, even approaching vandalism.  Still, ancient Middle-Eastern homes were not modern North American homes.  In a time and region in which fresh water was highly prized, homes were often built with roofs that slanted toward a central area into which rain water could drain and collect.  This hole in the roof would have a partial covering to deflect the hot summer sun.  On pleasant days the detachable portion of the roof could be removed allowing breezes to circulate about the residence.  So perhaps these litter bearers were not so destructive as they were resourceful.  And Jesus was therefore rewarding them not for their defacement of his “home” but for their faith in his powers.  Clearly this was the case.

       Every healing miracle of Jesus Christ is an anticipation of that day when God will be all in all, when all things will have been restored through Christ, when man, both physically and spiritually, will be whole again.  Jesus sees his practical compassion toward the paralytic as a dramatic opportunity to reveal his true ministry – spiritual healing through the forgiveness of sin.   While the crowds are astonished at Jesus’ effective concern for the paralytic, the religious authorities are preoccupied with Jesus’ usurpation of the divine prerogative: the forgiveness of sin.  Jesus views his twin ministries of healing and forgiveness as complementary.  If he can heal limbs, he can heal souls.  “Which is easier?” Jesus asks leadingly.  Those who are impressed with Jesus’ healing miracles must also appreciate his absolving forgiveness.   His ministrations to body and to soul should be equally compelling. 

       So Jesus is not a mere prankster after all.  Actually, he is the Savior of the world.

                                                      COMPLETE

       Prayer, fasting and almsgiving have been pious works of mercy since time immemorial.  And these three perennial acts of devotion are not limited to the Judeao-Christian tradition.  For example, everyone is familiar with those pictures of Moslem men bowing on a prayer rug in worship of Allah.  Or again, a number of religious organizations finger beads as a systematic aid to prayer along the lines of the Catholic rosary.  Fasting as a means of focus and self-discipline are quite common in the Eastern religions.  And charity toward the poor and needy is a universal good work as beggars from Bombay to Boston will testify.

       In the modern Western world, that is, the contemporary Catholic/Protestant world, prayer, fasting and almsgiving have become mostly personal, even private, devotions.  One prays, one fasts and one gives to the poor as one sees fit.  While Catholics are still expected to attend Mass on Sunday and to avoid meat on Lenten Fridays and regularly to support the religious charities, these good works are done much more individually than corporately, much more at one’s discretion than as part of a public effort.  They are understood more as individual duties rather than as a collective witness of the whole Church. 

       The individualization of these time-honored works of mercy has clearly diminished their effectiveness and diffused their influence.  Admittedly these three pious exercises do benefit the individual believer.  Prayer brings a person closer to God.  Fasting subdues the passions.  And almsgiving counters a man’s materialistic bent.  Nonetheless, these three works of mercy did not secure their place in salvation history simply as pious exercises for the devout soul.  These three works of mercy were emblems of solidarity within the believing community.  Communal prayer at specific times and in particular places was a support for the whole believing community and an invitation to the one’s unbelieving neighbors to join with the elect.  Regulated fasting before specific feasts and during entire seasons again deepened the appreciation of the believer for the events of the Church’s calendar and announced to the unbelieving world that there were satisfactions more important than the physical gratifications of this world.  Almsgiving, or stewardship as it might be called nowadays, when it was genuine, was the systematic putting aside of a generous portion of one’s income or resources for the benefit of the needy.  In the days before welfare and social security, street corner charity fulfilled a legitimate need.  Including the poor in the distribution of one’s goods was an impressive recognition of their dignity and a praiseworthy sign of one’s respect for a bother or sister in need. 

       The ancient and medieval worlds understood prayer, fasting and almsgiving as the collective obligation of the community, the parish, the people of God.  Modern Christians, if they appreciate prayer, fasting and almsgiving at all, view them simply as individual good works.  One believer might visit as nursing home.  Another might forego a treat.  Another might make a holy hour.  Another might take on some mortification like praying the rosary with arms fully extended.  Certainly these are all good works and no doubt they enrich one’s spiritual life.  But they are done as single acts of piety rather than as communal gestures bearing witness to a shared heritage and mutual goal.  Nowadays prayer, fasting and almsgiving speak more of a dedicated soul than they do of an effective church.

        When prayer is shared at a specific time and place, when fasting is universally and strictly observed, when almsgiving is systematic rather than sporadic, the witness value of these works of mercy is more properly focused and vastly enhanced.  Corporate prayer, regimented fasting, and disciplined almsgiving draw attention not to the individual who performs these good works but rather to the establishment that inspires and maintains them.  The Church community is readily perceived as the source of one’s spiritual strength and the sustainer of one’s good intentions.  True religion is not just a matter of one’s good intentions nor one’s good deeds.  True religion is the whole Church community bearing witness to a common heritage, shared values and a universal God.                        COMPLETE

       In the late nineteenth century a school of spirituality flourished which has become described as a “garden of the soul” piety.  The individual believer entered into the quietness of his own faith, his own devotions, his own personal, even private, relationship with God.  Rosaries, litanies, prayer books, novenas, and holy cards were the stuff of this religious effort.  Even today in the twenty-first century a number of persons derive great spiritual satisfaction from their private devotions – quietly fingering the beads while balancing a prayer book stuffed with holy cards recalling their patron saints and beloved dead.  Pope John XXIII, for all his social progressiveness, was described by his biographer as being devoted to this “garden of the soul” spirituality.  For example, he recited all fifteen decades of the rosary every day.

       Such “garden of the soul” spirituality possibly reflected the experience of the nineteenth century peasant whose entire life could be described as tending to a garden.  Most were tenants on a little plot of land.  The family lived in a thatched hut; grew a supply of vegetables and crops; tended the local flocks and herds; rarely ventured even to the next parish.  Except for possible military service, their garden was their universe.  Their daily lives took meaning from the limited experiences of their family life; their spiritual lives took meaning from the limited experiences of their souls: private prayers, family devotions, parish services.  Peasants worked hard and peasants prayed hard; such was their whole world.

       The twentieth century has witnessed the near demise of peasant life in most of the European nations from which Catholic America’s ancestors hailed.  The two world wars, the growth of democracy, industrialization, easier travel, better communications, even television, have all intruded into the peasant’s garden – both materially and spiritually.  Movements within the Church, too, ushered in new trends in spirituality:  the lay apostolate, Catholic Action, the liturgical movement, Scriptural renewal, the Second Vatican Council and drastic changes in marital, religious and priestly vocations have overwhelmed the neat spiritual gardens of our recent ancestors in the faith.   The Catholic world can no longer be contained within the pages of a prayer book.   

       In this Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus retreats to the Judean wilderness, to the sands and palms and rocks and animals that still constitute the rural areas of the Holy Land.  There, alone with God, Jesus enters into the garden of his own soul to sort out the consequences of being the Son of God in human flesh.  In the garden, in the wilderness, Jesus experiences, not an identity crisis as a lesser man might, but rather an identity challenge:  how to be divine in a human world and how to be human in a divine world.  And just as the serpent encroached into that original garden at Eden, tricking Adam and Eve into compromising their divinely bestowed duties, so now again the evil one intrudes into Jesus’ garden experience in an attempt to trick him into compromising his true identity as Son of God and Son of Man.  Happily Jesus is more respectful of his Father’s plan than Adam was.  He resists the devil’s deceits.  Jesus’ life takes on a very clear direction after his garden experience.  His mission is ever clearer thanks to his time spent alone with God. 

       Just as the garden – or perhaps, in this country, the back yard – has not completely disappeared from daily life and the worker can occasionally retreat there from the world’s clamor, so the garden of the soul can still benefit from regular and serious tending.  Quiet time, as it is called nowadays, spiritual reading, the liturgy of the hours, adoration before the Blessed Sacrament, and certainly the rosary, the stations of the Cross, and, yes, even a litany or a novena prayer can still provide much fertile soil needed for individual spiritual growth.  Authentic Christian spirituality should surely have its communal, ecclesial, sacramental and social aspects, as the recent past has witnessed.  But the narrow gate that leads to the garden of the soul may never be finally shut.  As in Eden and as in the Judean wilderness, God still waits in the garden to console and to comfort, to challenge and to encourage.                              COMPLETE

       Father John Sistare, assistant to the pastor at St. Joan of Arc Church in Cumberland, has a new angle for driving home to the youth of his parish the horrendous extent of abortion in our country.  Father has some teenagers form a line, standing before their peers in the congregation, leaving a space after each second student.  Two teens than a space, two teens then a space, etc.  Once they have organized themselves in this fashion, he tells them to look at all the blank spaces around the church.  The blank spaces represent the one/third of the current generation that has been wiped out by abortion.  Those boyfriends and girlfriends, those athletes and scholars, those classmates and siblings, who might have stood in company with them were never allowed to see the light of day.  Abortion has wiped out a third of a generation: indeed, an incalculable loss.

       The horror of abortion was driven home recently not only by Father Sistare’s imaginative activity but also by a current legislative proposal in the Rhode Island legislature specifying that health insurance companies must provide infertility coverage for domestic partners and other unmarried persons.  Apparently married couples in Rhode Island pursuing medical solutions for infertility are covered by their health insurers.  Single persons, co-habitators, and homosexual couples are not covered.  The proposed legislation argues that an unmarried couple or a single woman or anyone else who does not fit into the typical mom and dad family unit are being unjustly deprived of financial assistance with their infertility problem.  Proponents argue that all persons should be covered regardless of their marital status. 

       Obviously infertility is never going to be a key, personal issue for me as a Roman Catholic priest.  As Butterfly McQueen declared in Gone With The Wind, “I don’t know nothin’ about birthing babies.”   But persons who do face infertility are no doubt greatly troubled and their plight is not to be dismissed.  Nonetheless, the contrast between one/third of a generation of youngsters being wiped out by abortion and the extreme measures that society takes to secure fertility even for those who radically depart from the traditional family unit is astounding.  Persons who find fertility no problem at all can legally abort an unborn child.  Persons who find fertility a problem are offered legislation to assist them in producing a child.  On the one hand, society aborts babies and on the other hand, society subsidizes babies.  Surely there is an inconsistency here.   And the inconsistency is this:  modern American exalts the private individual over the traditional family, personal inclinations over community opportunities.

       If the one/third of American teenagers who have been aborted were alive today there would be no fertility problem.  Responsible persons interested in raising children would have had an ample supply of newborns over the past thirty years whom they could have adopted, raised, educated, and cherished.  Granted, adoption is not the same as a live birth.  But, in the light of current practice, what is more urgent for society to endorse and to underwrite?  Fertility?  Or responsibility?  Sadly, America’s interests lie with an individual’s personal fulfillment and not with the nation’s common good.  

       In this Sunday’s Gospel, the apostles witness the presence of three men whose entire lives were spent fighting against the trend of their times.  Elias fought Jezebel and her pagan priests even to the point of physical and mental exhaustion, retreating to the desert to get his second wind.  Moses had the thankless task of leading the stiff-necked Jews through the wilderness for forty years – and dying on the banks of the Jordan River, the Promised Land still in the distance.  And Jesus Christ, of course, was sadly put to death after combating the duplicity of the Scribes and Pharisees for the whole of his public life.  Yet in the end, these three men triumphed.  Their missions were accomplished.  The modern day Christian, like the apostles, must take heart from the transfigured Christ.   The perversity of human society can seem overwhelming at times.  But the promises of God, brought to fulfillment in the transfigured Christ, offer powerful encouragement and abiding support to the true believer.  COMPLETE       

       The elderly Mark Twain supposedly declared, “Reports of my demise have been greatly exagger-ated.”  The same might be said of the Ten Commandments which constitute the first reading at Mass this coming Sunday.  Student priests fortunate enough to be in the seminary during the 1960s were convinced that the Ten Commandments had seen their day and that a great era of liberation from positive law was just in the offing.  The antinomian (that is, anti-legal) attitude of those days arose from the legalistic frame of mind with which most twentieth century Catholics were raised.  Those were the days when swallowing too much tooth paste broke the fast and prevented one from receiving Holy Communion.  That was a time when worshippers argued about how much of the Mass they could miss on the Lord’s Day and still fulfill their Sunday obligation.  It was then that Catholics would take advantage of day-light saving time to enjoy a hamburger until 1 o’clock on Friday morning.  (And of course it was in those decades that Catholic Mass attendance was at 65% and Catholic observance of the Church’s rules on family planning was almost 80%.)  But then college professors reminded Catholic students that Christians were “not under the law but under grace.”  And the house of cards was quickly flattened.

       The theology prevalent in those days was not all wrong.  Believers are indeed saved by the grace of God and not by the keeping of the law.  The Protestants are not incorrect when they insist that salvation arises from faith and not from works.  While the Ten Commandments still form the basic structure within which every believer must work out his salvation, the supreme law for Christians is not the Decalogue, with all due respect, but rather the Holy Spirit.  In an ideal world, the Ten Commandments should not be necessary.  In the ideal Christian world, the believer should be so in touch with the Spirit, so alert to the Spirit’s promptings, so attuned to his impulses, that no external law or code of conduct should be needed.  In an ideal world, Christian morality should be second nature to the spirit-filled person.  Goodness should be almost instinctive.  Alas, this post-original sin world is far from ideal and moral conduct is far from an instinctive response for even the best Christian.  With the clouded minds and weakened wills mankind has inherited from the Eden event, human beings need a lot more than intuition and instinct to be good.  Positive law – the moral law spelled out in no uncertain terms – is an indispensable support and an obligatory guide for a race that is still a long way from maturity, virtue and responsibility.

       The Ten Commandments are simply the natural law innate in the heart of every man written out in convenient form.  Man’s obligations toward the one God, toward his Name and toward his day form the three introductory Commandments.  Then mankind’s duties toward his community are clearly listed.  Respect for authority, respect for life, respect for marriage and family, respect for private property and respect for another’s good reputation – the building blocks of any decent society – are successively enumerated.  And finally the believer is warned not even to think (covet) about violating these mandates.

       Each of these commands is deep within the heart of every man and every society.  No man is innately wicked.  There is a conscience lurking even in the least person.  But, while man is not wicked, he is patently weak.  And this is where the Commandments are helpful.  The Commandments are the framework within which every well-intentioned person must work out his salvation.  To go against the Commandments or to fall short of the Commandments is a peril every believer wants to avoid.  The Commandments call mankind to a level of morality and maturity beyond his weakened inclinations.  The Commandments guide mankind through the confusion of conflicting instincts.  The Commandments enlighten mankind when his society is in error.  The Commandments reveal to a man the heights of excellence God expects from him.  While the Ten Commandments themselves are about 3500 years old, the mandates outlined are as old as mankind and, even more significantly, they are rooted in the very nature of the God Himself.  Don’t look for them to disappear in the near future.   COMPLETE

       It is difficult to single out the Bible’s most famous words.  “Let there be light…The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want…Our Father who art in heaven…Do unto others as you would have them do unto you…The Lord loves a cheerful giver…”  Certainly all of these sayings would be in the running.  But if the question were asked, “In modern America which is the Bible’s most famous citation?” the answer would definitely be John 3:16.  Every major football, baseball, hockey and basketball game that is televised nationally finds some dedicated soul in the stands with a placard announcing that celebrated verse.  John 3:16 is the opening line of this coming Sunday’s Gospel:  “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”  These words proclaim the universal love of God for mankind.  But they also lay claim to another distinction.  This is the only place in the Bible where it says that God loves “the world”.  In the Old Testament God loves Israel.  In the New Testament God loves the Church.  Here uniquely the Scriptures assert the love of God for this world, this material world, this secular world, indeed, this sinful world.

       That God’s love for the world should be declared so openly in St. John’s Gospel is powerfully significant.  In the Fourth Gospel, the world invariably means the wayward, unconverted, disbelieving pagan world of the first century.  In St. John’s terminology, the unsaved worldling stands in contrast to the saved believer.  “The whole world has been given over to the Evil One,” wrote St. John and that just about summarizes his thoughts on the non-believing society of his day.  Yet John 3:16 does give hope to the eager believer who would share his Christian faith with the world around him.  God does love the world in spite of its limitations.  God does love secular society in spite of its worldliness.  God does love the mass of humanity in spite of their disbelief – intentional or otherwise. 

       The love of God for his world, yes, for this sinful world, is affirmed with equal power in the memorable words of St. Paul which are happily found in the second reading today:, “God, who is rich in mercy, because of the great love he had for us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, brought us to life with Christ -. by grace you have been saved.”  Christ did not die for the Christian community after its conversion.  Christ died for the Christian community while that community was still part of the world, while that community was still in its sins.  In this Christians are no different from their worldly counterparts.  Every man starts life as a sinner; it is the grace of God that calls a man out of darkness, out of the world, into God’s glorious light, the Christian Church.  This call to conversion is a free gift that no man deserves and that no man can merit. 

       God’s love for Israel in the Old Testament and God’s love for the Church in the New Testament are really just microcosms of God’s collective love for his whole universe.  The Church in a special way is called to be the sacrament of God’s love, the living and effective sign that God loves sinners, redeems sinners and heals sinners.  The Church is therefore meant to be a signal of hope to the world.  If God can convert Christians from their waywardness, he can and will convert anyone who is open to his word.

       So the fan in the stands with John 3:16 emblazoned before the media is a true evangelist in the strict sense of that word.  He truly is calling attention to the “Good News,” to the free gift of God that the Church calls grace.  As St. Paul continues in the same passage, “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so no one may boast.”   

       The Good News of salvation made a powerful impact on the ancient world precisely because it was freely proffered.  The Good News of salvation conferred a sense a dignity on ancient man, a sense that he was loved, cherished and esteemed.  Man’s sinful ways were not irrevocable.  Mankind was not lost.  There was hope.  For ancient man this was indeed good news!  And it still is!   

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       The appeal of the Greeks who approach Philip in this Sunday’s Gospel is the same request made by every generation of believers: “Sir, we want to see Jesus.”  In the light of their respectful demand, I have given some thought on how I have met Jesus over the years.  My initial vision of Jesus began with my parents.  They were indeed good Catholics.  We never missed Mass.  My mother went every morning as did my father after he retired.  They gave the sisters a ride when needed and participated in major parish functions.  But they were certainly not pillars of the church.  I never recall a priest being entertained in our home.  Yet the focus of their religious lives was very clear.  The church was God’s instrument in their midst.  Fidelity to the church was fidelity to Christ.  I think this made Jesus visible, even tangible, for me. 

       The Religious Sisters of Mercy in St. Charles Parochial School in Woonsocket sharpened the focus on Christ begun by my parents.  These women had no other reason to exist than us children.  They weren’t selling better dresses in Filene’s after school hours nor were they rushing off to Call-To-Action assemblies in Kansas City.  Their whole lives focused on us -- sometimes even at the expense of their own talents and personalities.  Again their fidelity, their dedication, their unwavering commitment, made the church and God and Jesus very real for us.  They took themselves seriously and this made us take them and all they represented seriously.  Jesus became even more visible, more tangible, more at hand.

       The brothers at LaSalle, in spite of their religious habits, came across as disciplinarians and teachers rather than church figures.  But the priests who taught us Latin and religion somehow mirrored the wider church.  Fathers Kelly, Guertin, Hogan and Dyer, in very understated ways, represented the institution –the church, the diocese, the parish – through which God was reaching our souls.  The same was true of the priests at Our Lady of Providence Seminary (Warwick Neck) and at St. Bernard’s Seminary in Rochester.  As students we certainly mimicked their idiosyncrasies and relished their eccentricities, but it was very clear that the church was their life.  Doctrine and morality and liturgy and devotions and social outreach were all taken very seriously.  If we could be faithful to their teachings – which were clearly church teachings – we would sooner or later meet Jesus.  Again, the Catholic Church was our Philip, leading us to Jesus.

       Catholics today would have to agree that we have been privileged to live in an era of outstanding Supreme Pontiffs.  The Popes of the twentieth century were men of astonishing insight and dedication.  Even the secular world saw Jesus in Pope John XXIII and Pope John Paul II.  One very clear vision of Jesus for me came through the study of Pope Paul VI’s Humanae Vitae.  Pope Paul is often remembered as a Hamlet who saw too many sides to every question.  But his resolve to publish Humanae Vitae with its memorable challenge that every conjugal act must be “open to the transmission of life” was perhaps the most decisive judgment made by any pontiff since Pope Cornelius re-admitted idolaters to confession.  Pope Paul stood largely alone in 1968 supported only by his own sense of the discipline intrinsic to Christian marriage.  His fidelity to the church in the face of such odds, coupled with his perceptive appreciation of marital relations, convinces me that Jesus was present in this man. 

       When erstwhile Bishop Kelly spoke at the dedication of the diocesan office building in the late 1960s, he predicted that we would look back on the 1950s and early 60s as “the golden age of the Diocese of Providence.”   Certainly the churches were full, the rectories were full, the convents were full, the schools were full, the seminary was full, the motherhouses were full and the media were not full of detraction, defamation, and denouncement.  This might appear as a rather naïve assessment.  Not every Catholic rectory, convent or family home was a happy place.  Yet the institutional fidelity of that era, in spite of individual deficiencies, truly made Jesus real, tangible and visible for so many believers.  Given a choice between the naiveté of those days and the cynicism of today – you decide.          COMPLETE

       A couple of weeks ago an E-Mail arrived lamenting (actually celebrating) the passing of arch-feminist Betty Friedan.  The message read: The status of women has never been lower - more physical abuse, more rape, more divorce, more multiple abortions, more unwed births, more shackups, more incurable disease, and guaranteed poverty for those who buy into feminist promiscuity.  Since the local parish bulletin has a Pro-Life reflection every week, I thought of including this statement as the week’s segment.  Then I thought, perhaps this is a bit harsh for a parish bulletin.  But, figuring that I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a goat, I published it.  Any misgivings I might have had about feminist excesses over the past decades since Ms. Friedan’s advent were dispelled when I read in the morning’s Providence Journal the following sad assessment: “’In Hollywood, babies are like the new Gucci bag, the hip new accessory, “ says [author Jessica] Denay, “It’s celebrated now.  The message is, you can be a great mom and sexy and have a career, too.’”

       Where is Dan Quayle now that we need him?  The former vice-president’s contretemps with sit-com character Murphy Brown over single motherhood seems absolutely prophetic in light of the unwed mother phenomenon that has taken celebrities and less significant persons by storm.  Consider the facts: “Illegitimacy rates have substantially increased in recent years. As a percent of total white births, illegitimate white births nearly doubled, from 11 to 20 percent, between 1980 and 1990. During the same period, black illegitimacy rates increased from 55 to 65 percent. For all Americans, the increase was from 18 to 28 percent. Over a longer time horizon, the increase is even sharper. The total illegitimacy rate was 5.3% in 1960, and only 2.3% for whites.”  Lately the figures have stabilized but at an even higher rate.  A priest of this diocese asked a young unwed mother who sat in his office discussing family problems if she even had any relatives, friends or acquaintances who were married.  The young lady thought for a moment and then replied, “No.”

       The problem here is that women, men and babies are all being exploited in the interest of individual freedom and personal choice.  These are the paramount values of the very early twenty-first century.  Alienated teenage girls, it is said, view babies as an opportunity to give meaning to their lives.  They can “love” the baby and experience some love in return.  Horrible as it may sound, it’s almost like having a pet.  When this tendency toward unwed motherhood, for whatever reason, is endorsed and encouraged by attractive, rich, and successful women like Jodie Foster and Demi Moore (and their playmates, too), the whole transaction becomes almost respectable, even enviable.  Authors note that there is a “social sympathy” for unwed motherhood now that was not present a few decades ago.  Of course, the attention given to rich, celebrated women who can afford nannies and fine schools and luxuriant homes in which to raise their offspring obscures the hundreds of thousands of babies who are born into poverty and obscurity.  Envying Angelina Jolie in the tabloids at the check out counter at Stop & Shop is hardly sufficient reason to bring a child into the world.

      A cousin of mine once observed that there were two reasons why our generation was cautious about sex before marriage: first, it was a sin, and, second, our fathers would kill us when we got home.  Ecclesial, social and parental attitudes toward sex outside of marriage were very clear and exceedingly unsympathetic in the not too distant past.  Somehow a “social sympathy” has to be recaptured for the family unit, for chastity and for the babies that have become mere property to be shown off resting on the hip of their liberated moms.  Once again the common good must be brought into balance with individual rights.  Neither women nor men have the right to bring children into this world as novelties or as experiments or as statements about themselves.  Every child has a right to a family (read mother and father).  Departures from this right should be the rare exception – certainly not the fashion as it is becoming nowadays.  The common good of the family must be sincerely respected and conscientiously encouraged by any serious society. 

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       Wisely does the universal Church celebrate the Chrism Mass and the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on the same day, Holy Thursday.  The Chrism Mass, traditionally celebrated on Holy Thursday morning, is an expansive but consistent commemoration of God’s priestly people.   The first reading from Isaiah recalls the ancient Jewish practice of the anointing of priests, prophets and kings, commissioning them to reveal the Good News of salvation not only through preaching and teaching but also through their sympathetic outreach to the lowly, the brokenhearted, the captive and the mournful.  Isaiah proclaims gloriously, “You yourselves shall be named priests of the Lord, ministers of our God shall you be called.”  The psalm of that morning Mass significantly highlights David who singly had been anointed as God’s servant and to whom Jesus Christ is compared more often in the New Testament than to any other Old Testament figure.  The words of St. Paul concur that this morning liturgy is a celebration of God’s anointed people.  St. Paul salutes Jesus Christ who has transformed believers into a kingdom of “priests for his God and Father.”  And, not to be outdone, Jesus himself in the Gospel passage for the day, quotes liberally from the prophet Isaiah speaking of his own Divine anointing and outlining his personal vision of his pastoral ministry: The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor.  He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord.

       Joined to these Scripture readings that celebrate God’s anointed people is a more focused blessing of the priestly implements that the ordained minister will use in his pastoral services.  The oil of catechumens, the oil of the sick, the sacred chrism are effective signs that will be employed by the priest to carry out the very mission outlined by Isaiah and by Christ.  These oils will proclaim liberty from the captivity of sin, release from the bondage of ill health, freedom from human weakness and initiation into the fullness of God’s people.  The prophecy of Isaiah and the words of Christ ring true as these oils are carried to the sanctuary by ordained deacons, blessed by the ordained bishop and then dispensed to the ordained priests of the diocese to do the pastoral work for which they were intended.

       Having broadly introduced the ministry of the Catholic priesthood in these morning Scripture readings and sacramental blessings, the Church now concentrates more sharply on the ministerial priesthood in the evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper.  The reciprocal themes of sacrifice and service – the very heart of the Catholic priesthood – permeate and penetrate the readings and rituals of the Holy Thursday Mass.  Careful to celebrate this Mass in the evening, as Jesus did “on the night before he died,” the Church remembers the institution of the Eucharist as a sacrifice (“This is my Body…given…This is the cup of my Blood…shed…”).  And the Church also recalls the institution of the priesthood, “Do this in remembrance of Me.”  But Holy Thursday’s Mass of the Lord’s Supper not only relives Christ’s work as a priest, offering sacrifice at the altar of the Cross, it also enshrines Christ’s work of service through the foot washing of his personally selected men.  Christ’s authentic priesthood consists not only of sacrifice but also of service.  And now he dramatically and graphically drives home to his new priests that their priesthood, too, must involve both sacrifice and service.  The sacramental worship of God through Christ and the practical service of neighbor in Christ are the twin pillars on which the Roman Catholic priesthood rests. 

       As usual Jesus selects practical items like food and feet to embody more illusive realities like sacrifice and service.  Jesus, about to exercise his priesthood through the sacrifice of the Cross, translates this sacrifice into service.  He washes the feet of his first priests.  Giving his life on the Cross includes giving his life in fraternal service.  The apostles, and the ordained clergy who will follow them, must similarly support their daily ritual sacrifices through exemplary service to their brothers and sisters in the Lord.  Ritual sacrifice without practical service is a cheat and a disappointment.  On Holy Thursday the Church joyously asks her ordained sons to re-commit themselves to the sacrifice and service that realizes their priesthood.          COMPLETE 

       The old catechism definition of a sacrament reads “an outward sign instituted by Christ to give grace.”  Sometimes the outward sign is very obvious: the water poured at baptism, the bread and wine at Mass, the public vows at a wedding.  And sometimes the institution by Christ is equally compelling:  “Do this in remembrance of Me….Unless a man be born again of water and the Spirit…”  And certainly the institution by Christ of the sacrament of Penance, found in this coming Sunday’s Gospel, is readily discovered:   “Whose sins you shall forgive, they are forgiven them.  Whose sins you shall retain, they are retained.” 

       Jesus had just died on the Cross and has now returned glorious from the grave.  The alienation that existed between God and man since the time of Adam and Eve was now healed, forgiven and reconciled.  The very first words out of the mouth of the risen Christ, “Peace be with you!” affirm a restored harmony between God and man.  Through the death and resurrection of Christ, God and man are one again.  The newly achieved ministry of reconciliation is now to be shared with believers by the apostles and their successors through the myriad works of the Church.  And certainly one of the chief ways in which Christ’s gift of reconciliation will be dispensed to believers is through the sacrament of Penance.  Penance is truly the sacrament of peace, the sacrament of forgiveness, the sacrament of reconciliation. 

       But if the institution of the sacrament of Penance on Easter Sunday night is clearly apparent, the question might still be asked as to what the outward sign of the sacrament of Penance might be.  Some will readily suggest that contrition, confession and satisfaction on the part of the penitent are the outward signs of this sacrament.  A clear manifestation of regret and amendment, a clear acknowledgment of sin, a clear act of atonement – these are all commendable and integral elements of a good confession.  But they are all acts of the penitent.  And the sacramental ministry of reconciliation was not conferred on the Church at large; it was entrusted to the Apostles and through them to the ordained priesthood.  So the full outward of the sacrament of Penance must involve the priest, not just the penitent.

       The full outward sign of the sacrament of Penance includes a judgment by the priest on the sincerity of a penitent’s contrition, confession and satisfaction.  Christ challenged his priests on Easter Sunday night to make a weighty assessment of each sinner: “Whose sins you shall forgive, they are forgiven them.  Whose sins you shall retain, they are retained.”   The priest does not dispense forgiveness willy nilly.  He does not reconcile souls indiscriminately.  The dutiful confessor – as harsh as it may sound nowadays – passes judgment on each penitent:  “Yes, I think this person is genuine so I will forgive him.”  Or, rarely, “No, I do not think this person is genuine so I cannot forgive him.” 

       A benign judgment on the part of the priest, expressed in the words of absolution, effects the sacrament of Penance.  This favorable judgment, supported by the happy words “I absolve you of your sins in the Name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit,” is visibly re-enforced most often by the sign of the Cross made by the confessor over the penitent.  At one time it was a practice to wave a small wand over the penitent as a symbol of the sacramental absolution granted by the priest.

       While God may certainly heal souls as he sees fit – even apart from ecclesial and sacramental ventures – the ordinary path to full reconciliation with God is the course that leads from Baptism through to Eucharist, with Penance as the great support to the pilgrim who wends his imperfect way to the fullness of the Kingdom.  The parish priest waits in the tribunal of mercy known as the confessional (or the reconciliation room) offering a kindly judgment to those who are genuinely contrite or, sadly and infrequently, recommending second thoughts to those who are insensitive to their own faults.     COMPLETE

       A familiar scene pervading the post-Resurrection appearances of Jesus Christ to his Apostles is the sight of Jesus eating with his disciples.   It might be the brief observation of St. Mark that Jesus appeared to the Eleven while they were “at table.”  Or it might be the almost camplike setting of Jesus preparing a charcoal fire for the returning apostolic fishermen to enjoy their fresh catch.  Then again the tender vignette of Jesus’ breaking bread with the two disciples at Emmaus on Easter evening must not be over looked.  St. John and St. Luke seem particularly intent on underlining Jesus’ presence to his followers at meal time.  Whether in the Upper Room or on the seashore or at a village nearby the capital city, mealtime means fellowship with the Lord for his closest friends.

       St. Luke tellingly includes an added dimension to these mealtime encounters with Christ which must never be overlooked.  St. Luke informs his readers that, while Christ is enjoying a meal with his dear friends, he also opens their minds to the meaning of the Scriptures.  Christ thoroughly analyzes the Hebrew Scriptures, carefully emphasizing those passages that refer to him and his mission.  Jesus clarifies the Old Testament for the Eleven and demonstrates that these honored writings bear clear witness to him.  He is the fulfillment of the Bible’s prophecies, the realization of the Jews’ longings, the answer to their personal prayers and temple liturgies.  

       Clearly St. Luke has given a lot of deliberate thought to this union of Scripture and meal sharing.   Reading the Bible and sharing a meal are not accidentally placed together by the author of the third Gospel.  Scriptural nourishment and sacramental nourishment were already a vital part of the Christian life by the time St. Luke put to pen to papyrus to write his account of Jesus’ ministry.  The Mass, as later generations would come to call it, is precisely a combination of the service of the Word and the service of the Bread which so impressed St. Luke.  The proclamation of the Bible and sharing of the Body and Blood of Christ celebrated in assembly, clearly the core of the modern Church, was equally appreciated by the early Church.  The Mass, a Scriptural and Eucharistic meal, was cherished from the start. 

       The tale of the dejected disciples on their sullen journey to Emmaus illustrates this lesson on God’s Bible and Christ’s Body best of all.   And this lesson is further validated by another surprising Scriptural source; but more on that in a moment.  The two Emmaus disciples have lost Jesus.  They terribly miss his presence.  He has been gone for three days.  During their encounter with the inquisitive stranger, their hearts burn within them as the meaning of the Scriptures is revealed to them.  Then, when their appreciation of Scripture is joined to their evening meal at the wayside inn, they come to recognize Jesus in the breaking of bread.  This event is a patent reference to the Mass.  Scripture, meal, bread, sharing, fellowship, presence, mission and awakened faith are all elements still found in every Mass and are too obvious here to be denied.  The living, resurrected Christ is discovered and enjoyed once again at Mass. 

       So important was this notion of discovering Christ at the table fellowship now called the Mass that St. Luke begins the public life of Christ with a remarkably similar lesson.  Like the two Emmaus disciples, the two parents of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, have lost their son.  Like the disciples’ hope in Christ’s Messiahship, the young Jesus has vanished.  Mary and Joseph search for their missing son sorrowfully for three days – the disciples similarly were bemoaning the absence of Jesus for three days.  And where do Mary and Joseph find Jesus?  They find him in the temple discussing religion with the Jewish leaders.  In other words, Mary and Joseph find Jesus in church, in the assembly of believers, in the worshipping community.  Just as the Emmaus disciples discovered Jesus in the Scriptures and the breaking of bread which would develop into the Mass, so Mary and Joseph discover Jesus in the center of Jewish liturgical life, the Temple, whose animal sacrifices would gradually give way to the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass , the supreme and ultimate act of worship.  St. Luke’s message is simple: if you want to find Jesus, go to Mass.                                                                                                                          COMPLETE

       A spate of apocryphal Gospels celebrated by so-called Scripture scholars like Elaine Pagels (Gnostic Gospels), Bart D. Ehrman (Gospel of Judas), Marvin Meyer (Gospel of Thomas), Jean-Yves Leloup (Gospel of Mary Magdalene), not to mention the writers of The DaVinci Code and Holy Blood, Holy Grail have recently come to the fore.  These popular studies allege that the variety of unofficial gospels that were in circulation in the early years of Christianity illustrate that the first generations of believers were not the monolithic, uniform, homogeneous clones that the modern church might suspect.  There was a great deal of variety in the early Church, they argue, and so this should give modern Christians second thoughts about Church unity.  Perhaps the authentic Christian community, they assert, does not have to be the complaint, submissive, docile society that good Christians are often expected to be.  Actually, these modernist students of God’s Word contend that the distinguishing mark of the early Church was not a compelling conformity but rather a distinctive diversity.   So, according to these best selling authors, the believing community has gone full circle – from first century diversity to twenty-first century diversity, from ancient multiculturalism to fresh multiculturalism.  To their way of thinking, such variety is a cause for celebration – as well as an occasion to write a new book.

       Readers who appreciate the four canonical Gospels, the Letters of St. Paul and the Lucan Acts will heartily endorse the notion that Christianity’s earliest years were beset, not just with diversity, but actually with real division.  St. Luke’s assessment that the first Christians were “of one mind and one heart” is appealing but naïve.  Consider that the human authors of the four Gospels certainly had their divinely inspired agenda.  St.  Matthew cherished the Law; St. Mark esteemed the suffering Christ; St. Luke doted on women, prayer, mercy and the Spirit; St. John exalted personal faith in a triumphant Jesus. There was much diversity there.   Saints Peter and Paul knew no end of contention and strife in their three decades of Church leadership.  Yet diversity in the early Church was never used as a justification for division.  The early Church was scandalized by division, and doctrinal and moral unity was an enduring pre-occupation with early Church leaders and authors.  Orthodoxy always outranked variety in the early Christian scale of values.  Disunity pained our fathers in the faith and their writings evidence a powerful longing for Church unity.

       St. Peter’s words to the Jewish elders in this Sunday’s first reading leave no doubt about the sole foundation stone which unites all true Christians: “There is no salvation through anyone else,
nor is there any other name under heaven given to the human race by which we are to be saved.”  These weighty words leave little room for essential diversity.  The psalm response supports this focused viewpoint: The stone rejected by the builders has become the cornerstone.  Jesus alone is at the basis of Christianity.   St. John’s Gospel words continue the theme of unity.  The overriding sin of the ancient pagan world is precisely that it “did not know” Jesus Christ.  The secular world’s diverse opinions, no matter how celebrated or erudite, paled when compared to the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ.  And it is the familiar Gospel metaphor that truly drives home the nearness of Church unity to the heart of Christ and the mind of the Church.  “I am the good shepherd,” Jesus proclaims famously.  “I know mine and mine know me,” he continues, “just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.”.  Then Christ adds tellingly, “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold.  These also I must lead, and they will hear my voice, and there will be one flock, one shepherd.”  Essential Church unity is clearly the will of Christ.  And it is the will of the Divine Father as well:  “This command I have received from my Father.”

       The Church of the Scriptures is focused on Christ.  The Church of the Scriptures laments those who do not know the true Christ.  It is the authentic knowledge of Christ that is the bond of unity among all believers.  “One flock, one shepherd” is a commission given by Christ to Church leaders and Church members alike.   Division concerning the essential faith and basic morals of Christianity fractures the authentic knowledge of Christ, dividing believer from believer and, ultimately, the believer from God. 

COMPLETE

       Someone in my early academic career, perhaps it was a sister in grammar school or maybe a brother in high school or even a priest at the seminary, was fond of citing an anecdote about the elderly apostle, St. John the Evangelist.  According to a plausible if unwritten tradition, the beloved disciple would be escorted by aids in his extreme old age to a waiting congregation ready to hang on every word of this last of Christ’s intimate followers.  Time and again, the near century old preacher would steady himself on a cane or nearby chair to gently and simply advise his eager flock, “Little children, love one another.”  Those brief words were the sum of the Gospel message for this man who had followed Christ from the Sea of Galilee to the empty garden tomb.  This familiar admonition to love the brothers summarized the spiritual knowledge of this man whom no less a figure than St. Paul labeled a “pillar of the church.”  Love as the noblest occupation became the final advice of this inspired writer who is symbolized by the high flying eagle for the loftiness and excellence of his theology.

       Undeniably love had come to encapsulate the entirety of Christian revelation for this long lived apostle.  In the second reading this coming Sunday drawn from the first Epistle of St. John, the evangelist clearly guides his readers along the path of love: “Children, let us love not in word or speech but in deed and truth…And his commandment is this: we should…love one another just as he commanded us.”  And surely, these are but a few lines in a cycle of letters that stress the same theme.  For example,   “God is love; and he who abides in love abides in God and God in him.”  Or again, “In this is love, not that we have loved God but that God has loved us and has made us his children.”  And so forth.  And so on.

       The abundant tribute that St. John devotes to love in the Christian life makes it all the more remarkable that St. John’s second favorite word might just be “commandments.”  Love and commandment in the same breath is, to the modern mind, almost a contradiction.  Yet the new commandment that St. John places on the lips of Jesus at the Last Supper is the commandment to love.  In the already cited second reading for this Sunday, the apostle also writes about commandments: “Those who keep his commandments remain in him, and he in them.” This is almost exactly what he wrote concerning love in the lines cited above, “He who abides in love abides in God and God in him.”  So according to St. John, both love and commandments lead to the enduring presence of God in the believer’s life: God “remains” in him; God “abides” in him. 

       Yet, as had been noted, love and commandments in the modern mentality are ideas that are worlds apart.  After all, everyone knows that love is easy and commandments are tough.  Common expressions like “falling in love,” “love at first sight,” “madly in love,” indicate that love is an almost effortless experience.  Love is “doing what comes naturally.”  Commandments on the other hand focus on difficult tasks.  Children don’t have to be commanded to eat ice cream.  But they do have to be commanded to eat spinach.  Soldiers don’t have to be commanded to march down Main Street on Memorial Day; but they might have to be commanded to leave a bunker and charge the enemy on the field of battle.  So why does the beloved disciples juxtapose the terms love and commandment so often?

       Unlike the infatuation or obsession that constitutes the modern romantic view of love, love in the mind of St. John is much more akin to the old fashioned idea of duty.  St. John’s concept of love goes beyond sentiment and emotion and passion.  St. John’s love is hard work.  Love to the fourth Evangelist is attentive, patient, forgiving, fortifying, supportive, and enduring.  In a world of short-term love evidenced by no-fault divorce, disregard for the unborn, mercy killing and assisted suicide for the ailing, co-habitation and casual alliances, St. John’s words on love seem quaint, naïve and unrealistic.  Yet the old divine’s message remains as insightful today as it was to the community at Ephesus:  the challenge of enduring love is the measure of authentic Christianity.                                                    COMPLETE

       On the solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ, which occurs this year in mid-June, congregations in the diocese of Providence may notice some subtle and some obvious adaptations in their Sunday worship service.  Some time ago the Church issued a revised General Instruction on the Roman Liturgy and attendant documents mandating the proper celebration of Mass throughout the Catholic world.  Some parishes, of course, have already implemented most of these regulations.  Carrying the Book of the Gospels, never the lectionary, to the altar as Mass begins, standing to respond to the “Pray, my brothers and sisters…,” a circumscribed sign of peace, waiting for the celebrant to consume the Sacred Species before the Extra-Ordinary Ministers of Communion approach the altar, a decent bow at the mention of the Incarnation during the Creed and another bow before receiving Holy Communion – these actions, among others, are all enumerated in the Roman documents and in the corresponding diocesan directives assuring reverent and respectful liturgies throughout the Church.

       One series of directives happily highlighted in the regulations sent to local parishes recently was the need to recapture a sense of reverence and respect in our churches before, during, and after Mass by encouraging, and, if the need be, insisting, on the re-introduction of silence in our parish churches.  The diocesan document clearly list silence within our churches before Mass begins, silence at various times during the Service of the World encouraged by pauses before and after the readings, silence after the reception of Holy Communion to insure a proper personal thanksgiving, and silence after Mass concludes respecting those who choose to linger for private prayer and reflection.  It is not too long ago that these instructions on silence were taken for granted by the Catholic world.  Most readers probably grew up thinking it was a sin to talk in church. 

       Silence in church fell on hard times when parish churches became places to “build community” rather than worship God.  Catholics were encouraged to reach out toward their neighbor in the pew as a sign of concern and camaraderie.  Spoken interest in Alice’s game leg and Bobby’s scholarship and Henry’s unemployment and Margaret’s safe delivery replaced the Our Fathers and Hail Marys that used to prepare the soul for the imminent arrival of God into the assembly.  In the past, the Quiet Corner has been vilified from as far away as the Republic of Chile for defending silence in church.  Yet the Corner still maintains that faith in the personal presence of God in our Catholic churches, especially thorough the Eucharist, is uniquely encouraged by a respectful and reverential hush.  Peace and quiet are among  the handmaidens of authentic worship.

       Sacred space is a notion that pre-date both Christianity and Judaism.  Even pagans had their shrines in the countryside where they thought God was uniquely present.  Jacob awoke from his wrestling with the Deity declaring, “This is an awesome place!  This is none other than the house of God and the gate of heaven.”  (The old Latin translation read, “This is a terrible place!”)   People do not talk when they are awestruck.  Nor do they talk when they are terrified.  Speechlessness in the presence of God is a natural – and for the Catholic believer, supernatural – reaction to a Divine phenomenon.  Recall that wisdom begins with a “fear of God” – a reverential fear that captivates and astounds.

       St. Thomas Aquinas taught that the chief effect of the Mass was “the unity of the Christian faithful.”  Some have translated unity into closeness and familiarity.  Closeness and familiarity are fine at the laundromat, or on the bus to Foxwoods, or at a ham ‘n bean supper.  But the unity St. Thomas urges is a oneness brought about through Christ.  By being one in Christ through prayer and sacrament, Christians are one on the deepest level.  Christ as the source of parish unity clearly deserves the undivided attention of every believer – if only for fifty minutes on Sunday morning or Saturday night.  A renewed appreciation for the value of silence as the prelude to reverence and the servant of faith is much needed both locally and universally in our Church today.                                            COMPLETE

       Just when you think that the world has finally arrived at hell in the proverbial handbasket, something occurs that gives one pause and perhaps even a little hope.  This past summer I spent a few days in San Jose, California, en route to my annual vacation.  While there I read a national and a local paper and discovered two female columnists whose neo-feminist thoughts on intimate relationships both startled and gladdened me.  Elizabeth Sandoval wrote in USA Today and Amy Alkon appeared in the San Jose MetroNews. 

       Ms. Sandoval defines a neo-feminist as “one who respects her body so much that she won’t allow it to be used as someone’s playground.”  She outlines the contemporary sex scene noting that things go great for a month or two; sex quickly becomes part of one’s life; maybe he even meets your parents; then things change.  He dumps you or you dump him.  Later you pass each other on the street.  He nudges his friend and says, “See her?  I’ve had her.”  Ms. Sandoval insists, “I never want to be ‘her.’” 

       The columnist goes on to observes that people justify living together before marriage based on the statistic that many marriages end in divorce because people don’t really know whom they’re marrying.  Living together should solve this problem, cohabitators argue.  Ms. Sandoval counters that many marriages end in divorce precisely because people are casual about the relationship they have with their spouses. “Many people don’t take time to establish real communication with one another,” she concludes, also adding that cohabitation “is false intimacy.”  The writer notes too that many women accept popular society’s sexual norms too uncritically.  If everyone from Paris Hilton to Tom Cruise seems to be doing it, it can’t be wrong.  Women offer sex as if it were nothing, she observes, when, in fact, it is everything.

       Ms. Amy Alkon, who styles herself The Advice Goddess, responded to a question from a young woman whose sexual relationship with her live-in boy friend had become stagnant.  Ms. Alkon cites the adage that houseguests, like fish, stink after three days.  Living together makes a couple much more aware of each other’s idiosyncrasies, naturally lessening the glow of a relationship.  She observes pointedly, “Desire runs on the economics of scarcity.  That’s why diamonds, not speckled gray rocks, ‘are forever,’ and why special occasions are celebrated with champagne and caviar not tap water and a scoop of tuna.  You want what’s rare, or seems rare, not what’s there 24/7 gassing up your couch.” 

       The West Coast writer also notes that sexual ennui may just be Nature’s way of giving a married couple a chance to raise the kids.  This might be one reason why sex definitely belongs within marriage.  The columnist also has the temerity to suggest that dating rather than cohabitating might restore sexual relations to their proper vigor.  A date is a special event when people are on their best behavior, making their best appearance and giving their best effort.  Attraction thrives in a dating atmosphere (Didn’t we know that in high school?) but levels off when merely living together. 

       Perhaps the thoughts of these two women will not replace Pope John Paul II’s Theology of the Body but their writings, especially appearing in the secular press – and particularly in the California secular press – are very re-assuring.  Perhaps the perennial philosophy in which most of us were raised, in which sex was proper within marriage and prohibited outside of marriage, is making a come-back.  Or to put it more succinctly, perhaps common sense is making a come-back.  Natural Family Planning, so often dismissed as out of step and out of touch, is based on a cycle of sexual relating and sexual abstaining which not only regulates births but also stimulates desire.  Abstinence, like absence, makes the heart grow fonder.  This is human nature.   A stagnant relationship, either within and without marriage, might be a case of too much, too soon.  A measured pace – formerly called chastity – might put a lot of things back into proper perspective.     COMPLETE

      The Church of Ireland (a branch of Anglicanism whose members in the USA are known as Episcopalians and not be confused with the Church in Ireland) has decided to reject the dogmas of the Immaculate Conception and the Assumption of Mary – as well as Papal Infallibility – on the grounds that none of these doctrines is found in the Bible.  The Scriptures alone are to be the foundation of Irish Protestant faith.  On careful reflection, one would also have to concede that the New Testament itself is not mentioned in the Bible.  It is true that St. Luke cites his own record of eye-witness accounts and St. John names his own writings as sources of belief and St. Peter celebrates the letters of St. Paul.  But nowhere in the New Testament does one find the New Testament mentioned as such.    There is no inspired list of the twenty-seven books that currently constitute the New Testament.  So if the New Testament is not mentioned in the Bible, then how do these writings become authoritative on matters of Christian doctrine concerning Mary?   If the Bible is the sole rule of faith yet the Bible doesn’t tell believers exactly what constitutes the Bible, then how does one know what to accept as biblical? 

       Neither the Old Testament nor the New Testament was written in one sitting.  Much of the present Old Testament was assembled and written in definitive form during the Babylonian exile of the Jews about 500 years before Christ.  Some of the Old Testament, like the Books of Maccabees, was written as recently as two hundred years before Christ.  The New Testament was also written in bits and pieces over the course of the first Christian century, taking the existing shape about the year two hundred and then being finally accepted by the Church as authoritative sometime around the year three hundred.  So the Bible that is sitting on your coffee table right now experienced a rather lengthy and protracted period of composition.  For at least one whole generation the Church got along with no New Testament at all, and it was certainly a century or two before any one Christian community was in possession of all twenty-seven books that currently make up the New Testament. 

       So how did this Scriptureless Church survive with no footing, no foundation, no firm basis?  Well, actually the early Church not only survived, it thrived during that early pre-New Testament era just as Judaism thrived before Torah was finally inspired.  With all due respect to the Protestants of Ireland, the Church did not arise from the Bible; the Bible arose from the Church. 

       Jesus Christ himself wrote nothing that has survived.  But he did establish a living community of apostles and teachers, evangelists and ministers, worshippers and missionaries.  He entrusted to them an oral tradition (the Gospel) which he had determined by words and works, by example and miracles, over the three years of his public life.  And he also entrusted to them his very self through what later generations would call the sacraments.  So between the Gospel message and the sacramental life, the Church took shape, and gradually the written New Testament also took shape.  But the living, breathing, authentic and authoritative Church was there from the start – in fact, from Pentecost Sunday, a decade or two before St. Paul wrote his first letter.  And just as the early Church had the Spirit-guided infallibility to decide which written works were worthy of inclusion in the New Testament (the Canon of Scripture), so the Church in every generation has the Spirit-guided infallibility to decide which doctrines or beliefs, whether written or oral, actually comprise and reflect the original apostolic message entrusted by Christ to his Church.  It is the Church’s perennial responsibility to refine the oral and written traditions of Christianity – often through ecumenical councils, magisterial teachings and papal decrees which must always take into account the living faith of the universal Catholic community.

       A friend once ventured that every Bible could be cast into the sea and Christianity would still survive.  This was a bold way of saying that the living Catholic Church implicitly contains the New Testament.  So the Church is actually bigger than the Bible, embracing all the truths of revelation, both oral and written, as entrusted to the disciples – including those about Mary and her privileges.            COMPLETE

       Sometime during the 1970s and 80s it became fashionable to invite parishioners or, more often, certain parish groups to assemble around the altar during the Canon of the Mass and remain there until after Communion.  Youth groups, graduates, a small morning Mass crowd, and the like were given the privilege of intimately sharing in the action of the Mass.  No doubt viewing the ceremonies and rituals of the Mass from this vantage point was a joy for many people.  Sometimes the practice was even legitimized by a reference to the old Latin Mass which mentioned the “circumstantes,” that is, those “standing around.”   If it were good enough for old Rome certainly it was justifiable today.  LifeTeen, a rather successful youth movement around the country, employed this device until quite recently.

       However, when recent directives from Rome on the celebration of the liturgy are read, it seems that a distance is being placed between the pews and the altar.  For example, LifeTeen has been told in no uncertain terms to cease the practice of gathering the teens around the altar during Mass.  Extra-Ordinary Ministers of Communion are directed to remain in their pews until the priest has finished his Holy Communion, that is, until the priest has consumed the Precious Blood.  Formerly many parishes had the Extra-Ordinary Ministers approach the altar during the Lamb of God and assemble around the priest reminiscent of concelebration.  Or again, the priest for his part is encouraged to leave the area around the altar at the Sign of Peace only rarely, possibly at funerals and weddings, extending his hand to very few.  Formerly some priests enhanced their popularity by taking the time to shake just about every hand in church and giving at least a warm smile to those seated too far into the pew. 

       At first reading these clarifications on Catholic liturgical practice may seem to be placing an unwarranted barrier between the clergy and the laity.   Are the Catholic laity being told to know their place behind an imaginary altar rail?  Not at all.  The distinction between the altar and the pew, between the priest and the people, is not made at the expense of the people.  Rather the new emphasis reminds the people of their own Baptismal dignity.  When the priest has to go around the church shaking every extended hand, it is a sign that a handshake from a fellow parishioner is not quite as good as a handshake from the priest.  A lay handshake is second rate; it is the clerical handshake that confers real dignity.  By restricting the clerical handshake, Rome is proclaiming an equality of peace signs.  Your sign is just as worthy as mine.

       The same is true of the pre-mature gathering of the laity around the altar.  When lay people are invited to stand around the altar during the Canon or to assemble around the altar for the priest’s Communion, the message is given that only by proximity to the priest do the laity attain any  worthiness.  By themselves the laity are ecclesiastical second class citizens.  They achieve dignity only in the shadow of the priest.  By insisting that extra-ordinary ministers and others remain in their pew until the priest has completed his action, the Church is clearly teaching that these lay persons are not mere mini-priests, basking in the glow of clerical superiority.  Rather these ministers approach the altar as the first of the laity, the first among the people of God who are all invited to the supper of the Lamb through their Baptismal initiation.  Thus the laity assert their sacramental dignity, not by imitating or usurping the place of the priest, but rather by appreciating and exercising their own roles in the rituals of the Church. 

       A few persons regularly remark on the presence of clericalism in our Catholic Church.  By clericalism they refer to those priests who might dress smartly in black suits and white shirts, with buttoned vests, roman collar, French cuffs and shined shoes but who also know their place in the Church’s liturgical framework, respecting separately the role of lay person and priest.  Conversely, it is their casually dressed critics that are often guilty of the true clericalism by sharing every priestly role short of the Consecration with the laity indicating that it is only when a lay person plays priest that he (or she) has any real dignity.  This is the actual and unfortunate clericalism that our Church wisely hopes to eliminate by her revised directives.                                                                                                 COMPLETE

       Catholics on occasion have asked themselves which are the most important words spoken during Mass.  Some wag might respond, “The Mass is ended; go in peace.”  But even in this secularized present generation most Catholic would answer, “This is My Body…This is My Blood.”  Or more precisely, “This is My Body…This is the cup of My Blood.”  For all the de-mystification that the Roman rite has experienced in the past forty years, the moment of consecration still remains sacrosanct.  Take away the bells.  Permit the congregation to stand.  Raise the Sacred Species just inches off the altar table.  No matter how the traditional symbols of reverence might be neglected, the moment of transubstantiation still evokes, even in the modern mind, the central mystery of faith, the Paschal Mystery:   “When we eat this Bread and drink this Cup, we proclaim your death, Lord Jesus, until you come in glory.”

       Yet if the basic mystery of the Christian faith – the Paschal mystery – is to be genuinely appreciated the devout Catholic will have to go a bit beyond the familiar phrases, This is My Body…This is my Blood.”  Jesus carefully modified the words “body” and “blood” with other words that deepen, sharpen and focus the believer’s appreciation of what the Eucharist truly signifies and effects.  Jesus does not simply say in the Mass, “This is My Body.”  . Rather Jesus declares, “This is My Body which is given for you.”  The key word here is “given.”  And Jesus does not merely state during Mass, “This is the cup of My Blood.”  Actually he states, “This is the cup of My Blood …which will be shed for you.”  Again the key word here is “shed.”   During Mass Catholic altars can boast not only the Presence of Christ’s Body and Blood but, more indicatively, the Presence of the Body given and Blood shed.  Jesus did not leave the Church his generic Body and Blood, so to speak.  He left the Church his Body and Blood as they were at that moment of supreme self-giving: on the Cross.  So worshippers rightly proclaim Christ’s “death” in the acclamation after the consecration.  The giving of his Body and the shedding of his Blood, Christ’s supreme act of worship toward his Father and his supreme act of redemption toward this sinful world, is proclaimed, celebrated, renewed and shared at every Mass. 

       It is certainly true that Jesus has risen from the dead and that “death no longer has power over him,” as St. Paul taught.  Consequently it is the Risen Christ, the glorified and Spirit-filled Christ that one receives in Holy Communion and that remains present in the Church’s tabernacles until the end of time.  Yet the risen and glorified Christ chooses to enter into the lives of believers sacramentally as at the moment of his death.  He shares with man his victory by sharing with man his victimhood.  Mankind is still on the road to glory.  The pilgrimage is not yet over.  The path is arduous and demanding.  As with Jesus, it is only by bearing the Cross that man will eventually attain the crown.  In the words of consecration Jesus pulls no punches.  He lets his followers know that it is only by giving one’s body in service to God and shedding one’s blood in support of neighbor that the authentic Christian life can ever be realized.  To receive the Body of Christ into one’s hands and to accept the Blood of Christ onto one’s lips is to pledge allegiance to the Cross of Christ and to take up the following of Christ – which leads first to Golgatha and only then to the Garden Tomb.

       On this solemnity of Corpus Christi, the feast of the Body and Blood of Christ, the Catholic world rejoices with the hallowed words of St. Thomas Aquianas:

       The opening chapter of the Book of Genesis confirms better than any other Scripture passages the sensible words of St. Augustine:  “The Bible teaches us how to go to heaven; not how the heavens go.”  If ever science and religion did not mix, it is certainly true of these first lines from the Bible’s first book.  On the first day of creation God famously brings into existence light:  “Let there be light,” God demands.  “And there was light,” the author of Scriptures dutifully records.  But the reader may then skip a head to the fourth day of creation when, lo and behold, God creates the sun and the moon – the sun to rule over the day and the moon to do its work at night.  Now the pious soul might just read on uncritically.  But the skeptic might well pause and ponder how there could be light on the first day when there was no sun until the fourth day.  Was some other heavenly luminary providing illumination to the world?  Probably not. 

       This is simply a classic example of how the Bible presents the believer with the big picture and does not worry about a few missing pieces to the puzzle.  The Bible is professing God as supreme and unique Creator.  Everyone, everything on the face of the earth comes from the hand of God.  Light, earth, sea, heavens, vegetation, animal life, sea creatures and, yes, mankind all draw their origin from God.  The Old Testament knows no other God than the God of Nature: the God who creates in anticipation of mankind; the God who floods out the sinful generation before Noah; the God who splits the Red Sea in two in Moses’ day; the God who stops the sun for Joshua; the God who punishes with famines and who rewards with bountiful harvests; the God who feeds the pilgrim Jews on their way to the Jordan.  The God of the Bible is indeed the God of Nature, the God who rules and regulates the entire universe.

       Since God the Father and Mother Nature, as it were, were identical in the Old Testament, careful attention must be paid to the nature miracles of Jesus Christ in the New Testament.  This coming Sunday’s Gospel passage concerns the celebrated calming of the storm at sea.   “A violent squall came up and waves were breaking over the boat, so that it was already filling up.”  As the incident unfolds, it will prove to be a prime example of the disciples’ beginning awareness that the mighty deeds of Jesus Christ in the New Covenant are not far removed from the mighty deeds of God in the Old Covenant.  The nature miracles of Jesus Christ rightly begin to provoke questions: “They were filled with great awe and said to one another, ‘Who then is this whom even wind and sea obey?’” 

       The near disastrous episode at sea gives evidence of being one of the least adorned miracles of Jesus Christ.  The event probably reflects a first hand account.  Note the small but significant detail that “Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion.”  The memory of Jesus’ catnapping certainly has the ring of authenticity.  Some eye-witness (St. Peter?) must have recounted this experience to St. Mark.  The authority of the suddenly awakened Christ is impressive:  “He woke up, rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, ‘Quiet! Be still!’  The wind ceased and there was great calm.”  These words and this action are clearly evocative of Old Testament glory.  As this Sunday’s psalm response notes of God the Father:  “He hushed the storm to a gentle breeze, and the billows of the sea were stilled.”  Clearly Jesus and the author of the Second Gospel are making a not so subtle statement here.  Jesus is Divine, with all the godly prerogatives associated with his Father in the Old Testament.  Christ is as omnipotent as the Father ever was.  The words to express this belief properly would come later.  But the reality was staring the disciples in the face:  The waves were still; the clouds were gone; the sun was shining; the boat was safe; and they felt secure.  Surely this was the work of God.

       Calming storms, walking on water, multiplying loaves, withering fig trees, raising the dead – these were formerly the works of God the Father.  Now they are the works of Jesus Christ.  It won’t be long before the disciples start putting two and two together and arrive at the authentic Christian faith that the Church professes Sunday after Sunday:  I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son…true God of true God…one in being with the Father.          COMPLETE    

       The author of Hebrews reminds his readers that “faith is the substance of things to be hoped for, the evidence for things unseen.”  The Council of Trent for its part stresses that “faith is the root and foundation of all justification.”  And of course believers cannot neglect Jesus’ sad but insightful lament: “When the Son of Man comes will he find any faith on earth?” 

       Faith may be properly understood from two different but equally valid aspects.  There is faith as belief and there is faith as commitment.  Faith certainly encompasses a number of dogmas, doctrines, rules and regulations.  The man of faith will embrace a belief in God as creator, in Jesus as redeemer and in the Spirit as sanctifier.  The man of faith will also accept heaven, hell, judgment and eternal life.  The believer will acknowledge as well the reality of sin, the role of the Church, the effectiveness of the sacraments, the power of prayer, the privileges of Mary and the communion of saints.  These and many other Christian convictions and traditions comprise what is called “the faith.”  Faith as a system of beliefs, a framework of instructions, a guide to life, is integral to authentic Christianity.  This aspect of faith lies largely in the intellect and is not too far removed from theology.  In its fundamental form, this aspect of faith is often entitled “the deposit of faith.” Regretfully there are people who know the faith but alas do not live the faith.  Reciting the Ten Commandments and listing the seven sacraments are not the same as right living and prayerful devotion.  This is where faith as commitment enters the picture.

       In this coming Sunday’s lengthy Gospel passage from St. Mark, faith as commitment is depicted from three different viewpoints, each distinct, each real.  The faith of the woman with the hemorrhage is a faith that is just one step above the magical.  “If I but touch his clothes, I shall be cured,” she muses to herself.   This kind of faith is witnessed elsewhere in the Scriptures as when people attempt to encounter St. Peter’s mere shadow since power is perceived to emanate from it.  Such incipient faith is genuine but immature. The woman at least acknowledged that there was something supernatural about Jesus.   The synagogue official who had first requested Jesus’ assistance for his ailing daughter exhibits a faith that is a bit more sophisticated than the wishful attitude of the woman:  “My daughter is at the point of death. Please, come lay your hands on her that she may get well and live.”  The Jewish official views healing as a personal charism that Jesus possesses and that he exercises for the good of the community.  Later believers may certainly see the beginnings of the Sacrament of the Sick in which the priest lays oiled hands on the infirm Christian assuring God’s healing presence.  

       And finally there is the faith of Peter, James and John, the forerunners of the believing community that is known today as the Church.  The raising of the synagogue official’s daughter was not the only time that these three pillars of the Church were called aside by Jesus to form a community of faith.  It was Peter, James and John that uniquely witnessed the Transfiguration of Jesus on Mount Tabor and it was Peter, James and John that intimately shared the agony of Jesus on the Mount of Olives.  These men anticipated the role of the later Church which, as a believing community, actually calls down God’s blessing and power on the ailing world.  Whenever Jesus needed the special power of God to accomplish his purposes, he calls on these men of faith as his support.  Recall here that even Jesus himself was frustrated in his good works when his fellow townsfolk in Nazareth displayed their lack of faith.  St. Matthew mildly noted Jesus’ home town frustration by writing: “He would work no miracles there because of their lack of faith.”  But St. Mark writes much more powerfully, “He could work no miracles there because of their lack of faith.”  The absence of faith plainly ties the hands of God himself.  But the presence of faith happily unleashes the power of God.  Healing, curing, redeeming, and saving abound in a community of strong Christian faith.   Faith opens the gate of heaven for mankind.  Faith invites the remedial power of God down from above to support and finally to save mankind as he journeys toward eternity.  Faith, which starts as belief and matures into commitment, is indeed, “the root and foundation of all justification.”                                                                                                          COMPLETE