"I do" "I do"
By now the pomp and pageantry from the Royal Wedding have died down and Prince William and Kate are (hopefully) on their way to happily ever after. The media surrounding the monarchs made note of the fact that the couple broke with tradition on several occasions, a sign that even time-honored traditions often change.
The Catholic Rite of Marriage, in use since 1969, broke with tradition when it laid out the order of the wedding procession: The ministers come in first, followed by the priest, then the bride and bridegroom. The parents may walk in the procession along with the witnesses. Nowhere does the rite mention anything about the bride coming down the aisle alone or with her father. This is because the Church recognizes that marriage is about a man and a woman starting a life together and believes that this is best expressed by the bride and bridegroom walking down the aisle together at the start of the ceremony. This also communicates the Church’s teaching that the bride and bridegroom are the primary ministers of the sacrament. In fact, it is their mutual consent, their “I do” that is the central part of the marriage rite. Any extras, such as the lighting of the unity candle or a devotional presentation to an icon or statue of the Mother of God, are just that—extras. It’s the mutual promise to be faithful to the end that counts. No other ritual could top that—not even two kisses on the balcony of Buckingham Palace!!
The Royal Wedding was indeed a very public event. It showed the public’s support for the new couple. Likewise, the Rite of Marriage in the Catholic Church is a public event which allows the community to show their support for the couple by their presence and their participation in the wedding liturgy.
O Lord, bless all those married and engaged. AMEN.
Savoring the Mystery
I love to travel! And, you know what I like best? Looking at the pictures! The pictures of the people, the cultures, their rituals and symbols help me remember the trip and allow me to reflect not only on where I have traveled, but on how the journey affected me, how it moved me and what difference it made in my life.
Our newly initiated members are now reflecting on their faith journey, in particular, on the celebrations of Holy Week and the experience of the Sacraments of Baptism, Confirmation and Eucharist. This process of reflection, officially called mystagogy, is a way of helping them to deepen their understanding of their experience. In the ancient Church, it was a way of teaching not only the newly initiated, but the whole community about the mysteries of faith.
With that in mind, I thought this would be a good opportunity to look back at the liturgies of Holy Week in the hopes that it will help us remember, reflect and rejoice. So, sit back, relax, and take some time to ponder. Ask yourself, what did I see? A community gathered? A procession with palms? What did I hear? The sound of water being poured over those being baptized? The stories of salvation? Uplifting music? What did I feel? Water being sprinkled on me? What did I smell? The scent of perfumed oil? Incense? What did I taste? The bread of life? The cup of salvation? What struck or moved me the most? A tender washing of feet? Reenacting the journey to Calvary? Lips caressing the wood of the cross? Arriving at the empty tomb? Tears of joy from the newly received?
Now, ask yourself, what did all of this teach me about what I believe as a Catholic Christian?
How did the rituals, symbols, texts, and music deepen my faith? How am I changed? And, how will I live differently this week as a result?
O Lord, help us to take the time to reflect on our liturgies, that the rituals, symbols and prayers we enact might be fulfilled by our living. AMEN.
Passover and Pascha: From Exodus to Easter
As a Catholic, I am fortunate to have a group of close friends who happen to be Jewish. I’ve known Robert for more than 20 years. Cathy, Diane and Patricia are more recent friends who have welcomed me to sit in on their weekend Mah-Jongg game. While I feel socially connected to them, I can’t help feeling a spiritual bond, especially at Easter. Perhaps this is because the Easter liturgies I celebrate and the Passover rituals they enact have much in common.
Both Passover and Easter are spring feasts. Passover begins on the night of the first full moon after the vernal equinox, or the 14th of Nisan, the first month of the Hebrew Calendar festival year. The date of Passover is prescribed in Leviticus 23:5.
The Passover of the Lord falls on the fourteenth day of the first month, at the evening twilight.
Scholars believed that Jesus died on the cross on this day at the hour when the lambs for the feast of Passover were being sacrificed, prefiguring the image of Christ as the Passover lamb found in 1 Cor. 5:7.
Some celebrated Easter on this night every year. But, eventually it was decided that Easter would be commemorated on the first Sunday (Sunday being the day of Resurrection) after the full moon of spring.
Passover, prescribed in the book of Exodus celebrates the liberation of the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. The primary symbol for Passover is matzo, or unleavened bread, a reminder that the Israelites left Egypt in haste, without time for baked bread to rise. Because the Exodus story tells of the unfathomable faithfulness of God, it stands at the core of the Jewish faith. It is a powerful reminder to all of us of God’s desire to be in an intimate, covenant relationship with humankind. This is one reason that out of nine readings provided for the Easter Vigil, the Exodus reading, according to the Lectionary, “Should always be read.”
The covenant relationship between God and God’s people as told in Exodus is renewed and fulfilled in Jesus Christ, and expressed in the Eucharist. It provides the pattern for all human relationships.
The reading from Corinthians which we hear on Easter Sunday, sums it up best:
Let us celebrate the feast not with the old yeast, that of corruption and wickedness, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. Amen.
The Washing of the Feet
Foot washing seems to be an increasingly common service at local shelters and soup kitchens.
Washing the feet of those who don’t have daily access to a shower, who walk for miles often with shoes that are tattered and torn, and whose feet are typically swollen, calloused and caked in dirt satisfies a basic hygiene need. It also satisfies a basic human need. As one man put it, “It’s the first time someone touched me in 10 years.” The foot washers themselves often come away satisfied with a new perspective. Because they are bent low at the feet of another human being, they are compelled to look up at someone who is used to being looked down upon. It is a humbling act to be sure.
Washing the feet of those who don’t have daily access to a shower, who walk for miles often with shoes that are tattered and torn, and whose feet are typically swollen, calloused and caked in dirt satisfies a basic hygiene need. It also satisfies a basic human need. As one man put it, “It’s the first time someone touched me in 10 years.” The foot washers themselves often come away satisfied with a new perspective. Because they are bent low at the feet of another human being, they are compelled to look up at someone who is used to being looked down upon. It is a humbling act to be sure.
Perhaps this is why in biblical times only slaves and servants washed feet. In those days, where sandals were the footwear of the day, it was common for guests to have their feet washed when they went to someone’s house for dinner. Because the Talmud forbade any Jew (except those in slavery) to wash feet, the host would never wash feet. This is in stark contrast to the gospel we’re about to hear on Holy Thursday. Before the feast of Passover, Jesus wraps a towel around his waist, the traditional clothing of a slave ready for service. He washes the feet of his disciples and tells them they must do the same.
It is this act of humility and service that we enact in our liturgy on Holy Thursday. The priest takes off his chasuble, a sign of his priestly office, puts on an apron and washes feet. Then, in a rare directive, the rubrics suggest that we take up the offertory specifically for the poor accompanied by this antiphon: “Where charity and love are found, there is God.”
O Lord, help us to love you by serving others. AMEN
The Lord's Prayer
It has become somewhat of a norm to begin or end a meeting or gathering with the Lord’s Prayer. I often wonder whether that’s because it’s a common ritual prayer or because it’s at the core of who we are as a people of faith. Perhaps the answer lies somewhere in between. Because the Lord’s prayer is so familiar, we can speak the words without really paying attention to what they say or considering what they mean.
If I say this prayer slowly and contemplatively, I can understand why it is placed at the beginning of the Communion Rite. The prayer teaches me that God desires an intimacy with me that enables me to call God “Father.” Because the prayer is plural throughout, it teaches me that my life is interdependent with the community of believers, that my words and actions have an effect on others and can affect the Kingdom. Ultimately, the prayer teaches me that true peace can only happen when I forgive, when I surrender my needs to God’s will, and when I honestly believe that the “daily bread” I seek will be more than enough.
The Lord’s Prayer was given to us by Jesus through the gospels of both Matthew (6:9-13), and Luke (11:2-4). It was used in both private prayer and in liturgical worship from the earliest centuries. One of the Fathers of the Church found the teachings in the Lord’s Prayer so rich he called it “The summary of the whole gospel.” Perhaps that is why the RCIA makes a point of handing on the Lord’s Prayer to the Elect (the unbaptized) in a special ritual that typically takes place during the fifth week of Lent. May the Elect and all of us learn to pray the Lord’s Prayer not only by heart but with heart.
O Lord, may The Lord’s Prayer never become a routine formula, but rather a formula for living. AMEN.