THE MASS, THE  EUCHARIST: 

WHAT ARE YOUR  QUESTIONS? 

The title of my reflection for this Holy Thursday morning is, “The Mass, The Eucharist: What Are Your Questions?”

On Holy Thursday we look at, we consider, we ponder, the great mystery of the Mass, the Last Supper, the Passover. We think about when Jesus celebrated a Sacred Meal with his disciples on the night before he died. We’ll do that in this parish at the one Mass we celebrate this day: our Holy Thursday celebration – tonight at St. John Neumann Church at 7:30. 

We'll be celebrating the Passover and the Exodus which moves into the Christian Passover and the Christian Exodus.

Last night, I was wondering about what to preach on this morning. I’ve spoken at this 8 AM Holy Thursday Service – every year for the past 10 years or so.

Pause. Silence.

Finally, a question hit me. I’ve been going to Mass and communion for some 67 years now. After all those Masses and communions, I have to have some questions about the Mass. What are they? If I had to come up with one question, what would it be?

The key questions that hit me were: When and why did Jesus come up with this idea of using bread and wine – and saying, “This is my Body…. This is my Blood…. Take and Eat….. Take and drink…. and Do this in memory of me”?

Why bread, why wine, why these words? Why these actions? Why this ceremony, ritual, sacred meal?

Why? Why? Why?

For starters, I realized I really don’t know when he came up with this idea.

For starters, I realized I can come up with some reflections to the why?

First the when…. Did the idea hit him during some Passover meal celebration with Mary and Joseph while growing up in Nazareth?

The Passover Meal was celebrated every year at this time to remember and to recall that this was a way of thanking God for making us a people – for calling us out of slavery – so a nobody can become a somebody - redeeming us from the Pharaoh – as Moses lead us through the waters of the Reed Sea – into the desert – and to head for the Promised Land. In a rush, with blood on their doorposts - at that meal, we Jews took bread, took wine, and ate the Pascal Lamb – to recall that moment of freedom from long ago – but this time eating more slowly.

I’m sure Jesus asked at that meal what every youngest son asked at that meal, “Why is this night different from every other night?” And Joseph told his son about Moses – with all the words in the scriptures about this very night.

When did Jesus come up with this idea of the Mass? The Eucharist? The Lord’s Supper? We know from our readings tonight – and during this Holy Week -  that the Passover meal surely had something to do with it.

Or did the thought hit him in everyday daydreaming – from everyday scenes? Seeing farmers planting wheat seeds…?  Seeing vineyard workers picking grapes …? Seeing a father breaking bread and breaking off a piece of that and handing it to his child…? Seeing a mom giving her child a sip of her wine…?

Or did he cry when he saw people hungry and starving for daily bread? Did he cry when he saw religious worship and rituals being done by rote and simply being lip service?

Those might be the when’s – indefinite when’s at that.

The why is more significant. The why is more my question more than any question. Why did Jesus choose bread and wine? Why did he choose the Passover Meal? Why did Jesus tell us to do this in memory of me? Why did Christians following Jesus celebrate this meal, this Mass, over and over and over again?

Was it because Jesus saw people who were  physically hungry – for bread, for wine, for anything?

Was it because Jesus saw people who were spiritually hungry?

We know both. We’ve experienced both.

Was it because bread, wine, to become bread and wine, that they have to go through a long process of dying – wheat being crushed to become flour – grapes being crushed to become wine. And then the long wait – life is a lot of waiting. And Jesus knew he was about to crushed – broken – killed.

Was it because a loaf of bread – is one loaf – but when broken – can become many pieces – can enter many stomachs – uniting a whole community of people – different people – but becoming one by means of a meal? So too wine. So too the Pascal lamb.

And we’ve experienced many meals – Thanksgiving, Sunday dinners, anniversary meals, a great dinner out with friends – a cookout – when laughter and joy was the sound all around.

Was it because a table and an altar – where a sacred meal takes place – where a meeting can take place – where a family meal or meeting can take place – can give us a sense of being centered – connected. It’s nice to have a place at the table. Some people feel they don’t. Some times some people like the idea of upstairs – downstairs – and they want to in the up and put down others.

Was it because a meal is a great time to share words and food, bread and wine and food?

Was it because a meal is a good time to share not just bread and wine, but words – words about our life together and life apart. The family that eats together stays together. The family that does not talk with each other – and is unaware that they don’t eat together – will not stay together.

The family that does not make sacrifices for each other won’t stay together.

The family that does not pray together won’t stay together.

The family that does not see their common story – common heritage – common connection – are not in communion with each other.

The family, the people, who are not really present to each other, while they eat and afterwards – are not getting what Jesus was about: being really present – not just in tabernacles, not just in bread and wine, but in the Body of Christ, member with member as Paul was to tell us – and each part of this body – is important. We all need each other: those who are handy, those with a lot of heart, those who see what is needed, those who have an ear for what is happening, and those who do the footwork.

Was it because a meal is all about service – serving and being served – and we all need to get that – from the shopping and arranging the meal – going to the next village to prepare for everything – to the washing of feet – to the seating each other – to the breaking of the bread – sharing the cup – listening to each other – and never betraying each other.

Why? Why? Why?

When? When? When?

Today – this Holy Thursday – we ponder these questions once again.

The title of my reflection is: “The Mass, The Eucharist: What Are Your Questions?”

What are your questions?

ENCIRCLED BY JESUS

Poem for April 17, 2014 - Holy Thursday

JESUS THE ENCOMPASSER

Jesu!  Only-begotten Son and Lamb
          of God the Father,
Thou didst give the wine-blood of Thy body 
          to buy me from the grave.
My Christ! my Christ! my shield, my encircler,
Each day, each night, each light, each dark;
       My Christ! my Christ!! my shield, my encircler,
       Each day, each night, each light, each dark.

Be near me, in my standing, in my watching,
           in my sleeping.

Jesu, Son of Mary! my helper, my encircler,
Jesus Son of David! my strength everlasting;
       Jesu, Son of Mary! my helper, my encircler,
       Jesu, Son of David! my strength everlasting.

Prayer poem, page 168, 

in The Celtic Vision,

Prayers and Blessings

from the Outer Hebrides

edited by Esther de Waal

PORTRAITS:

SELF AND OTHERWISE

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily for this Wednesday in Holy Week is, “Portraits: Self and Otherwise.”

In this past year I have learned several new words. For example, “Selfie” and “Bestie”.

I asked a bride last Saturday what a “bestie” is. It was a word she used in an answer to some questions I ask couples – in order to help make my homily more personal. She looked at me – as if I was really dumb – and said nonchalantly “Your best friend – of course.” And she shrugged her shoulders. That’s how she had described her husband to be – “My bestie”.

I actually thought she wrote, “My beastie” – and I didn’t know what that meant either. I figured it was a nick name.

The title of my homily is, “Portraits: Self and Otherwise.”

Looking at my life, how would I like to be portrayed?

Am I a bestie or a beastie?

Am I the best selfie I can be?

PHOTOGRAPHS

I’ve always heard that the first person we look at in a group photo of any sorts – if we’re in the picture - is ourselves.

Is that true?

I don’t know.

I know that people when they see themselves in a photograph, they immediately make a judgment: “Not bad …. Horrible …. Good.”

Now that I know what a “selfie” is, I’ve seen lots of people taking them. Then they swing their phone – which took the picture – to see themselves in the picture. Many then delete or erase that picture and try again – and again – and again.

Do you have a decent picture of yourself?

Is there a picture of yourself that is horrible? Passport or driver’s license or what have you?

So that’s been my experience – that’s how I’ve noticed people - when  dealing with pictures of themselves.

PAINTINGS

When it comes to paintings of people – I’ve met very few people who have had a portrait of themselves made. Their children yes.

I noticed a portrait painting last year in some house I was saying Mass in. The lady in the painting looked sad. I said to the lady, “That’s you.”

She said, “And I know. I look sad.”

I said nothing.

Then she added, “My husband I were going through a tough period in our lives at the time.”

I thought. That’s a good painter – someone who caught a mood.

As to being a good portrait painter – I wondered. As in taking photographs, maybe they too should say, “Smile!”

TODAY’S READINGS

I thought of this topic when I read today’s readings.

The first reading from Isaiah 50: 4-9 has Isaiah talking about his head. He centers in on his tongue, then his ears, then his cheeks and then his beard. He mentions his back as well.

I began thinking: A sculptor or a painter would love Isaiah’s face and skull to picture and sculpt. He says in today’s text that he sets his face like flint. Solid. Face forwards. With courage. With strength. An artist could do that.

Then I began - in light of thinking about Isaiah - what would it be like to paint or picture Jesus at the Last Supper?  What a great contrast could be made with his face and the face of Judas.

Next I have to look more carefully at paintings of the Last Supper by Rembrandt and Da Vinci. I don’t know if Caravaggio did any – but I hope so – because he used light and shadow so well.

Also I don’t know off hand any paintings of Isaiah. I’ll have to type in the Google search box: “Paintings of Isaiah” – and see what comes up.

CONCLUSION

Since the title of my homily is, “Portraits: Self and Otherwise” – I assume a good thing to do is to look at pictures of myself and ask, “What was going on with me at this moment?” What was I feeling?”

To paraphrase Pope Francis from his homily last Sunday: “I can be either Judas or Jesus. Be Jesus of course?” 

WALKING AROUND 

IN ANOTHER'S SKIN 

Poem for Today - April 16, 2015

THE MOTHER Abortions will not let you forget. You remember the children you got that you did not get, The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair, The singers and workers that never handled the air. You will never neglect or beat Them, or silence or buy with a sweet. You will never wind up the sucking-thumb Or scuttle off ghosts that come. You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh, Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye. I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed              children. I have contracted. I have eased My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck. I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized Your luck And your lives from your unfinished reach, If I stole your births and your names, Your straight baby tears and your games, Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches,              and your deaths, If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths, Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate. Though why should I whine, Whine that the crime was other than mine?-- Since anyhow you are dead. Or rather, or instead, You were never made. But that too, I am afraid, Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said? You were born, you had body, you died. It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried. Believe me, I loved you all. Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you All.

© Gwendolyn Brooks

TREMBLE, TREMBLE, TREMBLE

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily for this Tuesday in Holy Week  is, “Tremble, Tremble, Tremble.”

One of the moments I look forward to every Holy Week here at St. Mary’s – is when Harry Thompson sings and plays the Negro spiritual, “Were You There.” 

Have you ever been there when Harry sings that? It can make you tremble, tremble, tremble.  This 1926 spiritual song by J.W. Johnson and J.R. Johnson captures Good Friday for me.

You know the first two verses and you know them well. You’ve been there.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?

We have meditated on the moments when Jesus – on the cross - shook in horror and pain – when he trembled, trembled, trembled. One moment there on the cross he felt the total absence of God – and he screams out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

We also know Jesus felt just that in the garden – in the agony in the garden – which we read about in Matthew, Mark and Luke.[1]  Some scholars think the opening words in today’s gospel is John’s way of presenting those same feelings of Jesus - but in the upper room. [2] We read there that Jesus was deeply troubled and declared openly, “I am telling you the truth: one of you will betray me.”  The scholars think this is John’s way of capturing the  tremble, tremble, tremble of Jesus in the Agony of the Garden. John has Jesus go to the garden – but he’s arrested almost immediately just after he arrives. The others have him praying and asking his disciples to pray one hour with him – before Judas arrives with the soldiers for his arrest.

TREMBLE, TREMBLE, TREMBLE

The tremble, tremble, tremble moments of life happen when tragedy and trouble hit home: deaths, divorces, drugs, being dropped, alcoholism, betrayals, cancer, and the crush of so many other things – like being out of work – and deep inner itches – like feeling like a motherless child.

Those are the moments we know Good Friday in our own soul – in our own family – in our lives. Those are the moments the Stations of the Cross are not just on the walls in our churches – but they are on the walls of our soul – and we are making them – and hopefully we’ll say and pray, “Thank you, Lord, for the gift of faith.”

Tremble, tremble, tremble….

CONCLUSION

As Christians we begin our prayers with the sign of the cross – perhaps because we know it’s the cross is so often the beginning of our knowing Christ and life. It’s being on the cross that we so often realize Christ is hanging in there with us – and we can be the good thief and steal our way into his kingdom – at any moment – but especially when we’re feeling tremble, tremble, tremble moments.

NOTES:

[1] Matthew 26: 36-56; Mark 14: 32-52; Luke 22: 39-53; John 18: 1-11]

[2] Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John XIII-XXI, The Anchor Bible, Doubleday & Company, Garden City, New York, 1970,    page 577.

REVELATIONS 
FROM THE LAND 
OF SICKNESS 

Poem for Today - April 15, 2014

FEVER

I have brought back a good message
          from the land of 102 degrees:
God exists.
I had seriously doubted it before;
but the bedposts spoke of it
          with utmost confidence,
the threads in my blanket took it for granted.
the tree outside the window dismissed all complaints,
and I have not slept so justly for years.
It is hard, now, to convey
how emblematically appearances sat
upon the members of my consciousness;
but it is a truth long known,
that some secrets are hidden from health.

(C) John Updike

THE  HOUSE  WAS  FILLED 

WITH  THE  FRAGRANCE  OF  OIL 

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily for this Monday in Holy Week is, “The House Was Filled With The Fragrance of Oil.”

It comes from the following comment in today’s gospel: “Mary took a liter of costly perfumed oil made from genuine aromatic nard and anointed the feet of Jesus and dried them with her hair; the house was filled with the fragrance of the oil.” [Cf. John 12:  1-11]

In today’s gospel Mary poured on a lot of expensive perfume – anointing the feet of Jesus and then she dried his feet with her hair.

That was quite a scene. For starters women did not do such things – separation of men and women in society was very strict – so all these scenes in the gospels where Jesus is interacting with women – are quite radical.

I’m assuming we don’t get that – here in the United States – but in other parts of the world – these gospel texts are very revolutionary.

Based on the book, The Bookseller of Kabul, if some members of the Taliban get their way, this way of Jesus will be not be tolerated.

In today’s gospel, Judas is cast as the bad guy. He was against the anointing – and the motive is money. He used to help himself from the common purse – and if Mary could have donated the money to Jesus, Judas would have access to even more money.

PERFUME – AND  - SMOKE

We’ve all walked into an elevator or a room and someone very recently was in that same room – and they were heavy on the perfume.

I don’t know about you, but I wince – in the presence of heavy perfume.

I was once stationed in a place where an interesting dynamic happened every other day.

There were 2 smokers there and 1 heavy after shave lotion guy.

The aftershave guy was a big time anti-smoker. This happened before the ban of smokers to outside buildings. This also happened before the arrival of all kinds of cell phones.  Well the anti-smoker guy let it be known that after-smoking smell was to be banned. Well, the 2 smokers retaliated with the comment that aftershave lotion users should be banned – especially if you picked up the common phone after them.

Ugh – the aftershave scent could be horrible. And to be transparent, I preferred the after smoke scent to the aftershave scent.

CONCLUSION: A MESSAGE FOR TODAY

Enough of that….

A message for today for us could be the question: What scent do I leave in the rooms I’m in.

Today’s first reading would challenge us to be gentle and just.

Today’s psalm would challenge us to bring courage and trust – not fear into the rooms we’re in.

Today’s gospel challenges us to be lovers of Jesus as we bring his message and life into the rooms we’re in. Amen.

We who receive Jesus in the bread and the wine and are in communion with him – what is Jesus’ aftertaste taste like in us?

IN MY BOAT 

ON THE LAKE 

Poem for Today - April 14, 2014

THIS YEAR

As this country rocked like a boat in Galilee's storms.
I spent the whole year not losing my faith in God alone,
just doing as I could what had to be done.

Laid up sick, I suffered for more than a month.
there were many hard things in the family and the world,
but having endured it all meekly. it proved more valuable
than any good fortune could have been.

These days, as I dream bright dreams of the world beyond,
entrusting all things to His divine Will,
even if storms are forecast for the coming New Year
there is nothing I fear.

(c) Ku Sang, 

translated from

the Korean by

Brother Anthony

of Taize.

Painting on top: The Storm on the Sea of Galilee [1633].  This is the only known seascape picture by Rembrandt van Rijn. It was on a wall at the Isabella Stewart Gardiner Museum in Boston, Massachusetts when it was robbed in 1990.  Check Mark 4: 35-41.

DEAD

Poem for Today - April 13, 2014

POETE MANQUE

I have beaten him often, head and heel
says the Lord, and I find no sound in him,
neither the savage growl of the drum
nor the sweet clean resonance of the bell.
I never hear the sea of the seasons roll
through him, nor night and day toss and hum.
A sodden gourd, or cracked vessel, says the Lord,
he is good for nothing now but heaven or hell.

(c) Ernest Sandeen

THE RELATIVITY  OF  TIME

As you know, as Einstein said, “Time is relative.”

Years ago when most houses had  one bathroom, this old saying made sense, “How long a minute takes depends on which side of the bathroom door you’re on.”

Sometimes - time seems to sit still – like sitting in traffic – like sitting in a waiting room at the doctor’s. Sometimes - time flies – like a great meal and it’s getting late and the waiters and waitresses want us to finish up so they can clean up and go home – and we’re wrapped up in great conversations.

Not every day, not every weekend, not ever week, not every month nor every year is the same.

Holy Week – Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday – is upon us. Some of us remember Ash Wednesday. Maybe we whispered to ourselves a spiritual hope or two – a Lenten Resolution – and here it is Palm Sunday.

It makes a difference how we spend time. The key is not to judge others – but to judge ourselves: how we’re doing.

I know I judge. When driving I wonder about those who drive along the shoulder or the exit ramp as far as they can and then move left to get into the regular two or three lanes – and beat 50 cars on Route 50. I wonder about those who sneak in side doors and skip lines if possible. Is that their regular personality? Does that pattern sneak into how they give their time and life to family or work or what have you – or who have you?

I went in a side door at a wake in a church in Bowie two Sunday’s ago. The crowds were enormous. I still feel a bit of guilt about that. Hey those on the long lines were waiting – slowing stepping their way to the Church steps  – why can’t I? – like everyone else? I rationalized. As I was meeting family members of the deceased – I could see those on line in the back still coming in. And whispers of “unfair” were clinging to my inner ear.

Time is relative.

It all depends on who we are – our spirituality- our sense of fairness and how we treat one another. Everything relates, is relative, to the I, I am.

I would assume that how we do Lent, how we do Holy Week, how we move those 40 days from Ash Wednesday to Easter, how we move these seven from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, how we drive, how we notice other drivers, how we notice waiters and waitresses in a restaurant – how they notice our needs, is somehow connected to how we spend time – how we see or don’t see each other – and especially how we see ourselves.

I would assume how we spend Holy Week will help us deal with the Good Fridays of our life that might or might not happen on Friday’s.  Deaths happen every day of the week. Crosses, betrayals, family deaths - and then the long wait to go through a wake in a Funeral Parlor, the Funeral Mass, the long ride to the cemetery, the burial, all happen –all take time  often when we weren’t or aren’t ready for them. Then there’s the time -  till we experience a personal Easter for us – the time from the death of another  -  to the acceptance of a death of another - to the experience of the act of faith we make that the one we loved is with the Lord – and it’s time for us to rise from feelings of death – and walk in new time.

It’s all relative. It all relates to how we spend our time – instead of sneaking in side doors to avoid life – or speed past all those in the same traffic of the same kinds of pain and waiting.

So this week is Holy Week. We’re in traffic near the end of the 40 day trip called Lent. We’re getting into Holy Week – closer to the Bridge into Easter and resurrection and flowers – new garments - and new life in Christ.

This week we have some sacred moments – we might miss – lots of times for Confession – now called, “The Sacrament of Reconciliation”. Is there anyone or anything we need to reconcile? This Thursday can be like any other Thursday or it can be Holy Thursday. 
We’ll have that renewal of the Mass this Thursday night at 7:30 at St. John Neumann. This Friday can be like any other Friday, or it can be Good Friday – where we enter into the Lord’s Passion on the Cross – and with the whole community we venerate the Cross in silence and song. Next Saturday evening we have the Long Easter Vigil when folks come into our church – and that night and the next day, next Sunday, we renew our Baptismal time – and celebrate once more The Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

How we spend this week, how we spend our time, is relative.

That’s the title and theme of this homily.

But how we spend our time affects and effects who we are - and how we are to each other and to the Lord – but especially how we are to ourselves.

WHAT WAS 

YOUR MOTHER LIKE

Poem for Today - April 12, 2014

HOT COMBS

At the junk shop, I find an old pair,
black with grease, the teeth still pungent
as burning hair.  One is small,
fine toothed as if for a child. Holding it,
I think of my mother's slender wrist,
the curve of her neck as she leaned
over the stove, her eyes shut as she pulled
the wooden handle and laid flat the wisps
at her temples.  The heat in our kitchen
made her glow that morning I watched her
wincing, the hot comb singeing her brow,
sweat glistening above her lips,
her face made strangely beautiful
as only suffering can do.

(c) Natasha Trethewey

WHAT WAS 

YOUR FATHER LIKE?

Poem for Today - April 11, 2014

AMATEUR FIGHTER

- for my father

What's left is the tiny gold glove
hanging from his left key chain. But,
before that, he had come to boxing,

as a boy, our of necessity - one more reason
to stay away from home, go late
to that cold house and dinner alone

in the dim kitchen.  Perhaps he learned
just to box a stepfather, then turned
that anger into a prize at the Halifax gym.

Later, in New Orleans, there were the books
he couldn't stop reading. A scholar, his eyes
weakening. Fighting, then, a way to live

dangerously. He'd leave his front tooth out
for pictures so that I might understand
living meant suffering, loss. Really living

meant taking risks, so he swallowed
a cockroach in a bar on a dare, dreamt
of being a bullfighter. And at the gym

on Tchoupitoulas Street , he trained
his fists to pound into a bag
the fury contained in his gentle hands.

The red headgear, hiding his face,
could make me think he was someone else,
that my father was somewhere else, not here

holding his body up to pain.

(c)  Natasha Trethewey