I was able to be with you on 2 of the 4 Holy Days. Saturday & Sunday I joined other parishioners who were laid low with some kind of bug.
While the early liturgies were meals that included food and drink, Paul chastised a community for some people drinking and eating too much, and not letting some people (the poor) even join in the meal. In the first two centuries, this dinner setting would occur at someone’s home in the evening–characterized by inclusivity, care for one another, and unity. By the 3rd century, it had ceased to be a banquet and had become a ritualized small meal instead.
Being human, we Christians make mistakes—and so it came to pass that Rome had to reprimand churches for allowing the consecrated (Eucharistic) bread to get stale and be eaten by mice. Western Christians even changed the bread from leavened (with yeast) to unleavened (without yeast). However, our Orthodox cousins retained leavened bread.
The Middle Ages brought into the liturgy such things as silver and gold altar-ware and tabernacles (a mouse-proof bread box?). Jesus was referred to as Christ “the King” and Mary as “Queen” of heaven. Being within Europe’s hierarchical societies of the time, all sorts of “offices” became part of the institutional church—with a communion rail keeping laypeople out of the sanctuary (lay commoners remaining in their place while ordained clergy could be present near the altar). The church embellished liturgies with kneeling before King Christ (as that’s what people did when in the presence of a King). Forgotten was the early Christian commentator who described early liturgies this way: “We don’t kneel at our services like the pagans do, but stand like the resurrected Christ Jesus.” Not until the 20th century was standing restored to the mass.
Remember that a sacrament is the visible sign of an invisible reality—the Mass having the risen Christ present to us in scripture’s “word of God,” the people of God, and the celebrant presiding. For this special sacrament of Christ’s presence, the Church will probably always walk the tightrope of formality and informality—trying to keep the sacrament a sacred gathering not like any other. Also, however, it must reflect the humanity of a Jesus who was at feasts like Cana’s wedding—always being watchful of being too rigid or too lax.
Meanwhile, we can reflect on what St. John Chrysostom said around the year 400 AD.
“Do you wish to honor the Body of Christ? Do not ignore him when he is naked. Do not pay him homage in the temple clad in silk, only then to neglect him outside where he is cold and ill-clad. He who said: “This is my Body” is the same who said: “You saw me hungry and you gave me no food,” and “Whatever you did to the least of my brothers you did also for me.” What good is it if the Eucharistic table is overloaded with gold chalices when your brother or sister is dying of hunger? Start satisfying their hunger and then with what is left you may adorn the altar as well.”
Similarly, St. Augustine’s observations are still apropos of our era:
“The bread is Christ’s body. The cup is Christ’s blood. If you, therefore, are Christ’s body and members, it is your own mystery that is placed on the Lord’s table! It is your own mystery that you are receiving! Be a member of Christ’s body, then, so that your Amen may ring true! Be what you see; receive what you are. All who fail to keep the bond of peace after entering this mystery receive not a sacrament that benefits them, but an indictment that condemns them.”
Good Friday tries to have us get a sense of what the apostles felt when Jesus was executed. Generations have also wondered what Jesus felt as he made his way to Calvary, and what the experience meant to his followers who had placed all their hope in him. In the 15th and 16th centuries, Franciscans popularized what became known to us as the “Stations of the Cross” or “Way of Sorrows. There have been as many as 30 “stations” (scenes), but they started with 7 and now appear in most Catholic churches as 12 to 14 imaginings of what Jesus experienced that Friday in Jerusalem. I’ll edit our service and make it shorter than this year’s—although this year’s wasn’t half as long as our 12-3 worship of years past.
You can picture someone in the Jerusalem crowd on Good Friday saying “Well, yes, they’re kind of going overboard with the torture—but the guy did tend to make people angry—especially the powerbrokers. Maybe they made a good decision in getting rid of him. We can return to peace and just accept the way things are. There’s nothing we can do to change the way things are.”
Or we see stations dedicated to people named Veronica and Simon—who are, of course, symbols of who we should be—helping others carry their cross and tending their wounds as best we can.
We’d do well to reflect on what St. Theresa of Avila said in the 1500s.
Yours are the eyes through which he looks with compassion on the world; yours are the feet with which he walks to do good; yours are the hands with which he blesses all the world. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.
Holy Saturday is supposed to include a homily—despite the length of the readings and ritual additions. A priest I know felt a long homily (or short one) was not necessary. His solution was to draw upon the old and quote a Latin scriptural lesson: Resurrexit sicut dixit! Which translates as “He has risen as he said.”
Easter weekend’s scripture reminds us that “God looked at creation and saw that it was good.” Unfortunately, too many people do not feel good about themselves—and this unfortunate emotional/mental state gets compounded in thinking of the passage that refers to Adam and Eve getting fooled by the snake. That incident gave rise to the notion of “original sin” and conceiving of ourselves solely as sinful or inherently “bad” beings. While we humans certainly create hell for ourselves or others in small or large ways, we can’t let this “sinful condition” make us forget what Genesis says about God creating us good.
Always remember that creation is not complete without you. And THAT is a fact of faith that Easter Sunday affirms. It slams home the reality that God loves you (as a loving parent loves their child). God had you in mind when designing the masterpiece of creation.
As I and other parishioners spent our Easter Sunday trying to recover from some kind of “virus,” I sought Easter uplift by looking for the day’s news stories relating to religion. Lo and behold, I could not escape the latest buzz-saw of misinformation being spread within the socio-political realm of American life. Not only that but a Catholic parish was cited as a source that bolstered the lying that people tried to pass off as truth.
The day after Easter, a cable newscaster (who I’ve watched for several years and assumed she was Jewish) said that when she left MASS on Easter, some of her fellow parishioners were agreeing with Mr. Trump’s critique of Mr. Biden for replacing Easter and starting what’s called “Transgender Day of Visibility”—an event held each year on March 31. By coincidence, Easter is a “movable feast” and happened to fall on March 31st (next year it’ll be on a different date). TG day simply coincided with Easter this year—AND WAS BEGUN IN 2009. Mr. Biden had nothing to do with the founding of TG day this year (or ever).
The parishioners did not have to fear Mr. Biden’s going over to the “dark side” and abandoning our holy day of Easter—because Mr. Biden is a devout Catholic—who attends mass each week. I think I’ve told you that I have a friend who worked in his office and has flown in his private plane. So that you know more than the newscaster’s fellow parishioners about the man’s faith life, here’s what he said on Easter:
“As we gather with loved ones, we remember Jesus’ sacrifice. We pray for one another and cherish the blessing of the dawn of new possibilities. And with wars and conflict taking a toll on innocent lives around the world, we renew our commitment to work for peace, security, and dignity for all people.
“From our family to yours, happy Easter and may God bless you.” (quoted in Newsweek).
Another religious event that came out of nowhere was a non-Church-going presidential candidate begin to sell Bibles to support his candidacy. Asserting he was a church-going Presbyterian, he was asked to quote a favorite Bible line. Becoming agitated, he was quick on his feet to say “I like all of them” (and I wondered if that statement included “Crucify him, crucify him!” A little later, he quoted “an eye for an eye.”
Back by popular request, here’s the Good Friday/Easter Sunday blended poem that we might take to heart.
Two Mothers
A long time ago, so I have been told, Two angels once met on streets paved with gold. “By the stars in your crown,” said the one to the other “I see that on earth, you too, were a mother.
And by the blue-tinted halo you humbly wear
“You, too, have known sorrow and deepest despair…” “Ah yes,” she replied, “I once had a son, A sweet little lad, full of laughter and fun.”
“But tell of your child, and how you were blest. From the moment you held him close to your breast.” “Well, my heart almost burst with the joy of that day.” “Ah, yes,” said the other, “I felt the same way.”
The former continued: “The first steps he took- So eager and breathless; the sweet startled look Which came over his face – he trusted me so.” “Ah, yes,” said the other, “How well do I know.”
“But soon he had grown to a tall handsome boy, So stalwart and kind – and it gave me such joy
To have him just walk down the street by my side” “Ah yes,“ said the other, “ I felt the same pride.”
“How often I shielded and spared him from pain And when he for others was so cruelly slain. When they crucified him – and they spat in his face How gladly would I have hung there in his place!”
A moment of silence – “Oh then you are she – The mother of Christ”; and she fell on one knee.
But the Blessed one lifted her– drawing her near, And kissed from the cheek of the woman, a tear.
“Tell me the name of the son you love so, That I may share your grief and feel for your woe.” She lifted her eyes, looking straight at the other, “He was Judas Iscariot: I am his mother.”