September 2006 Archives

ENTRANCE ANTIPHON

GR
All that you have done to us, O Lord, you have done in true justice, for we have sinned against you and we have failed to obey your commandments; but give glory to your name and deal with us according to the multitude of your mercy. V. Blessed are those whose way is blameless, who walk in the law of the Lord (Dan 3:31, 29, 30, 43, 42; Ps 118:1).

COLLECT

O God, who manifest your almighty power
most of all in showing mercy and granting pardon;
multiply your grace upon us
that we, running toward your promises,
may be made sharers in the good things of heaven.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, forever and ever.

Thérèse is so often referred to as “little,” that we risk not seeing the breadth and depth that are really characteristic of her, and the immensity of her desires. Paradoxically, there is nothing small, nothing narrow in this painfully sensitive middle-class girl who, at fifteen years of age, closed herself up in Carmel with a certain number of saints, a certain number of women not altogether right in the head, her own sisters, and one rather unusual prioress. Once Thérèse opened herself to the workings of the Holy Spirit, her heart began to expand — even in the midst of real emotional, spiritual, and physical sufferings, — until it reached the dazzling dimensions of the charity of Christ.

In the beginning of her journey, Thérèse recognized herself in the classic lines of every feminine vocation: “To be your spouse, O Jesus, to be a Carmelite, to be, by virtue of my union with you, the mother of souls, this ought to be enough for me . . . but it is not so . . . I feel other vocations within myself . . . O my Jesus! To all these crazy aspirations of mine what will you reply? Today, you want to fulfill other desires of mine bigger than the universe.”

The liturgy, rather audaciously, applies the prophecy of Isaiah to Thérèse. “Rejoice with Jerusalem” becomes “Rejoice with Thérèse and be glad because of her, all you who love her” (Is 66:10). The passion of Thérèse was to love and to be loved. And love was given her. It rushed upon her like a river, invaded her like an overflowing torrent. She dared to open herself to immense desires, and God gave to her with immensity.

Many of us have loved Thérèse for a long time, loved her as a sister, a friend very close to us, someone capable of understanding both the little things that make up our day to day lives and the big things that weigh heavily on us at certain moments, testing our faith in love and causing hope’s little flame to flicker. We are all, I think, fond of repeating that promise of hers that has been translated into countless languages, and rightly so: “If the good God grants my desires, my heaven will be spent on earth even until the end of the world. Yes, I want to spend my heaven doing good on earth.”

If we are to share in the spiritual experience of Thérèse, it will not be by the hammer blows of a steel willpower, nor by dint of effort and striving, nor by a glorious record of victories. It is not by going up but rather by going down, by descending into the last holdouts of our weakness, into the emptiness of a terrible and magnificent poverty, that we will find ourselves with Thérèse in the peace of the weaned child on its mother’s lap (Ps 130:2).

There, in an intimacy open to the little, the broken, and the poor, and closed to everyone else, the Father surprises the friends of Thérèse with the mysteries of the kingdom hidden from the learned and the clever, and revealed to children (Lk 10:21). God waits for us, not on the summits of perfection with crown in hand to reward what we, of ourselves, may have done. He waits for us rather with all the tenderness of His motherly heart, exactly where we fall weak, bruised, humiliated, and reduced to powerlessness. Yes, we fall, but only to discover with amazement that it is into the bosom of the Father. There, in the gentleness of the Spirit, the Son waits to welcome us, saying, “Come to me, all who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Mt 11:28).

On the lips of Thérèse, this word — “Father” — learned from the lips of Jesus, was, in some way, reinvented for our times. On the lips of Thérèse, the word “Father” was rescued from the bland formulas of a piety past its expiration date, to be pronounced for our world and for our time with the radical newness of the Gospel. If we learn anything at all from this twenty-four year old Doctor of the Church, let it be this: to dare to say “Father” in the breath of the Holy Spirit, to dare to call God “Father” with the boldness of the little, the poor, and the half crazy, a boldness that shocks the custodians of a religion of convention and routine to speak the Gospel again to those who, hoping against all hope, believe in Love.

I think that the best book I ever read on lectio divina is one by Denys Gorce. I read it back in 1972 and I think it was entitled, La lectio divina dans le milieu de saint Jérôme. It left its mark on me. Then there was William of St–Thierry's classic, The Golden Epistle or The Letter to the Brothers of Mont–Dieu, and Guigo the Carthusian's Scala Claustralium, The Ladder of Monks. Sometime later in the 70s, I read the French translation of Enzo Bianchi's book on the same subject, Prier la Parole. It is now available in English as Praying the Word: An Introduction to Lectio Divina.

I find it a little disquieting that lectio divina has become a trendy phrase in some circles. There are a lot of pop–spirituality publications in Catholic bookstores that claim to present an introduction to lectio divina. Most of them, especially those written from outside the monastic tradition, fall short of doing that. Folks use the expression lectio divina without knowing what it really means. I have heard it used to describe reflections on the Word of God in a group, meditative reading of any pious text, and a systematic cover–to–cover reading of the Bible. It is none of these things. So, what is lectio divina?

The primary form of lectio divina is corporate and ecclesial; it is the Church herself hearing the Word, repeating the Word, praying the Word, and abiding in the Word, all within the context of the Sacred Liturgy (Divine Office and Mass). The corporate lectio divina of the Church, be it within the Divine Office or the Mass, has a Eucharistic finality. The movement is always from the ambo to the altar.

The secondary form of lectio divina is solitary and personal; it derives from the first and even imitates its pattern. It prepares one for the Sacred Liturgy and prolongs it.

The solitary and personal form of lectio divina is:

1. A kind of liturgy of the Word celebrated in solitude.
2. Patterned after the Church's corporate lectio divina: the Night Office (Vigils) with its rhythm of reading, responsory, and prayer, and after the Liturgy of the Word of the Mass.
3. Honours the discipline of obedience to the liturgical lectionary.
4. Best done in the same place and at the same time each day.

September 30
Saint Jerome, Priest and Doctor of the Church

2 Timothy 3:14-17
Psalm 118: 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
Matthew 13: 47-52

Meditating Day and Night

The liturgy presents Saint Jerome today as the “man who meditated on the law of the Lord day and night” (Ps 1:2). Thus did he bring forth “fruit in due season” (Ps 1:3). The “law of the Lord” in today’s Entrance Antiphon is the Word of God, “alive and active” (Heb 4:12). It is the Word that springs to life, rising from the pages of Sacred Scripture, so often as we listen to it proclaimed (lectio), repeat it (meditatio), pray it (oratio), and remain with it in an adoring silence (contemplatio).

Fecundity

Psalm 1 links the ceaseless meditation of the Word of God to fruitfulness. “He shall be like a tree planted near running waters, which shall bring forth its fruit, in due season” (Ps 1:2). The fruit promised in the psalm is fulfilled in the mystery revealed by Jesus while at table with his disciples on the night before he suffered: “By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit” (Jn 15:8). Lectio divina is the secret of supernatural fecundity. “If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you will, and it shall be done for you” (Jn 15:7).

Vitality

The fruits of the Holy Spirit — the evidence of a thriving, healthy inner life — flourish wheresoever the Word of God is proclaimed (lectio), repeated (meditatio), prayed (oratio), and held in the heart (contemplatio). It is an irrefutable fact of monastic history, demonstrated by our dear old friend, Dom Jean Leclercq, that whenever lectio divina was neglected, monastic life fell into a sterile decadence, losing its vitality; it is also an irrefutable fact of history that whenever lectio divina is practiced with generosity, devotion, and zeal, monastic life brings forth the fruits of holiness in abundance.

Jerome and the Monastic Path

Jerome, translator of the original Hebrew and Greek texts of the Bible into Latin, the tongue of the common folk, was a lover of the poor Christ. He sang the praises of monastic solitude, saying that “monks do on earth what the angels do in heaven.” We owe to Jerome the theology that sees in monastic profession a kind of second baptism, washing away sin just like martyrdom. It is Jerome who teaches us that the martyrdom of the monastic life is won not by the struggles of continence alone, but by the choice of poverty, and by perseverance in the praise of God.

Jerome was baptized during his student days in Rome. After a first attempt at monastic living in the deserts of Syria, he went to Antioch and there was ordained a priest. With an almost obsessive passion, he devoted himself to the study of Hebrew and Greek. Tutored by none other than Saint Gregory Nazianzen in Constantinople, Jerome went on to Rome where Pope Saint Damasus charged him with the revision of the Latin Bible.

Crankiness and Sanctity

In Rome, Jerome never really got on with other clergy. He was not ambitious for ecclesiastical promotion. He was irascible, dipping his pen more often into vinegar than honey. Jerome loved nothing so much as good squabble, and argued bitterly and at great length with his critics and adversaries. He had little time for trivial niceties.

ENTRANCE ANTIPHON

Blessed is the man
who meditates on the law of the Lord day and night;
he shall bring forth fruit in due season (Ps 1:2-3).

ACT OF PENITENCE

Your statutes have become our song
in the land of exile (Ps 118:54).
Kyrie, eleison.

Your promise is sweeter to our taste
than honey in the mouth (Ps 118:103).
Christe, eleison.

Your word is a lamp for our steps
and a light for our path (Ps 118:105).
Kyrie, eleison.

COLLECT

O God,
who gave your priest Saint Jerome
a sweet and living passion for Sacred Scripture,
grant that your people
may be more abundantly nourished by your word,
and find in it the wellspring of life.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, forever and ever.

My sister, Donna M. Kirby Cable learned today, on the feast of Saint Michael the Archangel, that she passed the Connecticut State Bar Examination. We are all very proud of Donna. Donna is married to Wayne Cable; they have two children: Sean and Lauren. The Cables live in Woodbridge, Connecticut.

I have always experienced the last days of September and the first week of October (September 29 — October 7) as a moment of spiritual enchantment within the Church Year. Is it the intoxicating effect of Saint Michael's Summer with the peculiar quality of its light? Is it the procession of saints that passes before our eyes, or should I say, through our hearts? These are days almost excessively rich in grace.

Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael descend first on September 29th, in a cloud of incense and a blaze of light. Christ Himself is all their beauty: decus angelorum. Ask them to teach you to gaze with faith and with holy desire upon the Face of Christ, the Human Face of God.

SEPTEMBER 29
SAINTS MICHAEL, GABRIEL, AND RAPHAEL, ARCHANGELS

Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14
Apocalypse 12: 7-12ab
Psalm 137:1-2ab, 2cde-3, 4-5
John 1:45-51

Angels Everywhere

One of the most striking things about Rome’s churches — and about Italian churches in general — is that they are full of representations of the angels. American churches in contrast, especially those built in the last fifty years, are strangely devoid of angelic imagery. In Italian churches there are angels everywhere: all sorts of angels. There are majestic angels of graceful athletic appearance, angels in splendid apparel playing musical instruments, and playful little angels with fat cheeks and chubby legs. In Italian churches, one is always conscious of praising God in conspectu angelorum, “in the sight of the angels” (Ps 137:1).

The Angels at Santa Croce in Gerusalemme

In the Basilica of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, the angels are associated with the mystery of the Cross. The glorious Cross is depicted throughout the basilica and around it there are always angels — jubilant, praising, adoring, wondering angels! There is a theology in this iconography of the Cross. The mystery of the Cross astonishes even the angels. The mystery of the Cross casts them into a state of unspeakable amazement. They look upon the wood of the Cross and praise the “secret and hidden wisdom of God” (1 Cor 2:7). They look upon the wood of the Cross and adore the Precious Blood that stains it. They look upon the wood of the Cross and confess it as mankind’s only hope. O Crux, ave, spes unica! One cannot visit Jerusalem in Rome, the Basilica of Santa Croce, without realizing that the mystery of the Cross has become the everlasting joy of the angels.

ENTRANCE ANTIPHON

MR
Bless the Lord, O you his angels,
you mighty in strength who do his word,
hearkening to the voice of his word (Ps 102:20).

COLLECT

O God, who have constituted
in a wonderful order the ministries of angels and men:
be pleased to grant that our life here on earth
may be protected by those who stand in readiness
to serve you in heaven.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, forever and ever.

Today’s memorial of the Filipino Saint Lorenzo Ruiz illustrates the marvelous universalization of the Church’s calendar that took place during the pontificate of Pope John Paul II. Saint Lorenzo’s descendants still live today in the same district outside Manila where he and his family lived in the 1600s. Saint Lorenzo was a husband and father, a professional calligrapher by trade, a saint who spoke Tagalog, Chinese, and Spanish, a martyr who gave his life for Christ in Japan, far from family and home. He was canonized by Pope John Paul II, together with other Filipino martyrs, in 1987.

ACEDIA: A common malady of the soul manifesting itself in despondency, depression, listlessness, a particular distate for spiritual things, and a distaste for life in general without any specific reason.

THURSDAY OF THE TWENTY–FIFTH WEEK OF THE YEAR II
MEMORIAL OF SAINT LORENZO RUIZ AND COMPANIONS, MARTYRS

Ecclesiastes 1:2-11
Psalm 89:3-4, 5-6, 12-13, 14-17
Luke 9:7-9

All Is Vanity

The beginning of the book of Ecclesiastes is dismal and pessimistic. “Vanity of vanities, vanity of vanities! All is vanity” (Eccl 1:2). Qoheleth looks around and sees the same old things interminably recycled. He sounds jaded, bored, and depressed. “All things are full of weariness; a man cannot utter it; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing” (Eccl 1:8). Qoheleth —his name means “the preacher in the assembly”— is hardly a bearer of good cheer and glad tidings. “The fate of the sons of men,” he says, “and the fate of beasts is the same, as one dies, so dies the other” (Eccl 3:19).

Nothing New Under the Sun

In the monastic life, especially after thirty, forty, or fifty years, one begins to ask the same questions posed by Qoheleth. “What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun” (Eccl 1:3)? One feels that nothing really matters, that nothing will ever change in others, in myself, or in the colour of the paint on the walls. “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; and there is nothing new under the sun” (Eccl 1:9).

Michael Dennis Kirby
March 20, 1959 — November 25, 1998

When I was growing up, there was a statue of Saint Vincent de Paul in our home. More exactly, it was in the bedroom of my younger brother Michael, and it was his statue.

Little Michael had shortened Saint Vincent de Paul's rather long name to “Saint-Vincenty.” He met “Saint Vincenty” when he was taken to the Hospital of Saint Raphael in New Haven, Connecticut for a surgical procedure on his arm. He couldn’t have been more than five years old at the time. Saint Raphael’s was staffed by the Sisters of Charity of Saint Elizabeth (Convent Station, NJ), spiritual daughters of Saint Vincent.

A lifesize statue of Saint Vincent de Paul figured prominently in the hospital. The statue depicted him with three poor children; one child was in his arms and the two others were huddled in the folds of his cloak. For some reason, little Michael was very taken with this saint who loved children, and wanted to have a statue of his own.

Mom and Dad found exactly the right statue at the Saint Thomas More Book Shop on Chapel Street in New Haven, and bought it for him. For many years “Saint Vincenty” watched over Michael from atop a chest of drawers, becoming chipped and battered, but no less loved.

How did a seventeenth century French priest become a comforting presence in the life of a little boy in New Haven, Connecticut? There were, of course, the obvious mediations: the Hospital of Saint Raphael and the impressive statue. But none of this would have happened had Saint Vincent de Paul not opened his heart to the Word of God, to the Charity of Jesus Christ, and to the voices of the little and the poor.

I am thinking today of the important work that my friend Terry Nelson at Leaflet Missal and others like him do. They make images of the saints available to little children, influencing their lives, and stimulating their imaginations with "sacred signs." Every little boy should have his favourite saint . . . and an image of him (or her) close at hand.

WEDNESDAY OF THE TWENTY–FIFTH WEEK OF THE YEAR II
MEMORIAL OF SAINT VINCENT DE PAUL, PRIEST

Proverbs 30:5–9
Psalm 118:29, 72, 89, 101, 104, 163 (R. 105a)
Luke 9:1–6

Live Wisely

The Book of Proverbs that we began reading on Monday is a practical guide to wise living. The wise person is one who orders his whole life — both the little things and the great — to the pursuit of the Good, the True, and the Beautiful.

In today’s passage we are told that “ every word of God proves true,” and that God “is a shield to those who take refuge in Him” (Pr 30:5). What are the implications of these sayings? The first assures us that one can rely on the Word of God, that one can depend on it, anchor one’s hope in it, and stake one’s life on it. The second tell us that in the midst of life’s tribulations and temptations the only safe place is in God. In both sayings we find the wisdom of Saint Vincent de Paul whom we remember today, and of all the saints.

ENTRANCE ANTIPHON

MR
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to preach good news to the poor,
and to heal the contrite of heart (cf. Lk 4:18).

COLLECT

O God, who for the salvation of the poor
and the instruction of the clergy
endowed the blessed priest Vincent with apostolic virtues,
grant, we pray,
that inflamed by that same spirit,
we may both loved what he loved
and carry out what he taught.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, forever and ever.

September 26th is also the feast of Saint Thérèse Couderc (1805–1885), an old friend of mine. Immensely humble, the foundress of the Religious of Our Lady of Retreat in the Cenacle suffered calumny, rejection, betrayal, and endless humiliations without becoming hard and bitter. Just look at that face! She remained serene and confident in God. Mother Thérèse Couderc was, to use her own favourite word, utterly livrée, that is, handed over to God. In her honour, I decided to translate a page of her writings today. Here it is:

What does it mean to hand oneself over? I understand the full extent of the meaning of the expression, to hand oneself over, but I cannot explain it. I know only that it is very vast, that it encompasses the present and the future.

To hand oneself over is more than to devote oneself, it is more even than to abandon oneself to God. To hand oneself over is, in fine, to die to all things and to oneself, to have no more preoccupation with self apart from keeping oneself always turned toward God.

Again, To hand oneself over is is to seek oneself no longer in anything, not in things spiritual, nor in things temporal; it is to seek no satisfaction for self, but only God's good pleasure.

I must add that to hand oneself over is also that spirit of detachment by which one holds onto nothing: not to persons, nor to things, nor to times, nor to places. It is to adhere to everything to accept everything, to submit oneself to everything.

You will perhaps think that this is very difficult to do. Get this straight. Nothing is easier to do. Nothing is sweeter to put into practice. The whole thing is to make once and for all a generous act, saying with all the sincerity of one's soul: "My God, I want to be all yours. Deign to accept my offering." That says it all. Be careful thenceforth to keep yourself in this disposition of soul and not to pull back from any of the little sacrifices which may serve to our advancement in virtue. Recall that you are handed over.

I pray Our Lord to give the intelligence of this expression to all the souls desirous of pleasing Him, and to inspire them [to practice] so easy a means of sanctification. Oh! If only one could understand ahead of time the sweetness and the peace that one tastes when one no longer places any reserve in the way of the Good God. How He communicates Himself to the soul who seeks Him sincerely and who has known how to hand herself over. Let one experience it and one will see that happiness is there and that, without it, one searches for happiness in vain.

The soul that is handed over has found paradise on earth, since she enjoys that gentle peace that is part of the happiness of the elect.

A recent experience finally pushed me over the edge. Has anyone really read, pencil in hand, Redemptionis Sacramentum, the 2004 Instruction of the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments? The wanton proliferation of Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion in circumstances that do not meet the criteria established by the Holy See is a pastoral problem with grave theological implications. Liturgical practice has a direct bearing on one's understanding of the faith.

A few observations based on the text of the Instruction:

[154.] As has already been recalled, "the only minister who can confect the Sacrament of the Eucharist in persona Christi is a validly ordained Priest". Hence the name "minister of the Eucharist" belongs properly to the Priest alone. Moreover, also by reason of their sacred Ordination, the ordinary ministers of Holy Communion are the Bishop, the Priest and the Deacon, to whom it belongs therefore to administer Holy Communion to the lay members of Christ's faithful during the celebration of Mass.

[156.] This function is to be understood strictly according to the name by which it is known, that is to say, that of extraordinary minister of Holy Communion, and not "special minister of Holy Communion" nor "extraordinary minister of the Eucharist" nor "special minister of the Eucharist", by which names the meaning of this function is unnecessarily and improperly broadened.

Words are important. A slack vocabulary leads to a slack theology. I still hear the term "Eucharistic Minister" used by clergy and laity as in, "Nellie is a Eucharistic Minister", or even worse, in the sacristy before Mass, "Good Morning, Father. I am Nellie, your Eucharistic Minister."

The use of Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion is not a means of fostering fuller participation in the Sacred Liturgy. It is not a way of honoring the generous and faithful parishioner. It is not a way of making Mr. X. or Mrs Y. feel needed and useful. The Sacred Liturgy is hierarchically, not sentimentally, ordered.

Saints of the Roman Canon

From the end of the fourth century right up to 1970 the Mass of the Roman Rite was never celebrated without commemorating today’s martyrs, Saints Cosmas and Damian. The names of Cosmas and Damian are enshrined in the “Communicantes” prayer of the Roman Canon. For well over a thousand years, the Roman Canon was the only Eucharistic Prayer of the Roman Church. The fact that the names of Cosmas and Damian were pronounced in every single Mass celebrated from the time of Saint Gregory the Great to that of Paul VI has conferred on them an aura of venerable familiarity. They are inscribed in the collective Catholic memory.

Loved in the East

Looking Eastward, we see a similar attachment to Saints Cosmas and Damian. They are named explicitly at every Byzantine Divine Liturgy at the moment of the preparation of the bread and wine. Placing a piece of bread on the holy diskos, the priest says, “In honour and memory of the holy, wonderworking, and Moneyless Ones . . . and all the holy physicians labouring without pay.” Moneyless physicians labouring without pay! What a marvelous notion! One begins to understand why Saints Cosmas and Damian came to occupy a place of choice in the affection of the Christian people.

Brother Damiano Maria, O.Cist. of the Abbey of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme in Rome celebrates his patronal feast today. Brother Damiano, "truly seeking God" as Saint Benedict says in the Holy Rule, brought his marvelous smile from Zambia to Rome. Together with English Brother Giuseppe–Benedetto, he made simple monastic profession on June 24, 2005. Santa Croce in Gerusalemme is an international monastic community living at the heart of the Church. Its members hail from Italy, Roumania, Mexico, the United States, England, Zambia, and Sweden. A daughter house opened this past August in Guadalajara, Mexico. The monks of Santa Croce combine the liturgical service of the Divine Majesty, lectio divina, and Eucharistic adoration with the pastoral care of pilgrims to the Sacred Relics of the Cross and Passion in the Basilica and other forms of service to the Church. If you are interested in this expression of monastic life or know someone who may be, contact me.

In an altar retable painted in thanksgiving for the end of the plague that devastated Venice in 1510, Titian shows (lower left) Saints Cosmas and Damian, the holy physician martyrs together with (lower right) Saints Roch and Sebastian. Enthroned above them is Saint Mark the Evangelist, patron of Venice. While Saint Roch and Saint Sebastian represent the sick and wounded, Saints Cosmas and Damian represent those who minister the healing power of Christ.

COLLECT

May the venerable memory
of your saints Cosmas and Damian
magnify you, O Lord,
for in your ineffable providence,
you have bestowed upon them eternal glory
and upon us the richness of your help.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, forever and ever.

O grande Passion,
O profondes plaies,
O effusion de Sang,
O mort soufferte dans toutes les amertumes,
donnez–nous la vie!

O great Passion,
O deep wounds,
O outpouring of Blood,
O death suffered in every bitterness,
give us life!

TWENTY–FIFTH SUNDAY OF THE YEAR B

Wisdom 2:12, 17:20
Psalm 54:1-2, 3, 4, 6
James 3:16—4:3
Mark 9:30-37

A Walking Retreat

Did you recognize yourself in today’s gospel? I know that I did. It was something of a shock. I recognized myself not in Jesus, nor in the little child that He took into His arms, but in those who walked with Him, not understanding what He said, and afraid to ask Him about it. “He was teaching His disciples, saying to them, ‘The Son of Man will be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill Him; and when He is killed, after three days He will rise.’ But they did not understand the saying, and they were afraid to ask Him” (Mk 9:31-32).

Jesus and His followers are passing through Galilee. Jesus wants to go unnoticed by the population so as to devote himself to those nearest to Him. He wants to use the journey through Galilee to teach His disciples, to draw them closer to himself. It is a kind of “walking retreat.”

"And he took a child, and put him in the midst of them" (Mark 9:36).

We have depicted Jesus as Child and as King
in order to attract souls to Him more easily
and to give them confident trust and hope.
We also wanted to recall that it is by His Divine Heart,
full of mercy and of love for humanity
that we shall obtain peace in the world.
(Mother Yvonne–Aimée)

Today's Gospel is, in some way, an invitation to make known the Little Invocation that has changed so many lives, healed so many hearts, and set so many souls in the way of ceaseless prayer. Some time ago, a certain monk who had tried for many years to practice the ceaseless prayer of the heart came upon a biography of Mother Yvonne–Aimée (1901–1951), and learned of the prayer, "O Jesus, King of Love, I put my trust in thy merciful goodness." One day, kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament, he realized that the prayer was repeating itself ceaselessly and effortlessly in his heart. He found himself praying the Little Invocation at every waking moment and even during the night, in a way similar to the "Jesus Prayer" of monks of the Eastern Church. Over the years, the grace of ceaseless prayer by means of the Little Invocation has not abated. It is always there: a gentle murmur of confidence bubbling up from the depths of the heart.

Individuals from all walks of life, having received the Little Invocation as a penance in Confession, attest to the graces received: graces of inner healing, of victory over persistent and deeply rooted habits of sin, of trust in the mercy of Christ, and of a ceaseless prayer of the heart.

"And he took a child, and put him in the midst of them;
and taking him in his arms, he said to them,
'Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me;
and whoever receives me,
receives not me but him who sent me'" (Mark 9:36–37).

My nephew, Michael Colin Kirby, seems to be part of the icon of Christ with the little children on the wall behind him. In today's Mass, Our Lord draws us into the way of spiritual childhood and humble service. The Mass opens with Christ Himelf singing to His Church the strong and reassuring words, "Salus populi ego sum" (Ps 77:1). "I am the salvation, the wholeness, the happiness of the people." One who takes that message to heart willingly places his life in the hands of Christ and follows Him, trusting in His merciful goodness.

ENTRANCE ANTIPHON

GR
I am the salvation of the people, says the Lord. From whatever tribulations they cry out to me, I will give heed to them, and I will be their Lord forever (Cf. Ps 36: 39-40). V. Attend, O my people to my law; incline your ear to the words of my mouth (Ps 77:1).

There is a verse in the book of Ezra that is, I think, a wonderful expression of the life and mission of Saint Pio of Pietrelcina: “The Levites, every one of whom had purified himself for the occasion, sacrificed the Passover for the rest of the exiles, for their brethren the priests, and for themselves” (Ez 6:20). Padre Pio's life was a long and uninterrupted celebration of the Pasch of the Lord. Configured to Jesus Crucified, Priest and Victim, Padre Pio offered himself to the Father in the daily Sacrifice of the Mass. Saint Pio’s paschal immolation — his participation in the Cross of Christ — was for the sake of "the rest of the exiles," all of us who go mourning and weeping in this valley of tears. And it was for the sake of "his brethren": for all priests called to follow him in a life of paschal purity and victimhood,

ENTRANCE ANTIPHON

MR
God forbid that I should glory
except in the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ,
through which the world is crucified to me,
and I to the world (Gal 6:14).

Joy of wild wind and wetness
Fresh in my face and playing in my hair
And seagulls in the waves
To feed with bits of bread.

Michael Colin Kirby turned three years old on June 2nd and began pre–school two weeks ago. Besides running on the beach, learning about dinosaurs, fishing with his Dad Terence, and spending time with Mom Sandy and little sister Mary, he kisses icons, lights candles, and attends the Divine Liturgy on Sunday with his wonderful godmother Elisa Maistrellis–Ryng.

I remembered at the altar today the Matthews who have come into my life over the years: my brother, Daniel Joseph Matthew; my friend, Raphael Matthew W.; Sister Matthew Maria, A.S.C.J., and others. Caravaggio's "Call of Matthew" is a meditatio on the lectio of today's Gospel. It gives rise to oratio and leads to contemplatio. I am amazed at Caravaggio's ability to depict in shadow and in light the struggle of the soul to escape the darkness of sin and the mysterious inbreaking of divine light. The artist's own struggles with the great human passions — and with sin — made him, in his own way, an evangelist of the mercy of God.

SEPTEMBER 21
SAINT MATTHEW, APOSTLE AND EVANGELIST

Ephesians 4:1–7, 11–13
Psalm 18: 1–2, 3–4ab (R. 4a)
Matthew 9:9–13

The Inbreaking Light

On this feast of Saint Matthew, it is the Apostle and Evangelist himself who relates what happened the day Jesus passed by, saw him, and called him, saying, “Follow me” (Mt 9:9). I have been looking at Caravaggio’s famous painting of the call of Saint Matthew. Caravaggio places the event inside a dark house. The only light comes from an open window just above the head of Christ; it illuminates the face of Matthew seated at his counting table. Matthew has the somewhat jaded fleshy face of a prosperous banker. He is well dressed and is wearing a kind of velvet cap.

Today's Mass sings of the ineffable mercy of God who chose Saint Matthew to cling to Him as resolutely and doggedly as he once clung to his money. The opening phrase of he Postcommunion might better be translated as, "Ours, O Lord, is the joy of new found wholeness"! The coming of Christ the Saviour brings salvation. The coming of Christ the Healer brings health to soul and body. The Most Holy Eucharist restores the broken to wholeness in anticipation of the Kingdom where He who sits upon the throne will say, "Behold, I make all things new" (Ap 21:5).

ENTRANCE ANTIPHON

MR
Go therefore and make disciples of all nations,
baptizing them,
and teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you,
says the Lord (Mt 28:19–20)

That is exactly what His Holiness, Pope Leo XIII did on June 11, 1899 in his Act of Consecration of the Human Race to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. He called this "the great act" of his pontificate.

The Holy Father presented his intentions to the Catholic world in the encyclical Annum Sacrum on May 25, 1899:

"But shall We allow to slip from Our remembrance those innumerable others upon whom the light of Christian truth has not yet shined? We hold the place of Him who came to save that which was lost, and who shed His blood for the salvation of the whole human race. And so We greatly desire to bring to the true life those who sit in the shadow of death. As we have already sent messengers of Christ over the earth to instruct them, so now, in pity for their lot with all Our soul we commend them, and as far as in us lies We consecrate them to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. In this way this act of devotion, which We recommend, will be a blessing to all."

Then, on June 11, 1899, in communion with the bishops of the world, he prayed:

Most sweet Jesus, Redeemer of the human race . . . Be Thou King of all those who are still involved in the darkness of idolatry and Islamism, and refuse not to draw them all into the light and kingdom of God.

Almighty and ever-living God,
who gave to Saint Gaetano, your priest,
the knowledge of your glory shining in the Face of Christ,
mercifully grant that we
who rejoice today in his memory,
may imitate his love for that same Holy Face
concealed in the Sacrament of the Altar
and in the poorest and most forsaken of your children.
Through the same our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, forever and ever.

Or:

Stir up, O Lord, in our hearts
the spirit of adoration and reparation
that filled Saint Gaetano, your priest,
that we, having our eyes fixed, like his,
on the Holy Face of Jesus,
may live in ceaseless prayer
and in the humble service of those
most in need of compassion.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, forever and ever.

An Intuition of the Servant of God, Pope John Paul II

In his encyclical Ecclesia de Eucharistia, Pope John Paul II drew the eyes of the Church to the Face of Christ in the sacrament of the Eucharist. He coined a new phrase, one not encountered before in his writings or in the teachings of his predecessors, “the Eucharistic Face of Christ.” Thus did Pope John Paul II share with the Church his own experience of seeking, finding, and adoring the Face of Christ in the Eucharist.

To contemplate the face of Christ, and to contemplate it with Mary, is the “programme” which I have set before the Church at the dawn of the third millennium, summoning her to put out into the deep on the sea of history with the enthusiasm of the new evangelization. To contemplate Christ involves being able to recognize him wherever he manifests himself, in his many forms of presence, but above all in the living sacrament of his Body and Blood. The Church draws her life from Christ in the Eucharist; by him she is fed and by him she is enlightened. The Eucharist is both a mystery of faith and a “mystery of light.” Whenever the Church celebrates the Eucharist, the faithful can in some way relive the experience of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus: “their eyes were opened and they recognized him” (Lk 24:31). . . . I cannot let this Holy Thursday 2003 pass without halting before the “Eucharistic face” of Christ and pointing out with new force to the Church the centrality of the Eucharist.

The Face of Christ Turned Toward Us

The experience of the disciples on the road to Emmaus culminated in their eyes being opened to see the Eucharistic Face of Christ. “When he was at table with them, he took the bread and blessed, and broke it, and gave it to them. And their eyes were opened and they recognized him; and he vanished out of their sight” (Lk 24:30-31). Christ vanished from the sight of the disciples, leaving in their hearts a mysterious burning (cf. Lk 24:32), and the broken Bread that at once conceals and reveals his Eucharistic Face. In the Eucharist the Face of Christ is turned toward us. The Eucharistic Face of Christ waits to meet the gaze of our faith, waits to be sought and recognized, adored and implored. “We see now through a glass in a dark manner; but then face to face. Now I know in part; but then I shall know even as I am known” (1 Cor 13:12). Sanctissima Facies Iesu, sub sacramento abscondita, respice in nos et miserere nostri.

The Priest of the Holy Face of Jesus

Gaetano Catanoso was born on 14 February 1879 in Chorio di San Lorenzo, Reggio Calabria, Italy. His parents, wealthy landowners, were exemplary Christians. Gaetano was ordained a priest in 1902, and from 1904 to 1921 he served in the rural parish of Pentidattilo.

The Holy Face of Jesus illumined Father Catanoso's life. He venerated the Holy Face as depicted in the image of Veronica's Veil diffused by the Carmel of Tours in France. He began "The Holy Face" Bulletin and established a local chapter of the "Archconfraternity of the Holy Face" in 1920. "The Holy Face," he wrote, "is my life." Saint Gaetano directed anyone seeking the Face of Christ to the Most Holy Eucharist, saying, "If we wish to adore the real Face of Jesus, we can find it in the divine Eucharist where, with the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, the Face of our Lord is hidden under the white veil of the Host."

A Parish Priest

On 2 February 1921, Father Catanoso was transferred to the large parish of Santa Maria de la Candelaria. He served there until 1940. The daily celebration of Holy Mass and Eucharistic adoration were the soul of his priesthood and the sustenance of his apostolate.

The liturgical memorial of Saint Gaetano Catanoso occurs on September 20th. Pope Benedict XVI canonized him on October 23, 2005. In the homily of the Mass of Canonization, the Holy Father said:

Saint Gaetano Catanoso was a lover and apostle of the Holy Face of Jesus. "The Holy Face", he affirmed, "is my life. He is my strength". With joyful intuition he joined this devotion to Eucharistic piety.

Daily Mass and frequent adoration of the Sacrament of the Altar were the soul of his priesthood: with ardent and untiring pastoral charity he dedicated himself to preaching, catechesis, the ministry of confession, and to the poor, the sick and the care of priestly vocations. To the Congregation of the Daughters of St Veronica, Missionaries of the Holy Face, which he founded, he transmitted the spirit of charity, humility and sacrifice which enlivened his entire life.

Everything was taken from the Common of One Martyr apart from the Collect and the General Intercessions. We commemorated the Blessed Virgin Mary of La Salette in the General Intercessions.

COLLECT

O God,
by whose gift we venerate the memory
of your martyr, Saint Januarius,
grant that, in his company,
we may rejoice to partake of eternal blessedness.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, forever and ever.

There is something of a personal connection to San Gennaro. He was bishop of Benevento in Campania during Diocletian's persecutions in the year 305. One of my maternal great–grandfathers, Giuseppe Martino came to the United States from Gioia–Sanitica in the Province of Benevento; his wife, my great–grandmother Rosina Biondi was from Faicchio in the same province.

Giuseppe and Rosina Martino raised their family — my grandmother Adelina was the eldest — in a little white house on Daisy Street in the Highwood section of Hamden. They made their own wine, their own pasta, and their own sausage. They grew their own vegetables. To me, the cellar of that house was a magical place fragrant with dried basilico and other herbs. The wine was kept there too.

The roots of our family's Italian Catholic heritage are soaked in the blood of the martyrs. It grieves me that some of the descendents of Giuseppe and Rosina have forsaken the faith of generations. The joyful transmission of the faith is a sacred responsibility.

My wonderful friend Terry N. over at Abbey-Roads did an excellent post on San Gennaro. Here, a little late in the day, is my homily on every Neapolitan's favourite saint, and on Our Lady of La Salette as well. One of Barbara Pym's characters of