Read whole thing. It's seriously like some of the conversations that my lovely wife has with me.

Several days ago, I told a story about seeing something at Mass that I'd never seen before, and I appreciate the charity and kindness extended by commenters on that post.

Well, yesterday at Mass, I saw another unusually rare occurrence. Ladies and Gentlemen: Eucharistic Prayer #1.

In the Ordinary Mass that most of us are familiar with, there are some options for the priest here and there to use at his discretion. A lot of the daily prayers have an option between different texts, the priest can pick which one he likes better or would fit the situation (say, a Mass attended by schoolchildren and a pre-work Mass at 6:15 AM have distinctly different needs). During the "Liturgy of the Eucharist" part of Mass (the communion part that happens after the "Liturgy of the Word" where the biggest bulk of Bible readings are read), there are four "Eucharistic Prayers" that the priest can pick from. As far as I understand, the priest can pick any of the four for any reason--or no reason in particular (I will stand to correction if I'm wrong).

Typically you hear EP II or EP III. EP 2 is the shortest and simplest, if a bit... dippy. EP 3 is also uncomplicated and a common fixture at Mass. EP 1 is quite similar to the old Latin Mass, translated to English and regularizing the language a bit. But it's extremely rare. Not as rare as EP 4, which might as well be purged from the book for its total disuse.

I guess since yesterday was the feast day of Saint Peter and Saint Paul-- two of the greatest saints in Christian history, father decided to "step it up" a bit and use an Eucharistic Prayer that mentions a couple of saints in it.

I wanted to thank the priest after Mass for doing something radical like that, but didn't get a chance to do so. I know that priests only hear complaints about Mass or get the vague "nice homily" comments, so a specific compliment would probably be a welcome change of pace. But I did like the little variation. I wonder what it'd take to get father to even try EP 4? I guess I shouldn't push my luck, and using a Mass prayer for novelty's sake probably isn't fitting either.

But still, the rarity wasn't lost on me this time. So here's your homework, gentle reader. The next time you're at Mass, follow along in the daily missal during the Eucharistic Prayer part, and if you hear anything besides EP 2 and EP 3, let me know. It's nice to think that the Church will use all of her liturgy every now and then, not just the shortest versions.

From Matthew Archbold in Creative Minority Report:

You Might Not Be A Catholic If...

When asked what religion you are, you say, "I was raised Catholic..."

If you've said, "I'm a Catholic but I think for myself..."

You refer in an un-mocking manner to "The Spirit of Vatican II."

If you're pro-choice.

If you're on the NY Times speed dial for their religion stories.

You're Father Richard McBrien.

You can't remember if you went to Mass last Christmas.

If upon someone questioning your devotion to your faith you say, "Well what about the priest sexual abuse scandal?"

If you've said, "The Church is all about money."

If you didn't get the big deal about "The DaVinci Code."

If you say, "I'm more spiritual than religious..."

If you attend Saint Joan of Arc in Minneapolis.

If you've said, "The Church should stay out of my bedroom!"

If you call Jesus "a great philosopher."

If you think the overriding message of the gospels is "Judge not lest ye be judged."

If you think the puppet gave a good sermon.

If you believe the frump in the moo-moo has a valid ordination.

If you're an Obamaniac.

If you believe we haven't had a Pope since 1958.

If your name is Bishop Williamson.

If your house was on fire and you'd save your Marty Haugen's Greatest Hits Volume II CD.

I'm not ususally a big "litmus test" guy (believe it or not), but this is kind of funny.

My favorite is the one about the puppet (cf. http://wdtprs.com/blog/2008/05/i-dont-even-know-how-to-label-this-tragic-abuse/)

There's been a lot of discussion on the Catholic blogs about the proposed agreement between the Vatican and the SSPX. A lot of font will be spilled on this topic by people who are in a better position than me to have an informed opinion, but in hopes of producing a coherent comment, I will approach the subject here.

First, a moment of definitions and backstory. The SSPX is the Society of Saint Pius X, a fraternity of priests who, in short, offer Mass in the old pre-Vatican 2 form. This old form is properly called by a number of terms, commonly including the "Gregorian Rite," the "Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite" and the "Tridentine Latin Mass". I generally shorthand the old mass as the "TLM", that is the predominant acronym that you'll hear and see when the topic is discussed. The SSPX formed in 1970 after the Second Vatican Council introduced reforms to the Catholic Mass which substantially changed the liturgy under the direction of Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre in resistance to the New Order of the Mass (in latin, Novus Ordo Missae, commonly called the Novus Ordo or "NO").

The proverbial poop really hit the proverbial fan for the SSPX in 1988 when Abp. Lefebvre consecrated four SSPX priests as bishops in direction violation of the orders of then Pope John Paul II. In doing so, Abp. Lefebvre and the new bishops basically excommunicated themselves, kicking themselves out of the Catholic Church. Today, these excommunications are a badge of honor to many SSPX supporters who claim that the Vatican left the Catholic Church in the Second Vatican Council.

Today, the Novus Ordo Mass is the predominant Mass in Catholic Churches. It is the "Ordinary Form" of the Mass. It's what I grew up knowing and the format they use in the parish I still primarily attend. There aren't nearly as many TLMs as Novus Ordo Masses, but there are 3 regular TLM communities in my hometown of beautiful Kansas City. The communities are held by the Priestly Fraternity of Saint Peter (FSSP) [a communion-with-Rome group of priests who split from the SSPX in the aftermath of the 1988 excommunications], the Institute of Christ the King Sovereign Priest (ICRSS) [a communion-with-Rome group of priests a little newer than the FSSP], and the SSPX. I've never been to the St. Vincent De Paul chapel of the SSPX, but I hear that this KC congregation is one of the biggest SSPX congregations in the United States. The other two congregations are great and I'd recommend them to any Catholic trying to broaden and deepen their understanding of the Faith--and I'll issue a standing offer to any Kansas Citian: if you're interested in going to Mass at either one on any Sunday, drop me a line and I'll be happy to join you.

Our pope is a rather Tradition-friendly pontiff and has expressed interest in normalizing relations with the SSPX. Indeed, when before he was pope, he tried to negotiate an agreement between the SSPX and Pope John Paul II leading up to the 1988 excommunications that included official recognition and a new bishop, but Abp Lefebvre became suspicious of the offer and indicated that he would not accept the deal. This week, the Vatican again extended an offer to the SSPX saying that they would like to regularize the relationship between the two, saying that before they could begin reunification negotiations, Bishop Bernard Fellay (the current head of the SSPX) would need to accept 5 conditions that basically say that the SSPX will accept and respect the pope.

1. A commitment to a proportioned response to the generosity of the Pope.
2. A commitment to avoid any public speech which does not respect the person of the Holy Father and which can be negative for ecclesial charity.
3. A commitment to avoid the pretense of a Magisterium superior to the Holy Father and to not put forward the Fraternity [SSPX] in opposition to the Church.
4. A commitment to demonstrate the will to behave honestly in full ecclesial charity and in respect to the authority of the Vicar of Christ.
5. A commitment to respect the date - fixed at the end of the month of June - to respond positively. This will be a required and necessary condition for the immediate preparation for adhesion to have full communion.

This shouldn't be a tall order for an organization that puts a picture of the pope and a pledge of devotion on the website, but all evidence is that the SSPX thinks this is another trick or trap and are likely not going to accept these 5 conditions.

If that turns out to be true, it's sad for the Catholic Church. That would be a real missed opportunity. I don't roll with the SSPX because of these Canonical issues, but have a lot of respect for their history and their total adherence to Tradition.

Take the deal, Bernie.

The incomparable "Fr. Z" of the What Does The Prayer Really Say blog is emerging as the leading source for commentary on this subject. (Incidentally, if Fr. Z isn't part of your daily reading for Church matters, it's time to add him to your bookmarks). He has also encouraged people to pray a selection from the "Mass for the Unity of the Church" in the 1962 Roman Missal, reprinted here:

O God, Who settest straight what has gone astray,
and gatherest together what is scattered,
and keepest what Thou hast gathered together:
we beseech Thee in Thy mercy to pour down on Christian people,
the grace of union with Thee,
that, putting disunion aside and joining themselves to the true shepherd of Thy Church,
they be able to render Thee worthy service.

This is a worthy prayer for a very worthy cause. Take a moment if you will for this very special intention.

In nomine patris, et filii, et spirits sancti...

Yesterday when I was listing to NPR (I know, I know), I heard a group of people explain their interest or disinterest in this year's presidential candidates.

Their designated Republican voter was an older guy who sounded like he suffered from a severe case of redneckery--so pretty typical NPR stuff.

He explained that he couldn't vote for (paraphrasing) "Osama, er Obama. It's just one letter, you know. And his middle name is Hussein". Hard hitting stuff, NPR. You're doing a bang-up job.

And of course, you might have seen the emails with the picture (right) attached. You might have heard Rush Hudson Limbaugh pronounce Barack's middle name over and over as if it mattered. Maybe you've done the same.

Before we get any further: let's get this straight, America.

Senator Obama is NOT a Muslim.

Weren't you paying attention during that episode where the Senator had been going to that batshit church with the batshit pastor on Chicago's South Side? HELLOOOO! Jeremiah Wright is not Muslim, he's the pastor of the Trinity United Church of Christ. Mr. Obama went to this church for TWENTY YEARS.

Indeed, the senator's father was Muslim. And a young Barry Obama was Muslim as a boy before eventually leaving Islam to become a Christian, inspired by his mother. But the Senator is no longer a Muslim, he is not a "secret" Muslim (Muslims don't pretend to be Christian EVER, for ANY reason). This is not a point of debate. It is not a discussion.

Listen, there's plenty of reasons to not vote for Obama. Gentle reader, I'm probably with you on most of them. But Islamitude is not a good reason. Get a new argument. Try this one: as a Muslim apostate, he might be more offensive, more hated, more detestable to the Muslim world than any gun-toting Christian might ever be. There. Now you might have a reasonable argument. At least it begins with a fact rather than a fictition.

I doubt the guy from NPR reads this blog. If someone knows the guy, please forward to him this piece of information. And if you're out there saying Barack Obama's middle name as if it mattered, please re-read this post from the point where I write: Senator Obama is NOT a Muslim.

It occurred to me the other day: given Mr. Obama's experience with Islam and the batshit church, is there any doubt as to why he is bitter about religion? The poor guy. He's been given barrelfuls of vinegar and not a spoonful of honey. It'd make me bitter, too.

As a final note, the Senator decided earlier this year that it wasn't a good idea to hang around Rev. Wright anymore. Agreed, Senator. So he's church shopping these days. Has anyone invited him to St. John Cantius in Chicago? When I'm in Chicago next, Senator, you can come with me. I'll save you a spot in the pew. After Mass, we'll have some tea and you can introduce me to your wife and punishments. Sounds nice, huh?

As I'm sure you've noticed, I'm a big fan of the saints. Not a New Orleans football fan, mind you, but the saints of Christian history. They're like God's Hall of Fame--people who dedicated their lives to His work deserve a bit of credit and notoriety, if you ask me.

As a matter of definition, a "saint" is simply a person who made it to heaven. So in that respect, all Christians aspire to be saints--we'd all like to get our number called after we die. But this should not be confused with a "canonized saint", which is basically what most of us think about when we consider saints. Canonization is the formal process that the Church goes through to recognize saintliness and a feast day to added to the Church calendar-- to be listed in the "canon", if you will. There are millions and millions of saints, that is, souls in heaven. The number of "canonized" saints can change from time to time as the Church tinkers with her calendar--but saints given a feast day can be recognized on that day, even if the Church isn't going to mention it at Mass that day.

Today has a saint tied to it. Every day has a saint tied to it. In fact, every day has a NUMBER of saints tied to it, as a day might be shared by a dozen or more saints. But of course, some days and some saints are more notable than others.

Today is kind of a hodgepodge day, a mishmash of lesser-known saints like Saint Gallicanus and Saint William of Vercelli. Good people, I'm sure. But they're not exactly household names.

The process of canonization was not always a rigorous affair like it is today. Wikipedia has a nice description of the current process that has been developing since the 15th Century, but it wasn't always like that. People were declared saints by a kind of "popular acclaim". A bunch of living people who knew the dead person all kind of just agreed that that person was saintly. They'd share the deceased's stories with other people and it'd go from there. As you can imagine, sometimes the stories would get a little worked up. Take Saint Febronia of Nisibis, for example. Today is her feast day. Saint Febronia was almost certainly a real person--arrested for being a Christian in the dangerous days of early Christianity. She was likely tortured or murdered under the reign of the Roman Emperor Caesar Diocletian (how do you think Rome kept finding enough people to be slaughtered in the Coliseum?). Most of the verifiable story ends here, but Tradition sometimes goes further. We'll skip the extravagantly gruesome tales of torture and mutilation, but suffice to say that she's often pictured with a pair of shears used to cut off her breasts. It's a pretty gross story which was likely embellished in the retelling.

These were the days before journalism, sometimes history has some other stuff added in there.

Take the story of Saint Christopher--one of the most famous saints in the Christian tradition, despite some modern opinions that St. Christopher might have been more legend than human.

Saint Christopher, whose feast day is a month from today, is a perplexing figure. His story might be a conflation of several people, he might have been an exaggeration of an actual person, he might be a total figment. There is some verifiable evidence that an actual person was born in the 3rd Century named "Offero".

The story holds that Offero was a brute of a man who decided that if he was going to serve a king, he would serve the greatest king he could find. Offero found a strong and wealthy military ruler and enlisted in his army--but noticed that whenever mentioned the devil, the king worriedly blessed himself with the Sign of the Cross. Intrigued by this act, Offero decided to serve the devil--who was so powerful that a strong and wealthy king trembled in fear at the mere sound of his name. Offero found a group of bandits, one of whom claimed to be the devil. He joined their gang to rob travelers and abuse their countryside, when one day they came upon a cross at the side of the road. The one who claimed he was a devil ran in fear when he saw the cross--Offero wondered what the cross meant and why it made the strong devil into a running coward. So he left the gang and wandered alone until he found a hermit monk who taught him about Christ and told Offero that he was to find Jesus and serve Him. It was a confusing order for Offero, who could never actually find this person the hermit told him about. In the meantime, Offero went around helping and serving any person he came across, always seeking to serve Jesus Himself. One day, he came across a young boy by a river who asked Offero to help him across. The brute picked up the child, put him on his shoulders and set out to wade across the river, staff in hand. As the water got deeper and deeper, the boy became heavier and heavier. He was a crushing weight on Offero's shoulders and Offero struggled against the strong current. He exclaimed that this boy was like having the weight of the world on his shoulders and demanded to know who the child was--the child replied that he was Jesus Christ and that Offero would thenceforth be known as Christ's Bearer--or Christopher. The boy baptized Christopher with water from the river.

There was an actual martyr named Christopher who was captured and beheaded during the reign of the Roman Emperor Decius. Some historical evidence for this person exists and, like most fantastic stories, the fantasy is grounded in some measurable fact. But facts here are scarce and it's possible that most of the legend of Saint Christopher might simply be made up. Are he and Offero the same person? Again, it gets murky. Accordingly, Saint Christopher was de-listed in the Roman Canon and the Church no longer makes a big deal out of his feast day. This process, called de-canonization, does not mean that Christopher is no longer a saint, just that he's not a major part of the calendar anymore.

So what, then, is a Catholic to think of a possibly fictional saint? Saint Christopher is the patron of travelers, boatmen, bachelors, porters, toothaches and motorists; generations of Catholics have asked for Saint Christopher's intervention, they've held his medals during turbulent airplane rides and asked for his prayers on stormy seas. Was all of it for naught? Well, no. A saint is, simply, a person in heaven--and no calendar editing can change that! And if the story of a 3rd Century Christ-bearing giant is a fanciful tale, our Lord in heaven still hears our pleas and holds us closely.

Like the Irish (and those who aspire to be Irish) will always revere Saint Patrick on his day and how lovers (and those who aspire to be lovers) will always remember Saint Valentine on his day, so we can turn to the Communion of Saints every day of the year. They're to serve as role-models for our lives in some capacity or another--since we all aspire to go to Heaven in the end. It's our Hall of Fame, and we all hope to get that call one day.

This is a long post, it streches nearly 3000 words and is 5 pages single-spaced. But it's important and thanks in advance for sticking through to the end.

Father Rossman has been hosting an interesting debate over the last couple weeks about the declining belief in the Eucharist among Catholics. LINKS: 1, 2, 3, 4.

This is an important discussion for the Church in the 21st Century--and indeed, it's been an important discussion for the Church for millennia! And on the topic, it seems like everyone has an opinion--and no one is really interested in anyone else's opinion. But we all know that opinions are like... oh, nevermind. Here's my opinion-- and yes, it may stink like you-know-what...

It starts with a story. My lovely wife and I were in New York last week with a couple friends of ours. While there, I was able to attend Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral, the most famous church in America. I can't say that I really recommend a Sunday evening Mass to anyone wanting a truly spiritual experience, it has a pretty, yet businesslike feel to the service. Partly because it's a tourist site as much as a cathedral, and partly for other reasons that are... ineffable. If you go, you'll understand.

However, it was at this Mass that I saw something that I've NEVER EVER seen in the uncountable numbers of Catholic Masses in my life. The pews are kind of subdivided and communion is not an orderly process. It kind of jumbles up at the front of the church and lines look kind of mismashed. At this particular Mass, there were two priests and two habited nuns distributing Holy Communion to the faithful. I ended up in a line for one of the sisters and though I usually try to exercise my Catholic right to receive Holy Communion from consecrated hands, sometimes you just gotta make due, you know? Anyway, there was a young woman at the front of the line with her hands outstretched in the ordinary fashion, and the nun holding her ciborium quietly shook her head and mouthed the words, "I'm sorry, no." I was about 6 or 8 people back in line and couldn't hear the conversation (which wasn't for my ears anyway), but watched as this woman engaged in a short, quiet and futile debate to receive Holy Communion at a Catholic Mass. The whole exchange probably didn't take more than 30 or 45 seconds, but to my unbelieving eyes, it seemed like this scene played on for 10 or 11 minutes! Just as crisply dressed security guard was walking up to move this woman along, she turned around, hung her head, and breezily disappeared up the jumbled lines of people going to Communion.

You know, you see a lot of things in New York that you don't see in beautiful Shawnee, Kansas--but this was something I'd never seen before in my life.

In the Catholic Church, there are some basic tenets that you have to have fulfilled before you can receive communion (as a linguistic note: Catholics do not "take" communion, they "receive" communion. Of course, in today's Church where Communion is passed out like NECCO wafers pressed into your hand where you essentially give yourself communion as you wander back to your pew, what's the difference? *sigh* ). Basically, the rules are that you've got to be a Catholic, properly disposed and in "a state of grace". A lengthier and fuller explaination is at FishEaters.

I don't know what this woman's story is--and it doesn't matter that I do or don't. That's between her, her confessor and the good Lord. But it's UNUSUALLY unusual to see anyone be denied Communion, largely because it presumes that the minister knows the state of a person's soul. Maybe there's some story there, like this nun knows the woman personally, maybe the woman already received communion and got back in line for another bite, maybe she asked for a couple hosts so she could pack a communion for Monday morning--I don't know.

But I worry for her nonetheless. I hope it's some simple thing like she asked if she could take one back to a person in a pew, but I suspect it's a different story. It's a bad deal to walk around with sin on your soul. A way bad deal. Of course, the harder that a person tries to keep their soul pure, the harder it is to do. I once read an interview with Pope John Paul II that said the Devil works hardest on holy people because they're a bigger prize. In my personal experience, I can say that when you try to create a well-formed conscience so you can be a good person, you become more aware of your shortcomings. I hope this woman gets it all straightened out. Pray for her.

*****

It's hard to have a discussion about 21st Century Catholicism without beginning with the phrase "Well, before Vatican II, the Church used to do it this way..." And as a matter of catechesis or rhetoric, I've really tried to avoid doing that. But here, the situation demands, so forgive me and indulge the conversation for a moment.

When people used to go up for Holy Communion, they'd form a line and walk up to the front of the church, right up to the Sanctuary steps. Sometimes this process would be more or less orderly; parents might go at different times if mom watched the young kids and dad would attend to them when mom went up, some people said a brief prayer before they got in line as a way of preparing and focusing for receiving Christ--but in any event, they walked up to the front. Then waiting their turn, they'd step up to the altar rail and kneel. A priest and an altar boy would come in front of them. The altar boy would hold a paten under their chin (a small gold plate with a stick-handle) to catch any fallen hosts or crumbs. The priest would step up to the communicant, raise a host above the ciborium, and make a small sign of the cross with the Blessed Sacrament to bless them while saying Corpus Dómini nostri Jesu Christi custódiat ánimam tuam in vitam æternam. Amen. Then the communicant would stick out their tongue, the priest would place the Host on the communicant's tongue and would step up to the next person in the line. The communicant would get up, make the sign of the cross on themselves, and return to their spot in the pews.

The first time I saw this take place was a bit of an accident. Back then, I was checking out different Catholic churches in the city, just seeing what they looked like. I wandered into Our Lady of Sorrows and found this group of Catholics that were going to Mass in much the same way that Catholics have been going to Mass since Pope St. Gregory the Great in the Seventh Century. It was kind of surreal and I was not really prepared for what I was seeing.

I was used to the Ordinary Mass, where people sit in a round room, stare at each other across the middle of the building, grey-haired men play guitars and no one but the out-of-key choir sings "Gather Us In". People meander up to whomever is doling out communion to whomever stands in front of them. I don't mean to sound like a spoilsport Traditionalist--I'm really not a fuddy duddy, I promise. But it's just so different!

After that first Latin Mass, I was quiet and confused. It was so foreign, so exotic. It was really otherworldly. Please don't mistake this for romanticizing the old Mass, I really did not like it much. I didn't get it and wasn't sure if I did the right thing by even going and staying at this Mass; I would not return to this Mass for a couple years.

In the Ordinary form of the Mass, there are many different EMs--a term that my whole life I thought meant Eucharistic Ministers until I learned the term was Extraordinary Ministers. More on that in some other post. The priest consecrates the bread and wine where it transubstantiates into the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. Then he hands out all these gold bowls and cups out to a team of parishioner volunteers who distribute the Hosts to the people who line up for Communion. In my regular parish, the EMs wear full length white robes, though in most parishes, they do not. They go to pre-designated positions around the church where people process up to them, they hold a host or the cup in front of the communicant and proclaim "The body (blood) of Christ". The communicant holds out their hands--typically flatly, left hand over right and answer "Amen" The term "amen" is a complicated word that could suggest a number of affirmative meanings, but in Catholic School, they teach you that it means "I believe", and that saying it means you agree and subscribe to the act. Many people give themselves the sign of the cross as they walk back to their pew.

This practice is probably familiar; it's what happens in most Catholic parishes in the United States.

*****

Here, I'd like to focus on a subtopic for a moment. I'd like to get into a shallow basilology (king study, loosely).

This is often lost on Americans, since we're naturally disinclined to consider Royalty; we like our Presidents to be human, open and naked (in a matter of speaking). But if you can set you mind to being a loyal subject of a king, it changes your whole point of view! If any subject had a chance to hold the body of a fallen king, they wouldn't hold that body like they hold a cupcake, they would hold it as if it were more precious than any other possession on Earth. If you saw your king sacrifice himself for the good of the kingdom, it wouldn't be something you'd watch as if you were watching a high school play, you'd probably watch with rapt sorrow and bittersweet awe! You'd scrutinize your every movement, replay your every thought over and over, trying to remember where you were when you beheld the king in your midst.

To hold the Body of Christ in your hands... the terms "fear and trembling" should come to mind!

*****

It's got to be nerve-racking for a priest to be assigned to a new parish. There's so many people to meet, so many people that want to meet him. He's got to learn all the parish committees, all the volunteers, employees, teachers. There's little rhythms of each parish, small customs that end up varying from parish to parish. And I bet every priest assigned to a new parish feels "under the microscope" while the people in the pews study their every move. I can't even imagine.

Someone once told me that you can judge how good a priest was going to be by watching how he cared for the particles of communion.

To explain: the hosts that most Catholics get at Mass are specially designed to be, essentially, crumb-less. Handling them at the altar, distributing them around the church, they really don't fracture or fall apart. But they are broken on purpose. The priest breaks apart a host when he offers the Mass that he consumes at the altar. If the priest or an EM is running low on hosts but there is still a line of people in front of him or her, they'll often break hosts into smaller parts to make them last longer. And when you get the dozens of hosts in a ciborium, they inevitably create a little dust in the bottom of the bowl.

Consider that these things are still the Body of Jesus Christ, if just small particle fragments. How does father handle it? Does he meticulously clean each of the ciboria, taking time to make sure each little particle is carefully consumed?

Altar cloths used to stretch all the way to the floor to make sure that any small fragment would be caught, an altar boy would hold that paten under your chin to make sure that any imperceptible fragment would be caught, the host would be placed directly on your tongue--ensuring that no malevolent things could happen to the Body of Christ, it'd come straight from the priest to the communicant. After communion, Father kept his right hand thumb always touching his index finger until Mass was over and he could properly clean his fingers. They were the fingers that held the Blessed Sacrament--the actual Body of Jesus Christ-- and if any fragment or particle were left on them, they needed to be handled with great reverence and sacred care! Father couldn't march out of mass in recessional for glad-handing in the vestibule until he had fully attended to any potential fragments on his hands, clothes, in the altar cloths or in the sacred vessels.

They held the King. You don't mess around with the King.

*****

Kneeling was not always a part of the Catholic liturgy. Some of the great old cathedrals and basilicas of Europe don't even have pews, much less kneelers. People would just stand in the back and watch Mass happen in front of them--sometimes even behind a "rood screen" that was a barrier between the priest and the people. Even today, Benedictine monks do not fully incorporate kneeling into their liturgies, their order is older than the practice of kneeling at Mass.

But kneeling has long been a part of Jewish and Christian prayer as a way of recognizing the power of the Lord. Even as far back as Moses and Aaron, people were kneeling before the Ark of the Covenant and in the presence of the Lord. Remember the movie Dogma? When God appeared on Earth, Bethany grabbed Jay and Silent Bob and forced them to kneel in the ground? Gentle Reader, if you ever have a chance to see God appear before you, I'd suggest you hit your knees pretty quickly. The very posture is a sign of humiliation, it's an ancient way to recognize that the King has dominion over you. This isn't time for asserting your "human dignity". Just a tip.

I've come to think of communion in much the same way. When Catholics go to Mass, they all do the "Catholic Calisthenics" (SitStandKneelStandSitStandKneelKneelKneelStandKneelStandSit, not necessarily in that order) at different parts of the Mass. In the Ordinary form of the Mass, the rule of thumb is that you stand during the Gospel, you stand or kneel during prayer, otherwise take a seat. But from the point of the Eucharistic Prayer on, the basic posture is KNEELING. Why? God's in the room, that's why. He's right there, on the altar, in the sanctuary, in the ciboria. And if you ever have a chance to see God appear before you, hit your knees pretty quickly.

When you receive communion, when you are given custody of the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, why is it so different? You will never be closer in your entire life than when His body is held before you. Gentle reader, hit your knees. You are before the King.

Sometimes after people receive Holy Communion, some Catholics saunter back to the pews and plop down in the seat and watch the other people march around the church for Communion. Boys scope out the cute girls. They look for people they know around the room. It's the "spectator" part of Mass. No one has ever told them about the knees thing--they may see some people in the room kneeling, but probably just consider them to be part of the "fuddy-duddy Traditionalist" contingent that's part of every Ordinary parish.

I'll chalk this up to ignorance rather than malevolence. People just don't know. They've never been told. Not enough other people do it anyway, millions of Catholics can't be wrong, right?

*****

I could go on and on. We could talk about how you would dress if you had an audience with the King; we could talk about how the EM's take the sacred vessels that held the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ into a back room and seem to just drop them off to be washed later; we could talk about the stories of the priest sitting down during communion and letting the EMs do the dirty work of distributing communion and clearing the altar; we could go on and on and on and on and on.

I don't want to be a complainer. Really, I don't.

But here's the thing: why have people lost their faith and belief in the Eucharist? I'd assert it's because they go to Mass and don't see anyone else taking it seriously. The whole thing is casual. The whole thing seems snack time rather than humanity taking part in the sacrifice at the altar. How could you blame people? There's no mystery, no sense of an ethereal presence. It's all so common. It's all so ordinary.

And in the Mass-- as in the rest of life-- familiarity breeds contempt.

People don't believe because they don't see anyone else acting on those beliefs. Sure, actions don't always speak to beliefs--but shouldn't they? Shouldn't your actions and your prayers lay testimony to what you believe? It's not a matter of showing everyone else at Church that you're a kneeling kind of Catholic. It's a matter of showing deference to the Lord, Christ the King, to whom we are all subject.

That's my opinion. Take it for what it's worth. Congratulations if you made it all the way through.

ADDENDUM: In fairness, I need to make this clarification. I don't kneel to receive communion when I go to the Ordinary "Novus Ordo" Mass. I don't want to make a scene or give someone a feeling like something is wrong (with them or me) at communion. I remember as a kid there was a guy in the parish who would kneel to receive the Blessed Sacrament. It was strange. I think it made people even more distant from the Tradition. These things can be done by baby steps.

School begins again tonight.

For the last several months, I've been taking night class as part of some post-baccalaureate work. It's mostly been re-taking Community College classes that I abandoned years ago and taking "easy-A" classes where I could pluck some low-hanging fruit from the GPA tree. Tonight starts something different: I'm taking a class at Avila University for some specific coursework. I'd rather not go into it too deeply on this blog, but if we hang out sometime, I'll tell you more.

I'm kind of excited and nervous to start this next phase in my academics. In a sense, I've been working to this point for a couple years now. In another, this is something that I've never done before. I was never a very good student--I couldn't really commit or focus on my studies, now I've really got to dig in and do something different.

Avila University is a private college in Kansas City. It's run by the Sisters of Saint Joseph of Carondelet, (St. Louis Province), a community of nuns that also run an all-girls high school in KC. I don't know much about these nuns and wonder if I'll have a chance to learn more about their order by going to the school.

The school itself is named for Saint Teresa of Avila, one of the most famous women in Catholic history and one of the few saints to carry the title "Doctor of the Church".

Teresa was born in Avila, Spain in 1515. She was raised by a rigid somber father and a fanciful yet pious mother who often told stories to their children about the great saints of Christian history. Teresa and her brother were thought to be innocent troublemakers, one day they decided to be like the great martyrs and saints--and decided to sneak away to "the land of the Moors and beg them, out of love of God, to cut off our heads there". It's a noble act to be killed in the name of Christianity, and these two souls figured no one kills Christians more certainly than Muslims. Their plan was foiled when their uncle spotted them sneaking out of the famous walls of the city of Avila and returned them to their father for a certain measure of discipline.

As a teenager, Teresa was pretty typical. She was into boys, clothes, flirting sneaking around behind her fuddy-duddy parents (some things never change). The life was enough for her father who sent a 16-year-old Teresa to the convent of some Augustinian nuns. She lasted about a year and a half at the convent, owing mostly to some health trouble before she left. The convent was less strict than her father, so when she left, Teresa lived with some relatives, including an uncle who taught her about the Letters of Saint Jerome. This inspired Teresa to re-try a religious life, figuring that she was such a sinner that a convent was the only place safe for a girl like her.

She joined the Carmelites and commenced a life of study and writing. She wrote lots of eschatological books about sin and redemption--some of which were well received and some were not. Today, her writings are considered the most amazing and remarkable mystical literature in the history of the Church. But in her day, she had an uneven reputation. She eventually ended up leaving her cloister, thinking that they'd become too lax. Teresa formed a new cloister of Carmelite nuns that was stricter than her previous convent that revived some old ignored Carmelite rules and added some other like ceremonial flagellation and forgoing shoes for wooden sandals, giving this new convent the name "Discalced Carmelites".

Teresa's convent (and the subsequent monastery founded by St. John of the Cross--a fascinating dude) did not have it easy in the beginning. The Carmelite cloister than she broke from was highly distrustful of Teresa's new community, and if not for the local bishop, would have certainly been closed. She was a rabble-rouser and was considered by the more mainstream Carmelites as a person that shouldn't be trusted. She saw amazing visions of Jesus throughout her life, some people thought these visions were diabolical tortures of the devil, though Teresa steadfastly maintained they were from heaven, she was subject to the infamous Spanish Inquisition and to the scrutiny of the King of Spain.

Her last days were miserable. Tired, sick and tormented by her superiors, she was persecuted alongside of her friends and fellow nuns of the convent. She was sent on various tasks around the Spanish countryside at the request of the Archbishop, eventually succumbing to illness and death on a useless trip to attend to a noblewoman during her childbirth, to arrive after the child had already been born. Theresa would pass away shortly thereafter.

Saint Teresa of Avila is revered as one of the finest mystics and writers of the Counter-Reformation. Known alternately as St. Teresa of Jesus, St. Theresa of Avila, the Roving Nun and Saint Terri, she is the patroness of Spain, headache sufferers, lace makers, children without parents and people ridiculed for their piety. She is the namesake of the Avila University. Her famous prayer is a plea to heaven as a guide in life, to correct for a wasted life and the rededication to a life to the Lord:

O my God! Source of all mercy! I acknowledge Your sovereign power. While recalling the wasted years that are past, I believe that You, Lord, can in an instant turn this loss to gain. Miserable as I am, yet I firmly believe that You can do all things. Please restore to me the time lost, giving me Your grace, both now and in the future, that I may appear before You in "wedding garments." Amen.

Amen, amen, amen!

Saint Teresa of Avila, ora pro nobis!

Creative Minority Report

Sects and the Committee
Patrick Archibold

The next general assembly of the Synod of Bishops, scheduled for Rome in October, will take on the issue of Catholics reading the Bible through a fundamentalist lens. I thought that most Catholics have avoided this by avoiding reading the Bible altogether, but apparently this is a growing problem.

The increasing Protestantization of Catholic thinking on the Bible is a real bummer for the Church. I took a Bible study offered by my parish earlier this year, presented by a parishoner through Scott Hahn's St. Paul Center in Steubenville, Ohio. For seven weeks, I was pretty sure that my Catholic Church had become Southern Baptist. (Please don't get me wrong, I'm no anti-Hahn firebrand. He does fine work and is a super writer. But he treads dangerously close to sola-Scriptura, which can quickly distort a Catholic sensability with centuries of study, writings and Tradition [capital T] that forms the other leg of Catholic doctrine).

But because Catholics have walked away from a Catholic identity, because they turn to the (pseudo-) History Channel for their religious education, and because Catholics don't go to church to hear the Word professed-- it's no surprise that Catholics don't have a a sense of a Catholic way to read the Bible.

When I was a freshman in college, the Resident Assistant in my dorm invited me to a Bible study he regularly conducted in his dorm room. I accepted his invitation and toted my NAB over to join the group. When it was my turn to read, I confidently read the Word to the study group. When I looked up from the page, they were all giving me these quizzaled looks, wanting to know what version I was reading from. I answered that it was my study copy of the New American Bible.

They were having a hard time following along. They used two translations for their group, either the New International Version or the classic King James Version. I've since developed a taste for the richly layered language of the Douay Rheims version and would like to pick up a Revised Standard Version for my primary study bible rather than the NAB (which I've learned is a little clumsy with its vocabulary), but I didn't know any of this at the time.

But my translation tipped off a fierce debate in the room. The NIV readers thought the KJV readers were arrogant elitists, the KJV readers thought the NIV readers were sellouts, no one said a word about my Catholic bible since they'd never heard of it anyway. I left the group when it all came to a head and one other guy stood up and blurted:

If the King James Version was good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for me!

The Catholic Thing

The Beam in Our Brother's Eye
By Robert Royal
Monday, 16 June 2008

Excerpt:

Benedict XVI has deplored the widespread misrepresentation of Jesus as Someone Who "demands nothing, never scolds, Who accepts everyone and everything, Who no longer does anything but affirm us." It was not always thus. Why? Well, to begin with, if you read the Gospels, Jesus says He is meek and humble of heart, but He has a sharp tongue: He calls some fellow Jews a "brood of vipers"; in Luke, after teaching the Lord's Prayer, He remarks almost casually to His own disciples, "If you then, who are wicked. . ."; and He warns often about the possibility of eternal damnation. This excludes people, is judgmental, may not exactly build self-esteem. Benedict has noted tartly that Christian community "must not be conceived as if the avoidance of conflict were the highest pastoral value."

Hat Tip: The Curt Jester

I'm in New York this week to see a couple baseball games and for general tourism. I've attended a couple Masses at the most famous church in America, the great St. Patrick's Cathedral. Three popes have been in this awesome building! I've been where the pope was! You can follow along in my photo collection on flickr.

On St. Patrick's Cathedral, there are bronze plaques on the front of the building commemorating Pope Paul VI's visit and Pope John Paul II's two visits to NYC.

But there is no plaque (yet?) to commemorate His Holiness, Pope Benedict XVI's trip to the USA earlier this year.

However, the Yankees have them plaques already mounted in thier Monument Park, which is basically the team's Hall of Fame. I understand that maybe the Archdiocese of New York just hasn't hung the plate yet. These things take time. There's scaffolding inside and outside of the Cathedral. First things first, I suppose. But where the Yankees are tearing down their own cathedral of baseball next year, they're still erecting new plaques for the Yankee faithful among their other greats.

I think it's funny that the Yankees have three popes in their Hall of Fame. Is there any question that Baseball is God's game? After all, the first few words of the Bible are "in the big inning..."

Last weekend, I had the chance to spend a retreat at the Conception Abbey, a Benedictine Abbey in Conception, Missouri. The theme was "Entering Summer: A weekend of reflection", and basically provided a lot of quiet time for me to read, pray and decompress. The retreat wasn't really what I was expecting (though in fairness, I didn't really know what I was expecting), but overall it was still a nice retreat.

As part of the weekend, there were three sessions led by the priests of the Abbey. One of these sessions really hit home with me in a way I didn't see coming. Fr. Daniel noted that summer is always seen as a time of change. The seasons and the weather literally change. School children change grades in summer, schedules change, life changes. It is a beginning of some things and an end of others. To paraphrase, he asked us if this was a summer of beginnings or endings, if we were closing a chapter or starting to begin a new one.

Unto itself, this could be a trite, meaningless query. But it really ran around in my head for a while. Can I close some unfinished business? Can I leave behind something that I've been dragging around?

I'm sure you've guessed that my answer was "yes".

When I was 19 years old, I got a part-time job waiting tables at a now-closed restaurant in Overland Park. I freaking LOVED it. I was good at my job, it was a fun job, those were fun days. I remember thinking that I wanted to do this for the rest of my life, and started putting all my effort into thinking that one day I'd own my own restaurant. Over the next five or six years, I'd change employers a lot, always staying in the bar/restaurant/hotel hospitality business. I'd get a few trainer jobs, then supervisor jobs, then management jobs and I've done everything you can do in a restaurant. I've washed dishes, crunched payroll, wrote menus, worked with world-traveled chefs, sold $300 bottles of wine to millionaires and $1 glasses of gin to cocaine dealers. I've marshaled bar fights, set up for Grammy-winning musicians and spent every hour of the day on the clock in a bar or restaurant at one time or another. I was pretty good at it, and despite my mercurial attitude and temperament, liked it all a lot.

In the restaurant business, you can get all the timeclock that you want. You can work 12 shifts in 7 days. Exciting work too! There's fire, knives, drunks, illegal immigrants, jerkwad managers, high school dropouts, whiskey, arrogance, fights and trysts for all hours of the day or night. It's a perfect job for maniacs, idiots and fools like me.

Until that day when it all started coming apart.

I was in my biggest gig yet, tons of freedom, head of the restaurant, as close as I ever came to living my dream--and it all came apart for me. I was stressed out and overworked, I hadn't taken a relaxing day off in weeks. My roommate and I weren't talking, my girlfriend and I were barely talking, my boss and I were doing more barking than talking. I always had the feeling that I was about to get fired--and once you've got that idea in your head, it poisons every thought you have. Life had that spiraling feeling where you feel like you're losing your grip on everything around you. And one night, I just walked out in the middle of one of the dinner rush on a Friday evening. I laid my keys on the bar for my boss and said I couldn't do this anymore.

I couldn't do it anymore.

And that November night, I decided that the dream was over. I was walking out of the restaurant industry as a career choice for the rest of my life. I didn't want the hours anymore. I didn't want the danger or the thrill anymore. I didn't want that freedom or that much rope anymore.

The way I had defined my life for years and years was over. It was time to come up with something else instead! In the meantime, I had a bit of a self-identity vacuum. For years, I thought of myself as a bartender, cook, manager--whatever. It was part of this "plan" I thought I constructed in my head. It was my self-image. And when that image no longer fit for the way I was looking at the world, I didn't have any other idea to which I could turn. I didn't know who I was, I didn't know how to define myself.

It was awful.

We have all these self-images of ourselves. It's how we project our personalities to others, how we display the people we create ourselves to be. You do the same thing, I promise. There's something about you that says "cool softball guy" or "witty movie wonk" or "proud literary snob" or "down-home country boy" or whatever. Whether it is conscious or subconscious, we all construct these self-identities that we show the rest of the world. Mine was "fun bartender" and it was a REALLY FUN way to live life.

So when the day came to cast aside that identity, I didn't know how to replace it. It was a real, honest to goodness identity crisis. I'd get a job here and there to pay the bills, whether glazing hams for a mail-order meat company or working for my Dad's plumbing company--even waiting tables for a while as the most emotionally detached server that you could ever imagine. I worked for the bank, but never really thought of myself as a banker. I was vacant, to say the least.

Really I still haven't fully recovered from that time. I've got a new direction these days with a decent (if sometimes unfulfilling) job. I'm back in school at nights to build on my bachelor's degree. And with a couple years of trial and error, I think I'm finding a new identity for myself. I'll probably never be the writer that I want to be or the Catholic that I want to be or the husband I want to be or (one day) the father I want to be--but I've got a new set of goals. A new identity. Some of which it appropriate for the blog, some of which is a better story for me to share in person. But finally, I feel like that identity crisis is coming to a close. That this time of personal wandering and confusion might be tidying up its final paragraphs in this section of my story. That this could be a summer of ending--in a refreshingly merciful kind of way.

It's cliché to say that you can't start a new chapter until you've finished writing the old one--and from an author's point of view, that's not even technically true. I offer as proof all the half-written posts on this blog that you cannot see. (Some proof, huh?) But as a metaphor, it's a nice thought. It's time to close this chapter so I can begin a new one.

I think it's going to be a good summer.