The Bible is a complicated book. Written and compiled over a period of 1000 years, more than 2000 years ago, it was original written in other languages, within other cultures. To understand it’s “purpose,” you’re going to need to study it.
But the Bible is more than just an academic endeavor. It is a holy book. It is the Word of God. It’s an encounter with the living God in our midst. Along with studying Scripture, me must pray with it.
But how? In the first video above, I suggest two ways to pray with Scripture that you can practice on your own. In the second video, I offer a guided meditation to guide you along.
There is a certain segment of the Catholic population that has nothing but negative things to say about Vatican II. Personally, I think that this group is extremely small and isolated, their voices amplified by the internet far beyond their actual relevance, but that’s me. The internet definitely has a way of building silos and organizing fringe ideas, so maybe that’s the case. In any event, regardless of its actual size, opposition to Vatican II is a prevalent topic online that needs addressing.
On Monday, I did a general video defending the very idea of Vatican II, calling for people to stop with their logical fallacies and to see that the problems of our world have complex causes beyond our control. Today, I’d like to look at a specific issue that needs addressing: the reform of the liturgy. While I’ve addressed the specifics of the reform before, there are some that believe in the idea of a reform is flawed because of a strict interpretation of Pope Pius V’s words back in 1570.
If this video seems oddly specific and completely unnecessary, it’s because it is. The very fact that I made a video addressing this topic is absurd. And yet, such is the world we live in. If we don’t want fringe groups to take over, we must speak the truth and respond to their ridiculous claims so that, as a well-informed Church, no one will be left confused or led astray.
Has anyone ever asked you why you are Christian? I hope so. It’s a seemingly easy question to answer, and yet, I worry that many cradle-Christians don’t know what to say (I don’t think that this is purely a Catholic issue, but one for all who grew up in the faith and have never known anything else.)
So here’s my answer. It’s a longer form of what could possibly be said in that situation, but it boils down to just one thing: I am a Christian because I have experienced the healing love of Jesus Christ. I would not respond with philosophical truths, testimony from others, accounts from the Bible, or moralistic imperatives, although each of these things bear truth as well. Christianity, as far as I can see, is a matter of relationship at its very core. Pure and simple, if you don’t have that relationship, if you’ve never had that encounter, nothing else will make sense.
And so encounter him. Let him encounter you. I will leave you with one of my favorite passages from Pope Francis’ Evangelii Gaudium:
I invite all Christians, everywhere, at this very moment, to a renewed personal encounter with Jesus Christ, or at least an openness to letting him encounter them; I ask all of you to do this unfailingly each day. No one should think that this invitation is not meant for him or her, since “no one is excluded from the joy brought by the Lord”. The Lord does not disappoint those who take this risk; whenever we take a step towards Jesus, we come to realize that he is already there, waiting for us with open arms. Now is the time to say to Jesus: “Lord, I have let myself be deceived; in a thousand ways I have shunned your love, yet here I am once more, to renew my covenant with you. I need you. Save me once again, Lord, take me once more into your redeeming embrace”. How good it feels to come back to him whenever we are lost! Let me say this once more: God never tires of forgiving us; we are the ones who tire of seeking his mercy. Christ, who told us to forgive one another “seventy times seven” (Mt 18:22) has given us his example: he has forgiven us seventy times seven. Time and time again he bears us on his shoulders. No one can strip us of the dignity bestowed upon us by this boundless and unfailing love. With a tenderness which never disappoints, but is always capable of restoring our joy, he makes it possible for us to lift up our heads and to start anew. Let us not flee from the resurrection of Jesus, let us never give up, come what will. May nothing inspire more than his life, which impels us onwards!
This semester has been by far the busiest semester of my life. From traveling to missions to school work to keeping up my one-man-online-show, there has not been a day since Christmas that I’ve done absolutely nothing. The calendar for each day has a task that must be completed, and it gets completed.
On the one hand, this has left more by far the most exhausted I’ve ever been in my life. (Funny how that works!) I find myself with less energy at the end of each day and having to just force my way through certain tasks. Being busy has a cumulative effect.
But on the other hand, I can’t help but feel fulfilled in what I’m doing. There is something to “getting things done” and always having something to do. While I find myself physically tired keeping this schedule, vacations—times when I do absolutely nothing but relax—often leave me restless and tired in another way. I guess some people work to live, and others just live to work. I find myself solidly in that latter category.
I think this is a good thing. I think this is something that God is proud of, that I spend my time well, that I’m always driving to get something done. For me, being busy is a good thing.
But it’s not a virtue, in and of itself. Being busy means nothing if what I’m busy with is folly. A full schedule is not a sign of holiness. And if forces me to ask a difficult question of myself at times: am I busy with the mission of Christ, or am I just busy?
What a strange sight it is to return to your seat after communion only to find half the people in your pew no longer there. They walk up to communion with jackets on, purse in hand, and in one fluid motion receive communion as they’re walking out the door.
They got what they came for, so what’s the point in staying any longer?
When I see this happening each week I just want to shout, “Wait! Don’t leave yet! Mass isn’t over yet!” I wouldn’t… because, you know, I have tact. Also, I hate confrontation. But it doesn’t stop some priests. There was an infamous priest we used to see every summer on vacation who would literally call people out each week if they tried to leave early. If he saw people heading for the door before he made it down the aisle, he would actually call to them and tell them that mass wasn’t over. He would make an announcement either before communion or before the final dismissal that mass was not over until he processed down the aisle, so people were to remain in their pews. (Which… is not even correct. The procession by the priest down the altar isn’t technically a thing. The final part of the mass, according to the GIRM, is the reverencing of the altar. A procession to the door is simply a practical reality of getting the priest outside so he can greet the people, and there is no requirement that the congregation stay until the song is over. But I digress.) If I remember correctly, I think he even preached about it.
Okay, so it’s not that big of a deal…
But it is a little bit of a deal. Mass may not end with the priest processing down the aisle, but it also doesn’t end immediately after receiving communion. If this is something that you do, or think is fine, here are a few things to consider:
1. Communion, by its very nature, is a communal activity, not a personal one. If all we’re focused on is getting mine, regardless of others, I think we miss something about the experience. As I mentioned in the last video, the communion hymn begins when the priest receives and ends after the final person receives. Why? Because none of us truly receives until everyone receives. It’s a holistic, communal act. To leave the church before everyone receives turns the whole event into a personal experience, which is a shame. (If you’re going to leave early, maybe consider waiting until the end of the communion song.)
2. There are still prayers to be said. Sure, receiving the Eucharist is certainly the high point of the mass, but that doesn’t mean that the rest of the mass doesn’t matter. Just as the penitential rite is notthe most important part of the mass but still serves an important purpose, the prayer after communion serves the purpose of bringing the event to a close, giving the Father thanks for what we have just received. We did just receive something amazing, right? It only seems polite to say “thank you.”
3. Our prayer is a continuous whole, beginning and ending with the sign of the cross. To leave before the blessing leaves the prayer sort of hanging. We opened it but never brought it to a close. The symmetry is lost, the acknowledgment of the act is skipped over. Something about it seems incomplete if we leave immediately after communion.
4. And finally, much to the point of today’s video, the dismissal gives insight to the rest of the Mass. In being sent out—not just as a practical, “you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here,” but as a Christological imperative—we see that our Christian life does not reside within the walls of the Church. To fulfill our discipleship, we must go! Too often we think of Church as the place to find God, to be a Christian; we come to Church to find refuge from the world. But it’s so much more than that. God is just as much in the world as in the church, and our duty is not to hide from the world, but to take the church to the world. In being sent out, we see that the reason we gather is not so much an end in itself (at least not the only end) but the means for discipleship: we gather together so that we can have the strength and inspiration to go out into the world and make disciples of all nations.
I think that it is in this act that we find our true identity and purpose. As many theologians say today, we are not a Church that has a mission, but rather a people of mission that happens to have a Church. The Church—the institution, its prayer, its worship, its leaders—is not the complete end in itself for which the mission must support by raising money or gathering new members. It is the other way around: the mission we share—our call to follow Christ, making disciples of all nations—gives us our primary identity, and the Church exists to support and drive that work.
It is through this lens that we see the purpose of the Eucharist. Obviously an end unto itself in that we are in communion with God, it was also given to us as a means: to offer the guidance of knowing where to go and the strength to actually get there. The Mass is not an end in itself in the sense that our lives as disciples would not be complete if we remained in the liturgy our entire lives. It may be the “source and summit” but it is not the entire journey. By its very nature, by its dismissal, we are a people that goes forth, returning with new prayers, experiences, pains, and hopes, but ultimately so that we may go out again.
We are a people on a mission, and this is our prayer.
Breaking In The Habit 