IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI

I was raised in a generation that taught that God gave each of us a vocation to live out. In the religious ethos of that time, particularly in Roman Catholic spirituality, we believed that we were put on this earth with a divine plan for us, that God gave us each a special vocation to live out. Moreover, this was not something we were free to choose for ourselves; it was God-given. Our task was to discern that vocation and give ourselves over to it, even at the price of having to renounce our own dreams. We remained free to accept or not, but at a peril. To be unfaithful to your vocation meant a misguided life.

There’s an important truth in that notion, though it needs some critical nuances. First, in that spirituality, they thought of vocations in a very restrictive sense, essentially envisaging only four basic vocations: priesthood, religious life, marriage, and single life. Further, they tended to put too much gravity on the choice, namely, if you chose wrong or if you resisted your God-given vocation, it might endanger your eternal salvation. There were some unhealthy fears connected to the choice.

I saw that first-hand when I served as the provincial superior for our religious order for six years. One of my tasks was to apply to Rome for the laicization of priests leaving the priesthood. I saw how many of those leaving the priesthood had chosen that vocation under undue pressure and false fear. Their choice had not been a free one.

That being said, the old notion of vocation is essentially still true and is too easily lost in a world and culture that generally puts personal freedom above all else. We need to learn again the importance of finding one’s vocation and giving oneself over to it.

Admittedly, vocation needs to be defined more widely than choosing between priesthood, religious life, marriage, and single life. Instead, it needs to be defined as an obedience to the inner dictates of our soul, our gifts, our talents, and the non-negotiable mandate inside us to put ourselves in service to others and the world.

James Hollis, a Jungian therapist writing from a purely secular viewpoint, highlights precisely this point. “Our real desires and our destiny are not chosen for us by our ego, but by our nature and ‘the divinities.’ … Something within us knows what is right for us and its insistence on expression is what keeps us awake at night, nudges us from within during our busiest hours, or causes us to envy others. Vocation is a summons of the soul. … It’s as if we were sent to this land with a royal assignment, and if we have only dithered about and forgotten the task, then we have violated our reason for being here.” How true.

Columnist David Brooks, also speaking from a secular place, strongly agrees. A vocation, he writes, is an irrational factor wherein you hear an inner voice that is so strong that it becomes unthinkable to turn away and where you intuitively know that you don’t have a choice, but can only ask yourself, what is my responsibility here? As well, the summons to a vocation is a holy thing, something mystical, a call from the deep. Thus, discerning your vocation is not a matter of asking what you expect from life but rather what life expects from you.

What would Jesus say? As we know, Jesus was fond of teaching in parables and his parable of talents (Matthew 25 and Luke 19) is ultimately about living out one’s God-given vocation. In that parable, those who use their talents thrive and are given even more talents. Conversely, those who hide their talents are punished. In essence, the message is this: If we use our God-given talents, we will find meaning and blessing in our lives; on the other hand, if we don’t use our talents, those very gifts will snakebite us, poison our happiness, and generally embitter our spirits. Show me a man who is bitter and envious, and most times you will see a gifted man who, consciously or unconsciously, is frustrated because he has not used his talents or has used them in a manner that doesn’t serve others. Bitterness and envy are often the unhappy residue from being snake-bitten by our own unused or misused intelligence and gifts.

There’s a voice inside us issuing forth from the depths of our souls that speaks for our talents, our temperament, our unique circumstance in life, our moral and religious sensitivities, and even for our wounds. This voice is gentle, but firm and unrelenting, as it tells us that we are not free to do anything we want with our lives. We need to surrender them to something higher than ourselves.

And indeed, there’s a peril in not listening, though what’s at stake in not our eternal salvation, but our happiness and generativity on this side of eternity.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a theologian, teacher and award-winning author. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

Kneading Faith
By Fran Lavelle
The Year of the Eucharist was inaugurated in our diocese on the Feast of Christ the King and will be celebrated through the 2022 liturgical year. Our theme, “Stay with us, Lord,” comes from Luke’s Gospel (24:13-49) referred to as the Emmaus story.

In it we hear about two disciples, on their way to Emmaus, talking about the recent events in Jerusalem. Jesus encountered the two on the road and talked with them as they continued their journey though they did not recognize him. As night approached, they urged Jesus to stay with them. While he was at table Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them. With that their eyes were opened, and they recognized Jesus in the breaking of the bread.
Central to the Emmaus story is the journey of the two disciples. Not just the physical journey from Jerusalem to Emmaus, but the journey of faith and belief in the Risen Christ.

There is an old saying attributed to the Sioux Indians, “The longest journey is from your head to your heart.” This is true especially when it comes to matters of faith.

Our ability to believe in what we do not see and what we do not understand takes a lot of trust and faith. Believing in and understanding the Eucharist is one of those things that requires great faith and trust. If you have not considered your disposition at Mass when receiving Communion, I invite you to do so.

A favorite priest friend from Kentucky, would remind his congregants regularly that we need to check ourselves to make certain we are becoming more like that which we receive, that is Jesus. If our answer is no, we need to consider why not. If our answer is yes, we need to ask God for the grace to continue to be transformed by the Eucharist.

To find greater meaning in the devotional aspects of the Year of the Eucharist it is timely to focus on our personal understanding of the Eucharist. No matter how old you may be or how many years you have been a communicant, make this the year you take a deeper dive.

There are many great books written on the subject by many worthy theologians, from the Summa Theologiae, St. Thomas Aquinas to more modern studies like Alexander Schememann’s, The Eucharist: Sacrament of the Kingdom or Bishop Barron’s most recent book simply titled, Eucharist. The point is to read something that will help you to continue to be transformed by the Eucharist.

Another idea is thinking about how we are present during the Mass. When I was working on my master’s degree, I took a course on the Eucharistic prayers. Prior to that course I had never read them independent of the Mass. We did a combination of exegesis and Lectio Divina of the text. In doing so I became aware of the text in a more comprehensive way and aware of what resonated most with me. It opened a whole new understanding and way of thinking about the Eucharist for me. I remember that year wanting to use my new insights on anyone who would listen. So instead of sighing when the priest began the first Eucharist prayer thinking – dang! this is the long one – I came to appreciate the hope-filled message that each prayer uniquely conveys.

The Year of the Eucharist will take on many different forms of observation. There will be the outward devotions like Eucharistic processions, exposition and adoration, and a diocesan Eucharistic Congress. All of these are exceptionally good expressions of faith and love. But we can also take on small and personal acts that draw us closer to Jesus in the Eucharist.

For example, being aware of how we treat people in the parking lot after Mass. When I lived in Northern Virginia, I was always astounded that we needed the local police to help navigate traffic after Mass. I mean if we ever had the incentive to be kind to one another on the mean streets of Alexandria, Virginia it should have been minutes after several hundred people just received Jesus!

It is fitting that we say, “Stay with us, Lord.” Stay with us beyond the dismissal rite. Stay with us in our cars, at the restaurant during brunch, and as we enter the new week be it at school, work or home. Stay with us, Lord when we are on social media, at sporting events and in the ordinary places we find ourselves each day. Stay with us, Lord and together we can become more like you. Let the Eucharist be the mirror we hold up to see ourselves growing to be more like Jesus.

(Fran Lavelle is the Director of Faith Formation for the Diocese of Jackson.)

THINGS OLD AND NEW
By Ruth Powers

Happy New Year! No, I’m not a month early: the first Sunday of Advent marks the beginning of the new liturgical year for the church and begins a new cycle of feasts and readings for the year. Advent comes from the Latin adventus, meaning “coming” or “arrival.” It is a time observed by several Christian denominations to anticipate the coming of Christ in three different ways. First, it prepares us to celebrate the physical coming of Christ into the world at Bethlehem. Second, it prepares us to receive Christ into our hearts as believers. Finally, it reminds us to be alert and prepare for the Second Coming of Christ at the end of time when he will return in power and glory.

Many people observe Advent with such practices as keeping an Advent calendar, lighting an Advent wreath or praying an Advent devotional; but most Christians are unaware of how the practice of observing the season of Advent developed. There was no season of Advent until a definitive date for the celebration of the Nativity was set for Dec. 25, generally thought to be by Pope Julius I around 350 A.D. to correspond to and replace the pagan midwinter feast of Saturnalia. Earlier church fathers such as Clement of Alexandria placed the month of Jesus’ birth as April or May. The Dec. 25 date gradually spread throughout the Roman Empire and was brought to Northern Europe and the British Isles by Christian missionaries. In these areas, it often replaced other midwinter feasts such as Yule.

Once the date of Christmas was established, the first mention we see of a period of preparation for the feast was at the Council of Saragossa in 380. A four-week period was mentioned, but this was apparently localized to Spain. The practice of observing a period of preparation for the Nativity spread and remained highly variable for a very long time. It also varied from place to place. In many places, especially France and Germany, the preparation took the form of a forty-day period called St. Martin’s Lent, which began on the feast of St. Martin of Tours (Nov. 11) and concluded on Dec. 24. In other places, it began on Dec. 1. In the 6th century, St. Gregory the Great wrote an office for clergy which was to be said on the five Sundays leading up to Christmas, so he is credited by some as the originator of Advent. In addition, in some places only the clergy and monastics observed Advent, while in other places the laity observed it as well.

Practices for observing Advent were also highly variable. The first practice appears to be the preaching of special sermons in the weeks preceding the feast day. Some of these are still in existence, including ones attributed to St. Ambrose and St. Augustine in the late fourth and early fifth centuries. A little later, in the late fifth century, we begin to see mention of fasting as preparation for Christmas, with Advent becoming like a second Lent. Most of the practices many of us now associate with Advent, such as the Advent wreath or Advent calendars, did not develop until the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries.

Even though the liturgical season of Advent was formalized in the liturgical reforms of the Council of Trent, the laity’s observing of the season fell in and out of practice for several centuries. St. Charles Borromeo worked to revive the observance of Advent in his diocese of Milan in the late sixteenth century. Pope Benedict XIV in the mid-eighteenth century led a revival in the observance of Advent for the whole church. Finally, the reforms of Vatican II led to our current emphasis on the 3-fold preparation we see in our liturgy now.

So once again, Happy New Year! And let us remember to carve out time in the secular hustle and bustle of the season to prepare our hearts to welcome Jesus at the celebration of his birth and when he returns again.

(Ruth Powers is the Program Coordinator for St. Mary Basilica Parish in Natchez.)

SPIRIT AND TRUTH
By Father Aaron Williams
This past month, the priests, deacons and lay ecclesial ministers of our Diocese met for a workshop on the ars celebrandi, or the “art of celebrating” the sacred liturgy. During discussions with some of the attendants, I thought about certain small practices in the church’s liturgy which in most places have fallen away, but still exist as legitimate parts of the rite and, in some cases are technically still required, even though they are not done in most places.

The Venerable Archbishop Fulton Sheen, in providing commentary to a televised Mass, once remarked that the church’s liturgical vision never totally sacrifices practices that once held a place of honor. So, in that spirit, I thought I would share three of these practices, their history, and why they remain part of our tradition still today.

I remember when I was growing up, I’d see old photos of Mass and notice this tent-looking apparatus sitting in the center of the altar. It was only when I made it to seminary that I learned that traditionally the chalice was veiled during the Mass, to be unveiled at the offertory. The General Instruction of the Roman Missal states, “It is a praiseworthy practice for the chalice to be covered with a veil, which may be either of the color of the day or white.” (118.c) ‘Praiseworthy,’ of course, does not mean required but it does mean that the church considers this practice a good thing and encourages parishes to consider doing it.

We in the church have a tradition of veiling important things. Tabernacles are traditionally veiled, the altar is veiled in cloth, the priest is veiled in vestments. The veiling of the chalice for the first half of the Mass reminds us that this chalice is sacred — consecrated both by a special blessing and by the frequent contact of the Most Precious Blood. Veiling a chalice subconsciously reminds us that this is no mere cup, and it helps us remember to treat sacred things in a reverent and careful manner.

When I unveil the chalice at the offertory, I like to remind myself of the veil of the temple being torn in two. Christ, in this sacrifice on Calvary, opened the way for all of us to participate in true worship; and now, in the Holy Mass, He is once again opening the way for us to participate in His sacrifice.

Regarding the cleaning of the vessels after communion, the General Instruction states, “The purification of the chalice is done with water alone or with wine and water, which is then drunk by whoever does the purification.” (279)

When I was first ordained, I did what most priests do and just purified the chalice with water. But, when I started celebrating for school Masses and was responsible of purifying several chalices, (if I may say so reverently), I was a little nervous about the fact that schools are usually filled with a hundred variants of the common cold, and all those viruses are now inside a single chalice which I am about to drink.

Then, I remembered I could purify the chalice with wine as well. Wine is a natural disinfectant, and it makes sense why the practice of purifying the chalice with wine arose in the middle ages particularly in response to disease. Especially in light of the COVID-19 pandemic, I have been making sure to purify both the chalice and the ciborium with wine.

To purify in this manner, the priest simply pours wine in the chalice first, then follows it with water. The proportion is up to the priest, but should probably be such that the purificator is not totally soiled.

Finally, and this may surprise people, the instruction Redemptionis Sacramentum, promulgated by Pope St. John Paul II in 2004 gives the following direction: “The communion-paten for the communion of the faithful should be retained, so as to avoid the danger of the sacred host or some fragment of it falling.” (93) Most people who remember the communion paten probably associate it with kneeling at the railing as a child before the liturgy was reformed, but technically speaking, this practice is still required in the modern liturgy. These handy patens are usually equipped with a long handle so that the altar sever may hold it out beneath the hands or mouth of the communicant.

It is the devout teaching of the church that every single particle of the Sacred Host is the total Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ. And, for that reason the church is very careful to protect these small particles from any danger of being lost, stepped on, or sucked up into a vacuum cleaner. I started using communion patens at Mass a few months ago and was surprised that even when holding the paten beneath hands during Communion, I nearly always found particles collected on the paten after communion.

One added benefit of the communion paten is that is gives the servers something else to do. Most servers are bored at Mass today because we don’t let them do all things that servers should be doing such as carrying candles and trying not to burn the sacristy down while lighting the incense. Kids who serve as Mass like to be useful, and this is a very reverent way for them to assist during Communion while also teaching them about the holiness of the Sacred Host.

(Father Aaron Williams is parochial vicar at St. Patrick and St. Joseph Meridian.)